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 University of Illinois Library 
 
 L161—H41 
 
COLLECTION 
 
 De PLS He AUTH Ons 
 
 VOL. 610. 
 
 ORLEY FARM BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
TAUCHNITZ EDITION. 
 By the same Author, 
 
 DOCTORS THORND) Girver vsti 0 Live ie tllet is te kee ate 
 REDE cE Heke CCA MS SN oye ce Wet he Vo ee e's te te le 
 ET VY AD EN fii otagtiicaremt eh een sre 1a 
 
 BARCHESTER TOWERS Wftr-e Tenet ein ellen § Sia oace 
 
 CASTE RICHMOND (0255), 01 lslgehicd Whe tve 26 
 THE WEST INDIES AND THE SPANISH MAIN 
 TRAMLE YR: PARSONAG Ew syn cclier ns ines uetene nat 
 NORTH AMERICA a pute ment temr erin sities mee 
 RACHMU AT AY 0 Wer coh other tellin Vigsaics ah on setae 
 THE SMALL HOUSE AT ALLINGTON ... 
 CAN YOU FORGIVE HER? .°. °. 4... 
 TEE BE TT ONSiE SILAS ES Matte lon tay tale bicker aes 
 THE LAST CHRONICLE OF BARSET . 
 HPO LAV ERENG SiG vehe ist oy kefar ols eulak biekus 
 
 IPEUUN BAS CETNIN Sosa Vis ash ote) veuiie Sera oulbielee obits 
 HE KNEW “HE >WAS) RIGHT). 2 seh ce 6 
 THE VICAR OF BULLHAMPTON Sein 
 
 SIR HARRY HOTSPUR OF HUMBLETHWAITE 
 RALPH TEE SEE TRA trots ie ise taste Jot te ti a Wire 6 Ooi 
 
 . 
 
 2 vols. 
 2 vols. 
 1 vol. 
 
 2 vols. 
 2 vols. 
 1 vol. 
 
 2 vols. 
 3 vols. 
 2 vols. 
 3 vols. 
 3 vols. 
 2 vols. 
 3 vols. 
 2 vols. 
 3 vols. 
 3 vols. 
 2 vols. 
 1 vol. 
 
 2 vols, 
 
ORLEY FARM. 
 
 BY 
 
 ANTHONY TROLLOPE, 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 ‘*BARCHESTER TOWERS,” “NORTH AMERICA,” 
 ++ PRAMLEY PARSONAGE,” ETC, 
 
 COPYRIGHT EDITION. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 GEHEIPZIG 
 
 BERNHARD TAUCHNITZ 
 
 1862. 
 
 The Right of Translation is reserved, 
 
tet ees a 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 O-F- V O:L UM RL 
 
 CHAPTER I. The Commencement of the Great Orley Farm Case Pk, A 
 hea Il. LadyMasonandherSon. . . . «= . 16 
 The Cleeve 3 : : . . 33 
 The Perils of Youth . a c “ . - 43 
 Sir Peregrine makes a Second Promise . : % 
 The Commercial Room, Bull Inn, Leeds. P 
 The Masons of Groby Park . 
 
 Mrs. Mason’s Hot Luncheon 
 
 A Convivial Meeting 3 A 
 
 Mr., Mrs., and Miss Furnival : “ . : 
 Mrs. Furnival at Home 
 
 Mr. Furnival’s Chambers . : ; , ; C 
 Guilty, or not Guilty 
 
 Dinner at the Cleeve : 2 ; : é 
 A Morning Call at Mount Pleasant Villa : 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath in Bedford Row : : : 
 Von Bauhr 
 
 The English von Bauhr 
 
 The Staveley Family : : - ; 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath in his own Office 
 
 Christmas in Harley Street 
 
 Christmas at Noningsby . 5 ; Z 
 Christmas at Groby Park 4 . A . . 
 
 P ur 
 ty i, hw 4 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. Christmas in Great St. Helens . 
 Mr. Furnival again at his Chambers 
 
 Why Should I Not? . 
 Commerce . . 
 
 Monkton Grange 
 
Ochi (RcY ech: ARE Ma 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 The Commencement of the Great Orley Farm Case. 
 
 Ir is not true that a rose by any other name will 
 smell as sweet. Were it true, I should call this story 
 “The Great Orley Farm Case.” But who would ask 
 for the second volume of a work burthened with so 
 very uncouth an appellation? Thence, and therefore, 
 — Orley Farm. 
 
 I say so much at commencing in order that I may 
 have an opportunity of explaining that this book of 
 mine will not be devoted in any special way to rural 
 delights. 'The name might lead to the idea that new 
 precepts were to be given, in the pleasant guise of a 
 novel, as to cream-cheeses, pigs with small bones, wheat 
 sown in drills, or artificial manure. No such aspirations 
 are mine. I make no attempts in that line, and declare 
 at once that agriculturists will gain nothing from my 
 present performance. Orley Farm, my readers, will be 
 our scene during a portion of our present sojourn to- 
 gether, but the name has been chosen as having been 
 intimately connected with certain legal questions which 
 made a considerable stir in our courts of law. 
 
 It was twenty years before the date at which this 
 story will be supposed to commence that the name of 
 
 Orley Farm first became known to the wearers of the 
 
 Orley Farm. I. it 
 
Dubs SRA Re aM Malt ak ck Roh aT RS) MIC jul a 
 Las ceh pee wi’ Ready) rSeua i a 
 
 2 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 long robe. At that time had died an old gentleman, 
 Sir Joseph Mason, who left behind him a landed estate 
 in Yorkshire of considerable extent and value. This 
 he bequeathed, in a proper way, to his eldest son, the 
 Joseph Mason, Esq., of our date. Sir Joseph had been 
 a London merchant; had made his own money, having 
 commenced the world, no doubt, with half a crown; 
 had become, in turn, alderman, mayor, and knight; 
 and in the fulness of time was gathered to his fathers. 
 He had purchased this estate in Yorkshire late in life 
 —~ we may as well become acquainted with the name, 
 Groby Park -— and his eldest son had lived there with 
 such enjoyment of the privileges of an English country 
 gentleman as he had been able to master for himself. 
 Sir Joseph had also had three daughters, full sisters of 
 Joseph of Groby, whom he endowed sufficiently and 
 gave over to three respective loving husbands. And 
 
 then shortly before his death, three years or so, Sir 
 _ Joseph had married a second wife, a lady forty-five 
 years his junior, and by her he also left one son, an 
 
 infant only two years old when he died. 
 
 For many years this prosperous gentleman had lived 
 at a small country house, some five-and-twenty miles 
 from London, called Orley Farm. This had- been his 
 first purchase of land, and he had never given up his 
 residence there, although his wealth would have entitled 
 him to the enjoyment of a larger establishment. On 
 the birth of his youngest son, at which time his eldest 
 was nearly forty years old, he made certain moderate 
 provision for the infant, as he had already made 
 moderate provision for his young wife; but it was then 
 clearly understood by the eldest son that Orley Farm 
 was to go with the Groby Park estate to him as the 
 
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 {/r. When, however, Sir Joseph died, a codicil to his 
 fll, executed with due legal formalities, bequeathed 
 ‘(ley Farm to his youngest son, little Lucius Mason. 
 
 | Then commenced those legal proceedings which at 
 } bt developed themselves into the great Orley Farm 
 Jase. The eldest son contested the validity of the 
  pdicil; and indeed there were some grounds on which 
 | appeared feasible that he should do so. This codicil 
 ‘ot only left Orley Farm away from him to baby 
 Lucius, but also interfered in another respect with the 
 revious will. It devised a sum of two thousand 
 younds to a certain Miriam Usbech, the daughter of 
 me Jonathan Usbech who was himself the attorney 
 vho had attended upon Sir Joseph for the making out 
 f this very will, and also of this very codicil. This 
 sum of two thousand pounds was not, it is true, left 
 ‘away from the surviving Joseph, but was to be pro- 
 duced out of certain personal property which had been 
 eft by the first will to the widow. And then old 
 Jonathan Usbech had died, while Sir Joseph Mason 
 was still living. 
 
 | All the circumstances of the trial need not be de- 
 | tailed here. It was clearly proved that Sir Joseph had 
 during his whole life expressed his intention of leaving 
 | Orley Farm to his eldest son; that he was a man void 
 of mystery, and not given to secrets in his money 
 matters, and one very little likely to change his opinion 
 ‘on such subjects. It was proved that old Jonathan 
 Usbech at the time in which the will was made was in 
 very bad circumstances, both as regards money and 
 ‘health. His business had once not been bad, but he 
 ‘hai eaten and drunk it, and at this period was feeble 
 and penniless, overwhelmed both by gout and debt. 
 1# 
 
 ‘ 
 "\ 
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 | 
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4 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 He had for many years been much employed by 
 Joseph in money matters, and it was known that 
 was so employed almost up to the day of his de 
 The question was whether he had been employed 
 make this codicil. | 
 
 The body of the will was in the handwriting of 
 widow, as was also the codicil. It was stated by I 
 at the trial that the words were dictated to her 
 Usbech in her husband’s hearing, and that the docum 
 was then signed by her husband in the presence 
 them both, and also in the presence of two other P 
 sons —~ a young man employed by her husband as 
 clerk, and by a servant-maid. These two last, togeth 
 with Mr. Usbech, were the three witnesses whose nam | 
 appeared in the codicil. There had been no secreff 
 between Lady Mason and her husband as to his wil 
 She had always, she said, endeavoured to induce hi 
 to leave Orley Farm to her child from the day of th 
 child’s birth, and had at last succeeded. In agreein 
 to this Sir Joseph had explained to her, somewha 
 angrily, that he wished to provide for Usbech’s daughter, 
 and that now he would do so out of moneys previously 
 intended for her, the widow, and not out of the estate 
 which would go to his eldest son. To this she had 
 assented without a word, and had written the codicil in 
 accordance with the lawyer's dictation, he, the lawyer, 
 suffering at the time from gout in his hand. Among 
 other things Lady Mason proved that on the date of 
 the signatures Mr. Usbech had been with Sir Joseph 
 for sundry hours. 
 
 Then the young clerk was examined. He had, he 
 said, witnessed in his time four, ten, twenty, and, under 
 pressure, he confessed to as many as a hundred and 
 
NTT 
 
 f Fite? Cie om LEAR Re. 9 ea ww et Sh Nebts) Che Die east erry Vuh SM eee f lmeetakee Ae ee 
 
 ‘Fra. ¥ 
 
 THE GREAT ORLBY FARM CASE. : 5 
 
 twenty business signatures on the part of ‘his employer, 
 Sir Joseph. He thought he had witnessed a hundred 
 and twenty, but would take his oath he had not wit- 
 nessed a hundred and twenty-one. He did remember 
 witnessing a signature of his master about the time 
 specified by the date of the codicil, and he remembered 
 the maid-servant also signing at the same time. Mr. 
 Usbech was then present; but he did not remember 
 Mr. Usbech having the pen in his hand. Mr. Usbech, 
 he knew, could not write at that time, because of the 
 gout; but he might, no doubt, have written as much 
 as his own name. He swore to both the signatures — 
 his own and his master’s; and in cross-examination 
 swore that he thought it probable that*they might be 
 forgeries. On re-examination he was confident that his 
 own name, as there appearing, had been written by 
 himself; but on re-cross-examination, he felt sure that 
 there was something wrong. It ended in the judge in- 
 forming him that his word was worth nothing, which 
 was hard enough on the poor young man, seeing that 
 
 he had done his best to tell all that he remembered. 
 
 Then the servant-girl came into the witness-box. She 
 was sure it was her own handwriting. She remembered 
 being called in to write her name, and seeing the master 
 write his. It had all been explained to her at the time, 
 but she admitted that she had not understood the ex- 
 planation. She had also seen the clerk write his name, 
 but she was not sure that she had seen Mr. Usbech 
 write. Mr. Usbech had had a pen in his hand; she 
 was sure of that. 
 
 The last witness was Miriam Usbech, then a very 
 pretty, simple girl of seventeen. Her father had told 
 her once that he hoped Sir Joseph would make pro- 
 
FURS MAREE TUNA: AUS TS eta ACRE oe OTe RRS RT gE Me TR ed ed Ae cena 
 wa ioe Tr 9) A A i WERENT RN TNS Q NL RMR ORME Thay aU SIMS Som NEE 
 
 Sau) ORLEY FARM. 
 
 vision for her. This had been shortly before her father’s 
 death. At her father’s death she had been sent for to 
 Orley Farm, and had remained there till Sir Joseph 
 died. She had always regarded Sir Joseph and Lady 
 Mason as her best friends. She had known Sir Joseph 
 all her life, and did not think it unnatural that he 
 should provide for her. She had heard her father say 
 more than once that Lady Mason would never rest till 
 the old gentleman had settled Orley Farm upon her 
 son. 
 
 Not half the evidence taken has been given here, 
 but enough probably for our purposes. The will and 
 codicil were confirmed, and Lady Mason continued to 
 live at the farm. Her evidence was supposed to have 
 been excellently given, and to have been conclusive. 
 She had seen the signature, and written the codicil, 
 and could explain the motive. She was a woman of 
 high character, of great talent, and of repute in the 
 neighbourhood; and, as the judge remarked, there could 
 be no possible reason for doubting her word. Nothing 
 also could be simpler or prettier than the evidence of 
 Miriam Usbech, as to whose fate and destiny people at 
 the time expressed much sympathy. That stupid young 
 clerk was responsible for the only weak part of the 
 matter; but if he proved nothing on one side, neither 
 did he prove anything on the other. 
 
 This was the commencement of the great Orley 
 Farm Case, and having been then decided in favour 
 of the infant it was allowed to slumber for nearly 
 twenty years. The codicil was confirmed, and Lady 
 Mason remained undisturbed in possession of the house, 
 acting as guardian for her child till he came of age, 
 and indeed for some time beyond that epoch. In the 
 
Stake 
 5 es» 
 
 SS. 
 
 A ee Pe eee eo en) ORS Pe LO Mae eee ine rr Wesel tr Le TORR An KEY Se Ane 
 dae al rk Pia a Ce Raat ea alta ms Paget Hes pists ee EN af Lg! 
 x , r 34 Ase eee TE rarely eg Lg * 
 
 THE GREAT ORLEY FARM CASE. 7 
 
 course of a page or two I shall beg my readers to allow 
 me to introduce this lady to their acquaintance. 
 
 Miriam Usbech, of whom also we shall see some- 
 thing, remained at the farm under Lady Mason’s care 
 till she married a young attorney, who in process of 
 time succeeded to such business as her father left behind 
 him. She suffered some troubles in life before she settled 
 down in the neighbouring country town as Mrs. Dock- 
 wrath, for she had had another lover, the stupid young 
 clerk who had so villainously broken down in his evidence; 
 and to this other lover, whom she had been unable to 
 bring herself to accept, Lady Mason had given her 
 favour and assistance. Poor Miriam was at that time 
 a soft, mild-eyed girl, easy to be led, one would have 
 said; but in this matter Lady Mason could not lead 
 her. It was in vain to tell her that the character of 
 young Dockwrath did not stand high, and that young 
 Kenneby, the clerk, should be promoted to all manner 
 of good things. Soft and mild-eyed as Miriam was, 
 Love was still the lord of all. In this matter she would 
 not be persuaded; and eventually she gave her two 
 thousand pounds to Samuel Dockwrath, the young 
 attorney with the questionable character. 
 
 This led to no breach between her and her patroness. 
 Lady Mason, wishing to do the best for her young 
 friend, had favoured John Kenneby, but she was not 
 a woman at all likely to quarrel on such a ground as 
 this. ‘Well, Miriam,” she had said, “you must judge 
 for yourself, of course, in sach a matter as this. You 
 know my regard for you.” 
 
 “Oh yes, ma’am,” said Miriam, eagerly. 
 
 “And I shall always be glad to promote your wel- 
 fare as Mrs. Dockwrath, if possible. I can only say 
 
 \ 
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URES MES BLS GET RARE oe a RR Ae a 
 ’ { * \ é . Poa SAAR es NUYS 1M le ty a iar ea ot Ok 
 
 ris 
 
 8 . ORLEY FARM. 
 
 that I should have had more satisfaction in attempting 
 to do so for you as Mrs. Kenneby.” But, in spite of 
 the seeming coldness of these words, Lady Mason had 
 been constant to her friend for many years, and had 
 attended to her with more or less active kindness in all 
 the sorrows arising from an annual baby and two sets 
 of twins — a progeny which before the ¢ommencement 
 of my tale reached the serious number pf sixteen, all 
 living. 
 
 Among other solid benefits conferred by Lady Mason 
 had been the letting to Mr. Dockwrath of certain two 
 fields, lying at the extremity of the farm property, and 
 quite adjacent to the town of me ae in which old 
 Mr. Usbech had resided. These had been let by the 
 year, at a rent not considered to be too high at that 
 period, and which had certainly be¢ome much lower in 
 proportion to the value of the land, as the town of 
 Hamworth had increased. On these fields Mr. Dock- 
 wrath expended some money, though probably not so 
 much as he averred; and when/noticed to give them 
 up at the period of young Masoh’s coming of age, ex- 
 pressed himself terribly aggrieved. 
 
 “Surely, Mr. Dockwrath, you are very ungrateful,” 
 Lady Mason had said to hin. But he had answered 
 her with disrespectful words; /and hence had arisen an 
 actual breach between her ard poor Miriam’s husband. 
 “T must say, Miriam, that Mr. Dockwrath is unreason- 
 able,” Lady Mason had said. And what could a poor 
 wife answer? ‘Oh! Lady/Mason, pray let it bide a 
 time till it all comes right.” But it never did come 
 right; and the affair of those two fields created the 
 great Orley Farm Case, /which it will be our business 
 to unravel. f 
 
 A fdciy 
 
aa 
 
 THE GREAT ORLEY FARM CASE. g 
 
 And now a word or two as to this Orley Farm.. In 
 the first place let it be understood that the estate con- 
 sisted of two farms. One, called the Old Farm, was 
 let to an old farmer named Greenwood, and had been 
 let to him and to his father for many years antecedent 
 
 -to the days of the Masons. Mr. Greenwood held about 
 
 three hundred acres of land, paying with admirable 
 punctuality over four hundred a year in rent, and was 
 regarded by all the Orley people as an institution on 
 the property. Then there was the farm-house and the 
 land attached to it. ‘This was the residence in which 
 Sir Joseph had lived, keeping in his own hands 
 this portion of the property. When first inhabited 
 by him the house was not fitted for more than the 
 requirements of an ordinary farmer, but he had 
 gradually added to it and ornamented it till it was 
 commodious, irregular, picturesque, and straggling. 
 When he died, and during the occupation of his widow, 
 it consisted of three buildings of various heights, 
 attached to each other, and standing in a row. ‘The 
 lower contained a large kitchen, which had been the 
 living-room of the farm-house, and was surrounded by 
 bakehouse, laundry, dairy, and servants’ room, all of 
 fair dimensions. It was two stories high, but the rooms 
 were low, and the roof steep and covered with tiles. 
 The next portion had been added by Sir Joseph, then 
 Mr. Mason, when he first thought of living at the place. 
 This also was tiled, and the rooms were nearly as low; 
 but there were three stories, and the building therefore 
 was considerably higher. For- five-and-twenty years 
 the farm-house, so arranged, had sufficed for the 
 common wants of Sir Joseph and his family; but when 
 he determined to give up his establishment in the City, 
 
10 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 he added on another step to the house at Orley Farm. 
 On this occasion he built a good dining-room, with a 
 drawing-room over it, and bed-room over that; and this 
 portion of the edifice was slated. 
 
 The whole stood in one line fronting on to a large 
 lawn which fell steeply away from the house into an 
 orchard at the bottom. This lawn was cut in terraces, 
 and here and there upon it there stood apple-trees of 
 ancient growth; for here had been the garden of the 
 old farm-house. They were large, straggling trees, 
 such as do not delight the eyes of modern gardeners; 
 but they produced fruit by the bushel, very sweet to 
 the palate, though probably not so perfectly round, 
 and large, and handsome as those which the horticultural 
 skill of the present day requires. ‘The face of the 
 house from one end to the other was covered with vines 
 and passion-flowers, for the aspect was due south; and 
 as the whole of the later addition was faced by a 
 verandah, which also, as regarded the ground-floor, ran 
 along the middle building, the place in summer was 
 pretty enough. As I have said before, it was irregular 
 and straggling, but at the same time roomy and 
 picturesque. Such was Orley Farm-house. 
 
 There were about two hundred acres of land attached 
 to it, together with a large old-fashioned farm-yard, 
 standing not so far from the house as most gentlemen 
 farmers might perhaps desire. ‘The farm buildings, 
 however, were well hidden, for Sir Joseph, though he 
 would at no time go to the expense of constructing all 
 anew, had spent more money than such a proceeding 
 would have cost him in doctoring existing evils and 
 ornamenting the standing edifices. In doing this he 
 had extended the walls of a brewhouse, and covered 
 
THE GREAT ORLEY FARM CASE. 1i 
 
 them with creepers, so as to shut out from the hall- 
 door the approach to the farm-yard, and had put up a 
 quarter of a mile of high ornamental paling for the 
 same purpose. He had planted an extensive shrubbery 
 along the brow of the hill at one side of the house, 
 had built summer-houses, and sunk a ha-ha fence below 
 the orchard, and had contrived to give to the place the 
 unmistakable appearance of an English gentleman’s 
 country-house. Nevertheless, Sir Joseph had never 
 bestowed upon his estate, nor had it ever deserved, a 
 more grandiloquent name than that which it had 
 possessed of old. 
 
 Orley Farm-house itself is somewhat more than a 
 mile distant from the town of Hamworth, but the land 
 runs in the direction of the town, not skirting the high 
 road, but stretching behind the cottages which stand 
 along the pathway; and it terminates in those two fields 
 respecting which Mr. Dockwrath the attomey became 
 so irrationally angry at the period of which we are now 
 immediately about to treat. These fields lie on the 
 steep slope of’ Hamworth Hill, and through them runs 
 the public path from the hamlet of Roxeth up to Ham- 
 worth church; for, as all the world knows, Hamworth 
 church stands high, and is a landmark to the world 
 for miles and miles around. 
 
 Within a circuit of thirty miles from London no 
 land lies more beautifully circumstanced with regard 
 to scenery than the country about Hamworth; and its 
 most perfect loveliness commences just beyond the 
 slopes of Orley Farm. There is a little village called 
 Coldharbour, consisting of some half-dozen cottages, 
 situated immediately outside Lady Mason’s gate, — 
 and it may as well be stated here that this gate is but 
 
abe hehe Pak Lob has 5 Sa alate Boe TAT 6, 
 eh EC RS 
 
 12 . ORLEY FARM. 
 
 three hundred yards from the house, and is guarded 
 by no lodge. This village stands at the foot of Cleeve 
 Hill. The land hereabouts ceases to be fertile, and 
 breaks away into heath and common ground. Round 
 the foot of the hill there are extensive woods, all of 
 which belong to Sir Peregrine Orme, the lord of the 
 manor. Sir Peregrine is not a rich man, not rich, that 
 is, it being borne in mind that he is a baronet, that 
 he represented his county in parliament for three or 
 four sessions, and that his ancestors have owned The 
 Cleeve estate for the last four hundred years; but he 
 is by general repute the greatest man in these parts. 
 We may expect to hear more of him also as the story 
 makes its way. 
 
 I know many spots in England and in other lands, 
 world-famous in regard to scenery, which to my eyes 
 are hardly equal to Cleeve Hill. From the top of it 
 you are told that you may see into seven counties; 
 
 but to me that privilege never possessed any value. I~ 
 
 should not care to see into seventeen counties, unless 
 the country which spread itself before my view was 
 fair and lovely. The country which is so seen from 
 Cleeve Hill is exquisitely fair and lovely ;— very fair, 
 with glorious fields.of unsurpassed fertility, and lovely 
 with oak woods and brown open heaths which stretch 
 away, hill after hill, down towards the southern coast. 
 I could greedily fill a long chapter with the well-loved 
 glories of Cleeve Hill; but it may be that we must 
 press its heather with our feet more than once in the 
 course of our present task, and if so, it will be well to 
 leave something for those coming visits. 
 
 ‘Ungrateful! Il let her know whether I owe her 
 
oD ep VET UN tel ye Dalia ota Lag a ig a ee 
 tale oe aa aie eis WA 4 fae ENE 8 
 
 THE GREAT ORLEY FARM CASE. 43 
 
 any gratitude. Haven't I paid her her rent every half- 
 year as it came due? what more would she have? 
 Ungrateful, indeed! She is one of those women who 
 think that you ought to go down on your knees to 
 them if they only speak civilly to you. Tl let her 
 know whether I’m ungrateful.” 
 
 These words were spoken by angry Mr. Samuel 
 Dockwrath to his wife, as he stood up before his parlour- 
 fire after breakfast, and the woman to whom he referred 
 was Lady Mason. Mr. Samuel Dockwrath was very 
 angry as he so spoke, or at any rate he seemed to be 
 so. ‘There are men who take a delight in abusing those 
 special friends whom their wives best love, and Mr. 
 Dockwrath was one of these. He had never given his 
 cordial consent to the intercourse which had hitherto 
 existed between the lady of Orley Farm and his 
 household, although he had not declined the substantial 
 benefits which had accompanied it. His pride had re- 
 belled against the feeling of patronage, though his 
 interest had submitted to the advantages thence derived. 
 A family of sixteen children is a heavy burden for a 
 country attorney with a small practice, even though 
 his wife may have had a fortune of two thousand 
 pounds; and thus Mr. Dockwrath, though he had never 
 himself loved Lady Mason, had permitted his wife to. 
 accept all those numberless kindnesses which a lady 
 with comfortable means and no children is always able 
 to bestow on a favoured neighbour who has few means 
 and many children. Indeed, he himself had accepted 
 a great favour with reference to the holding of those 
 two fields, and had acknowledged as much when first 
 he took them into his hands some sixteen or seventeen 
 years back. But all that was forgotten now; and having 
 
14 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 held them for so long a period, he bitterly felt the 
 loss, and resolved that it would ill become him as a 
 man and an attorney: to allow so deep an injury to 
 pass unnoticed. It may be, moreover, that Mr. Dock- 
 wrath was now doing somewhat better in the world 
 than formerly, and that he could afford to give up Lady 
 Mason, and to demand also that his wife should give 
 her up. Those trumpery presents from Orley Farm 
 were very well while he was struggling for bare bread; 
 but now, now that he -had turned the corner, — now 
 that by his divine art and mystery of law he had 
 managed to become master of that beautiful result of 
 British perseverance, a balance at his banker's, he 
 could afford to indulge his natural antipathy to a lady 
 who had endeavoured in early life to divert from him 
 the little fortune which had started him in the world. 
 
 Miriam Dockwrath, as she sat on this morning, 
 listening to her husband’s anger, with a sick little girl 
 on her knee, and four or five others clustering round 
 her, half covered with their matutinal bread and milk, 
 was mild-eyed and soft as ever. Hers was a nature in 
 which softness would ever prevail; — softness, and that 
 tenderness of heart, always leaning, and sometimes al- 
 most crouching, of which a mild eye is the outward 
 sign. But her comeliness and prettiness were gone. 
 Female beauty of the sterner, grander sort may sup- 
 port the burden of sixteen children, all living, — and 
 still survive. I have known it to do so, and to survive 
 with much of its youthful glory. But that mild-eyed, 
 soft, round, plumpy prettiness gives way beneath such 
 a weight as that: years alone tell on it quickly; but 
 children and limited means combined with years leave 
 to it hardly a chance. 
 
RS) a eg eT eo) Ee PE Th Ne es eh 
 bh ea Pe . i 
 
 THE GREAT ORLEY FARM CASE. — 15 
 
 “Tm sure I’m very sorry,” said the poor woman, 
 worn with her many cares. 
 
 “Sorry; yes, and Dll make her sorry, the proud 
 minx. ‘There’s an old saying, that those who live in 
 glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.” 
 
 “But, Samuel, I don’t think she means to be doing 
 you any. harm. You know she always did say —. 
 Don’t, Bessy; how can you put your fingers into the 
 basin in that way?” 
 
 ‘Sam has taken my spoon away, mamma.” 
 
 “TH let her know whether she’s doing any harm or 
 no. And what signifies what was said sixteen years 
 ago? Has she anything to show in writing? As far 
 as I know, nothing of the kind was said.” 
 
 “Oh, I remember it, Samuel; I do indeed!” 
 
 “Let me tell you then that you kad better not try 
 to remember anything about it. If you ain’t quiet, 
 Bob, Vl make you, pretty quick; d’ye hear that? 'The 
 fact is, your memory is not worth a curse. Where are 
 you to get milk for all those children, do you think, 
 when the fields are gone?” 
 
 ‘Ym sure I’m very sorry, Samuel.” 
 
 ‘Sorry; yes, and somebody else shall be sorry too. 
 And look here, Miriam, I won't have you going up to 
 Orley Farm on any pretence whatever; do you hear 
 that?” and then, having given that imperative com- 
 mand to his wife and slave, the lord and master of 
 
 _ that establishment walked forth into his office. 
 
 On the whole Miriam Usbech might have done 
 better had she followed the advice of her patroness in 
 early life, and married the stupid clerk. 
 
16 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Lady Mason and her Son. 
 
 I rrust that it is already perceived by all per- 
 sistent novel readers that very much of the interest of 
 this tale will be centred in the person of Lady Mason. 
 Such educated persons, however, will probably be aware 
 that she is not intended to be the heroine. The heroine, 
 so called, must by a certain fixed law be young and 
 marriageable. Some such heroine in the course of the 
 story shall be forthcoming, with as much of the heroic 
 about her as may be found convenient; but for the 
 present let it be understood that the person and char- 
 acter of Lady Mason is as important to us as can be 
 those of any young lady, let her be ever so gracious 
 or ever so beautiful. 
 
 In giving the details of her history, I do not know 
 that I need go back beyond her grandfather and grand- 
 mother, who were thoroughly respectable people in the 
 hardware line; I speak of those relatives by the father’s 
 side. Her own parents had risen in the world, — had 
 risen from retail to wholesale, and considered them- 
 selves for a long period of years to be good repre- 
 sentatives of the commercial energy and prosperity of 
 Great Britain. But a fall had come upon them, — as 
 a fall does come very often to our excellent commercial 
 representatives — and Mr. Johnson was in the “Gazette.” 
 It would be long to tell how old Sir Joseph Mason was 
 concerned in these affairs, how he acted as the principal 
 assignee, and how ultimately he took to his bosom as 
 his portion of the assets of the estate, young Mary 
 
By aD a a OO ral a ee a i a 
 near D4 ing 7 , : Phat pl 
 40% 4 a. Ys ‘ Y ~ ¥ Cree 
 
 LADY MASON AND HER SON. 17 
 
 Johnson, and made her his wife and mistress of Orley 
 Farm. Of the family of the Johnsons there were but 
 three others, the father, the mother, and a brother. 
 The father did not survive the disgrace of his bank- 
 ruptcy, and the mother in process of time settled her- 
 self with her son in one of the Lancashire manufac- 
 turing towns, where John Johnson raised his head in 
 business to some moderate altitude, Sir Joseph having 
 afforded much valuable assistance. There for the pre- 
 sent we will leave them. 
 
 I do not think that Sir Joseph ever repented of 
 the perilous deed he did in marrying that young wife. 
 His home for many years had been desolate and soli- 
 tary; his children had gone from him, and did not 
 come to visit him very frequently in his poor home at 
 the farm. They had become grander people than him, 
 had been gifted with aspiring minds, and in every turn 
 and twist which they took, looked to do something to- 
 wards washing themselves clean from the dirt of the 
 counting-house. ‘This was specially the case with Sir 
 Joseph’s son, to whom the father had made over lands 
 and money sufficient to enable him to come before the 
 world as a country gentleman with a coat of arms on 
 his coach-panel. It would be inconvenient for us to 
 run off to Groby Park at the present moment, and I 
 will therefore say no more just now as to Joseph 
 junior, but will explain that Joseph senior was not 
 made angry by this neglect. He was a grave, quiet, 
 rational man, not however devoid of some folly; as in- 
 deed what rational man is so devoid? He was burdened 
 with an ambition to establish a family as the result of 
 his success in life; and having put forth his son into 
 the world with these views, was content that that son 
 
 Orley Farm, I. 2 
 
ue 
 
 ‘48 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 should act upon them persistently. Joseph Mason, Esq., 
 of Groby Park, in Yorkshire, was now a county magis- 
 trate, and had made some way towards a footing in the 
 county society around him. With these hopes, and 
 ambition such as this, it was probably not expedient 
 that he should spend much of his time at Orley Farm. 
 The three daughters were circumstanced much in the 
 same way: they had all married gentlemen, and were 
 bent on rising in the world: moreover, the steadfast re- 
 solution of purpose which characterized their father 
 was known by them all, — and by their husbands: 
 they had received their fortunes, with some settled 
 contingencies to be forthcoming on their father’s de- 
 mise; why, then, trouble the old gentleman at Orley 
 Farm ? 
 
 Under such circumstances the old gentleman mar- 
 ried his young wife, — to the great disgust of his four 
 children. 'They of course declared to each other, cor- 
 responding among themselves by letter, that the old 
 gentleman had positively disgraced himself. It was 
 impossible that they should make any visits whatever 
 to Orley Farm while such a mistress of the house was 
 there; —- and the daughters did make no such visits. 
 Joseph, the son, whose monetary connection. with his 
 father was 2s yet by no means fixed and settled in its 
 nature, did make one such visit, and then received his 
 father’s assurance — so at least he afterwards said and 
 swore — that this marriage should by no means inter- 
 fere with the expected inheritance of the Orley Farm 
 acres. But at that time no young son had been born, 
 — nor, probably, was any such young son expected. 
 
 The farm-house became a much brighter abode for 
 the old man, for the few years which were left to him, 
 
LADY MASON AND HER SON. 19 
 
 after he had brought his young wife home. She was 
 quiet, sensible, clever, and unremitting in her atten- 
 tion. She burthened him with no requests for gay 
 society, and took his home as she found it, making the 
 best of it for herself, and making it for him much better 
 than he had ever hitherto known it. His own children 
 had always looked down upon him, regarding him 
 merely as a coffer from whence money might be had; 
 and he, though he had never resented this contempt, 
 had in a certain measure been aware of it. But there 
 was no such feeling shown by his wife. She took the 
 benefits which he gave her graciously and thankfully, 
 and gave back to him in return, certainly her care and 
 time, and apparently her love. For herself, in the way 
 of wealth and money, she never asked for anything. 
 
 And then the baby had come, young Lucius Mason, 
 and there was of course great joy at Orley Farm. The 
 old father felt that the world had begun again for him, 
 very delightfully, and was more than ever satisfied 
 with his wisdom in regard to that marriage. But the 
 very genteel progeny of his early youth were more 
 than ever dissatisfied, and in their letters among them- 
 selves dealt forth harder and still harder words upon 
 poor Sir Joseph. What terrible things might he not 
 be expected to do now that his dotage was coming 
 on? ‘Those three married ladies had no selfish fears 
 — so at least they declared, but they united in im- 
 ploring their brother to look after his interests at Orley 
 Farm. How dreadfully would the young heir of Groby 
 be curtailed in his’ dignities and seignories if it should 
 be found at the last day that Orley Farm was not to 
 be written in his rent-roll! 
 
 And then, while they were yet bethinking them- 
 
 2% 
 
ee 
 
 Oo RIN BOSH LPO SAT th EME Nes EOS ge ee 
 20 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 selves how they might best bestir themselves, news ar- 
 rived that Sir Joseph had suddenly died. Sir Joseph 
 was dead, and the will when read contained a codicil 
 by which that young brat was made the heir to the 
 Orley Farm estate. I have said that Lady Mason 
 during her married life had never asked of her husband 
 anything for herself; but in the law proceedings which 
 were consequent upon Sir Joseph’s death, it became 
 abundantly evident that she had asked him for much 
 for her son, — and that she had been specific in her 
 requests, urging him to make a second heir, and to 
 settle Orley Farm upon ‘her own boy, Lucius. She 
 herself stated that she had never done this except in 
 the presence of a third person. She had often done 
 so in the presence of Mr. Usbech the attorney, — as 
 to which Mr. Usbech was not alive to testify; and she 
 had also done so more than once in the presence of 
 Mr. Furnival, a barrister, — as to which Mr. Furnival, 
 being alive, did testify — very strongly. 
 
 As to that, contest nothing further need now be 
 said. It resulted in the favour of young Lucius Mason, 
 and therefore, also, in the favour of the widow; — in 
 the favour moreover of Miriam Usbech, and thus ulti- 
 mately in the favour of Mr. Samuel Dockwrath, who 
 is now showing himself to be so signally ungrateful. 
 Joseph Mason, however, retired from the battle nothing 
 convinced. His father, he said, had been an old fool, 
 an ass, an idiot, a vulgar, ignorant fool; but he was 
 not a man to break his word. That signature to the 
 codicil might be his or might not. If his, it had been 
 obtained by fraud. What could be easier than to cheat 
 an old doting fool? Many men agreed with Joseph 
 
 Mason, thinking that Usbech the attorney had _ per-. 
 
 > 
 
LADY MASON AND HER SON. 21 
 
 petrated this villainy on behalf of his daughter; but 
 Joseph Mason would believe, or say that he believed 
 — a belief in which none but his sisters jomed him, — 
 that Lady Mason herself had been the villain. He was 
 minded to press the case on to a Court of Appeal, up 
 even to the House of Lords; but he was advised that 
 in doing so he would spend more money than Orley 
 Farm was worth, and that he would, almost to a 
 certainty, spend it in vain. Under this advice he 
 cursed the laws of his country, and withdrew to Groby 
 Park. 
 
 Lady Mason had earned the respect of all those 
 around her by the way in which she bore herself in 
 the painful days of the trial, and also in those of her 
 success, — especially also by the manner in which she 
 gave her evidence. And thus, though she had not been 
 much noticed by her neighbours during the short period 
 of her married life, she was visited as a widow by 
 many of the more respectable people round Hamworth. 
 In all this she showed no feeling of triumph; she never 
 abused her husband’s relatives, or spoke much of the 
 harsh manner in which she had been used. Indeed, 
 she was not given to talk about her own personal 
 affairs; and although, as I have said, many of her 
 neighbours visited her, she did not lay herself out for 
 society. She accepted and returned their attention, 
 but for the most part seemed to be willing that the 
 matter should so rest. The people around by degrees 
 eame to know her ways; they spoke to her when they 
 met her, and occasionally went through the ceremony 
 of a morning call; but did not ask her to their tea- 
 parties, and did not expect to see her at picnic and 
 archery meetings. 
 
 M> Gime. J wa oe Pa ‘iy wal, Mao ae Ve” ae Ss eee Oe aes fe re er ee” PT ay Se - oe) ae 
 RF cate eae cane ia a area TE ete Nacsa, Nine Ne RT Ry coe ere 
 yer a at ee ? eae Ess aX Mak TN pS MTR Z ¢ a jee 
 
22 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Among those who took her by the hand in the time 
 of her great trouble was Sir Peregrine Orme of The 
 Cleeve, — for such was the name which had belonged 
 time out of mind to his old mansion and park. Sir — 
 Peregrine was a gentleman now over seventy years of 
 age, whose family consisted of the widow of his only 
 son, and the only son of that widow, who was of course 
 the heir to his estate and title. Sir Peregrine was an 
 excellent old man, as I trust may hereafter be acknow- 
 ledged; but his regard for Lady Mason was perhaps in 
 the first instance fostered by his extreme dislike to her 
 stepson, Joseph Mason of Groby. Mr. Joseph Mason 
 of Groby was quite as rich a man as Sir Peregrine, 
 and owned an estate which was nearly as large as The 
 Cleeve property; but Sir Peregrine would not allow 
 that he was a gentleman, or that he could by any 
 possible transformation become one. He had not 
 probably ever said so in direct words to any of the 
 Mason family, but his opinion on the matter had in 
 some way worked its way down to Yorkshire, and 
 therefore there was no love to spare between these two 
 county magistrates. ‘There had been a slight acquain- 
 tance between Sir Peregrine and Sir Joseph; but the 
 ladies of the two families had never met till after the 
 death of the latter. Then, while that trial was still 
 pending, Mrs. Orme had come forward at the instiga- 
 tion of her father-in-law, and by degrees there had 
 grown up an intimacy between the two widows. When 
 the first offers of assistance were made and accepted, 
 Sir Peregrine no doubt did not at all dream of any 
 such result as this. His family pride, and especially 
 the pride which he took in his widowed daughter-in- 
 law, would probably have been shocked by such a sur- 
 
PO Te ee are Me NA acter ries y ere UL aa aD eames Itty yeah! eo ae i 
 ‘ ay Dna . i : ‘ ‘ 
 { Ui . e 
 7 7 
 
 LADY MASON AND HER SON. 
 
 bo 
 Oo 
 
 mise; but, nevertheless, he had seen the friendship 
 grow and increase without alarm. He himself had be- 
 come attached to Lady Mason, and had gradually 
 
 _ learned to excuse in her that want of gentle blood and 
 early breeding which as a rule he regarded as neces- 
 sary to a gentleman, and from which alone, as he 
 thought, could spring many of those excellences which 
 go to form the character of a lady. 
 
 It may therefore be asserted that Lady Mason’s 
 widowed life was successful. That it was prudent and 
 well conducted no one could doubt. Her neighbours 
 of course did say of her that she would not drink tea 
 with Mrs. Arkwright of Mount Pleasant villa because 
 she was allowed the privilege of entering Sir Peregrine’s 
 drawing-room; but such little scandal as this was a 
 matter of course. Let one live according to any pos- 
 sible or impossible rule, yet some offence will be given 
 in some quarter. Those who knew anything of Lady 
 Mason’s private life were aware that she did not en- 
 croach on Sir Peregrine’s hospitality. She was not at 
 The Cleeve as much as circumstances would have 
 justified, and at ewe time by no means so much as 
 Mrs. Orme would have desired. 
 
 In person she was tall and comely. When Sir 
 Joseph had brought her to his house she had been 
 very fair, — tall, slight, fair, and very quiet, — not 
 possessing that loveliness which is generally most at- 
 tractive to men, because the beauty of which she might . 
 boast depended on form rather than on the brightness 
 of her eye, or the softness of her cheek and lips. Her 
 face too, even at that age, seldom betrayed emotion, 
 and never showed signs either of anger or of joy. Her 
 forehead was high, and though somewhat narrow, never- 
 
OVE Aa 3 ~et fay eR La Cer ee ere a) eee a ee ee ete Seo) Pe Ce Plot. AJ) os Tie le 
 y ms , i : se i mY, eee wigs AV tS Te ee hc ee PTR eRe ha, y a CRA Bae Poti 
 
 94 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 theless gave evidence of considerable mental faculties; 
 nor was the evidence false, for those who came to know 
 Lady Mason well, were always ready to acknowledge 
 that she was a woman of no ordinary power. Her 
 eyes were large and well formed, but somewhat cold. 
 Her nose was long and regular. Her mouth also was 
 very regular, and her teeth perfectly beautiful; but her 
 lips were straight and thin. It would sometimes seem 
 that she was all teeth, and yet it is certain that she 
 never made an effort to show them. The great fault 
 of her face was in her chin, which was too small and 
 sharp, thus giving on occasions something of meanness 
 to her countenance. She was now forty-seven years 
 of age, and had a son who had reached man’s estate; 
 and yet perhaps she had more of woman’s beauty at 
 this present time than when she stood at the altar with 
 Sir Joseph Mason. ‘The quietness and repose of her 
 manner suited her years and her position; age had 
 given fulness to her tall form; and the habitual sadness 
 of her countenance was in fair accordance with her 
 condition and character. And yet she was not really 
 
 sad, — at least so said those who knew her. The 
 melancholy was in her face rather than in’ her char- 
 acter, which was full of energy, — if energy may be 
 
 quiet as well as assured and constant. 
 
 Of course she had been accused a dozen times of 
 matrimonial prospects. What handsome widow is not 
 so accused? The world of Hamworth had been very 
 certain at one time that she was intent on marrying 
 Sir Peregrine Orme. But she had not married, and I 
 think I may say on her behalf that she had never 
 thought of marrying. Indeed, one cannot see how such 
 a woman could make any effort in that line. It was 
 
v) 
 
 LADY MASON AND HER SON. 25 
 
 impossible to conceive that a lady so staid in her 
 manner should be guilty of flirting; nor was there any 
 man within ten miles of Hamworth who would have 
 dared to make the attempt. Women for the most part 
 are prone to love-making — as nature has intended 
 that they should be; but there are women from whom 
 ' all such follies seem to be as distant as skittles and 
 _ beer are distant from the dignity of the Lord Chancellor. 
 Such a woman was Lady Mason. 
 
 At this time — the time which is about to exist 
 for us as the period at which our narrative will begin 
 — Lucius Mason was over twenty-two years old, and 
 was living at the farm. He had spent the last three 
 or four years of his life in Germany, where his mother 
 had visited him every year, and had now come home 
 intending to be the master of his own destiny. His 
 mother’s care for him during his boyhood, and up to 
 the time at which he became of age, had been almost 
 elaborate in its thoughtfulness. She had consulted Sir 
 Peregrine as to his school, and Sir Peregrine, looking 
 to the fact of the lad’s own property, and also to the 
 fact, known by him, of Lady Mason’s means for such 
 a purpose, had recommended Harrow. But the mother 
 had hesitated, had gently discussed the matter, and 
 had at last persuaded the baronet that such a step 
 would be injudicious. The boy was sent to a private 
 school of a high character, and Sir Peregrine was sure 
 that he had been so sent at his own advice. ‘Look- 
 ing at the peculiar position of his mother,” said Sir 
 _ Peregrine to his young daughter-in-law, “at her very 
 peculiar position, and that of his relatives, I think it 
 will be better that he should not appear to assume 
 anything early in life; nothing can be better conducted 
 
ee ‘ 
 
 26 ORLEY PARM. 
 
 than Mr. Crabfield’s establishment, and after much con- 
 sideration I have had no hesitation in recommending 
 her to send her son to him.” And thus Lucius Mason 
 had been sent to Mr. Crabfield, but I do not think that 
 _ the idea originated with Sir Peregrine. 
 
 ‘‘And perhaps it will be as well,” added the baronet, 
 “that he and Perry should not be together at school, 
 though I have no objection to their meeting in the 
 holidays. Mr. Crabfield’s vacations are always timed 
 to suit the Harrow holidays.” The Perry here men- 
 tioned was the grandson of Sir Peregrine — the young 
 Peregrine who in coming days was to be the future 
 lord of The Cleeve. When Lucius Mason was modestly 
 sent to Mr. Crabfield’s establishment at Great Marlow, 
 young Peregrine Orme, with his prouder hopes, com- 
 menced his career at the public school. 
 
 Mr. Crabfield did his duty by Lucius Mason, and 
 sent him home at seventeen a handsome, well-mannered 
 lad, tall and comely to the eye, with soft brown whiskers 
 sprouting on his cheek, well grounded in Greek, Latin, 
 and Euclid, grounded also in French, and Italian, and 
 possessing many more acquirements than he would have 
 learned at Harrow. But added to these, or rather con- 
 sequent on them, was a conceit which a public-school 
 education would not have created. When their mothers 
 compared them in the holidays, not openly with out- 
 spoken words, but silently in their hearts, Lucius Mason 
 was found by each to be the superior both in manners 
 and knowledge; but each acknowledged also that there 
 was more of ingenuous boyhood about Peregrine Orme. 
 
 Peregrine Orme was a year the younger, and there- 
 fore his comparative deficiencies were not the cause of 
 any intense sorrow at The Cleeve; but his grandfather 
 
LADY MASON AND HER SON. aT 
 
 ; {would probably have been better satisfied — and per- 
 jhaps also so would his mother — had he been less ad- 
 icted to the catching of rats, and better inclined to- 
 wards Miss Edgeworth’s novels and Shakspeare’s plays, 
 which were earnestly recommended to him by the lady 
 and the gentleman. But boys generally are fond of 
 rats, and very frequently are not fond of reading; and 
 therefore, all this having been duly considered, there 
 was not much deep sorrow in those days at The Cleeve 
 as to the boyhood of the heir. 
 
 But there was great pride at Orley Farm, although 
 that pride was shown openly to no one. Lady Mason 
 in her visits at The Cleeve said but little as to her 
 
 son’s present excellences. As to his future career in 
 life she did say much both to Sir Peregrine and to 
 Mrs. Orme, asking the council of the one and expressing 
 her fears to the other; and then, Sir Peregrine having 
 given his consent, she sent the lad to Germany. 
 He was allowed to come of age without any special 
 signs of manhood, or aught of the glory of property; 
 _ although, in his case, that coming of age did put him 
 | into absolute possession of his inheritance. On that 
 day, had he been so minded, he could have turned his 
 | mother out of the farm-house, and taken exclusive pos- 
 session of the estate; but he did in fact remain in 
 Germany for a year beyond this period, and returned 
 to Orley Farm only in time to be present at the celebra- 
 tion of the twenty-first birthday of his friend Peregrine 
 | Orme. This ceremony, as may be surmised, was by 
 no means slurred over without due rejoicing. The 
 _ heir at the time was at Christchurch; but at such a 
 period a slight interruption to his studies was not to 
 be lamented. There had been Sir Peregrine Ormes in 
 
28 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 those parts ever since the days of James I.; and indee 
 in days long antecedent to those there had been knights _ 
 bearing that name, some of whom had been honourabl 
 beheaded for treason, others imprisoned for heresy; an 
 one made away with on account of a supposed royal 
 amour, — to the great glorification of all kis descendants. 
 Looking to the antecedents of the family, it was only 
 proper that the coming of age of the heir should be 
 duly celebrated; but Lucius Mason had had no ante- 
 cedents; no great-great-grandfather of his had knelt at. 
 the feet of an improper princess; and therefore Lady 
 Mason, though she had been at The Cleeve, had not 
 mentioned the fact that on that very day her son had 
 become a man. But when Peregrine Orme became a 
 man — though still in his manhood too much devoted 
 to rats — she gloried greatly in her quiet way, and 
 whispered a hope into the baronet’s ear that the young 
 heir would not imitate the ambition of his ancestor. 
 “No, by Jove! it would not do now at all,” said Sir 
 Peregrine, by no means displeased at the allusion. 
 
 And then that question as to the future life of 
 Lucius Mason became one of great importance, and it 
 was necessary to consult, not only Sir Peregrine Orme, 
 but the young man himself. His mother had suggested 
 to him first the law: the great Mr. Furnival, formerly 
 of the home circuit, but now practising only in London, 
 was her very special friend, and would give her and 
 her son all possible aid in this direction. And what 
 living man could give better aid than the great Mr.. 
 Furnival? But Lucius Mason would have none of the 
 law. This resolve he pronounced very clearly while 
 yet in Germany, whither his mother visited him, bear- 
 ing with her a long letter written by the great Mr. 
 
LADY MASON AND HER SON. 29 
 
 {Furnival himself. But nevertheless young Mason would 
 ave none of the law. “I have an idea,” he said, 
 -}‘that lawyers are all liars.” Whereupon his mother 
 ebuked him for his conceited ignorance and want of 
 charity; but she did not gain her point. 
 
 She had, however, another string to her bow. As 
 he objected to be a lawyer, he might become a civil 
 engineer. Circumstances had made Sir Peregrine Orme 
 very intimate with the great Mr. Brown. Indeed, Mr. 
 ) Brown was under great obligations to Sir Peregrine, 
 and Sir Peregrine had promised to use his influence. 
 But Lucius Mason said that civil engineers were only 
 tradesmen of an upper class, tradesmen with intellects; 
 and he, he said, wished to use his intellect, but he did 
 not choose to be a tradesman. His mother rebuked 
 him again, as he well deserved that she should, — and 
 _ then asked him of what profession he himself had thought. 
 | “Philology,” said he; “or asa profession, perhaps litera- 
 | ture. I shall devote myself to philology and the races 
 _ of man. Nothing considerable has been done with them 
 as a combined pursuit.” And with these views he re- 
 _turned home, — while Peregrine Orme at Oxford was 
 | still addicted to the hunting of rats. 
 
 But with philology and the races of man he con- 
 sented to combine the pursuit of agriculture. When 
 his mother found that he wished to take up his abode 
 in his own house, she by no means opposed him, and 
 suggested that, as such was his intention, he himself 
 _ should farm his own land. He was very ready to do 
 this, and had she not represented that such a step was 
 | in every way impolitic, he would willingly have re- 
 quested Mr. Greenwood of the Old Farm to look else- 
 _ where, and have spread himself and his energies over 
 
30 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 the whole domain. As it was he contented himsel 
 with desiring that Mr. Dockwrath would vacate his 
 small holding, and as he was imperative as to that his 
 mother gave way without making it the cause of 
 
 battle. She would willingly have left Mr. Dockwrath 
 in possession, and did say a word or two as to the milk 
 necessary for those sixteen children. But Lucius Mason 
 was ducal in his ideas, and intimated an opinion that 
 he had a right to do what he liked with his own. Had 
 not Mr. Dockwrath been told, when the fields were sur- ' 
 rendered to him as a favour, that he would only have 
 them in possession till the heir should come of age? 
 Mr. Dockwrath had been so told; but tellings such as 
 these are easily forgotten by men with sixteen children. 
 And thus Mr. Mason became an agriculturist with spe- 
 cial scientific views as to chemistry, and a philologist 
 with the object of making that pursuit bear upon his 
 studies with reference to the races of man. He was 
 convinced that by certain admixtures of ammonia and 
 earths he could produce cereal results hitherto unknown | 
 to the farming world, and that by tracing out the roots 
 of words he could trace also the wanderings of man 
 since the expulsion of Adam from the garden. As to 
 the latter question his mother was not inclined to con- 
 tradict him. Seeing that he would sit at the feet 
 neither of Mr. Furnival nor of Mr. Brown, she had no 
 objection to the races of man. She could endure to be 
 talked to about the Oceanic Mongolide and the Iape- 
 tide of the Indo-Germanic class, and had perhaps her 
 own ideas that such matters, though somewhat foggy, 
 were better than rats. But when he came to the other 
 subject, and informed her that the properly plentiful 
 feeding of the world was only kept waiting for the 
 
LADY MASON AND HER SON. 31 
 
 emists, she certainly did have her fears. Chemical 
 thigriculture is expensive; and though the results may 
 {possibly be remunerative, still, while we are thus kept 
 thwaiting by the backwardness of the chemists, there 
 ejmust be much risk in making any serious expenditure 
 with such views. 
 
 ‘““Mother,” he said, when he had now been at home 
 hpbout three months, and when the fiat for the expulsion 
 hjof Samuel Dockwrath had already gone forth, “I shall 
 {go to Liverpool to-morrow.” 
 
 ‘“'To Liverpool, Lucius?” 
 
 “Yes. That guano which I got from Walker is 
 adulterated. I have analyzed it, and find that it does 
 not contain above thirty-two and a half hundredths of 
 — of that which it ought to hold in a proportion of 
 
 _ seventy-five per cent. of the whole.” 
 “Does it not?” 
 “No; and it is impossible to obtain results while 
 one is working with such fictitious materials. Look at 
 _| that bit of grass at the bottom of Greenwood’s Hill.” 
 
 ‘The fifteen-acre field? Why, Lucius, we always 
 had the heaviest crops of hay in the parish off that 
 meadow.” 
 
 “That's all very well, mother; but you have never 
 _tricd, — nobody about here ever has tried, what the 
 land can really produce. I will throw that and the 
 three fields beyond it into one; I will get Greenwood 
 to let me have that bit of the hill-side, giving him 
 compensation of course ~~” 
 
 “And then Dockwrath would want compensation.” 
 
 “Dockwrath is an impertinent rascal, and I shall 
 
 take an opportunity of telling him so. But as I was 
 _ saying, I will throw those seventy acres together, and 
 
cal ORLEY FARM. NY 
 \ 
 \ 
 
 then I will try what will be the relative effects ¢ 
 
 guano and the patent blood. But I must have reat 
 guano, and so I shall go to Liverpool.” 
 
 “T think I would wait a little, Lucius. It is almost 
 too late for any change of that kind this year.” 
 
 “Wait! Yes, and what has come of waiting? W 
 don’t wait at all in doubling our population ever 
 thirty-three years; but when we come to the feeding o 
 them we are always for waiting. It is that waiting) 
 which has reduced the intellectual development of one 
 half of the human race to its present terribly low state 
 — or rather prevented its rising in a degree proportionate’ 
 to the increase of the population. No more waiting 
 for me, mother, if I can help it.” 
 
 “But, Lucius, should not such new attempts as that 
 be made by men with large capital?” said the mother. 
 
 7 
 
 “Capital is a bugbear,” said the son, speaking on 
 this matter quite ea cathedrd, as no doubt he was en- 
 titled to do by his extensive reading at a German uni- 
 
 versity — “capital is a bugbear. ‘The capital that is 
 really wanting is thought, mind, combination, know- 
 ledge.” 
 
 “But, Lucius —” 
 
 ‘Yes, I know what you are going to say, mother. 
 I don’t boast that I possess all these things; but I do 
 say that I will endeavour to obtain them.” 
 
 “T have no doubt you will; but should not that 
 come first?” 
 
 “That is waiting again. We all know as much 
 as this, that good manure will give good crops if the 
 sun be allowed full play upon the land, and nothing 
 but the crop be allowed to grow. That is what I shall 
 
gat ay 5 at Rad Re ee OrY ane On eee, Tite 
 
 THE CLEEVE. 33 
 
 “attempt at first, Sid there can be no great danger in 
 “that. ” And so he went to Liverpool. 
 
 Lady Mason during his absence began to regret 
 that she had not left him in the undisturbed and in- 
 _ expensive possession of the Mongolidx and the Iapetide. 
 _ His rent from the estate, including that which she would 
 have paid him as tenant of the smaller farm, would 
 have enabled him to live with all comfort; and, if such 
 had been his taste, he might have become a philosophical 
 
 4 
 '; 
 
 student, and lived respectably without adding anything 
 to his income by the sweat of his brow. But now the 
 matter was likely to become serious enough. For a 
 ‘gentleman farmer determined to wait no longer for the 
 
 chemists, whatever might be the results, an immediate 
 | profitable return per acre could not be expected as one 
 }of them. Any rent from that smaller farm would now 
 \be out of the question, and it would be well if the 
 \payments made so punctually by old Mr. Green- 
 wood were not also swallowed up in the search after 
 unadulterated guano. Who could tell whether in the 
 pursuit of science he might not insist on chartering a 
 vessel, himself, for the Peruvian coast? 
 
 | 
 j CHAPTER IIL 
 
 | The Cleeve. 
 
 I wave said that Sir Peregrine Orme was not a 
 ,jrich man, meaning thereby that he was not a rich man 
 considering his acknowledged position in the county. 
 Such men not uncommonly have their tens, twelves, 
 | and twenty thousands a year; but Sir Peregrine’s estate 
 did not give him above three or four. He was lord of 
 the manor of Hamworth, and possessed seignorial 
 
 | 9 
 Orley Farm. 1, a 
 
Pe soe AMD Che Daeg OREM DONE tee oe Be ELE, a a 
 BOVE eh) , ea a, NY RT " ey its bares Lah r i 
 
 34 - ORLEY FARM. 
 
 rights, or rather the skeleton and remembrance of such 
 ’ rights with reference to a very large district of country; 
 but his actual property — that from which he still re 
 ceived the substantial benefits of ownership —- was n 
 so large as those of some of his neighbours. ‘Ther 
 was, however, no place within the county which wai 
 so beautifully situated as The Cleeve, or which had 
 about it so many of the attractions of age. The house — 
 itself had been built at two periods, — a new set of 
 rooms having been added to the remains of the old 
 Elizabethan structure in the time of Charles II. It had, 
 not about it anything that was peculiarly grand or im- | 
 posing, nor were the rooms large or even commodious; 
 but everything was old, venerable, and picturesque. 
 Both the dining-room and the library were panelled / 
 with black wainscoating; and though the drawing-rooms | 
 were papered, the tall, elaborately - worked wooden 
 chimney-pieces still stood in them, and a wooden band) 
 or belt round the rooms showed that the panels were 
 still there, although hidden by the modern papar. ) 
 But it was for the beauty and wildness of its grounds 
 that The Cleeve was remarkable. The land fell here, 
 and there into narrow, wild ravines and woody crevices. 
 The soil of the park was not rich, and could give but 
 little assistance to the chemists in supplying the plentiful 
 food expected by Mr. Mason for the coming multitudes | 
 of the world; it produced in some parts heather instead 
 of grass, and was as wild and unprofitable as Cleeve 
 Common, which stretched for miles outside the park 
 palings; but it seemed admirably adapted for deer and 
 for the maintenance of half-decayed venerable oaks. 
 Young timber also throve well about the place, and in 
 this respect Sir Peregrine was a careful landlord. There 
 
| THE CLEEVE. . 
 
 ran a river through the park, — the River Cleeve, from 
 which the place and parish are said to have taken their 
 names; — a river, or rather a stream, very narrow and 
 inconsiderable as to its volume of water, but which 
 passed for some two miles through so narrow a passage 
 as to give to it the appearance of a cleft or fissure in 
 the rocks. he water tumbled over stones through this 
 entire course, making it seem.to be fordable almost 
 everywhere without danger of wet feet; but in truth 
 there was hardly a spot at which it could be crossed 
 without a bold leap from rock to rock. Narrow as was 
 the aperture through which the water had cut its way, 
 nevertheless a path had been contrived, now on one 
 side of the stream and now on the other, crossing it 
 here and there by slight hanging wooden bridges. The 
 air here was always damp with spray, and the rocks 
 dn both sides were covered with long mosses, as were 
 also the overhanging boughs of the old trees. This 
 place was the glory of The Cleeve, and as far as 
 picturesque beauty goes it was very glorious. ‘There 
 was a spot in the river from whence a steep path led 
 a from the park to the water, and at this spot the 
 deer would come to drink. I know nothing more 
 beautiful than this sight, when three or four of them 
 could be so seen from one of the wooden bridges 
 towards the hour of sunset in the autumn. 
 4 Sir Peregrine himself at this time was an old man, 
 ving passed his seventieth year. He was a fine, 
 ‘handsome English gentleman with white hair, keen 
 gray eyes, a nose slightly aquiline, and lips now too 
 dlosely pressed together in consequence of the havoc 
 vhich time had made among bis teeth. He was tall, 
 yut had lost something of his height from stooping, — 
 3% 
 
36 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 was slight in his form, but well made, and vain of the 
 smallness of his feet and the whiteness of his hands. 
 He was generous, quick tempered, and opinionated; 
 generally very mild to those who would agree with him 
 and submit to him, but intolerant of contradiction, and 
 conceited as to his experience of the world and the 
 wisdom which he had thence derived. 'To those who 
 were manifestly his inferiors he was affable, to his re- 
 cognized equals he was courteous, to women he was 
 almost always gentle; — but to men who claimed an 
 equality which he would not acknowledge, he could 
 make himself particularly disagreeable. In judging the 
 position which a man should hold in the world, Sir 
 Peregrine was very resolute in ignoring all claims made 
 by wealth alone. Even property in land could not in 
 his eyes create a gentleman. A gentleman, according 
 to his ideas, should at any rate have great-grandfathers 
 capable of being traced in the world’s history; and the 
 greater the number of such, and the more easily trace- 
 able they might be on the world’s surface, the more 
 unquestionable would be the status of the claimant in 
 question. Such being the case, it may be imagined 
 that Joseph Mason, Esq., of Groby Park did not rank 
 high in the estitnaiten of Sir Peregrine Orme. 
 
 I have said that Sir Peregrine was fond of his own 
 opinion; but nevertheless he was a man whom it w 
 by no means difficult to lead. In the first place 
 was singularly devoid of suspicion. ‘The word of 
 man or of a woman was to him always credible, unt 
 full proof had come home to him that it was utterl 
 unworthy of credit. After that such a man or woma 
 might as well spare all speech as regards the hope o 
 any effect on the mind of Sir Peregrine Orme. He di 
 
RL ee mL Cee TaN eee TOT ROR ET Me he CLA Ne Me NT EH) Fine SEE Ah eam cites PEM ETED I) Da Mt 
 - ‘vay; ay, my , thy a ; ay Wey eae, ee be 
 
 THE CLEEVE. Saf 
 
 not easily believe a fellow-creature to be a liar, but a 
 liar to him once was a liar always. And then he was 
 amenable to flattery, and few that are so are proof 
 against the leading-strings of their flatterers. All this 
 was well understood of Sir Peregrine by those about 
 him. His gardener, his groom, and his woodman all 
 knew his foibles. ‘They all loved him, respected him, 
 and worked for him faithfully; but each of them had 
 his own way in his own branch. 
 
 And there was another person at The Cleeve who 
 took into her own hands a considerable share of the 
 management and leading of Sir Peregrine, though, in 
 truth, she made no efforts in that direction. This was 
 Mrs. Orme, the widow of his only child, and the mother 
 _of his heir. Mrs. Orme was a younger woman than 
 Mrs. Mason of: Orley Farm by nearly five years, though 
 her son was but twelve months junior to Lucius Mason. 
 She had been the daughter of a brother baronet, whose 
 family was nearly as old as that of the Ormes; and 
 therefore, though she had come penniless to her husband, 
 Sir Peregrine had considered that his son had married 
 well. She had been a great beauty, very small in size 
 and delicate of limb, fair haired, with soft blue wonder- 
 ing eyes, and a dimpled cheek. Such she had been 
 when young Peregrine Orme brought her home to The 
 Cleeve, and the bride at once became the darling of 
 her father-in-law. One year she had owned of married 
 joy, and then all the happiness of the family had been 
 utterly destroyed, and for the few following years there 
 had been no sadder household in all the country-side 
 ‘than that of Sir Peregine Orme. His son, his only 
 son, the pride of all who knew him, the hope of his 
 
 18 political party in the county, the brightest among the 
 
58 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 bright ones of the day for whom the world was just 
 opening her richest treasures, fell from his horse as he 
 was crossing into a road, and his lifeless body was 
 brought home to The Cleeve. | 
 
 All this happened now twenty years since, but the 
 widow still wears the colours of mourning. Of her also 
 the world of course said that she would soon console 
 herself with a second love; but she too has given the 
 world the lie. From that day to the present she has 
 never left the house of her father-in-law; she has been 
 a true child to him, and she has enjoyed all a child’s 
 privileges. ‘There has been but little favour for any 
 one at The Cleeve who has been considered by the 
 baronet to disregard the wishes of the mistress of the 
 establishment. Any word from her has been law to. 
 him, and he has of course expected also that her word 
 should be law to others. He has yielded to her in all 
 things, and attended to her will as though she were a 
 little queen, recognizing in her feminine weakness a 
 sovereign power, aS some men can and do; and having 
 thus for years indulged himself in a quixotic gallantry 
 to the lady of his household, he has demanded of others 
 that they also should bow the knee. 
 
 During the last twenty years The Cleeve has not 
 been a gay house. During the last ten those living 
 there have been contented, and in the main happy; but 
 there has seldom been many guests in the old hall, and 
 Sir Peregrine has not been fond of going to other men’s 
 feasts. He inherited the property very early in life, 
 and then there were on it some few encumbrances\\ 
 While yet a young man he added something to these, 
 and now, since his own son’s death, he has been setting 
 his house in order, that his grandson should receive the 
 
wee ye a 
 
 | 
 
 a 
 Xe 
 
 THE CLEEVE. 39 
 
 family acres intact. Every shilling due on the property 
 
 has been paid off; and it is well that this should be 
 so, for there is reason to fear that the heir will want a 
 helping hand out of some of youth’s difficulties, — 
 
 perhaps once or twice before his passion for rats gives 
 
 place to a good English gentlemanlike resolve to hunt 
 twice a week, look after his timber, and live well 
 within his means. 
 
 The chief fault in the character of young Peregrine 
 Orme was that he was so young. ‘There are men who 
 are old at one-and-twenty, — are quite fit for Parliament, 
 the magistrate’s bench, the care of a wife, and even for 
 that much sterner duty, the care of a balance at the 
 bankers; but there are others who at that age are still 
 
 ~ boys, —- whose inner persons and characters have not 
 
 begun to clothe themselves with the “toga virilis.” I 
 am not sure that those whose boyhoods are so protracted 
 have the worst of it, if in this hurrying and competitive 
 age they can be saved from being absolutely trampled 
 in the dust before they are able to do a little trampling 
 on their own account. Fruit that grows ripe the quickest 
 is not the sweetest; nor when housed and garnered will 
 it keep the longest. For young Peregrine there was 
 no need of competitive struggles. The days have not 
 yet come, though they are no doubt coming, when 
 ‘“detur digniori” shall be the rule of succession to all 
 titles, honours, and privileges whatsoever. Only think 
 what a lift it would give to the education of the country 
 in general, if any lad from seventeen to twenty-one 
 could go in for a vacant dukedom; and if a goodly 
 inheritance could be made absolutely incompatible with 
 incorrect spelling and doubtful pastctensy, in rule of 
 
 three! 
 
GAN aa tac ie Nate hai Sai eae 
 
 EL) Ge? ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Luckily for Peregrine junior these days are not yet 
 at hand, or I fear that there would be little chance for 
 him. While Lucius Mason was beginning to think that 
 the chemists might be hurried, and that agriculture 
 might be beneficially added to ‘philology, our friend 
 Peregrine had just been rusticated, and the head of his 
 college had intimated to the baronet that it would be 
 well to take the young man’s name off the college 
 books. ‘This accordingly had been done, and the heir 
 of The Cleeve was at present at home with his mother 
 and grandfather. What special act of grace had led 
 
 to this severity we need not inquire, but we may be - 
 
 sure that the frolics of which he had been guilty had 
 been essentially young in their nature. He had assisted 
 in driving a farmer’s sow into the man’s best parlour, 
 
 or had daubed the top of the tutor’s cap with white 
 paint, or had perhaps given liberty to a bag full of 
 
 rats in the college hall at dinner-time. Such were the 
 youth’s academical amusements, and as they were 
 pursued with unremitting energy it was thought well 
 that he should be removed from Oxford. 
 
 Then had come the terrible question of his univer- 
 sity bills. One after another, half a score of them 
 reached Sir Peregrine, and then took place that terrible 
 interview, —- such as most young men have had to 
 undergo at least once, — in which he was asked how 
 he intended to absolve himself from the pecuniary 
 liabilities which he had incurred. 
 
 “T am sure I don’t know,” said young Orme, 
 sadly. 
 
 “But I shall be glad, sir, if you will favour me 
 with your intentions,” said Sir Peregrine, with severity. 
 “A gentleman does not, I presume, send his orders to 
 
PE ALO Ne CM ka eh, Ee MPIC LAS: catestenee ESA aya « MEAN SD 
 SO Vn Tc rape raw os be heh Ok (ie tea Ice. ate egy 
 bie » J , Ve 5 , 
 
 THE CLERVE. Al 
 
 a tradesman without having some intention of paying 
 him for his goods.” 
 
 “T intended that they should all be paid, of course.” 
 
 “And how, sir? by whom?” 
 
 ‘Well, sir, —I suppose I intended that you should 
 pay them;” and the scapegrace as he spoke looked 
 full up into the baronet’s face with his bright blue 
 eyes, — not impudently, as though defying his grand- 
 father, but with a bold confidence which at once 
 softened the old man’s heart. 
 
 Sir Peregrine turned away and walked twice the 
 length of the library; then, returning to the spot where 
 the other stood, he put his hand on his grandson’s 
 shoulder. ‘‘ Well, Peregrine, I will pay them,” he said. 
 “T have no doubt that you did so intend when you 
 incurred them; — and that was perhaps natural. I 
 will pay them; but for your own sake, and for your 
 dear mother’s. sake, I hope that they are not very 
 heavy. Can you give me a list of all that you owe?” 
 
 Young Peregrine said that he thought he could, 
 and sitting down at once he made a clean breast of it. 
 With all his foibles, follies, and youthful ignorances, in 
 two respects he stood on good ground. He was neither 
 false nor a coward. He continued to scrawl down items 
 as long as there were any of which he could think, and 
 then handed over the list in order that his grandfather 
 might add them up. It was the last he ever heard of 
 the matter; and when he revisited Oxford some twelve 
 months afterwards, the tradesmen whom he had honoured 
 with his custom bowed to him as low as though he had 
 already inherited twenty thousand a year. 
 
 | . . ° 
 | Peregrine Orme was short in stature as was his 
 
 mother, and he also had his mother’s wonderfully bright 
 Ts) ( 
 
BENE ese |S Bee CODES EMIS FEC na, Ann eR pee ARE VR 
 3 * ; Rf Ae Leamie a| rm \ nine are ie ie os Cea 
 
 42 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 blue eyes; but in other respects he was very like his 
 father and grandfather; — very like all the Ormes 
 who had lived for ages past. His hair was light; his 
 forehead was not large, but well formed and somewhat — 
 prominent; his nose had something, though not much, 
 of the eagle’s beak; his mouth was handsome in its 
 curve, and his teeth were good, and his chin was 
 divided by a deep dimple. His figure was not only 
 short, but stouter than that of the Ormes in general. 
 He was very strong on his legs; he could wrestle, and 
 box, and use the single-stick with a quickness and 
 precision that was the terror of all the freshmen who 
 had come in his way. 
 
 Mrs. Orme, his mother, no doubt thought that he 
 was perfect. Looking at the reflex of her own eyes in 
 his, and seeing in his face so sweet a portraiture of the 
 nose and mouth and forehead of him whom she had 
 loved so dearly and lost so soon, she could not but 
 think him perfect. When she was told that the master 
 of Lazarus had desired that her son should be removed 
 from his college, she had accused the tyrant of un- 
 relenting, persecuting tyranny; and the gentle arguments 
 of Sir Peregrine had no effect towards changing her 
 ideas. On that disagreeable matter of the bills little 
 or nothing was said to her. Indeed, money was a 
 subject with which she was never troubled. Sir Peregrine 
 conceived that money was a man’s business, and that 
 the softness of a woman’s character should be preserved 
 by a total absence of all pecuniary thoughts and cares. 
 
 And then there arose at The Cleeve a question as 
 to what should immediately be done with the heir. He 
 himself was by no means so well prepared with an an 
 swer as had been his friend Lucius Mason. When con- 
 
THE PERILS OF YOUTH. 43 
 
 sulted by his grandfather, he said that he did not 
 know. He would do anything that Sir Peregrine 
 wished. Would Sir Peregrine think it well that he 
 should prepare himself for the arduous duties of a 
 master of hounds? Sir Peregrine did not think this at 
 all well, but it did not appear that he himself was pre- 
 pared with any immediate proposition. Then Peregrine 
 discussed the matter with his mother, explaining that 
 he had hoped at any rate to get the next winter’s 
 hunting with the H. H.; — which letters have represented 
 the Hamworth Fox Hunt among sporting men for many 
 years past. ‘T'o this his mother made no objection, ex- 
 pressing a hope, however, that he would go abroad in 
 the spring. ‘‘Home-staying youths have ever homely 
 wits,” she said to him, smiling on him ever so sweetly. 
 
 ‘That's quite true, mother,” he said. “And that’s 
 why I should like to go to Leicestershire this winter.” 
 But going to Leicestershire this winter was out of the 
 question. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 \ The Perils of Youth. 
 
 Goring to Leicestershire was quite out of the ques- 
 tion for young Orme at this period of his life, but going 
 _ to London unfortunately was not so. He had become 
 ' acquainted at Oxford with a gentleman of great skill 
 
 in his peculiar line of life, whose usual residence was 
 
 in the metropolis; and so great had been the attraction 
 : found in the character and pursuits of this skilful gen- 
 \_ tleman, that our hero had not been long at The Cleeve, 
 after his retirement from the university, before he 
 visited his friend. Cowcross Street, Smithfield, was 
 
44 -ORLEY FARM. 
 
 the site of this professor’s residence, the destruction of 
 rats in a barrel was his profession, and his name was 
 Carroty Bob. It is not my intention to introduce the 
 reader to Carroty Bob in person, as circumstances oc- 
 eurred about this time which brought his intimacy with 
 Mr. Orme to an abrupt conclusion. It would be need- 
 less to tell how our hero was induced to back a certain 
 terrier, presumed to be the pride of Smithfield; how 
 a great match came off, second only in importance to 
 a contest for the belt of England; how money was lost 
 and quarrels arose, and how Peregrine Orme thrashed 
 one sporting gent within an-inch of his life, and fought 
 his way out of Carroty Bob’s house at twelve o'clock 
 at night. The tale of the row got into the newspapers, 
 and of course reached The Cleeve. Sir Peregrine sent 
 for his grandson into his study, and insisted on know- 
 ing everything; — how much money there was to pay, 
 and what chance there might be of an action and 
 damages. Of an action and damages there did not 
 
 seem to be any chance, and the amount of money ~ 
 
 claimed was not large. Rats have this advantage, that 
 they usually come cheaper than race-horses; but then, 
 as Sir Peregrine felt sorely, they do not sound so 
 well. 
 
 “Do you know, sir, that you are breaking your 
 mother’s heart?” said Sir Peregrine, looking very sternly 
 at the young man — as sternly as he was able to look, 
 let him do his worst. 
 
 Peregrine the younger had a very strong idea that 
 he was not doing anything of the kind. He had left 
 her only a quarter of an hour since; and though she 
 had wept during the interview, she had forgiven him 
 
 with many caresses, and had expressed her opinion — 
 
RT Te Fae Fer ENCE PL EM, TER NE ee ee CRN TOE) Tet APE Oh MER CNY GIN BR ot 
 
 THE PERILS OF YOUTH. 45 
 
 that the chief fault had lain with Carroty Bob and 
 those other wretched people who had lured her dear 
 child into their villainous den. She had altogether 
 failed to conceal her pride at his having fought his 
 way out from among them, and had ended by sup- 
 plying his pocket out of her own immediate resources. 
 “IT hope not, sir,” said Peregrine the younger, thinking 
 over some of these things. 
 
 “But you will, sir, if you go on with this shame- 
 less career. I do not speak of myself. I do not ex- 
 pect you to sacrifice your tastes for me; but I did 
 think that you loved your mother!” 
 
 “So I do; — and you too.” 
 
 “JT am not speaking about myself, sir. When I 
 think what your father was at your age; — how 
 nobly —” And then the baronet was stopped in his 
 speech, and wiped his eyes with his handkerchief. 
 “Do you think that your father, sir, followed such 
 pursuits as these? Do you think that he spent his 
 time in the pursuit of — rats?” 
 
 “Well; I don’t know; I don’t think he did. But 
 I have heard you say, sit, that you sometimes went to 
 cockfights when you were young.” 
 
 “To cockfights! well, yes. But let me tell you, 
 sir, that I always went in the company of gentlemen 
 — that is, when I did go, which was very seldom.” 
 The baronet in some after-dinner half-hour had allowed. 
 this secret of his youth to escape from him, im- 
 prudently. 
 
 “And I went to the house in Cowcross Street with 
 Lord John Fitzjoly.” 
 
 “The last man in all London with whom you ought 
 to associate! But I am not going to argue with you, 
 
Mita (eet 
 Me 4 
 
 46 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 sir. If you think, and will continue to think, that the 
 slaughtering of vermin is a proper pursuit —” 
 
 “But, sir, foxes are vermin also.” 
 
 ‘Hold your tongue, sir, and listen to me. You 
 know very well what I mean, sir. If you think that 
 — rats are a proper pursuit for a gentleman in your 
 sphere of life, and if all that I can say has no effect 
 in changing your opinion, — I shall have done. I 
 have not many years of life before me, and when I 
 shall be no more, you can squander the property in 
 any vile pursuits that may be pleasing to you. But, 
 sir, you shall not do it while I am living; nor, if I 
 
 can help it, shall you rob your mother of such peace 
 
 of mind as is left for her in this world. I have only 
 one alternative for you, sir —.” Sir Peregrine did 
 not stop to explain what might be the other branch of 
 this alternative. ‘Will you give me your word of 
 honour as a gentleman that you will never again con- 
 cern yourself in this disgusting pursuit?” 
 
 ‘Never, grandfather!” said Peregrine, solemnly. 
 
 Sir Peregrine before he answered bethought him- 
 self that any pledge given for a whole life-time must 
 be foolish; and he bethought himself also that if he 
 could wean his heir from rats for a year or so, the 
 taste would perish from lack of nourishment. “I will 
 say for two years,” said Sir Peregrine, still maintaining 
 his austere look. 
 
 ‘For two years!” repeated Peregrine the younger; 
 ‘and this is the fourth of October.” 
 
 “Yes, sir; for two years,” said the baronet, more 
 angry than ever at the young man’s pertinacity, and 
 yet almost amused at his grandson’s already formed 
 
 REAP eS ORs Sh eh ey aa ee tye SOS Aa ae oh trio! Thee ye Seay, ig Wess Rhee) Ui rie yee Ren a ae ve ee nh =2). Rie 
 
Ne eee, ot ge eee cae Ally Fy ee MP eR NT id in ks Pee 
 
 THE PERILS OF YOUTH. mee ees. 
 resolve to go back to his occupation at the first op- 
 portunity allowed. 
 
 “Couldn’t you date it from the end of August, 
 sir? The best of the matches always come off in Sep- 
 tember.” 
 
 “No, sir; I will not date it from any other time 
 than the present. Will you give me your word of 
 honour as a gentleman, for two years?” 
 
 Peregrine thought over the proposition for a minute 
 or two in sad anticipation of all that he was to lose, 
 and then slowly gave his adhesion to the terms. “ Very 
 well, sir; — for two years.” And then he took out 
 his pocket-book and wrote in it slowly. 
 
 It was at any rate manifest that he intended to 
 keep his word, and that was much; so Sir Peregrine 
 accepted the promise for what it was worth. ‘And 
 now,” said he, “if you have got nothing better to do, 
 we will ride down to Crutchley Wood.” 
 
 “T should like it of all things,” said his grandson. 
 
 “Samson wants me to cut a new bridle-path through 
 from the larches at the top of the hill down to Crutch- 
 ley Bottom; but I don’t think I'll have it done. Tell 
 Jacob to let us have the nags; I'll ride the gray pony. 
 And ask your mother if she’ll ride with us.” 
 
 : It was the manner of Sir Peregrine to forgive al- 
 
 together when he did forgive; and to commence his 
 
 forgiveness in all its integrity from the first moment of 
 the pardon. ‘There was nothing he disliked so much 
 
 _ as being on bad terms with those around him, and 
 
 1 with none more so than with his grandson. Peregrine 
 
 4 well knew how to make himself pleasant to the old 
 
 s man, and when duly encouraged would always do so. 
 
 1 And thus the family party, as they rode on this oc- 
 
Vey Ae ee OD REE TEE Ap) eS ne EA Sa pe ee 
 ee ORLEY FARM. 
 
 casion through the woods of The Cleeve, discussed 
 oaks and larches, beech and birches, as though there 
 were no such animal as a rat in existence, and no such 
 place known as Cowcross Street. 
 
 “Well, Perry, as you and Samson are both of one 
 mind, I suppose the path must be made,” said Sir 
 Peregrine, as he got off his horse at the entrance of 
 the stable-yard, and prepared to give his feeble aid to 
 Mrs. Orme. 
 
 Shortly after this the following note was brought 
 up to The Cleeve by a messenger from Orley Farm: — 
 
 “My prEAR Sir PEREGRINE, | 
 “Tr you are quite disengaged at twelve o’clock 
 to-morrow, I will walk over to The Cleeve at that 
 hour. Or if it would suit you better to call here as 
 you are riding, I would remain within till you come. 
 I want your kind advice on a certain matter. 
 “Most sincerely yours, 
 Thursday.” “Mary Mason. 
 
 Lady Mason, when she wrote this note, was well 
 aware that it would not be necessary for her-to go to 
 The Cleeve. Sir Peregrine’s courtesy would not permit 
 him to impose any trouble on a lady when the alter- 
 native of taking that trouble on himself was given to 
 him. Moreover, he liked to have some object for his 
 daily ride; he liked to be consulted ‘‘on certain mat- 
 ters;” and he especially liked being so consulted by 
 Lady Mason. So he sent word back that he would be 
 at the farm at twelve on the following day, and exactly , 
 at that hour his gray pony or cob might have been ¢ 
 seen slowly walking up the avenue to the farm-house. 
 
 \ 
 
THE PERILS OF YOUTH. 49 
 
 The Cleeve was not distant from Orley Farm more 
 than two miles by the nearest walking-path, although 
 it could not be driven much under five. With any sort 
 of carriage one was obliged to come from The Cleeve 
 House down to the lodge on the Hamworth and Alston 
 road, and then to drive through the town of Hamworth, 
 and so back to the farm. But in walking one would 
 take the path along the river for nearly a mile, thence 
 rise up the hill to the top of Crutchley Wood, descend 
 through the wood to Crutchley Bottom, and, passing 
 along the valley, come out at the foot of Cleeve Hill, 
 just opposite to Orley Farm Gate. The distance for 
 a horseman was somewhat greater, seeing that there 
 was not as yet any bridle-way through Crutchley Wood. 
 Under these circumstances the journey between the two 
 houses was very frequently made on foot; and for those 
 walking from The Cleeve House to Hamworth the 
 nearest way was by Lady Mason’s gate. 
 
 Lady Mason’s drawing-room was very pretty, though 
 it was by no means fashionably furnished. Indeed, she 
 eschewed fashion in all things, and made no pretence 
 of coming out before the world as a great lady. She 
 had never kept any kind of carriage, though her means, 
 combined with her son’s income, would certainly have 
 justified her in a pony-chaise. Since Lucius had be- 
 come master of the house he had presented her with 
 such a vehicle, and also with the pony and harness 
 complete; but as yet she had never used it, being afraid, 
 as she said to him with a smile, of’ appearing ambitious 
 before the stern citizens of Hamworth. ‘Nonsense, 
 mother,” he had replied, witha considerable amount of 
 young dignity in his face. “We are all entitled to 
 those comforts for which we can afford to pay without 
 
 Orley Farm. I. 4 
 
ey 
 
 50 ORLBY FARM. 
 
 injury to any one. I shall take it ill of you if I do 
 not see you using it.” | 
 
 “Oh, Sir Peregrine, this is so kind of you,” said 
 Lady Mason, coming forward to meet her friend. She 
 was plainly dressed, without any full exuberance of 
 costume, and yet everything about her was neat and 
 pretty, and everything had been the object of feminine 
 care. A very plain dress may occasion as much study 
 as the most elaborate, — and may be quite as worthy 
 of the study it has caused. Lady Mason, I am inclined 
 to think, was by no means indifferent to the subject, 
 but then to her belonged the great art of hiding her 
 artifice. 
 
 “Not at all; not at all,” said Sir Peregrine, taking 
 her hand and pressing it, as he always did. ‘What 
 is the use of neighbours if they are not neighbourly ?” 
 This was all very well from Sir Peregrine in the exist- 
 ing case; but he was not a man who by any means 
 recognized the necessity of being civil to all who lived 
 near him. T’o the great and to the poor he was neigh- 
 bourly; but it may be doubted whether he would have 
 thought much of Lady Mason if she had been less 
 good looking or less clever. 
 
 “Ah! I know how good you always are to me. But 
 Ill tell you why I am troubling you now. Lucius went 
 off two days since to Liverpool.” 
 
 ‘“My grandson told me that he had left home.” 
 
 ‘He is an excellent young man, and I am sure that 
 I have every reason to be thankful.” Sir Peregrine, 
 remembering the affair in Cowcross Street, and certain 
 other affairs of a somewhat similar nature, thought that 
 she had; but for all that he would not have exchanged 
 
THE PERILS OF YOUTH. 51 
 
 his own bright-eyed lad for Lucius Mason with all his 
 virtues and all his learning. 
 
 “And indeed I am thankful,” continued the widow. 
 “Nothing can be better than his conduct and mode of 
 life; but —” 
 
 “I hope he has no attraction at Liverpool, of which 
 you disapprove.” 
 
 “No, no; there is nothing of that kind. His at- 
 traction is —; but perhaps I had better explain the 
 whole matter. Lucius, you know, has taken to farming. 
 
 “He has taken up the land which you held your- 
 self, has he not?” 
 
 “Yes, and a little more; and he is anxious to add 
 even to that. He is very energetic about it, Sir Pere- 
 grine.” 
 
 “Well; the life of a gentleman farmer is not a bad, 
 one; though in his special circumstances I would 
 certainly have recommended a profession.” 
 
 “Acting upon your advice I did urge him to go to 
 the bar. But he has a will of his own, and a mind 
 altogether made up as to the line of life which he 
 thinks will suit him best. What I fear now is, that 
 he will spend more money upon experiments that he 
 can afford.” 
 
 ‘Experimental farming is an expensive amuse- 
 ment,” said Sir Peregrine, with a very serious shake 
 of his head. 
 
 “TI am afraid it is; and now he has gone to Liver- 
 pool to buy — guano,” said the widow, feeling some 
 little shame in coming to so inconsiderable a conclusion 
 after her somewhat stately prologue. 
 
 “To buy guano! Why could he not get his guano 
 
 from Walker, as my man Symonds does?” 
 A# 
 
52 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “He says it is not good. He analyzed it, and —” 
 
 “Fiddlestick! Why didn’t he order it in London, 
 if he didn’t like Walker's. Gone to Liverpool for 
 guano! Ill tell you what it is, Lady Mason; if he 
 intends to farm his land in that way, he should have 
 a very considerable capital at his back. It will be a 
 long time before he sees his money again.” Sir Pere- 
 grine had been farming all his life, and had his own 
 ideas on the subject. He knew very well that no gen- 
 tleman, let him set to work as he might with his own 
 land, could do as well with it as a farmer who must 
 make a living out of his farming besides paying the 
 rent; — who must do that or else have no living; and 
 he knew also that such operations as those which his 
 young friend was now about to attempt was an amuse- 
 ment fitted only for the rich. It may be also that he 
 was a little old fashioned, and therefore prejudiced 
 against new combinations between agriculture and 
 chemistry. ‘He must put a stop to that kind of work 
 very soon, Lady Mason; he must indeed; or he will 
 bring himself to ruin — and you with him.” 
 
 Lady Mason’s face became very grave and serious. 
 “But what can I say to him, Sir Peregrine? -In such 
 a matter as that I am afraid that he would not mind 
 me. If you would not object to speaking to him?” 
 
 Sir Peregrine was graciously pleased to say that 
 he would not object. It was a disagreeable task, he 
 said, that of giving advice to a young man who was 
 bound by no tie either to take it or even to receive it 
 with respect. 
 
 “You will not find him at all disrespectful; I think 
 I can promise that,” said the frightened mother: and 
 that matter was ended by a promise on the part of the 
 
me 
 2 SIR PEREGRINE MAKES A SECOND PROMISE. 53 
 
 baronet to take the case in hand, and to see Lucius 
 immediately on his return from Liverpool. ‘He had 
 better come and dine at The Cleeve,” said Sir Pere- 
 grine, “and we will have it out after dinner.” All of 
 which made Lady Mason very grateful. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 awe ° ° : 
 @ Sir Peregrine makes a Second Promise. 
 
 We left Lady Mason very grateful at the end of 
 the last chapter for the promise made to her by Sir 
 Peregrine with reference to her son; but there was still 
 a weight on Lady Mason’s mind. They say that the 
 pith of a lady’s letter is in the postscript, and it may 
 be that that which remained for Lady Mason to say, 
 was after all the matter as to which she was most 
 anxious for assistance. ‘‘As you are here,” she said 
 to the baronet, ‘would you let me mention another 
 subject?” 
 
 “Surely,” said he, again putting down his hat and 
 riding-stick. 
 
 Sir Peregrine was not given to close observation 
 of those around him, or he might have seen by the 
 heightened colour of the lady’s face, and by the slight 
 nervous hesitation with which she began to speak, that 
 she was much in earnest as to this other matter. And 
 had he been clever in his powers of observation he 
 might have seen also that she was anxious to hide this 
 feeling. “You remember the circumstances of that 
 terrible lawsuit?” she said, at last. 
 
 “What; as to Sir Joseph’s will? Yes; I remember 
 them well.” | 
 
 “T know that I shall never forget all the kindness 
 
54 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 that you showed me,” said she. “I don’t know how I © 
 should have lived through it without you and dear Mrs. 
 Orme.” 
 
 “But what about it now?” 
 
 “T fear I am going to have further trouble.” 
 
 ‘Do you mean that the man at Groby Park is 
 going to try the case again? It is not possible after 
 such a lapse of time. I am no lawyer, but I do not 
 think that he can do it.” 
 
 “T do not know —I do not know what he intends, 
 or whether he intends anything; but I am sure of this, 
 — that he will give me trouble if he can. But I will 
 tell you the whole story, Sir Peregrine. It is not 
 much, and perhaps after all may not be worth atten- 
 tion. You know the attorney in Hamworth who married 
 “Miriam Usbech?” 
 
 ‘What, Samuel Dockwrath? Oh, yes; I know him 
 well enough; and to tell the truth I do not think very 
 well of him. Is he not a tenant of yours?” 
 
 ‘Not at present.” And then Lady Mason explained 
 the manner in which the two fields had been taken out 
 of the lawyer’s hands by her son’s order. 
 
 “Ah! he was wrong there,” said the baronet. “ When 
 a man has held land so long it should not be taken 
 away from him except under pressing circumstances; 
 that is if he pays his rent.” 
 
 “Mr. Dockwrath did pay his rent, certainly; and 
 now, I fear, he is determined to do all he can to in- 
 jure us.” 
 
 “But what injury can Mr. Dockwrath do you?” 
 
 “T do not know; but he has gone down to Yorkshire, 
 — to Mr. Mason’s place; I know that; and he was 
 searching through some papers of old Mr. Usbech’s 
 
“eo 
 
 SIR PEREGRINE MAKES A SECOND PROMISE. 55 
 
 before he went. Indeed, I may say that I know as a 
 fact that he has gone to Mr. Mason with the hope that 
 these law proceedings may be brought on again.” 
 
 “You know it as a fact?” 
 
 “T think I may say so.” 
 
 “But, dear Lady Mason, may I ask you how you 
 know this as a fact?” 
 
 “His wife was with me yesterday,” she said, with 
 some feeling of shame as she disclosed the source from 
 whence she had obtained her information. 
 
 ‘And did she tell the tale against her own hus- 
 band?” 
 
 ‘Not as meaning to say anything against him, Sir 
 Peregrine; you must not think so badly of her as that; 
 nor must you think that I would willingly obtain in- 
 formation in such a manner. But you must understand 
 that I have always been her friend; and when she 
 found that Mr. Dockwrath had left home on a matter 
 in which I am so nearly concerned, I cannot but 
 think it natural that she should let me know.” 
 
 To this Sir Peregrine made no direct answer. He 
 could not quite say that he thought it was natural, nor 
 could he give any expressed approval of any such in- 
 tercourse between Lady Mason and the attorney’s wife. 
 He thought it would be better that Mr. Dockwrath 
 should be allowed to do his worst, if he had any in- 
 tention of doing evil, and that Lady Mason should 
 pass it by without condescending to notice the cir- 
 cumstance. But he made allowances for her weakness, 
 and did not give utterance to his disapproval in words. 
 
 “IT know you think that I have done wrong,” she 
 then said, appealing to him; and there was a tone of 
 sorrow in her voice which went to his heart. 
 
56 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “No, not wrong; I cannot say that you have done 
 wrong. It may be a question whether you have done 
 wisely.” 
 
 “Ah! if you only condemn my folly, I will not 
 despair. It is probable I may not have done wisely, 
 seeing that I had not you to direct me. But what 
 shall I do now? Oh, Sir Peregrine, say that you will 
 not desert me if all this trouble is coming on me 
 again!” 
 
 ‘No, I will not desert you, Lady Mason; you may 
 be sure of that.” 
 
 “Dearest friend!” 
 
 ‘But I would advise you to take no notice what- 
 ever of Mr. Dockwrath and his proceedings. I regard 
 him as a person entirely beneath your notice, and if I 
 were you I should not move at all in this matter un- 
 less I received some legal summons which made it 
 necessary for me to do so. I have not the honour of 
 any personal acquaintance with Mr. Mason of Groby 
 Park.” It was in this way that Sir Peregrine always 
 designated his friend’s stepson — “but if I understand 
 the motives by which he may probably be actuated 
 in this or in any other matter, I do not think it likely 
 that he will expend money on so very unpromising a 
 case.” 
 
 ‘“‘He would do anything for vengeance.” 
 
 “IT doubt if he would throw away his money even 
 for that, unless he were very sure of his prey. And in 
 this matter, what can he possibly do? He has the de- 
 cision of the jury against him, and at the time he was 
 afraid to carry the case up to a court of appeal.” 
 
 “But, Sir Peregrine, it is impossible to know what 
 documents he may have obtained since that,” 
 
a", ie ae Raa IR, ati 
 .* we Fe eh an 
 
 SIR PEREGRINE MAKES A SECOND PROMISE. 57 
 
 “What documents can do you any harm; — un- 
 less, indeed, there should turn out to be a will sub- 
 sequent to that under which your son inherits the 
 property?” 
 
 “Oh, no; there was no subsequent will.” 
 
 “Of course there was not; and therefore you need 
 not frighten yourself. It is just possible that some 
 attempt may be made now that your son is of age, 
 but I regard even that as improbable.” 
 
 ‘And you would not advise me then to say any- 
 thing to Mr. Furnival?” 
 
 “No; certainly not — unless you receive some 
 legal notice which may make it necessary for you to 
 consult a lawyer. Do nothing; and if Mrs. Dockwrath 
 comes to you again, tell her that you are not disposed 
 to take any notice of her information. Mrs. Dock- 
 wrath is, I am sure, a very good sort of woman. In- 
 deed I have always heard so. But, if I were you, I 
 don’t think that I should feel inclined to have much 
 conversation with her about my private affairs. What 
 you tell her you tell also to her husband.” And then 
 the baronet, having thus spoken words of wisdom, sat 
 silent in his arm-chair; and Lady Mason, still looking 
 into his face, remained silent also for a few minutes. 
 
 “T am so glad I asked you to come,” she then 
 
 said. 
 
 “YT am delighted, if I have been of any service 
 to you.” 
 
 “Of any service! oh, Sir Peregrine, you cannot 
 understand what it is to live alone as I do, — for of 
 
 course I cannot trouble Lucius with these matters; nor 
 can aman, gifted as you are, comprehend how a woman 
 
a a a Dita De ah Vy at en 
 
 58 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 can tremble at the very idea that those law proceedings 
 may possibly be repeated.” 
 
 Sir Peregrine could not but remember as he looked 
 at her that during all those law proceedings, when an 
 attack was made, not only on her income but on her 
 honesty, she had never seemed to tremble. She had 
 always been constant to herself, even when things ap- 
 peared to be going against her. But years passing 
 over her head since that time had perhaps told upon 
 her courage. 
 
 “But I will fear nothing now, as you have promised 
 that you will still be my friend.” 
 
 “You may be very sure of that, Lady Mason. I 
 believe that I may fairly boast that I do not easily 
 abandon those whom I have once regarded with esteem 
 and affection; among whom Lady Mason will, I am 
 sure, allow me to say that she is reckoned as by no 
 means the least.” And then taking her hand, the old 
 gentleman bowed over it and kissed it. 
 
 ‘“‘My dearest, dearest friend!” said she; and lifting 
 Sir Peregrine’s beautifully white hand to her lips she 
 also kissed that. It will be remembered that the gen- 
 tleman was over seventy, and that this pretty scene 
 could therefore be enacted without impropriety on 
 either side. Sir Peregrine then went, and as he passed 
 out of the door Lady Mason smiled on him very 
 sweetly. It is quite true that he was over seventy; 
 but nevertheless the smile of a pretty woman still had 
 charms for him, more especially if there was a tear in 
 her eye the while; — for Sir Peregrine Orme had a 
 soft heart. 
 
 As soon as the door was closed behind him Lady 
 Mason seated herself in her accustomed chair, and all 
 
SIR PEREGRINE MAKES A SECOND PROMISE. 59 
 
 trace of the smile vanished from her face. She was 
 alone now, and could allow her countenance to be a 
 true index of her mind. If such was the case her 
 heart surely was very sad. She sat there perfectly 
 still for nearly an hour, and during the whole of that 
 time there was the same look of agony on her brow. 
 Once or twice she rubbed her hands across her fore- 
 head, brushing back her hair, and showing, had there 
 been any one by to see it, that there was many a gray 
 lock there mixed with the brown hairs. Had there 
 been any one by, she would, it may be surmised, have 
 been more careful. 
 
 There was no smile in her face now, neither was 
 there any tear in her eye. The one and the other 
 emblem were equally alien to her present mood. But 
 there was sorrow at her heart, and deep thought in 
 her mind. She knew that her enemies were conspiring 
 against her, — against her and against her son; and 
 what steps might she best take in order that she might 
 baffle them? 
 
 “T have got that woman on the hip now.” ‘Those 
 were the words which Mr. Dockwrath had uttered into 
 his wife’s ears, after two days spent in searching 
 through her father’s papers. The poor woman had 
 once thought of burning all those papers — in old days 
 before she had become Mrs. Dockwrath. Her friend, 
 Lady Mason, had counselled her to do so, pointing out 
 to her that they were troublesome, and could by no 
 possibility lead to profit; but she had consulted her 
 lover, and he had counselled her to burn nothing. 
 ‘Would that she had been guided by her friend!” she 
 now said to herself with regard to that old trunk, and 
 perhaps occasionally with regard to some other things. 
 
60 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “T have got that woman on the hip at last!” and 
 there had been a gleam of satisfaction in Samuel’s eye 
 as he uttered the words which had convinced his wife 
 that it was not an idle threat. She knew nothing of 
 what the box had contained; and now, even if it had 
 not been kept safe from her under Samuel’s private 
 key; the contents which were of interest had of course 
 gone. “I have business in the north, and shall be 
 away for about a week,” Mr. Dockwrath had said to 
 her on the following morning. 
 
 “Oh, very well; then Ill put up your things,” she 
 had answered in her usual mild, sad, whining, house- 
 hold voice. Her voice at home was always sad and 
 whining, for she was overworked, and had too many 
 cares, and her lord was a tyrant to her rather than a 
 husband. 
 
 “Yes, I must see Mr. Mason immediately. And 
 look here, Miriam, I positively insist that you do not 
 go to Orley Farm, or hold any intercourse whatever 
 with Lady Mason. D’ye hear?” 
 
 Mrs. Dockwrath said that she did hear, and promised 
 obedience. Mr. Dockwrath probably guessed that the 
 moment his back was turned all would be told at the 
 farm, and probably also had no real objection to her 
 doing so. Had he in truth wished to keep his pro- 
 ceedings secret from Lady Mason he would not have 
 divulged them to his wife. And then Mr. Dockwrath 
 did start for the north, bearing certain documents with 
 him; and soon after fs departure Mie Dockwrath did 
 pay a visit to Orley Farm. 
 
 Lady Mason sat there perfectly still for about an 
 hour thinking what she would do. She had asked Sir 
 Peregrine, and had the advantage of his advice; but 
 
— 
 
 THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. 61 
 
 that did not weigh much with her. What she wanted 
 from Sir Peregrine was countenance and absolute 
 assistance in the day of trouble, — not advice. She 
 had desired to renew his interest in her favour, and to 
 receive from him his assurance that he would not de- 
 
 _sert her; and that she had obtained. It was of course 
 
 also necessary that she should consult him; but in 
 turning over within her own mind this and that line of 
 conduct, she did not, consciously, attach any weight 
 to Sir Peregrine’s opinion. The great question for her 
 to decide was this; — should she put herself and her 
 case into the hands of her friend Mr. Furnival now at 
 once, or should she wait till she had received some 
 certain symptom of hostile proceedings? If she did 
 see Mr. Furnival, what could she tell him? only this, 
 that Mr. Dockwrath had found some document among 
 the papers of old Mr. Usbech, and had gone off with 
 the same to Groby Park in Yorkshire. What that 
 document might be she was as ignorant as the attor- 
 ney’s wife. 
 
 When the hour was ended she had made up her 
 mind that she would do nothing more in the matter, 
 at any rate on that day. 
 
 CHAPTER Vi. 
 
 ‘ The Commercial Room, Bull Inn, Leeds. 
 
 Mr. SamueL DockwartH was a little man, with 
 sandy hair, a pale face, and stone-blue eyes. In 
 judging of him by appearance only and not by the 
 ear, one would be inclined to doubt that he could be 
 a very sharp attorney abroad and a very persistent 
 tyrant at home. But when Mr. Dockwrath began to 
 
62 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 talk, one’s respect for him began to grow. He talked 
 well and to the point, and with a tone of voice that 
 could command where command was possible, persuade 
 where persuasion was required, mystify when mystifica- 
 tion was needed, and express with accuracy the tone 
 of an obedient humble servant when servility was 
 thought to be expedient. We will now accompany 
 him on his little tour into Yorkshire. 
 
 Groby Park is about seven miles from Leeds, and 
 as Mr. Dockwrath had in the first instance to travel 
 from Hamworth up to London, he did not reach Leeds 
 till late in the evening. It was a nasty cold, drizzling 
 night, so that the beauties and marvels of the large 
 manufacturing town offered him no attraction, and at 
 nine o'clock he had seated himself before the fire in 
 the commercial room at The Bull, had called for a 
 pair of public slippers, and was about to solace all his 
 cares with a glass of mahogany-coloured brandy and 
 water and a cigar. T’he room had no present occupant 
 but himself, and therefore he was able to make the 
 most of all its comforts. He had taken the solitary 
 arm-chair, and had so placed himself that the gas 
 would fall direct from behind his head on to that day’s 
 Leeds and Halifax Chronicle, as svon as he should 
 choose to devote himself to local politics. 
 
 The waiter had looked at him with doubtful eyes 
 when he asked to be shown into the commercial room, 
 feeling all but confident that such a guest had no right 
 to be there. He had no bulky bundles of samples, 
 nor any of those outward characteristics of a commer- 
 cial “gent” with which all men conversant with the 
 rail and road are acquainted, and which the accustomed 
 eye of a waiter recognizes at a glance. And here it 
 
Ey ae eEA NE et Pr Ae ee) Vue OR MTR Re ne NA a aM a as eh IT oO Te | 
 : y § ' ny 
 
 THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. 63 
 
 may be well to explain that ordinary travellers are in 
 this respect badly treated by the customs of England, 
 or rather by the hotel-keepers. All inn-keepers have 
 commercial rooms, as certainly as they have taps and 
 bars, but all of them do not have commercial rooms in 
 the properly exclusive sense. A stranger, therefore, who 
 has asked for and obtained his mutton-chop in the 
 commercial room of The Dolphin, The Bear, and The 
 George, not unnaturally asks to be shown into the 
 same chamber at the King’s Head. But the King’s 
 Head does a business with real commercials, and the 
 stranger finds himself — out of his element. 
 
 ‘°Mercial, sir?” said the waiter at The Bull Inn, 
 Leeds, to Mr. Dockwrath, in that tone of doubt which 
 seemed to carry an answer to his own question. But 
 Mr. Dockwrath was not a man to be put down by a 
 waiter. ‘‘Yes,” said he. ‘“Didn’t you hear me say 
 so?” And then the waiter gave way. None of those 
 lords of the road were in the house at the moment, 
 and it might be that none would come that night. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath had arrived by the 8.22 p.m. down, 
 but the 8.45 p.m. up from the north followed quick 
 upon his heels, and he had hardly put his brandy and 
 water to his mouth before a rush and a sound of many 
 voices were heard in the hall. ‘There is a great dif- 
 ference between the entrance into an inn of men who 
 are not known there and of men who are known. ‘The 
 men who are not known are shy, diffident, doubtful, 
 and anxious to propitiate the chambermaid by great 
 courtesy. ‘The men who are known are loud, jocular, 
 and assured; — or else, in case of deficient accommo- 
 dation, loud, angry, and full of threats. The guests 
 who had now arrived were well known, and seemed at 
 
ee Pa EONS gE ARTY tr pep Goh Ot gers rt oe A ea oe 
 - . i aoe ag 
 
 64 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 present to be in the former mood. “Well, Mary, my 
 dear, what’s the time of day with you?” said a rough, 
 bass voice, within the hearing of Mr. Dockwrath. 
 ‘‘Much about the old tune, Mr. Moulder,” said the girl 
 at the bar. “Time to look alive and keep moving. Will 
 you have them boxes up stairs, Mr. Kantwise?” and 
 then there were a few words about the luggage, and 
 two real commercial gentlemen walked into the room. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath resolved to stand upon his rights, 
 so he did not move his chair, but looked up over his 
 shoulder at the new comers. The first man who entered 
 was short and very fat; — so fat that he could not 
 have seen his own knees for some considerable time 
 past. His face rolled with fat, as also did all his 
 limbs. His eyes were large, and bloodshot. He wore 
 no “beard, and therefore showed plainly the triple 
 bagging of his fat chin. In spite of his overwhelming 
 fatness, there was something in his face that was 
 masterful and almost vicious. His body had been 
 overcome by eating, but not as yet his spirit, — one 
 would be inclined to say. This was Mr. Moulder, 
 well known on the road as being in the grocery and 
 spirit line; a pushing man, who understood his busi- 
 ness, and was well trusted by his firm in spite of his 
 habitual intemperance. What did the firm care whether 
 or no he killed himself by eating and drinking? He 
 sold his goods, collected his money, and made his re- 
 mittances. If he got drunk at night that was nothing 
 to them, seeing that he always did his quota of work 
 the next day. But Mr. Moulder did not get drunk. 
 His brandy and water went into his blood, and into 
 his eyes, and into his feet, and into his hands, — but 
 not into his brain. 
 
pp SN a a as th et a la a te ee Ls Aa de ek a a eR NL ae Pon im» MoE ene arte eae 
 ye € ( } yy is pe 
 
 THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. 65 
 
 The other was a little spare man in the hardware 
 line, of the name of Kantwise. He disposed of fire- 
 irons, grates, ovens, and kettles, and was at the pre- 
 sent moment heavily engaged in the sale of certain 
 newly-invented metallic tables and chairs lately brought 
 out by the Patent Steel Furniture Company, for which 
 Mr. Kantwise did business. He looked as though a 
 skin rather too small for the purpose had been drawn 
 over his head and face, so that his forehead and 
 cheeks and chin were tight and shiny. His eyes were 
 small and green, always moving about in his head, 
 and were seldom used by Mr. Kantwise in the ordinary 
 way. At whatever he looked he looked sideways; it 
 was not that he did not look you in the face, but he 
 always looked at you with a sidelong glance, never 
 choosing to have you straight in front of him. And 
 the more eager he was in conversation — the more 
 anxious he might be to gain his point, the more he 
 averted his face and looked askance; so that sometimes 
 he would prefer to have his antagonist almost behind 
 his shoulder. And then as he did this, he would thrust 
 forward his chin, and having looked at you round the 
 corner till his eyes were nearly out of his head, he 
 would close them both and suck in his lips, and shake 
 his head with rapid little shakes, as though he were 
 saying to himself, “Ah, sir! youre a bad un, a very 
 bad un.” His nose — for I should do Mr. Kantwise 
 injustice if I did not mention this feature — seemed to 
 have been compressed almost into nothing by that 
 skin-squeezing operation. It was long enough, taking 
 the measurement down the bridge, and projected suf- 
 ficiently, counting the distance from the upper lip; but 
 it had all the properties of a line; it possessed length 
 
 Orley Farm. I. 5 
 
sone 
 
 66 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 without breadth. There was nothing in it from side to 
 side. If you essayed to pullit, your fingers would meet. 
 When I shall have also said that the hair on Mr. 
 Kantwise’s head stood up erect all round to the height 
 of two inches, and that it was very red, I shall have 
 been accurate enough in his personal description. 3 
 
 That Mr. Moulder represented a firm good business, 
 doing tea, coffee, and British brandy on a well- 
 established basis of capital and profit, the travelling 
 commercial world in the north of England was well 
 aware. No one entertained any doubt about his em- 
 ployers, Hubbles and Grease of Houndsditch. Hubbles 
 and Grease were all right, as they had been any time 
 for the last twenty years. But I cannot say that there 
 was quite so strong a confidence felt in the Patent 
 Steel Furniture Company generally, or in the individual 
 operations of Mr. Kantwise in particular. The world 
 in Yorkshire and Lancashire was doubtful about me- 
 tallic tables, and it was thought that Mr. Kantwise 
 was too eloquent in their praise. 
 
 Mr. Moulder when he had entered the room, stood 
 still,. to enable the waiter to peel off from him his 
 greatcoat and the large shawl with which his neck was 
 enveloped, and Mr. Kantwise performed the same 
 operation for himself, carefully folding up the, articles 
 of clothing as he took them off. Then Mr. Moulder 
 fixed his eyes on Mr. Dockwrath, and stared at him 
 very hard. ‘“Who’s the party, James?” he said to the 
 waiter, speaking in a whisper that was plainly heard 
 by the attorney. 
 
 “Gen’elman by the 8:22 down,” said James. 
 
 “Commercial?” asked Mr. Moulder, with angry 
 frown. 
 
THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. 67 
 
 ‘“‘He says so himself, anyways,” said the waiter. 
 
 “Gammon!” replied Mr. Moulder, who knew all 
 the bearings of a commercial man thoroughly, and 
 could have put one together if he were only supplied 
 with a little bit — say the mouth, as Professor Owen 
 always does with the Dodoes. Mr. Moulder now began 
 to be angry, for he was a stickler for the rights and 
 privileges of his class, and had an idea that the world 
 was not so conservative in that respect as it should be. 
 Mr. Dockwrath, however, was not to be frightened, so 
 he drew his chair a thought nearer to the fire, took a 
 sup of brandy and water, and prepared himself for war 
 if war should be necessary. 
 
 “Cold evening, sir, for the time of year,” said Mr. 
 Moulder, walking up to the fireplace, and rolling the 
 lumps of his forehead about in his attempt at a frown. 
 In spite of his terrible burden of flesh, Mr. Moulder 
 could look angry on occasions, but he could only do 
 so when he was angry. He was not gifted with a 
 command of his facial muscles. 
 
 “Yes,” said Mr. Dockwrath, not taking his eyes 
 from off the Leeds and Halifax Chronicle. “It is 
 coldish. Waiter, bring me a cigar.” 
 
 This was very provoking, as must be confessed. 
 Mr. Moulder had not been prepared to take any step 
 towards turning the gentleman out, though doubtless 
 he might have done so had he chosen to exercise his 
 prerogative. But he did expect that the gentleman 
 would have acknowledged the weakness of his footing, 
 by moving himself a little towards one side of the fire, 
 and he did not expect that he would have presumed to 
 smoke without asking whether the practice was held to 
 be objectionable by the legal possessors of the room. 
 
 5* 
 
5: ee “ a 
 
 68 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath was free of any such pusillanimity. 
 “Waiter,” he said again, “bring me a cigar, d’ye 
 hear?” 
 
 The great heart of Moulder could not stand_ this 
 unmoved. He had been an accustomed visitor to that 
 room for fifteen years, and had always done his best to 
 preserve the commercial code unsullied. He was now 
 so well known, that no one else ever presumed to take 
 the chair at the four o’clock commercial dinner if he 
 were present. It was incumbent on him to stand for- 
 ward and make a fight, more especially in the presence 
 of Kantwise, who was by no means stanch to his order. 
 Kantwise would at all times have been glad to have 
 outsiders in the room, in order that he might puff his 
 tables, and if possible effect a sale; — a mode of pro- 
 ceeding held in much aversion by the upright, old- 
 fashioned, commercial mind. 
 
 “Sir,” said Mr. Moulder, having become very red 
 about the cheeks and chin, “I and this gentleman are 
 going to have a bit of supper, and it aint accustomed 
 to smoke in commercial rooms during meals. You 
 know the rules no doubt if you’re commercial -yourself; 
 — as I suppose you are, seeing you in this room.” 
 
 Now Mr. Moulder was wrong in his law, as he him- 
 self was very well aware. Smoking is allowed in all 
 commercial rooms when the dinner has been some hour 
 or so off the table. But then it was necessary that 
 he should hit the stranger in some way, and the 
 chances were that the stranger would know nothing 
 about commercial law. Nor did he; so he merely 
 looked Mr. Moulder hard in the face. But Mr. Kant- 
 wise knew the laws well enough, and as he saw before 
 
THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. 69 
 
 him a possible purchaser of metallic tables, he came to 
 the assistance of the attorney. 
 
 “T think you are a little wrong there, Mr. Moulder; 
 eh; aint you?” said he. 
 
 “Wrong about what?” said Moulder, turning very 
 sharply upon his base-minded compatriot. 
 
 “Well, as to smoking. It’s nine o’clock, and if the 
 gentleman —” 
 
 “T don’t care a brass farthing about the clock,” 
 said the other, “but when I’m going to have a bit of 
 steak with my tea, in my own room, I choose to have 
 it comfortable.” 
 
 “Goodness me, Mr. Moulder, how many times have 
 I seen you sitting there with a pipe in your mouth, 
 and half a dozen gents eating their teas the while in 
 this very room? The rule of the case I take it to be 
 this; when —” 
 
 ‘Bother your rules.” 
 
 “Well; it was you spoke of them.” 
 
 “The question I take to be this,” said Moulder, 
 now emboldened by the opposition he had received. 
 “Has the gentleman any right to be in this room at 
 all, or has he not? Is he commercial, or is he — 
 miscellaneous? That’s the chat, as I take it.” 
 
 “Youre on the square there, I must allow,” said 
 Kantwise. 
 
 “James,” said Moulder, appealing with authority to 
 the waiter, who had remained in the room during the 
 controversy; — and now Mr. Moulder was determined 
 to do his duty and vindicate his profession, let the 
 consequences be what they might. ‘James, is that 
 gentleman commercial, or is he not?” 
 
 It was clearly necessary now that Mr. Dockwrath 
 
 ? 
 
ACERS BARI AMG ASS De Cel Sg 
 
 70 - ORLEY FARM. 
 
 himself should take his own part, and fight his own 
 battle. “Sir,” said he, turning to Mr. Moulder, “I 
 think you'll find it extremely difficult to define that 
 word; — extremely difficult. In this enterprising country 
 all men are more or less commercial.” 
 
 “Hear! hear!” said Mr. Kantwise. 
 
 ‘“'That’s gammon,” said Mr. Moulder. 
 
 ‘Gammon it may be,” said Mr. Dockwrath, “but 
 nevertheless it’s right in law. ‘Taking the word in its 
 broadest, strictest, and most intelligible sense, I am a 
 commercial gentleman; and as such I do maintain that 
 I have a full right to the accommodation of this public 
 room.” 
 
 “'That’s very well put,” said Mr. Kantwise. 
 
 ‘Waiter,’ thundered out Mr. Moulder, as though 
 he imagined that that functionary was down the yard 
 at the taproom instead of standing within three feet of 
 his elbow. “Is this gent a commercial, or is he not? 
 Because if not, — then Ill trouble you to send Mr. 
 Crump here. My compliments to Mr. Crump, and I 
 wish to see him.’ Now Mr. Crump was the landlord 
 of the Bull Inn. 
 
 ‘‘Master’s just stepped out, down the street,” said 
 James. 
 
 ‘“Why don’t you answer my question, sir?” said 
 Moulder, becoming redder and still more red about 
 his shirt-collars. 
 
 “The gent said as how he was ’mercial,” said the 
 poor man. ‘Was I to go to contradict a gent and tell 
 him he wasn’t when he said as how he was?” 
 
 “Tf you please,” said Mr. Dockwrath, ‘we will not 
 bring the waiter into this discussion. I asked for the 
 commercial room, and he did his duty in showing me 
 
‘THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. 71 
 
 to the door of it. The fact I take to be this; in the © 
 south of England the rules to which you refer are not 
 kept so strictly as in these more mercantile locali- 
 ties.” 
 
 ““T’ve always observed that,” said Kantwise. 
 
 ‘I travelled for three years in Devonshire, Somer- 
 setshire, and Wiltshire,” said Moulder, ‘‘and the com- 
 mercial rooms were as well kept there as any I ever 
 see.” 
 
 “T alluded to Surrey and Kent,” said Mr. Dock- 
 wrath. 
 
 “They're uncommonly miscellaneous in Surrey and 
 Kent,” said Kantwise. ‘“‘There’s no doubt in the world 
 about that.” 
 
 “Tf the gentleman means to say that he’s come in 
 here because he didn’t know the custom of the country, 
 I’ve no more to say, of course,” said Moulder. ‘‘And 
 in that case, I, for one, shall be very happy if the 
 gentleman can make himself comfortable in this room 
 as a stranger, and I may say guest; — paying his own 
 shot, of course.” 
 
 ‘‘And as for me, I shall be delighted,” said Kant- 
 wise. “I never did like too much _ exclusiveness. 
 What's the use of bottling oneself up? that’s what I 
 always say. JBesides, there’s no charity in it. We 
 gents as are always on the road should show a little 
 charity to them as aint so well accustomed to the 
 work.” 
 
 At this allusion to charity Mr. Moulder snuffled 
 through his nose to show his great disgust, but he 
 made no further answer. Mr. Dockwrath, who was 
 determined not to yield, but who had nothing to gain 
 by further fighting, bowed his head, and declared that 
 
72 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 he felt very much obliged. Whether or no there was 
 any touch of irony in his tone, Mr. Moulder’s ears 
 were not fine enough to discover. So they now sat 
 round the fire together, the attorney still keeping his 
 seat in the middle. And then Mr. Moulder ordered his 
 little bit of steak with his tea. ‘With the gravy in 
 it, James,” he said, solemnly. ‘And a bit of fat, and 
 a few slices of onion, thin mind, put on raw, not with 
 all the taste fried out; and tell the cook if she don’t 
 do it as it should be done, I'll be down into the 
 kitchen and do it myself. You'll join me, Kantwise, 
 eh?” 
 
 “Well, I think not; I dined at three, you know.” 
 
 “Dined at three! What of that? a dinner at 
 three won’t last a man for ever. You might as well 
 join me.” 
 
 “No, I think not. Have you got such a thing as 
 a nice red hetring in the house, James?” 
 
 “Get one round the corner, sir.” 
 
 “Do, there’s a good fellow; and I'll take it for a 
 relish with my tea. I’m not so fond of your solids 
 three times a day. They heat the blood too much.” 
 
 “Bother,” grunted Moulder; and then they went to 
 their evening meal, over which we will not disturb 
 them. The steak, we may presume, was cooked aright, 
 as Mr. Moulder did not visit the kitchen, and Mr. 
 Kantwise no doubt made good play with his unsub- 
 stantial dainty, as he spoke no further till his meal 
 was altogether finished. 
 
 “Did you ever hear anything of that Mr. Mason 
 who lives near Bradford?” asked Mr. Kantwise, ad- 
 dressing himself to Mr. Moulder, as soon as the things 
 had been cleared from the table, and that latter gen- 
 
THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. 73 
 
 tleman had been furnished with a pipe and a supply 
 of cold without. 
 
 ‘“T remember his father when I was a boy,” said 
 Moulder, not troubling himself to take his pipe from 
 his mouth. ‘Mason and Martock in the Old Jewry; 
 very good people they were too.” 
 
 “He’s decently well off now, I suppose, isn’t he?” 
 said Kantwise, turning away his face, and looking at 
 his companion out of the corners of his eyes. 
 
 ‘“T suppose he is. ‘That place there by the road- 
 side is all his own, I take it. Have you been at him 
 with some of your rusty, rickety tables and chairs?” 
 
 “Mr. Moulder, you forget that there is a gentleman 
 here who won't understand that you're at your jokes. 
 I was doing business at Groby Park, but I found the 
 party uncommon hard to deal with.” 
 
 ‘Didn't complete the transaction?” 
 
 “Well, no; not exactly; but I intend to call again. 
 He’s close enough himself, is Mr. Mason. But his 
 lady, Mrs. M.! Lord love you, Mr. Moulder; that is a 
 woman!” 
 
 ‘‘She is; is she? As for me, I never have none of 
 these private dealings. It don’t suit my book at all; 
 nor it aint what [ve been accustomed to. If a man’s 
 wholesale, let him be wholesale.” And then, having 
 enunciated this excellent opinion with much energy, 
 he took a long pull at his brandy and water. 
 
 “Very old fashioned, Mr. Moulder,” said Kantwise, 
 looking round the corner, then shutting his eyes and 
 shaking his head. 
 
 “May be,” said Moulder, “and yet none the worse 
 for that. I call it hawking and peddling, that going 
 round the country with your goods on your back. It 
 
74 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 aint trade.” And then there was a lull in the conver- 
 sation, Mr. Kantwise, who was a very religious gentle- 
 man, having closed his eyes, and being occupied with 
 some internal anathema agaiust Mr. Moulder. 
 
 “Begging your pardon, sir, I think you were 
 talking about one Mr. Mason who lives in these parts,” 
 said Dockwrath. 
 
 “Exactly. Joseph Mason, Esq., of Groby Park,” 
 said Mr. Kantwise, now turning his face upon the 
 attorney. 
 
 “I suppose I shall be likely to find him at home 
 to-morrow, if I call?” 
 
 “Certainly, sir; certainly; leastwise I should say 
 so. Any personal acquaintance with Mr. Mason, sir? 
 If so, I meant nothing offensive by my allusion to the 
 lady, sir; nothing at all, I can assure you.” 
 
 “The lady’s nothing to me, sir; nor the gentleman 
 either; — only that [ have a little business with him.” 
 
 ‘Shall be very happy to join you in a gig, sir, to- 
 morrow, as far as Groby Park; or fly, if more con- 
 venient. I shall only take a few patterns with me, and 
 they're no weight at all; — none in the least, sir. 
 They go on behind, and you wouldn’t know it, sir.” 
 To this, however, Mr. Dockwrath would not assent. 
 As he wanted to see Mr. Mason very specially, he 
 should go early, and preferred going by himself. 
 
 “No offence, I hope,” said Mr. Kantwise. 
 
 “None in the least,” said Mr. Dockwrath. 
 
 “And if you would allow me, sir, to have the 
 pleasure of showing you a few of my patterns, I’m sure 
 I should be delighted.” This he said observing that 
 Mr. Moulder was sitting over his empty glass with the 
 pipe in his hand, and his eyes fast closed. “TI think, 
 
THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. 15 
 
 sir, I could show you an article that would please you 
 very much. You see, sir, that new ideas are coming 
 in every day, and wood, sir, is altogether going out, — 
 altogether going out as regards furniture. In another 
 twenty years, sir, there won't be such a thing as a 
 wooden table in the country, unless with some poor 
 person that can’t afford to refurnish. Believe me, sir, 
 iron’s the thing now-a-days.” 
 
 “And indian-rubber,” said Dockwrath. 
 
 ‘Yes; indian-rubber’s wonderful too. Are you in 
 that line, sir?” 
 
 “Well; no; not exactly.” 
 
 “Tt’s not like iron, sir. You can’t make a dinner- 
 table for fourteen people out of indian-rubber, that will 
 shut up into a box 3—6 by 2—4 deep, and 2— 6 
 broad. Why, sir, I can let you have a set of drawing- 
 room furniture for fifteen ten that you’ve never seen 
 equalled in wood for three times the money; — orna- 
 mented in the tastiest way, sir, and fit for any lady’s 
 drawing-room or boodoor. ‘The ladies of quality are 
 all getting them now for their boodoors. There’s three 
 tables, eight chairs, easy rocking-chair, music-stand, 
 stool to match, and pair of stand-up screens, all gilt in 
 real Louey catorse; and it goes in three boxes 4— 2 
 by 2—1 and 2—3. Think of that, sir. For fifteen 
 ten and the boxes in.” ‘Then there was a pause, after 
 which Mr. Kantwise added — “If ready money, the 
 carriage paid.’ And then he turned his head very 
 much away, and looked back very hard -at his exe 
 pected customer. 
 
 “Tm afraid the articles are not in my line,” said 
 Mr. Dockwrath. 
 
 “Tt’s the tastiest present for a gentleman to make 
 
76 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 to his lady that has come out since — since those sort 
 of things have come out at all. You'll let me show you 
 the articles, sir. It will give me the sincerest plea- 
 sure.’ And Mr. Kantwise proposed to leave the room 
 in order that he might introduce the three boxes in 
 question. 
 
 ‘They would not be at all in my way,” said Mr. 
 Dockwrath. 
 
 “The trouble would be nothing,” said Mr. Kant- 
 wise, “and it gives me the greatest pleasure to make 
 them known when I find any one who can appreciate 
 such undoubted luxuries;” and so saying Mr. Kantwise 
 skipped out of the room, and soon returned with James 
 and Boots, each of the three bearing on his shoulder 
 a deal box nearly as big as a coffin, all of which were 
 deposited in different parts of the room. Mr. Moulder 
 in the mean time snored heavily, his head falling on 
 to his breast every now and again. But nevertheless 
 he held fast by his pipe. 
 
 Mr. Kantwise skipped about the room with wonder- 
 ful agility, unfastening the boxes, and taking out the 
 contents, while Joe the boots and James the waiter 
 stood by assisting. hey had never yet seen the glories 
 of these chairs and tables, and were therefore not un- 
 willing to be present. It was singular to see how ready 
 Mr. Kantwise was at the work, how recklessly he threw 
 aside the whitey-brown paper in which the various 
 pieces of painted iron were enveloped, and with what 
 a practised hand he put together one article after another. 
 First there was a round loo-table, not quite so large in 
 its circumference as some people might think desirable, 
 but, nevertheless, a round Joo-table. The pedestal with 
 its three claws was all together. With a knowing touch 
 
THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. “a 
 
 Mr. Kantwise separated the bottom of what looked like 
 a yellow stick, and, lo! there were three legs, which > 
 he placed carefully on the ground. Then a small bar 
 was screwed on to the top, and over the bar was screwed 
 the leaf, or table itself, which consisted of three pieces 
 unfolding with hinges. These, when the screw had 
 been duly fastened in the centre, opened out upon the 
 bar, and there was the table complete. 
 
 It was certainly a “tasty” article, and the pride 
 with which Mr. Kantwise glanced back at it was quite 
 delightful. The top of the table was blue, with a red 
 bird of paradise in the middle; and the edges of the 
 table, to the breadth of a couple of inches, were yellow. 
 The pillar also was yellow, as were the three legs. ‘‘It’s 
 the real Louey catorse,” said Mr. Kantwise, stooping 
 down to go on with table number two, which was, as 
 he described it, a ‘“‘chess,” having the proper number 
 of blue and light-pink squares marked upon it; but this 
 also had been made Louey catorse with reference to 
 its legs and edges. The third table was a “‘sofa,” of 
 proper shape, but rather small in size. Then, one after 
 another, he brought forth and screwed up the chairs, 
 stools, and sundry screens, and within a quarter of an 
 hour he had put up the whole set complete. The red 
 bird of paradise and the blue ground appeared on all, 
 as did also the yellow legs and edgings which gave to 
 them their peculiarly fashionable character. “There,” 
 said Mr. Kantwise, looking at them with fond admira- 
 tion, “I don’t mind giving a personal guarantee that 
 there’s nothing equal to that for the money either in 
 England or in France.” 
 
 . “They are vere nice,” said Mr. Dockwrath. When 
 a man has had produced before him for his own and 
 
RT eee a RE a Pipe Oe ee | 2mm eee ee Pe Oe Meas oS ‘4 a7 “A 
 SNS MRE tet caer pe Rney Hol) ae Ca eD OS ole NM ee a ee 
 ¢ Wan ( Rea Beh Nye . Me ale? al Vila aia nb oe OT Bhs 
 
 ¢ : ff 
 
 78 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 sole delectation any article or articles, how can he avoid 
 eulogium? Mr. Dockwrath found himself obliged to 
 pause, and almost feared that he should find himself 
 obliged to buy. 
 
 ‘Nice! I should rather think they are,” said Mr. 
 Kantwise, becoming triumphant, — “and for fifteen 
 ten, delivered, boxes included. There’s nothing like 
 iron, sir, nothing; you may take my word for that. 
 They’re so strong, you know. Look here, sir.” And 
 then Mr. Kantwise, taking two of the pieces of whitey- 
 brown paper which had been laid aside, carefully spread 
 one on the centre of the round table, and the other on 
 the seat of one of the chairs. Then lightly poising him- 
 self on his toe, he stepped on to the chair, and from 
 thence on to the table. In that position he skilfully 
 brought his feet together, so that his weight was di- 
 rectly on the leg, and gracefully waved his hands over 
 his head. James and Boots stood by admiring, with 
 open mouths, and Mr. Dockwrath, with his hands in 
 his pockets, was meditating whether he could not give 
 the order without complying with the terms as to ready 
 money. 
 
 ‘Look at that for strength,” said Mr. Kantwise from 
 his exalted position. ‘I don’t think any lady of your 
 acquaintance, sir, would allow you to stand on her 
 rosewood or mahogany loo-table. And if she did, you 
 would not like to adventure it yourself. But look at 
 this for strength,” and he waved his arms abroad, still 
 keeping his feet skilfully together in the same exact 
 position. 
 
 At that moment Mr. Moulder awoke. ‘So you’ve 
 got your iron traps out, have you?” said he. ‘‘ What; 
 
THE COMMERCIAL ROOM, BULL INN, LEEDS. 79 
 
 you're there, are you? Upon my word I'd sooner you 
 than me.” 
 
 “T certainly should not like to see you up here, 
 Mr. Moulder. I doubt whether even this table would 
 bear five-and-twenty stone. Joe, lend me your shoulder, 
 there’s a good fellow.” And then Mr. Kantwise, bearing 
 very lightly on the chair, descended to the ground 
 without accident. 
 
 “Now, that’s what I call gammon,” said Moulder. 
 
 ‘What is gammon, Mr. Moulder?” said the other, 
 beginning to be angry. 
 
 “It’s all gammon. The chairs and tables is gam- 
 mon, and so is the stools and the screens.” 
 
 ‘“Mr. Moulder, I didn’t call your tea and coffee and 
 brandy gammon.” 
 
 “You can’t; and you wouldn’t do any harm if you 
 did. Hubbles and Grease are too well known in York- 
 shire for you to hurt them. But as for all that show-off 
 and gimerack-work, I tell you fairly it aint what I call 
 trade, and it aint fit for a commercial room. It’s gam- 
 mon, gammon, gammon! James, give me a bedcandle.” 
 And so Mr. Moulder took himself off to bed. 
 
 “T think Pll go too,” said Mr. Dockwrath. . 
 
 “You'll let me put you up the set, eh?” said Mr. 
 Kantwise. 
 
 “Well; Pll think about it,” said the attorney. “Tl 
 not just give you an answer to night. Good night, sir; 
 I’m very much obliged to you.” And he too went, 
 leaving Mr. Kantwise to repack his chairs and tables 
 with the assistance of James the waiter. 
 
80 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 CHAPTER VIL 
 The Masons of Groby Park. 
 
 Grosy Park is about seven miles from Leeds, in 
 the direction of Bradford, and thither on the morning 
 after the scene described in the last chapter Mr. Dock- 
 wrath was driven in one of the gigs belonging to the 
 Bull Inn. The park itself is spacious, but is flat and 
 uninteresting, being surrounded by a thin belt of new- 
 looking fir-trees, and containing but very little old or 
 handsome timber. ‘There are on the high road two 
 very important lodges, between which is a large orna- 
 mented gate, and from thence an excellent road leads 
 to the mansion, situated in the very middle of the 
 domain. The house is Greek in its style of architec- 
 ture, — at least so the owner says; and if a portico 
 with a pediment and seven Ionic columns makes a 
 house Greek, the house in Groby Park undoubtedly is 
 Greek. 
 
 Here lived Mr. and Mrs. Mason, the three Misses 
 Mason, and occasionally the two young Messrs. Mason; 
 for the master of Groby Park was blessed. with five 
 children. He himself was a big, broad, heavy-browed 
 man, in whose composition there was nothing of tender- 
 ness, nothing of poetry, and nothing of taste; but I 
 cannot say that he was on the whole a bad man. He 
 was just in his dealings, or at any rate endeavoured to 
 be so. He strove hard to do his duty as a county 
 magistrate against very adverse circumstances. He 
 endeavoured to enable his tenants and labourers to live. 
 He was severe to his children, and was not loved by 
 them; but nevertheless they were dear to him, and he 
 
THE MASONS OF GROBY PARK. Si 
 
 endeavoured to do his duty by them. The wife of his 
 bosom was not a pleasant woman, but nevertheless he 
 did his duty by her; that is, he neither deserted her, 
 nor beat her, nor locked her up. I am not sure that 
 he would not have been justified in doing one of these 
 three things, or even all the three; for Mrs. Mason of 
 Groby Park was not a pleasant woman. 
 
 But yet he was a bad man in that he could never 
 forget and never forgive. His mind and heart were 
 equally harsh and hard and inflexible. He was a man 
 who considered that it behoved him as a man to resent 
 all injuries, and to have his pound of flesh in all cases. 
 In his inner thoughts he had ever boasted to himself 
 that he had paid all men all that he owed. He had, 
 so he thought, injured no one in any of the relations 
 of life. His tradesmen got their money regularly. He 
 answered every man’s letter. He exacted nothing from 
 any man for which he did not pay. He never ill used 
 a servant either by bad language or by over work. 
 He never amused himself, but devoted his whole time 
 to duties. He would fain even have been hospitable, 
 could he have gotten his neighbours to come to him 
 and have induced his wife to put upon the table suf- 
 ficient food for them to eat. 
 | Such being his virtues, what right had any one to 
 } injure him? When he got from his grocer adulterated 
 } coffee, — he analyzed the coffee, as his half-brother 
 { aad done the guano, — he would have flayed the man 
 
 live if the law would have allowed him. Had he not 
 paid the man monthly, giving him the best price as 
 ‘though for the best article? When he was taken in 
 with a warranty for a horse, he pursued the culprit to 
 the uttermost. Maid-servants who would not come from 
 Orley Farm. I. 6 
 
PT eee ee A. | oe ee ake Wea ae ee 
 82 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 their bedrooms at six o’clock, he would himself disturb 
 while enjoying their stolen slumbers. From his chil- 
 dren he exacted all titles of respect, because he had a 
 right to them. He wanted nothing that belonged to 
 any one else, but he could not endure that aught should 
 be kept from him which he believed to be his own. It 
 may be imagined, therefore, in what light he esteemed 
 Lady Mason and her son, and how he regarded their 
 residence at Orley Farm, seeing that he firmly be- 
 lieved that Orley Farm was his own, if all the truth 
 were known. 
 
 I have already hinted that Mrs. Mason was not a 
 delightful woman. She had been a beauty, and still 
 imagined that she had not lost all pretension to be so 
 considered. She spent, therefore, a considerable por- 
 tion of her day in her dressing-room, spent a great deal 
 of money for clothes, and gave herself sundry airs. 
 She was a little woman with long eyes, and regular 
 eyelashes, with a straight nose, and thin lips and 
 regular teeth. Her face was oval, and her hair was 
 brown. It had at least once been all brown, and that 
 which was now seen was brown also. But, never- 
 theless, although she was possessed of all these charms, 
 you might look at her for ten days together, and on 
 the eleventh you would not know her if you met her 
 in the streets. 
 
 But the appearance of Mrs. Mason was not her forte - 
 She had been a beauty; but if it had been her lot {! 
 be known in history, it was not as a beauty that sh * 
 would have been famous. Parsimony was her gre: | 
 virtue, and a power of saving her strong point. I hay | 
 said that she spent much money in dress, and some | 
 people will perhaps think that the two points of char- — 
 
 \ 
 
| 
 
 \ 
 
 THE MASONS OF GROBY PARK. 83 
 
 acter are not compatible. Such people know nothing 
 of a true spirit of parsimony. It is from the backs 
 and bellies of other people that savings are made 
 with the greatest constancy and the most satisfactory 
 results. 
 
 The parsimony of a mistress of a household is best 
 displayed on matters eatable; — on matters eatable 
 and drinkable; for there is a fine scope for domestic 
 savings in tea, beer, and milk. And in such matters 
 chiefly did Mrs. Mason operate, going as far as she 
 dared towards starving even her husband. But never- 
 theless she would feed herself in the middle of the day, 
 having a roast fowl with bread sauce in her own room. 
 The miser who starves himself and dies without an 
 ounce of flesh on his bones, while his skinny head lies 
 on a bag of gold, is, after all, respectable. There has 
 been a grand passion in his life, and that grandest 
 work of man, self-denial. You cannot altogether despise 
 one who has clothed himself with rags and fed himself 
 with bone-scrapings, while broad-cloth and ortolans 
 were within his easy reach. But there are women, 
 wives and mothers of families, who would give the 
 bone-scrapings to their husbands and the bones to their 
 servants, while they hide the ortolans for themselves: 
 and would dress their children in rags, while they cram 
 chests, drawers, and boxes with silks and satins for 
 their own backs. Such a woman one can thoroughly 
 despise, and even hate; and such a woman was Mrs. 
 Mason of Groby Park. 
 
 I shall not trouble the reader at present with much 
 description of the young Masons. ‘The eldest son was 
 in the army, and the younger at Cambridge, both 
 spending much more money than their father allowed 
 
 6% 
 
84 ORLEY. FARM. 
 
 them. Not that he, in this respect, was specially close- 
 fisted. He ascertained what was sufficient, — amply 
 sufficient as he was told by the colonel of the regiment 
 and the tutor of the college, — and that amount he 
 allowed, assuring both Joseph and John that if they 
 spent more, they would themselves have to pay for it 
 out of the moneys which should enrich them in future 
 years. But how could the sons of such a mother be 
 other than spendthrifts? Of course they were extra- 
 vagant; of course they spent more than they should 
 have done; and their father resolved that he would 
 keep his word with them religiously. 
 
 The daughters were much less fortunate, having no 
 possible means of extravagance allowed to them. Both 
 the father and mother decided that they should go out 
 into the county society, and therefore their clothing 
 was not absolutely of rags. But any young lady who 
 does go into society, whether it be of county or town, 
 will fully understand the difference between a liberal 
 and a stingy wardrobe. Girls with slender provisions 
 of millinery may be fit to go out, — quite fit in their 
 father’s eyes; and yet all such going out may be matter 
 of intense pain. It is all very well for the- world to 
 say that a girl should be happy without reference to 
 her clothes. Show me such a girl, and I will show 
 you one whom I should be very sorry that a boy of 
 mine should choose as his sweetheart. 
 
 The three Misses Mason, as they always were called 
 by the Groby Park people, had been christened Diana, 
 Creusa, and Penelope, their mother having a passion 
 for classic literature, which she indulged by a use of | 
 Lempriére’s dictionary. They were not especially ! 
 pretty, nor were they especially plain. They were well / 
 
 ‘ 
 
 | 
 
y: iy 
 
 THE MASONS. OF GROBY PARK. 85 
 
 grown and healthy, and quite capable of enjoying them- 
 selves in any of the amusements customary to young 
 ladies, — if only the opportunities were afforded them. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath had thought it well to write to Mr. 
 Mason, acquainting that gentleman with his intended 
 visit. Mr. Mason, he said to himself, would recognize 
 his name, and know whence he came, and under such 
 circumstances would be sure to see him, although the 
 express purpose of the proposed interview should not 
 have been explained to him. Such in result was exactly 
 the case. Mr. Mason did remember the name of Dock- 
 wrath, though he had never hitherto seen the bearer 
 of it; and as the letter was dated from Hamworth, he 
 felt sufficient interest in the matter to await at home 
 the coming of his visitor. 
 
 “IT know your name, Mr. Mason, sir, and have 
 known it long,” said Mr. Dockwrath, seating himself 
 in the chair which was offered to him in the magistrate’s 
 study; “though I never had the pleasure of seeing you 
 before, — to my knowledge. My name is Dockwrath, 
 sir, and I am a solicitor. I live at Hamworth, and I 
 mairied the daughter of old Mr. Usbech, sir, whom you 
 will remember.” 
 
 Mr. Mason listened attentively as these details were 
 uttered before him so clearly, but he said nothing, 
 merely bowing his head at each separate statement. He 
 knew all about old Usbech’s daughter nearly as well 
 as Mr. Dockwrath did himself, but he was a man who 
 knew how to be silent upon occasions. 
 
 “T was too young, sir,’ continued Dockwrath, “when 
 you had that trial about Orley Farm to have anything 
 to do with the matter myself, but nevertheless I re- 
 
. * Mane 
 86 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 member all the circumstances as though it was yester- 
 day. I suppose, sir, you remember them also?” 
 
 “Yes, Mr. Dockwrath, I remember them very well.” 
 
 “Well, sir, my impression has always been that —” 
 And then the attorney stopped. It was quite his in- 
 tention to speak out plainly before Mr. Mason, but he 
 was anxious that that gentleman should. speak out too. 
 At any rate it might be weli that he should be in- 
 duced to express some little interest in the matter. 
 
 ‘Your impression, you say, has always been —” 
 said Mr. Mason, repeating the words of his companion, 
 and looking as ponderous and grave as ever. His 
 countenance, however, expressed nothing but his usual 
 ponderous solemnity. 
 
 “My impression always was — that there was 
 something that had not been as yet found out.” 
 
 “What sort of thing, Mr. Dockwrath?” 
 
 ‘“Well; some secret. I don’t think that your lawyers 
 managed the matter well, Mr. Mason.” 
 
 “You think you would have done it better, Mr. 
 Dockwrath?” 
 
 ‘“T don’t say that, Mr. Mason. I was only a lad at 
 the time, and could not have managed it at all. But 
 they didn’t ferret about enough. Mr. Mason, there’s a 
 deal better evidence than any that is given by word of 
 mouth. A clever counsel can turn a witness pretty 
 nearly any way he likes, but he can’t do that with 
 little facts. He hasn’t the time, you see, to get round 
 them. Your lawyers, sir, didn’t get up the little facts 
 as they should have done.” 
 
 ‘And you have got them up since, Mr. Dock- 
 wrath 2” 
 
 “IT don’t say that, Mr. Mason. You see all my 
 
 eee 
 
PER a Oy Pan Pe Lee te Ae Me POI T oF OM MEN eee Se SY EN re ROM nh NS BOAT Me 
 >) Ore Ca 2 “a % ys) eee FSS “ bs 
 
 X 
 
 THE MASONS OF GROBY PARK. 87 
 
 interest lies in maintaining the codicil. My wife’s 
 fortune came to her under that deed. To be sure that’s 
 gone and spent long since, and the Lord Chancellor 
 with all the judges couldn’t enforce restitution; but, 
 nevertheless, I wouldn’t wish that any one should have 
 a claim against me on that account.” 
 
 “Perhaps you will not object to say what it is that 
 _ you do wish?” 
 
 “T wish to see right done, Mr. Mason; that’s all. 
 I don’t think that Lady Mason or her son have any 
 right to the possession of that place. I don’t think that 
 that codicil was a correct instrument; and in that case 
 of Mason versus Mason I don’t think that you and 
 your friends got to the bottom of it.” And then Mr. 
 Dockwrath leaned back in his chair with an inward 
 determination to say nothing more, until Mr. Mason 
 should make some sign. 
 
 That gentleman, however, still remained ponderous 
 and heavy, and therefore there was a short period of 
 silence — “And have you got to the bottom of it 
 since, Mr. Dockwrath?” at last he said. 
 
 “T don’t say that I have,” said the attorney. 
 
 “Might I ask then what it is you purpose to effect 
 by the visit with which you have honoured me? Of 
 course you are aware that these are very private 
 matters; and although I should feel myself under an 
 obligation to you, or to any man who might assist me 
 to arrive at any true facts which have hitherto been 
 concealed, I am not disposed to discuss the affair with 
 a stranger on grounds of mere suspicion.” 
 
 “T shouldn’t have come here, Mr. Mason, at very 
 great expense, and personal inconvenience to myself in 
 my profession, if I had not some good reason for doing 
 
¥ an Vee rate WE ee, A eS ee ete ee baw Be be ae ‘ee aN seme the | ah Oi Pad ava’ a eae ee, 
 i PUA Nc eee RN A ANA I SU MEM Aa A NUR Ac di rl iat ite 
 tie : } ' Ten Rees ‘ ent 
 
 88 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 so. I don’t think that you ever got to the bottom of 
 that matter, and I can’t say that I have done so now; 
 I haven’t even tried. But I tell you what, Mr. Mason; 
 if you wish it, I think I could put you in the way of 
 — trying.” 
 
 “My lawyers are Messrs. Round and Crook of 
 Bedford Row. Will it not be better that you should 
 go to them, Mr. Dockwrath?” 
 
 “No, Mr. Mason. I don’t think it will be better 
 that I should go to them. I know Round and Crook 
 well, and don’t mean to say a word against them; but 
 if I go any farther in this affair I must do it with the 
 principal. I am not going to cut my own throat for 
 the sake of mending any man’s little finger. I have a 
 family of sixteen children, Mr. Mason, and I have to 
 look about very sharp, — very sharp indeed.” 'Then 
 there was another pause, and Mr. Dockwrath began to 
 perceive that Mr. Mason was not by nature an open, 
 demonstrative, or communicative man. If anything 
 further was to be done, he himself must open out a 
 little. ‘The fact is, Mr. Mason, that I have come across 
 documents which you should have had at that trial. 
 Round and Crook ought to have had them, only they 
 weren't half sharp. Why, sir, Mr. Usbech had been 
 your father’s man of business for years upon years, and 
 yet they didn’t half go through his papers. They 
 turned ’em over and looked at ’em; but never thought 
 of seeing what little facts might be proved.” 
 
 ‘“‘And these documents are with you now, here?” 
 
 “No, Mr. Mason, I am not so soft as that. I never 
 carry about original documents unless when ordered to 
 prove. Copies of one or two items I have made; not 
 regular copies, Mr, Mason, but just a line or two to 
 
p= 
 
 THE MASONS OF GROBY PARK. 89 
 
 refresh my memory.” And Mr. Dockwrath took a small 
 letter-case out of his breast coat pocket. 
 
 By this time Mr. Mason’s curiosity had been roused, 
 and he began to think it possible that his visitor had 
 discovered information which might be of importance 
 to him. “Are you going to show me any document?” 
 said he. 
 
 ‘That's as may be,” said the attorney. “I don’t 
 know as yet whether you care to see it. I have come 
 a long way to do you a service, and it seems to me 
 you are rather shy of coming forward to meet me. As 
 I said before, I’ve a very heavy family, and I’m not 
 going to cut the nose off my own face to put money 
 into any other man’s pocket. What do you think my 
 journey down here will cost me, including loss of time, 
 and interruption to my business?” 
 
 “Look here, Mr. Dockwrath; if you are really able 
 to put me into possession of any facts regarding the 
 Orley Farm estate which I ought to know, I will see 
 that you are compensated for your time and trouble. 
 Messrs. Round and Crook —” 
 
 “Tl have nothing to do with Round and Crook. 
 So that’s settled, Mr. Mason.” 
 
 “Then, Mr. Dockwrath —” 
 
 “Half a minute, Mr. Mason. I'll have nothing to 
 do with Round and Crook; but as I know you to be a 
 gentleman and a man of honour, I’ll put you in possession 
 of what I’ve discovered, and leave it to you afterwards 
 to do what you think right about my expenses, time, 
 and services. You won't forget that it is a long way 
 from Hamworth to Groby Park. And if you should 
 succeed —” 
 
 “Tf I am to look at this document, I must do so 
 
Bm a Mb Sl 8 al a 
 
 90 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 without pledging myself to anything,” said Mr. Mason, 
 still with much solemnity. He had great doubts as to 
 his new acquaintance, and much feared that he was 
 derogating from his dignity as a county magistrate and 
 owner of Groby Park in holding any personal inter- 
 course with him; but nevertheless he could not resist 
 the temptation. He most firmly believed that that 
 codicil had not expressed the genuine last will and fair 
 disposition of property made by his father, and it 
 might certainly be the case that proof of all that he 
 believed was to be found among the papers of the old 
 lawyer. He hated Lady Mason with all his power of 
 hatred, and if there did, even yet, exist for him a 
 chance of upsetting her claims and ruining her before 
 the world, he was not the man to forego that chance. 
 
 “Well, sir, you shall see it,” said Mr. Dockwrath; 
 “for rather hear it, for there is not much to see.” And 
 so saying he extracted from his pocket-book a very 
 small bit of paper. 
 
 “T should prefer to read it, if it’s all the same to 
 you, Mr. Dockwrath. I shall understand it much better 
 in that way.” 
 
 “As you like, Mr. Mason,” said the attorney, 
 handing him the small bit of paper. ‘You will 
 understand, sir, that it’s no real copy, but only a few 
 dates and particulars, just jotted down to assist my 
 own memory.” ‘T'he document, supported by which 
 Mr. Dockwrath had come down to Yorkshire, consisted 
 of half a sheet of note paper, and the writing upon 
 this covered hardly the half of it. The words which 
 Mr. Mason read were as follows: — 
 
 “Date of codicil. 14th July 18 —. 
 
 “Witnesses to the instrument. John Kenneby; 
 
\ 
 
 | 
 
 THE MASONS OF GROBY PARK. 91 
 
 Bridget Bolster; Jonathan Usbech. N.B. Jonathan 
 Usbech died before the testator. 
 
 ‘Mason and Martock. Deed of separation; dated 
 14th July 18—. 
 
 “Executed at Orley Farm. 
 
 “Witnesses John Kenneby; and Bridget Bolster. 
 Deed was prepared in the office of Jonathan Usbech, 
 and probably executed in his presence.” 
 
 That was all that was written on the paper, and 
 Mr. Mason read the words to himself three times before 
 he looked up, or said anything concerning them. He 
 was not a man quick at receiving new ideas into his 
 mind, or of understanding new points; but that which 
 had once become intelligible to him and been made 
 his own, remained so always. “Well,” said he, when 
 he read the above words for the third time. 
 
 “You don’t see it, sir?” said Mr. Dockwrath. 
 
 “See what?” said Mr. Mason, still looking at the 
 scrap of paper. 
 
 “Why; the dates, to begin with.” 
 
 ““T see that the dates are the same; — the 14th of 
 July in the same year.” 
 
 “Well,” said Mr. Dockwrath, looking very keenly 
 into the magistrate’s face. 
 
 “Well,” said Mr. Mason, looking over the paper at 
 his boot. 
 
 “John Kenneby and Bridget Bolster were witnesses 
 to both the instruments,” said the attorney. , 
 
 “So I see,” said the magistrate. 
 
 “But I don’t remember that it came out in evidence 
 that either of them recollected having been called on 
 
 ) for two signatures on the same day.” 
 
 | 
 
92 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “No; there was nothing of that came out; — or 
 was even hinted at.” 
 
 ‘“‘No; nothing even hinted at, Mr. Mason, — as you 
 justly observe. That is what I mean by saying that 
 Round and Crook’s people didn’t get up their little 
 
 facts. Believe me, sir, there are men in the profession ~ 
 
 out of London who know quite as much as Round and 
 Crook. They ought to have had those facts, seeing 
 that the very copy of the document was turned over 
 by their hands.” And Mr. Dockwrath hit the table 
 heavily in the warmth of his indignation against his 
 negligent professional brethren. Earlier in the interview 
 Mr. Mason would have been made very angry by such 
 freedom, but he was not angry now. 
 
 “Yes; they ought to have known it,” said he. But 
 he did not even yet see the point. He merely saw 
 that there was a point worth seeing. 
 
 “Known it! Of course they ought to have known 
 it. Look here, Mr. Mason! IfI had it on my mind 
 that I'd thrown over a client of mine by such careless- 
 ness as that, Pd — Id strike my own name off the 
 rolls; I would indeed. I never could look a counsel in 
 the face again, if I'd neglected to brief him with such 
 facts as those. I suppose it was carelessness; eh, Mr. 
 Mason?” 
 
 “Oh, yes; ’'m afraid so,” said Mr. Mason, still 
 rather in the dark. 
 
 ‘They could have had no object in keeping it back, 
 I should say.” 
 
 ‘‘No; none in life. But let us see, Mr. Dockwrath, 
 how does it bear upon us? The dates are the same, 
 and the witnesses the same.” 
 
THE MASONS OF GROBY PARK. 93 
 
 “The deed of separation is genuine. There is no 
 doubt about that.” 
 
 “Oh; you're sure of that?” 
 
 “Quite certain. I found it entered in the old office 
 books. It was the last of a lot of such documents 
 executed between Mason and Martock after the old 
 man gave up the business. You see she was always 
 with him, and knew all about it.” 
 
 “About the partnership deed?” 
 
 “Of course she did. She’s a clever woman, Mr. 
 Mason; very clever, and it’s almost a pity that she 
 should come to grief. She has carried it on so well; 
 hasn’t she?” 
 
 Mr. Mason’s face now became very black. ‘‘ Why,” 
 said he, “if what you seem to allege be true, she 
 must be a — a — a —. What do you mean, sir, by 
 pity?” 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath shrugged his shoulders. “It is very 
 blue,” said he, ‘‘uncommon blue.” 
 
 “She must be a swindler; a common swindler. 
 Nay, worse than that.” 
 
 “Oh, yes, a deal worse than that, Mr. Mason. And 
 as for common; — according to my way of thinking 
 there’s nothing at all common about it. I look upon 
 it as about the best got-up plant I ever remember to 
 have heard of. I do, indeed, Mr. Mason.” ‘The at- 
 torney during the last ten minutes of the conversation 
 had quite altered his tone, understanding that he had 
 already achieved a great part of his object; but Mr. 
 Mason in his intense anxiety did not observe this. 
 Had Mr. Dockwrath, in commencing the conversation, 
 
 talked about “plants” and “blue,” Mr. Mason would 
 
 probably have rung his bell for the servant. “If it’s 
 
94 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 anything, it’s forgery,” said Mr. Dockwrath, ‘looking 
 his companion full in the face. 
 
 “T always felt sure that my father never intended 
 to sign such a codicil as that.” 
 
 ‘He never did sign it, Mr. Mason.” 
 
 ‘“‘And, — and the witnesses!” said Mr. Mason, still | 
 
 not enlightened as to the true extent of the attorney’s 
 suspicion. 
 
 “They signed the other deed; that is two of them 
 did. ‘There is no doubt about that; — on that very 
 day. ‘They certainly did witness a signature made by 
 the old gentleman in his own room on that 14th of 
 July. The original of that document, with the date 
 and their names, will be forthcoming soon enough.” 
 
 “Well,” said Mr. Mason. 
 
 “But they did not witness two signatures.” 
 
 “You think not, eh!” 
 
 “Ym sure of it. The girl Bolster would have re- 
 membered it, and would have said so. She was sharp 
 enough.” 
 
 ‘““Who wrote all the names then at the foot of the 
 will?” said Mr. Mason. 
 
 ‘Ah! that’s the question. Who did write them? 
 We know very well, Mr. Mason, you and I that is, 
 who did not. And having come to that, I think we 
 may give a very good guess who did.” 
 
 And then they both sat silent for some three or 
 four minutes. Mr. Dockwrath was quite at his ease, 
 rubbing his chin with his hand, playing with a paper- 
 knife which he had taken from the study table, and 
 waiting till it should please Mr. Mason to renew the 
 conversation. Mr. Mason was not at his ease, though 
 all idea of affecting any reserve before the attorney 
 
SA ae a a es eA o Poesy ie era Se hee 
 THE MASONS OF GROBY PARK. 95 
 
 had left him. He was thinking how best he might 
 confound and destroy the woman who had robbed him 
 for so many years; who had defied him, got the better 
 of him, and put him to terrible cost; who had vexed 
 his spirit through his whole life, deprived him of 
 content, and had been to him as a thorn ever present 
 in a festering sore. He had always believed that she 
 had defrauded him, but this belief had been qualified 
 by the unbelief of others. It might have been, he had 
 half thought, that the old man had signed the codicil 
 in his dotage, having been cheated and bullied into 
 it by the woman. There had been no day in her life 
 on which he would not have ruined her, had it been 
 in his power to do so. But now — now, new and 
 grander ideas were breaking in upon his mind. Could 
 it be possible that he might live to see her, not merely 
 deprived of her ill-gained money, but standing in the 
 dock as a felon to receive sentence for her terrible mis- 
 deeds? If that might be so, would he not receive 
 great compensation for all that he had suffered? Would 
 it not be sweet to his sense of justice that both of 
 them should thus at last have their own? He did not 
 even yet understand all that Mr. Dockwrath suspected. 
 He did not fully perceive why the woman was sup- 
 posed to have chosen as the date of her forgery, the 
 
 _ date of that other genuine deed. But he did under- 
 
 stand, he did perceive — at least so he thought, — 
 that new and perhaps conclusive evidence of her 
 
 / villainy was at last within his reach. 
 
 “And what shall we do now, Mr. Dockwrath?” 
 
 he said at last. 
 
 | “Well; am I to understand that you do me the 
 
96 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 honour of asking my advice upon that question as 
 being your lawyer?” 
 
 This question immediately brought Mr. Mason back 
 to business that he did understand. “A man in my 
 position cannot very well change his legal advisers at 
 a moment’s notice. You must be very well aware of 
 that, Mr. Dockwrath. Messrs. Round and Crook —” 
 
 “‘Messrs. Round and Crook, sir, have neglected 
 your business in a most shameful manner. Let me tell 
 you that, sir.” 
 
 ‘Well; that’s as may be. I'll tell you what Ill 
 do, Mr. Dockwrath; I'll think over this matter in quiet, 
 and then I'll come up to town. Perhaps when there 
 I may expect the honour of a further visit from you.” 
 
 ‘And you won’t mention the matter to Round and 
 Crook?” 
 
 “T can’t undertake to say that, Mr. Dockwrath. 
 I think it will perhaps be better that I should mention 
 it, and then see you afterwards.” 
 
 “And how about my expenses down here?” 
 
 Just at this moment there came a light tap at the 
 study door, and before the master of the house could 
 give or withhold permission the mistress of the house 
 entered the room. ‘My dear,” she said, “I didn’t 
 know that you were engaged.” 
 
 ‘Yes, I am engaged,” said the gentleman. 
 
 ‘Oh, I’m sure I beg pardon. Perhaps this is the — 
 
 gentleman from Hamworth?” 
 
 “Yes, ma’am,” said Mr. Dockwrath. “I am the © 
 
 gentleman from Hamworth. I hope I have the pleasure 
 of seeing you very well, ma’am?” And getting up 
 from his chair he bowed politely. 
 
POT eT PR ee mere sue re 
 MRS. MASON’S HOT LUNCHEON. 97 
 
 “Mr. Dockwrath, Mrs. Mason,” said the lady’s 
 husband, introducing them; and then Mrs. Mason 
 curtsied to the stranger. She too was very anxious to 
 know what might be the news from Hamworth. 
 
 “Mr. Dockwrath will lunch with us, my dear,” 
 said Mr. Mason. And then the lady, on hospitable 
 cares intent, left them again to themselves. 
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Mrs. Mason’s Hot Luncheon. 
 
 Tuouas Mr. Dockwrath was somewhat elated by 
 this invitation to lunch, he was also somewhat abashed 
 by it. He had been far from expecting that Mr. Mason 
 of Groby Park would do him any such honour, and 
 was made aware by it of the great hold which he must 
 have made upon the attention of his host. But never- 
 theless he immediately felt that his hands were to a 
 certain degree tied. He, having been invited to sit 
 down at Mr. Mason’s table, with Mrs. M. and the fam- 
 ily, — having been treated as though he were a gentle- 
 man, and thus being for the time put on a footing of 
 equality with the county magistrate, could not repeat 
 that last important question: ‘““How about my expenses 
 down here?” nor could he immediately go on with the 
 
 grand subject in any frame of mind which would tend 
 _to further his own interests. Having been invited to 
 lunch he could not haggle with due persistency for his 
 share of the business in crushing Lady Mason, nor 
 stipulate that the whole concern should not be trusted to 
 the management of Round and Crook. As a source of 
 ‘pride this invitation to eat was pleasant to him, but he 
 Orley Farm. I. T 
 
 \. 
 
* SL Bato 8 ae aed Al Jou} a tats LY NBR 
 ie Oi ANE et Rg i i CN ak CI kl 
 
 98 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 was forced to acknowledge to himself that it interfered 
 with business. 
 
 Nor did Mr. Mason feel himself ready to go on with 
 the conversation in the manner in which it had been 
 hitherto conducted. His mind was full of Orley Farm 
 
 and his wrongs, and he could bring himself to think 
 
 of nothing else; but he could no longer talk about it 
 to the attorney sitting there in his study. “Will you 
 take a turn about the place while the lunch is getting 
 ready?” he said. So they took their hats and went 
 out into the garden. 
 
 “Tt is dreadful to think of,” said Mr. Mason, after 
 they had twice walked in silence the length of a broad 
 gravel terrace. 
 
 “What; about her ladyship?” said the attorney. 
 
 Euite dreadful!” and Mr. Mason shuddered. ‘TI 
 don’t think I ever heard of anything so shocking in my 
 life. For twenty years, Mr. Dockwrath, think of that. 
 Twenty years!” and his face as he spoke became almost 
 black with horror. 
 
 “Tt is very shocking,” said Mr. Dockwrath; “very 
 shocking. What on earth will be her fate if it be 
 proved against her? She has brought it on herself; that 
 is all that one can say of her.” 
 
 ‘“D— her! d— her!” exclaimed the other, gnashing 
 his teeth with concentrated wrath. ‘‘No punishment 
 
 will be bad enough for her. Hanging would not be 
 
 bad enough.” 
 
 “They can’t hang her, Mx. Mason,” said Mr. Dock- | 
 
 wrath, almost frightened by the violence of his com- 
 panion. ; 
 
 ‘No; they have altered the laws, giving every 
 encouragement to forgers, villains, and perjurers. But 
 
 } | 
 f 
 
 ¢ 
 7 
 
 | 
 
 1s 
 
 H 
 
Lae a, Sar ae oe “i, sae 4 17 7% * et Fig 
 
 MRS. MASON’S HOT LUNCHEON. 99 
 
 they can give her penal servitude for life. ‘They must 
 do it.” 
 
 “She is not convicted yet, you know.” 
 
 ‘““‘D—— her!” repeated the owner of Groby Park 
 again, as he thought of his twenty years of loss. Eight 
 hundred a year for twenty years had been taken away 
 from him; and he had been worsted before the world 
 after a hard fight. ‘“D—— her!” he continued in a 
 growl between his teeth. Mr. Dockwrath when he had 
 first heard his companion say how horrid and dreadful 
 the affair was, had thought that Mr. Mason was alluding 
 to the condition in which the lady had placed herself 
 by her assumed guilt. But it was of his own con- 
 dition that he was speaking. ‘The idea which shocked 
 him was the thought of the treatment which he himself 
 had undergone. The dreadful thing at which he shud- 
 dered was his own ill usage. As for her; — pity for 
 her! Did a man ever pity a rat that had eaten into 
 his choicest dainties? 
 
 “The lunch is on the table, sir,” said the Groby 
 Park footman in the Groby Park livery. Under the 
 present household arrangement of Groby Park all the 
 servants lived on board wages. Mrs. Mason did not 
 like this system, though it had about it certain circum- 
 stances of economy which recommended it to her; it 
 interfered greatly with the stringent aptitudes of her 
 character and the warmest passion of her heart; it took 
 away from her the delicious power of serving out the 
 servants’ food, of locking up the scraps of meat, and of 
 \charging the maids with voracity. But, to tell the 
 jtruth, Mr. Mason had been driven by sheer necessity 
 to take this step, as it had been found impossible to 
 induce his wife to give out sufficient food to enable 
 
 7% 
 
100 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 the servants to live and work. She knew that in not 
 doing so she injured herself; but she could not do it. 
 The knife in passing through the loaf would make the 
 portion to be parted with less by one third than the 
 portion to be retained. Half a pound of salt butter 
 would reduce itself to a quarter of a pound. Portions 
 of meat would become infinitesimal. When standing 
 with viands before her, she had not free will over her 
 hands. She could not bring herself to part with 
 victuals, though she might ruin herself by retaining 
 them. Therefore, by the order of the master, were the 
 servants placed on board wages. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath soon found himself in the dining- 
 room, where the three young ladies with their mamma 
 were already seated at the table. It was a handsome 
 room, and the furniture was handsome; but nevertheless 
 it was a heavy room, and the furniture was heavy. 
 The table was large enough for a party of twelve, and 
 might have borne a noble banquet; as it was the pro- 
 mise was not bad, for there were three large plated 
 covers concealing hot viands, and in some houses lunch 
 means only bread and cheese. 
 
 Mr. Mason went through a form of iibeodention 
 between Mr. Dockwrath and his daughters. “That is 
 Miss Mason, that Miss Creusa Mason, and this Miss 
 Penelope. John, remove the covers.” And the covers 
 were removed, John taking them from the table with 
 a magnificent action of his arm which I am inclined to 
 think was not innocent of irony. On the dish before iy) 
 the master of the house, — a large dish which must I 
 fancy have been selected by the cook with some nar 
 attempt at sarcasm, — there reposed three scraps, as 
 to the nature of which Mr. Dockwrath, though he || 
 
 /\ 
 
MRS. MASON’S HOT LUNCHEON. 101 
 
 looked hard at them, was unable to enlighten himself. 
 But Mr. Mason knew them well, as he now placed his 
 eyes on them for the third time. They were old 
 enemies of his, and his brow again became black as he 
 looked at them. The scraps in fact consisted of two 
 drumsticks of a fowl and some indescribable bone out 
 of the back of the same. The original bird had no 
 doubt first revealed all its glories to human eyes, — 
 presuming the eyes of the cook to be inhuman — in 
 Mrs. Mason’s “‘boodoor.” ‘Then, on the dish before the 
 lady, there were three other morsels, black-looking and 
 very suspicious to the eye, which in the course of con- 
 versation were proclaimed to be ham, — broiled ham. 
 Mrs. Mason would never allow a ham in its proper 
 shape to come into the room, because it is an article 
 upon which the guests are themselves supposed to 
 operate with the carving-knife. Lastly, on the disli 
 before Miss Creusa there reposed three potatoes. 
 
 The face of Mr. Mason became very black as he 
 looked at the banquet which was spread upon his 
 board, and Mrs. Mason, eyeing him across the table, 
 saw that it was so. She was not a lady who despised 
 such symptoms in her lord, or disregarded in her 
 valour the violence of marital storms. She had quailed 
 more than once or twice under rebuke occasioned by 
 her great domestic virtue, and knew that her husband, 
 though he might put up with much as regarded his 
 .,own comfort and that of his children, could be very 
 angry at injuries done to his household honour and 
 \character as a hospitable English country gentleman. 
 
 Consequently the lady smiled and tried to look 
 self-satisfied as she invited her guest to eat. ‘This is 
 ham,” said she with a little simper, ‘“‘broiled ham, Mr. 
 
102 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Dockwrath; and there is chicken at the other end; I 
 think they call it — devilled.” 
 
 ‘Shall I assist the young ladies to anything first?” 
 said the attorney, wishing to be polite. 
 
 ‘Nothing, thank you,” said Miss Penelope, with a 
 very stiff bow. She also knew that Mr. Dockwrath 
 was an attorney from Hamworth, and considered her- 
 self by no means bound to hold any sort of conversa- 
 tion with him. 
 
 ‘“My daughters only eat bread and butter in the 
 middle of the day,” said the lady. ‘‘Creusa, my dear, 
 will you give Mr. Dockwrath a potato. Mr. Mason, 
 Mr. Dockwrath will probably take a bit of that 
 chicken.” 
 
 “T would recommend him to follow the girls’ ex- 
 ample, and confine himself to the bread and butter,” 
 said the master of the house, pushing about the scraps 
 with his knife and fork. ‘There is nothing here for 
 him to eat.” 
 
 ‘““My dear!” exclaimed Mrs. Mason. 
 
 “There is nothing here for him to eat,” repeated 
 Mr. Mason. ‘‘And as far as I can see there is nothing 
 there either. What is it you pretend to have in that 
 dish?” 
 
 “My dear!” again exclaimed Mrs. Mason. 
 
 “What is it?” repeated the lord of the house in an 
 angry tone. 
 
 “Broiled ham, Mr. Mason.” 
 
 “Then let the ham be brought in,” said he. “Diana, ir 
 ring the bell.” 
 
 “But the ham is not cooked, Mr. Mason,” said the 
 lady. “Broiled ham is always better when it has not 
 been first boiled.” 
 
eh ON a eee age th ker 
 MRS. MASON’S HOT LUNCHEON. 103 
 
 “Is there no cold meat in the house?” he asked. 
 
 “I am afraid not,” she replied, now trembling a 
 little in anticipation of what might be coming after the 
 stranger should have gone. ‘You never like large 
 joints yourself, Mr. Mason; and for ourselves we don’t 
 eat meat at luncheon.” 
 
 ‘Nor anybody else either, here,” said Mr. Mason in 
 his anger. 
 
 “Pray don’t mind me, Mr. Mason,” said the 
 attorney, “pray don’t, Mr. Mason. “I am a very poor 
 fist at lunch; I am indeed.” 
 
 ‘“‘T am sure I am very sorry, very sorry, Mr. Mason,” 
 continued the lady. “If I had known that an early 
 dinner was required, it should have been provided; — 
 although the notice given was so very short.” 
 
 “T never dine early,” said Mr. Dockwrath, thinking 
 that some imputation of a low way of living was con- 
 veyed in this supposition that he required a dinner 
 under the pseudonym of a lunch. “I never do, upon 
 my word — we are quite regular at home at half-past 
 five, and all I ever take in the middle of the day is a 
 biscuit and a glass of sherry, — or perhaps a bite of 
 bread and cheese. Don’t be uneasy about me, Mrs. 
 Mason.” 
 
 The three young ladies, having now finished thew 
 repast, got up from the table and retired, following 
 
 each other out of the room in a line. Mrs. Mason 
 ~ remained for a minute or two longer, and then she also 
 went. ‘The carriage has been ordered at three, Mr. 
 /M.,” she said. “Shall we have the pleasure of your 
 ‘company?” “No,” growled the husband. And then 
 _the lady went, sweeping a low curtsy to Mr. Dockwrath 
 
 ) as she passed out of the room. 
 
SEE ity ee nen ae FORD Ce WRC PEt Ie ToS van ea a 
 
 104 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 There was again a silence between the host and his 
 guest for some two or three minutes, during which Mr. 
 
 Mason was endeavouring to get the lunch out of his 
 
 head, and to redirect his whole mind to Lady Mason 
 and his hopes of vengeance. There is nothing perhaps 
 so generally consoling to a man as a well-established 
 grievance; a feeling of having been injured, on which 
 his mind can brood from hour to hour, allowing him to 
 plead his own cause in his own court, within his own 
 heart, — and always to plead it successfully. At last 
 Mr. Mason succeeded, and he could think of his 
 enemy’s fraud and forget his wife’s meanness. ‘I sup- 
 pose I may as well order my gig now,” said Mr. 
 Dockwrath, as soon. as his host had arrived at this 
 happy frame of mind. 
 
 “Your gig? ah, well. Yes. I do not know that I 
 need detain you any longer. I can assure you that I 
 am much obliged to you, Mr. Dockwrath, and I shall 
 hope to see you in London very shortly.” 
 
 “You are determined to go to Round and Crook, I 
 suppose?” 
 
 “Oh, certainly.” 
 
 ‘You are wrong, sir. They'll throw you over again 
 as sure as your name is Mason. 
 
 “Mr. Dockwrath, you must if you please allow me — 
 
 to judge of that myself.” 
 “Oh, of course, sir, of course. But I’m sure that 
 a gentleman like you, Mr. Mason, will understand —” 
 ‘“T shall understand that I cannot expect your ser- 
 vices, Mr. Dockwrath, -— your valuable time and 
 services, —- without remunerating you for them. That 
 shall be fully explained to Messrs. Round and Crook.” 
 “Very well, sir; very well. As long as I am paid 
 
SS Ay Bae Sy! TF 
 
 A CONVIVIAL MERTING. 105 
 
 for what I do, I am content. A professional gentleman 
 of course expects that. How is he to get along else; 
 particular with sixteen children?” And then Mr. 
 Dockwrath got into the gig, and was driven back to 
 the Bull at Leeds. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A Convivial Meeting. 
 
 On the whole Mr. Dockwrath was satisfied with the 
 results of his trip to Groby Park, and was in a con- 
 tented frame of mind as he was driven back to Leeds. 
 No doubt it would have been better could he have 
 persuaded Mr. Mason to throw over Messrs. Round and 
 Crook, and put himself altogether into the hands of his 
 new adviser; but this had been too much to expect. 
 He had not expected it, and had made the suggestion 
 as the surest means of getting the best terms in his 
 power, rather than with a hope of securing the actual 
 advantage named. He had done much towards im- 
 pressing Mr. Mason with an idea of his own sharpness, 
 and perhaps something also towards breaking the 
 prestige which surrounded the names of the great Lon- 
 
 don firm. He would niow go to that firm and make 
 his terms with them. They would probably be quite 
 as ready to acquiesce in the importance of his infor- 
 mation as had been Mr. Mason. — 
 
 Before leaving the inn after breakfast he had agreed 
 to join the dinner in the commercial room at five 
 o'clock, and Mr. Mason’s hot lunch had by no means 
 induced him to alter his purpose. “I shall dine here,” 
 he had said when Mr. Moulder was discussing with the 
 waiter the all-important subject of dinner. ‘‘At the 
 
106 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 commercial table, sir?” the waiter had asked, doubt- 
 ingly. Mr. Dockwrath had answered boldly in the 
 affirmative, whereat Mr. Moulder had growled; but Mr. 
 Kantwise had expressed his satisfaction. “We shall 
 be extremely happy to enjoy your company,” Mr. 
 Kantwise had said, with a graceful bow, making up by 
 his excessive courtesy for the want of any courtesy on 
 the part of his brother-traveller. With reference to all 
 this Mr. Moulder said nothing: the stranger had been 
 admitted into the room, to a certain extent even with 
 his own consent, and he could not now be turned out; 
 but he resolved within his own mind that for the 
 future he would be more firm in maintaining the 
 ordinances and institutes of his profession. 
 
 On his road home Mr. Dockwrath had encountered 
 Mr. Kantwise going to Groby Park, intent on his sale 
 of a drawing-room set of the metallic furniture; and 
 when he again met him in the commercial room he 
 asked after his success. ‘‘A wonderful woman that, 
 Mr. Dockwrath,” said Mr. Kantwise, ‘“‘a really wonder- 
 ful woman; no particular friend of yours I think you 
 say?” 
 
 “None in the least, Mr. Kantwise.” 
 
 “Then I may make bold to assert that foe per- 
 severing sharpness she beats all that I ever met, even 
 in Yorkshire;” and Mr. Kantwise looked at his new 
 friend over his shoulder, and shook his head as though 
 lost in wonder and admiration. ‘‘ What do you think 
 she’s done now?” 
 
 “She didn’t give you much to eat, I take it.” 
 
 “Much to eat! Dll tell you what it is, Mr. Dock- 
 wrath; my belief is that that woman would have an 
 
 absolute pleasure in starving a Christian; I do indeed. | 
 
eee, eee ee ee Se ey Qe i TSN g! RP ye 
 
 | 
 } 
 | 
 { 
 / 
 
 A CONVIVIAL MEETING. 107 
 
 I'll tell you what she has done; she has made me put 
 her up a set of them things at twelve, seventeen, six! 
 I needn’t tell you that they were never made for the 
 money.” 
 
 “Why, then, did you part with them at a loss?” 
 
 “Well; that’s the question. I was.soft, I suppose, 
 She got round me, badgering me, till I didn’t know 
 where I was. She wanted them as a present for the 
 curate’s wife, she said. Whatever should induce her 
 to make a present!” 
 
 “She got them for twelve, seventeen, six; did she?” 
 said Dockwrath, thinking that it might be as well to 
 remember this, if he should feel inclined to make a 
 purchase himself. 
 
 “But they was strained, Mr. Dockwrath; I must 
 admit they was strained, —- particularly the loo.” 
 
 “You had gone through your gymnastics on it a 
 little too often?” asked the attorney. But this Mr. 
 Kantwise would not acknowledge. The strength of 
 that table was such that he could stand on it for ever 
 without injury to it; but nevertheless, in some other 
 way it had become strained, and therefore he had sold 
 the set to Mrs. Mason for 12/. 17s. 6d., that lady being 
 minded to make a costly present to the wife of the 
 curate of Groby. 
 
 When dinner-time came Mr. Dockwrath found that 
 the party was swelled to the number of eight, five 
 other undoubted commercials having brought them- 
 selves to anchor at the Bull Inn during the day. To 
 all of these Mr. Kantwise introduced him. ‘Mr. Gape, 
 Mr. Dockwrath,” said he, gracefully moving towards 
 them the palm of his hand, and eyeing them over his 
 shoulder. ‘‘Mr. Gape is in the stationery line,” he 
 
 ) | 
 
S40 i eee Tr a A p59 peice ¥ << Ue * - ¢ we PE et Le ay a) ee vie a See we Pee ate 
 
 108 ow ORLEY FARM. 
 
 added, in a whisper to the attorney, “and does for 
 Cumming and Jibber of St. Paul’s Churchyard. Mr. 
 Johnson, Mr. Dockwrath. Mr. J. is from Sheffield. Mr. 
 Snengkeld, Mr. Dockwrath;” and then he imparted in 
 another whisper the necessary information as to Mr. 
 Snengkeld. ‘Soft goods, for Brown Brothers, of Snow 
 Hill,” and so on through the whole fraternity. Hach 
 member bowed as his name was mentioned; but they 
 did not do so very graciously, as Mr. Kantwise was not 
 a great man among them. Had the stranger been in- 
 troduced to them by Moulder, — Moulder the patriarch, 
 — his reception among them would have been much 
 warmer. And then they sat down to dinner, Mr. Moulder 
 taking the chair as president, and Mr. Kantwise sitting 
 opposite to him, as being the longest sojourner at the 
 inn. Mr. Dockwrath sat at the right hand of Kantwise, 
 discreetly avoiding the neighbourhood of Moulder, and 
 the others ranged themselves according to fancy at the 
 table. ‘‘Come up along side of me, old fellow,” Moulder 
 said to Snengkeld. “It aint the first time that you 
 and I have smacked our lips together over the same 
 bit of roast beef.” ‘Nor won't, I hope, be the last by 
 a long chalk, Mr. Moulder,” said Snengkeld, speaking 
 with a deep, hoarse voice which seemed to ascend from 
 some region of his body far below his chest. Moulder 
 and Snengkeld were congenial spirits; but the latter, 
 though the older man, was not endowed with so large 
 a volume of body or so highly dominant a spirit. 
 Brown Brothers, of Snow Hill, were substantial people, 
 and Mr. Snengkeld travelled in strict accordance 
 with the good old rules of trade which Moulder loved 
 so well. 
 The politeness and general good manners of the 
 f 
 
 x 
 
A CONVIVIAL MEETING. 109 
 
 company were something very pretty to witness. Mr. 
 Dockwrath, as a stranger, was helped first, and every 
 courtesy was shown to him. Even Mr. Moulder carved 
 the beef for him with a loving hand, and Mr. Kantwise 
 was almost subservient in his attention. Mr. Dockwrath 
 thought that he had certainly done right in coming to 
 the commercial table, and resolved on doing so on all 
 occasions of future journeys. So far all was good. The 
 commercial dinner, as he had ascertained, would cost 
 him only two shillings, and a much inferior repast 
 eaten by himself elsewhere would have stood in his 
 bill for three. So far all was good; but the test by 
 which he was to be tried was now. approaching him. 
 
 When the dinner was just half over, — Mr. Moulder 
 well knew how to mark the time — that gentleman 
 called for the waiter, and whispered an important order 
 into that functionary’s ears. ‘The functionary bowed, 
 retired from the room, and reappeared again in two 
 minutes, bearing a bottle of sherry in each hand; one 
 of these he deposited at the right hand of Mr. Moulder, 
 and the other at the right hand of Mr. Kantwise. 
 
 “Sir,” said Mr. Moulder, addressing himself with 
 great ceremony to Mr. Dockwrath, “the honour of a 
 glass of wine with you, sir,” and the president, to give 
 more importance to the occasion, put down his knife 
 and fork, leaned back in his chair, and put both his 
 hands upon his waistcoat, looking intently at the at- 
 torney out of his little eyes. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath was immediately aware that a crisis 
 had come upon him which demanded an instant de- 
 cision. If he complied with the president’s invitation 
 ‘he would have to pay his proportion of all the wine 
 
 (bill that might be incurred that evening by the seven 
 
 | 
 | 
 | 
 
110 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 commercial gentlemen at the table, and he knew well 
 that commercial gentlemen do sometimes call for bottle 
 after bottle with a reckless disregard of expense. But 
 to him, with his sixteen children, wine at an hotel was 
 terrible. A pint of beer and a glass of brandy and 
 water were the luxuries which he had promised himself, 
 and with manly fortitude he resolved that he would 
 not be coerced into extravagance by any president or 
 any Moulder. 
 
 “Sir,” said he, “I’m obliged by the honour, but I 
 don’t drink wine to my dinner.’ Whereupon Mr. 
 Moulder bowed his head very solemnly, winked at 
 Snengkeld, and then drank wine with that gentleman. 
 
 “It’s the rule of the room,” whispered Mr. Kantwise 
 into Mr. Dockwrath’s ear; but Mr. Dockwrath pre- 
 tended not to hear him, and the matter was allowed to 
 pass by for the time. 
 
 But Mr. Snengkeld asked him for the honour, as 
 also did Mr. Gape, who sat at Moulder’s left hand; 
 and then Mr. Dockwrath began to wax angry. “I think 
 I remarked before that I don’t drink wine to my 
 dinner,” he said; and then the three at the president’s 
 end of the table all looked at each other very solemnly, 
 and they all winked; and after that there was very 
 little conversation during the remainder of the meal, 
 for men knew that the goddess of discord was in the 
 air. 
 
 The cheese came, and with that a bottle of port 
 wine, which was handed round, Mr. Dockwrath of 
 course refusing to join in the conviviality; and then 
 the cloth was drawn, and the decanters were put before 
 the president. “James, bring me a little brandy and _ 
 water,” said the attorney, striving to put a bold face’ 
 
A CONVIVIAL MEETING. 111 
 
 on the matter, but yet speaking with diminished 
 voice. 
 
 “Half a moment, if you please, sir,” said Moulder, 
 and then he exclaimed with stentorian voice, ‘‘ James, 
 the dinner bill.” ‘Yes, sir,” said the waiter, and dis- 
 appeared without any thought towards the requisition 
 for brandy-and-water from Mr. Dockwrath. 
 
 For the next five minutes they all remained silent, 
 except that Mr. Moulder gave the Queen’s health as 
 he filled his glass and pushed the bottles from him. 
 “Gentlemen, the Queen,” and then he lifted his glass 
 of port up to the light, shut one eye as he looked at 
 it, and immediately swallowed the contents as though 
 he were taking a dose of physic. ‘I’m afraid they'll 
 charge you for the wine,” said Mr. Kantwise, again 
 whispering to his neighbour. But Mr. Dockwrath paid 
 no apparent attention to what was said to him. He 
 was concentrating his energies with a view to the 
 battle. 
 
 James, the waiter, soon returned. He also knew 
 well what was about to happen, and he trembled as he 
 handed in the document to the president. “Let’s have 
 it, James,” said Moulder, with much pleasantry, as he 
 took the paper in his hand. “The old ticket I sup- 
 pose; five bob a head.” And then he read out the 
 bill, the total of which, wine and beer included, came 
 to forty shillings. ‘Five shillings a head, gentlemen, 
 as I said. You and I can make a pretty good guess 
 as to the figure; eh, Snengkeld?” And then he put 
 down his two half-crowns on the waiter, as also did 
 Mr. Snengkeld, and then Mr. Gape, and so on till it 
 came to Mr. Kantwise. 
 
 “I think you and I will leave it, and settle at the 
 
112 ORLEY FARM. 
 bar,” said Kantwise, appealing to Dockwrath, and in- 
 tending peace if peace were still possible. 
 
 “No,” shouted Moulder, from the other end of the 
 table; “let the man have his money now, and then his 
 troubles will be over. If there’s to be any fuss about 
 it, let’s have it out. I like to see the dinner bill settled 
 as soon as the dinner is eaten. ‘Then one gets an ap- 
 petite for one’s supper.” 
 
 ‘I don’t think I have the change,” said Kantwise, 
 still putting off the evil day. 
 
 “Tl lend it you,” said Moulder, putting his hand 
 into his trousers-pockets. But the money was forth- 
 coming out of Mr. Kantwise’s own proper repositories, 
 and with slow motion he put down the five shillings 
 one after the other. 
 
 'And then the waiter came to Mr. Dockwrath. 
 “What's this?” said the attorney, taking up the bill 
 and looking at it. ‘The whole matter had been suf- 
 ficiently explained to him, but nevertheless Mr. Moulder 
 explained it again. ‘In commercial rooms, sir, as no 
 doubt you must be well aware, seeing that you have 
 done us the honour of joining us here, the dinner bill 
 is divided equally among all the gentlemen as sit 
 down. It’s the rule of the room, sir. You has what 
 you like, and you calls for what you like, and con- 
 wiviality is thereby encouraged. The figure generally 
 comes to five shillings, and you afterwards gives what 
 you like to the waiter. That’s about it, aint it, 
 James?” 
 
 ‘That's the rule, sir, in all commercial rooms as I 
 ever see,” said the waiter. 
 
 The matter had been so extremely well put by Mr. 
 Moulder, and that gentleman’s words had carried with 
 
Sak aan 7 MEIN RUN er Tf oar ula Lee Be 
 
 A CONVIVIAL MEETING. 113 
 
 them so much conviction, that Dockwrath felt himself 
 almost tempted to put down the money: as far as his 
 sixteen children and general ideas of economy were 
 concerned he would have done so; but his legal mind 
 could not bear to be beaten. The spirit of litigation 
 within him told him that the point was to be carried. 
 Moulder, Gape, and Snengkeld together could not make 
 him pay for wine he had neither ordered nor swallowed. 
 His pocket was guarded by the law of the land, and 
 not by the laws of any special room in which he 
 might chance to find himself. “I shall pay two shillings 
 for my dinner,” said he, “and sixpence for my beer;” 
 and then he deposited the half-crown. 
 
 “Do you mean us to understand,” said Moulder, 
 “that after forcing your way into this room, and sitting 
 down along with gentlemen at this table, you refuse to 
 abide by the rules of the room?” And Mr. Moulder 
 spoke and looked as though he thought that such 
 treachery must certainly lead to most disastrous results. 
 The disastrous result which a stranger might have ex- 
 pected at the moment would be a fit of apoplexy on 
 the part of the worthy president. 
 
 “T neither ordered that wine nor did I drink it,” 
 said Mr. Dockwrath, compressing his lips, leaning 
 back in his chair, and looking up into one corner of 
 the ceiling. 
 
 “The gentleman certainly did not drink the wine,” 
 said Kantwise, ‘I must acknowledge that; and as for 
 ordering it, why that was done by the president, in 
 course.” 
 
 “Gammon!” said Mr. Moulder, and he fixed his 
 eyes steadfastly upon his Vice. ‘“Kantwise, that’s 
 gammon. ‘The most of what you says is gammon.” 
 | Orley Farm. I. 8 
 
4114 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “Mr. Moulder, I don’t exactly know what you mean 
 by that word gammon, but it’s objectionable. ‘To my 
 feelings it’s very objectionable. I say that the gentle- 
 man did not drink the wine, and I appeal to the gen- 
 tleman who sits at the gentleman’s right, whether what 
 I say is not correct. If what I say is correct, it can’t 
 be — gammon. Mr. Busby, did the gentleman drink 
 the wine, or did he not?” 
 
 “Not as I see,” said Mr. Busby, somewhat nervous 
 at being thus brought into the controversy. He was a 
 young man just commencing his travels, and stood in 
 awe of the great Moulder. 
 
 ‘“Gammon!” shouted Moulder, with a very red face. 
 “Everybody at the table knows he didn’t drink the 
 wine. Everybody saw that he declined the honour 
 when proposed, which I don’t know that I ever saw a 
 gentleman do at a commercial table till this day, 
 barring that he was a teetotaller, which is gammon too. 
 But it’s P. P. here, as every commercial gentleman 
 knows, Kantwise as well as the best of us.” 
 
 “Pp. P., that’s the rule,” growled Snengkeld, almost 
 from under the table. 
 
 ‘In commercial rooms, as the gentleman must be 
 aware, the rule is as stated by my friend on my right,” 
 said Mr. Gape. “The wine is ordered by the president 
 or chairman, and is paid for in equal proportions by 
 the company or guests,” and in his oratory Mr. Gape 
 laid great stress on the word “or.” “The gentleman 
 will easily perceive that such a rule as this is ne- 
 cessary in such a society; and unless —” 
 
 But Mr. Gape was apt to make long speeches, and 
 therefore Mr. Moulder interrupted him. “You had 
 
A CONVIVIAL MEETING. i 5) 
 
 better pay your five shillings, sir, and have no jaw 
 
 about it. ‘The man is standing idle there.” 
 
 “It’s not the value of the money,” said Dockwrath, 
 “but I must decline to acknowledge that I am amenable 
 to the jurisdiction.” 
 
 “There has clearly been a mistake,” said Johnson 
 from Sheffield, “‘and we had better settle it among us; 
 anything is better than a row.” Johnson from Sheffield 
 was a man somewhat inclined to dispute the supremacy 
 of Moulder from Houndsditch. 
 
 ‘‘No, Johnson,” said the president. ‘Anything is 
 not better than a row. A premeditated infraction of 
 our rules is not better than a row.” 
 
 ‘Did you say premeditated?” said Kantwise. “TI 
 think not premeditated.” 
 
 “T did say premeditated, and I say it again.” 
 
 “Tt looks uncommon like it,” said Snengkeld. 
 
 “When a gentleman,” said Gape, “who does not 
 belong to a society —” 
 
 “It’s no good having more talk,” said Moulder, 
 “and we'll soon bring this to an end. Mr. ie 
 haven't the honour of knowing the gentleman’s name.” 
 
 “My name is Dockwrath, and I am a solicitor.” 
 
 “Oh, a solicitor; are you? and you said last night 
 you was commercial! Will you be good enough to 
 tell us, Mr. Solicitor — for I didn’t just catch your 
 name, except that it begins with a dock — and that’s 
 where most of your clients are to be found, I sup- 
 pose —” 
 
 “Order, order, order!” said Kantwise, holding up 
 
 both his hands. 
 
 “Tt’s the chair as is speaking,” said Mr. Gape, who 
 cae 
 
116 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 had a true Englishman’s notion that the chair itself 
 could not be called to order. 
 
 “You shouldn’t insult the gentleman because he 
 has his own ideas,” said Johnson. 
 
 “T don’t want to insult no one,” continued Moulder; 
 “and those who know me best, among whom I can’t 
 as yet count Mr. Johnson, though hopes I shall some 
 day, won't say it of me.” “Hear — hear — hear!” 
 from both Snengkeld and Gape; to which Kantwise 
 added a little “hear — hear!” of his own, of which 
 Mr. Moulder did not quite approve. ‘Mr. Snengkeld 
 and Mr. Gape, they’re my old friends, and they knows 
 me. And they knows the way of a commercial room 
 — which some gentlemen don’t seem as though they 
 do. I don’t want to insult no one; but as chairman 
 here at this conwivial meeting, I asks that gentleman 
 who says he is a solicitor whether he means to pay his 
 dinner bill according to the rules of the room, or whether 
 he don’t?” 
 
 “Tve paid for what I’ve had already,” said Dock- 
 wrath, “and I don’t mean to pay for what I’ve not 
 had.” 
 
 “James,” exclaimed Moulder — and all the chair- 
 man was in his voice as he spoke, — “my compliments 
 to Mr. Crump, and I will request his attendance for 
 five minutes:” and then James left the room, and there 
 was silence for a while, during which the bottles made 
 their round of the table. 
 
 ‘‘Hadn’t we better send back the pint of wine 
 which Mr. Dockwrath hasn’t used?” suggested Kant- 
 wise. 
 
 “Tm d— if we do!” replied Moulder, with much 
 energy; and the general silence was not again broken 
 
 ’ 
 
 ’ 
 
" 
 
 A CONVIVIAL MEETING. aby tg 
 
 till Mr. Crump made his appearance; but the chairman 
 whispered a private word or two to his friend Snengkeld. 
 “T never sent back ordered liquor to the bar yet, un- 
 less it was bad; and I’m not going to begin now.” 
 
 And then Mr. Crump came in. Mr. Crump was a 
 very clean-looking person, without any beard; and dressed 
 from head to foot in black. He was about fifty, with 
 grizzly gray hair, which stood upright on his head, 
 and his face at the present moment wore on it an inn- 
 keeper's smile. But it could also assume an innkeeper’s 
 frown, and on occasions did so — when bills were dis- 
 puted, or unreasonable strangers thought that they 
 knew the distance in posting miles round the neigh- 
 bourhood of Leeds better than did he, Mr. Crump, who 
 had lived at the Bull Inn all his life. But Mr. Crump 
 rarely frowned on commercial gentlemen, from whom 
 was derived the main stay of his business and the main 
 prop of his house. 
 
 “Mr. Crump,” began Moulder, ‘there has occurred 
 a very unpleasant transaction.” 
 
 “T know all about it, gentlemen,” said Mr. Crump. 
 “The waiter has acquainted me, and I can assure you, 
 gentlemen, that I am extremely sorry that anything 
 should have arisen to disturb the harmony of your 
 dinner-table.” 
 
 “We must now call upon you, Mr. Crump,” began 
 Mr. Moulder, who was about to demand that Dock- 
 wrath should be turned bodily out of the room. 
 
 “Tf you'll allow me one moment, Mr. Moulder,” 
 continued Mr. Crump, “and I'll tell you what is my 
 suggestion. ‘The gentleman here, who I understand is 
 a lawyer, does not wish to comply with the rules of 
 the commercial room.” 
 
 ’ 
 
 s 
 
118 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “YT certainly don’t wish or intend to pay for drink 
 that I didn’t order and haven’t had,” said Dockwrath. 
 
 “Exactly,” said Mr. Crump. ‘And therefore, gen- 
 tlemen, to get out of the difficulty, we'll presume, if 
 » you please, that the bill is paid.” 
 
 “The lawyer, as you call him, will have to leave 
 the room,” said Moulder. 
 
 ‘Perhaps he will not object to step over to the 
 
 coffee-room on the other side,” suggested the landlord.. 
 
 “T can’t think of leaving my seat here under such 
 circumstances,” said Dockwrath. 
 
 “You can’t,” said Moulder. ‘Then you must be 
 made, as I take it.” 
 
 “Tet me see the man that will make me,” said 
 Dockwrath. | 
 
 Mr. Crump looked very apologetic and not very 
 comfortable. “There is a difficulty, gentlemen; there 
 is a difficulty, indeed,” he said. ‘‘The fact is, the gen- 
 tleman should not have been showed into the room at 
 all;” and he looked very angrily at his own servant, 
 James. 
 
 ‘““He said he was ’mercial,” said James. ‘‘So he 
 did. Now he says as how he’s a lawyer. What’s a 
 poor man to do?” 
 
 “Tm a commercial lawyer,” said Dockwrath. 
 
 “He must leave the room, or I shall leave the 
 house,” said Moulder. 
 
 ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen!” said Crump. ‘This kind 
 of thing does not happen often, and on this occasion I 
 must try your kind patience. If Mr. Moulder would 
 allow me to suggest that the commercial gentlemen 
 should take their wine in the large drawing-room up 
 stairs this evening, Mrs. C. will do her best to make 
 
A CONVIVIAL MEBRTING. 119 
 
 it’ comfortable for them in five minutes. There of 
 course they can be private.” 
 
 There was something in the idea of leaving Mr. 
 Dockwrath alone in his glory which appeased the spirit 
 of the great Moulder. He had known Crump, more- 
 over, for many years, and was aware that it would be 
 a dangerous, and probably an expensive proceeding to 
 thrust out the attorney by violence. “If the other gen- 
 tlemen are agreeable, I am,” said he. The other 
 gentlemen were agreeable, and, with the exception of 
 Kantwise, they all rose from their chairs. 
 
 “T must say I think you ought to leave the room 
 as you don’t choose to abide by the rules,” said John- 
 son, addressing himself to Dockwrath. 
 
 ‘“'That’s your opinion,” said Dockwrath. 
 
 “Yes, it is,” said Johnson. ‘That's my opinion.” 
 
 ‘“My own happens to be different,” said Dockwrath; 
 and so he kept his chair. 
 
 “There, Mr. Crump,” said Moulder, taking half a 
 crown from his pocket, and throwing it on the table. 
 “T shan’t see you at a loss.” 
 
 “Thank you, sir,’ said Mr. Crump; and he very 
 humbly took up the money. 
 
 “T keep a little account for charity at home,’ 
 Moulder. 
 
 “Tt don’t run very high, do it?” asked Snengkeld, 
 jocosely. 
 
 “Not out of the way, it don’t. But now I shall 
 have the pleasure of writing down in it that I paid 
 half a crown for a lawyer who couldn’t afford to settle 
 his own dinner bill. Sir, we have the pleasure of 
 wishing you a good night.” 
 
 ? 
 
 said 
 
120 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “TY hope you'll find the large drawing-room up 
 stairs quite comfortable,” said Dockwrath. 
 
 And then they all marched out of the room, each 
 with his own glass. Mr. Moulder leading the way with 
 stately step. It was pleasant to see them as they all 
 followed their leader across the open passage of the 
 gateway, in by the bar, and so up the chief staircase. 
 Mr. Moulder walked slowly, bearing the bottle of port 
 and his own glass, and Mr. Snengkeld and Mr. Gape 
 followed in line, bearing also their own glasses, and 
 maintaining the dignity of their profession under cir- 
 cumstances of some difficulty. 
 
 “Gentlemen, I really am sorry for this little ac- 
 cident,” said Mr. Crump, as they were passing the bar; 
 “but a lawyer, you know —” 
 
 “And such a lawyer, eh, Crump?” said Moulder. 
 
 ‘It might be five-and-twenty pound to me to lay a 
 hand on him!” said the landlord. 
 
 When the time came for Mr. Kantwise to move, he 
 considered the matter well. The chances, however, as 
 he calculated them, were against any profitable business 
 being done with the attorney, so he also left the room. 
 ““Good night, sir,” he said as he went. “I wish you 
 a very good night.” 
 
 “Take care of yourself,” said Dockwrath; and then 
 the attorney spent the rest of the evening alone. 
 
MR., MRS., AND MISS FURNIVAL. 121 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Mr., Mrs., and Miss Furnival. 
 
 I wit now ask my readers to come with me up 
 to London, in order that I may introduce them to the 
 family of the Furnivals. We shall see much of the 
 Furnivals before we reach the end of our present under- 
 taking, and it will be well that we should commence 
 our acquaintance with them as early as may be done. 
 
 Mr. Furnival was a lawyer — I mean a barrister — 
 belonging to Lincoln’s Inn, and living at the time at 
 which our story is supposed to commence in Harley 
 Street. But he had not been long a resident in Harley 
 Street, having left the less fashionable neighbourhood 
 of Russell Square only two or three years before that 
 period. On his marriage he had located himself in a 
 small house in Keppel Street, and had there remained 
 till professional success, long waited for, enabled him 
 to move further west, and indulge himself with the 
 comforts of larger rooms and more servants. At the 
 time of which I am now speaking Mr. Furnival was 
 known, and well known, as a successful man; but he 
 had struggled long and hard before that success had 
 come to him, and during the earliest years of his mar- 
 ried life had found the work of keeping the wolf from 
 his door to be almost more than enough for his 
 energies. 
 
 Mr. Furnival practised at the common law bar, and 
 early in life had attached himself to the home circuit. 
 I cannot say why he obtained no great success till he 
 was nearer fifty than forty years of age. At that time 
 I fancy that barristers did not come to their prime till 
 a period of life at which other men are supposed to 
 
nD? ORLEY FARM. 
 
 be in their decadence. Nevertheless, he had married 
 on nothing, and had kept the wolf from the door. To 
 do this he had been constant at his work in season 
 and out of season, during the long hours of day and 
 the long hours of night. Throughout his term times 
 he had toiled in court, and during the vacations he 
 had toiled out of court. He had reported volumes of | 
 cases, having been himself his own short-hand writer, 
 -—— as it is well known to most young lawyers, who as 
 a rule always fill an upper shelf in their law libraries 
 with Furnival and Staples’ seventeen volumes in calf. 
 He had worked for the booksellers, and for the news- 
 papers, and for the attorneys, — always working, how- 
 ever, with reference to the law; and though he had 
 worked for years with the lowest pay, no man had 
 heard him complain. That no woman had heard him 
 do so, I will not say; as it is more than probable that 
 into the sympathizing ears of Mrs. Furnival he did 
 pour forth plaints as to the small wages which the 
 legal world meted out to him in return for his labours. 
 He was a constant, hard, patient man, and at last 
 there came to him the full reward of all his industry. 
 What was the special case by which Mr. Furnival ob- 
 tained his great success no man could say. In all 
 probability there was no special case. Gradually it 
 began to be understood that he was a safe man, under- 
 standing his trade,' true to his clients, and very damaging 
 as an opponent. Legal gentlemen are, I believe, 
 quite as often bought off as bought up. Sir Richard 
 and Mr. Furnival could not both be required on the 
 same side, seeing what a tower of strength each was 
 in himself; but then Sir Richard would be absolutely 
 neutralized if Mr. Furnival were employed on the other 
 
BN 
 
 MR., MRS., AND MISS FURNIVAL. 123 
 
 side. ‘This is a system well understood by attorneys, 
 and has been found to be extremely lucrative by gen- 
 tlemen leading at the bar. 
 
 Mr. Furnival was now fifty-five years of age, and 
 was beginning to show in his face some traces of his 
 hard work. Not that he was becoming old, or weak, 
 or worn; but his eye had lost its fire — except the fire 
 peculiar to his profession; and there were wrinkles in 
 his forehead and cheeks; and his upper lip, except when 
 he was speaking, hung heavily over the lower; and the 
 loose skin below his eye was forming itself into saucers; 
 and his hair had become grizzled; and on his shoulders, 
 except when in court, there was a slight stoop. As 
 seen in his wig and gown he was a man of commanding 
 presence, — and for ten men in London who knew 
 him in this garb, hardly one knew him without it. He 
 was nearly six feet high, and stood forth prominently, 
 with square, broad shoulders and a large body. His 
 head also was large; his forehead was high, and marked 
 strongly by signs of intellect; his nose was long and 
 straight, his eyes were very gray, and capable to an 
 extraordinary degree both of direct severity and of 
 concealed sarcasm. Witnesses have been heard to say 
 that they could endure all that Mr. Furnival could say 
 to them, and continue in some sort to answer all his 
 questions, if only he would refrain from looking at 
 them. But he would never refrain; and therefore it 
 was now well understood how great a thing it was to 
 secure the services of Mr. Furnival. “Sir,” an attorney 
 would say to an unfortunate client doubtful as to the 
 expenditure, “your witnesses will not be able to stand 
 in the box if we allow Mr. Furnival to be engaged on 
 the other side.” I am inclined to think that Mr. 
 
7 
 
 sais Rely (eat cis SR Te GN SN aia bBo ae AN cag Ssh a aan ach ae ik RS 
 
 124 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Furnival owed to this power of his eyes his almost 
 unequalled perfection in that peculiar branch of his 
 profession. His voice was powerful, and not unpleasant 
 when used within the precincts of a court, though it 
 grated somewhat harshly on the ears in the smaller 
 compass of a private room. His flow of words was 
 free and good, and seemed to come from him without 
 the slightest effort. Such at least was always the case 
 with him when standing wigged and gowned before a 
 judge. Latterly, however, he had tried his eloquence 
 on another arena, and not altogether with equal suc- 
 cess. He was now in Parliament, sitting as member 
 for the Essex Marshes, and he had not as yet carried 
 either the country or the House with him, although he 
 had been frequently on his legs. Some men said that 
 with a little practice he would yet become very 
 serviceable as an honourable and learned member; but 
 others expressed a fear that he had come too late in 
 life to these new duties. 
 
 I have spoken of Mr. Furnival’s great success in 
 that branch of his profession which required from him 
 the examination of evidence, but I would not have it 
 thought that he was great only in this, or even mainly 
 in this. There are gentlemen at the bar, among whom 
 I may perhaps notice my old friend Mr. Chaffanbrass 
 as the most conspicuous, who have confined their talents 
 to the browbeating of witnesses, — greatly to their 
 own profit, and no doubt to the advantage of society. 
 But I would have it understood that Mr. Furnival was 
 by no means one of these. He had been no Old Bailey 
 lawyer, devoting himself to the manumission of mur- 
 derers, or the security of the swindling world in general. 
 He had been employed on abstruse points of law, had 
 
eee ee ee 
 
 \ 
 
 MR., MRS., AND MISS FURNIVAL. 120 
 
 been great in will cases, very learned as to the rights 
 of railways, peculiarly apt in enforcing the dowries of 
 married women, and successful above all things in 
 separating husbands and wives whose lives had not 
 been passed in accordance with the recognized rules of 
 Hymen. Indeed there is no branch of the Common 
 Law in which he was not regarded as great and 
 powerful, though perhaps his proficiency in damaging 
 the general characters of his opponents has been re- 
 cognized as his especial forte. Under these circum- 
 stances I should grieve to have him confounded with 
 such men as Mr. Chaffanbrass, who is hardly known 
 by the profession beyond the precincts of his own 
 peculiar court in the City. Mr. Furnival’s reputation 
 has spread itself wherever stuff gowns and horsehair 
 wigs are held in estimation. 
 
 Mr. Furnival when clothed in his forensic habili- 
 ments certainly possessed a solemn and severe dignity 
 which had its weight even with the judges. Those 
 who scrutinized his appearance critically might have 
 said that it was in some respects pretentious; but the 
 ordinary jurymen of this country are not critical scru- 
 tinizers of appearance, and by them he was never held 
 in light estimation. When in his address to them, 
 appealing to their intelligence, education, and en- 
 lightened justice, he would declare that the property 
 of his clients was perfectly safe in their hands, he 
 looked to be such an advocate as a litigant would fain 
 possess when dreading the soundness of his own cause. 
 Any cause was sound to him when once he had been 
 feed for its support, and he carried in his countenance 
 his assurance of this soundness, — and the assurance 
 of unsoundness in the cause of his opponent. Even he 
 
 » 
 
126 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 did not always win; but on the occasion of his losing, 
 those of the uninitiated who had heard the pleadings 
 would express their astonishment that he should not 
 have been successful. 
 
 When he was divested of his wig his appearance 
 was not so perfect. ‘There was then a hard, long 
 straightness about his head and face, giving to his 
 countenance the form of a parallelogram, to which 
 there belonged a certain meanness of expression. He 
 wanted the roundness of forehead, the short lines, and 
 the graceful curves of face which are necessary to 
 unadorned manly comeliness. His whiskers were small, 
 grizzled, and ill grown, and required the ample relief — 
 of his wig. In no guise did he look other than a 
 clever man; but in his dress as a simple citizen he 
 would perhaps be taken as a clever man in whose 
 tenderness of heart and cordiality of feeling one would 
 not at first sight place implicit trust. 
 
 As a poor man Mr. Furnival had done his duty 
 well by his wife and family, — for as a poor man he 
 had been blessed with four children. Three of these 
 had died as they were becoming men and women, and 
 now, as a rich man, he was left with one daughter, an 
 only child. As a poor man Mr. Furnival had been an 
 excellent husband, going forth in the morning to his 
 work, struggling through the day, and then returning 
 to his meagre dinner and his long evenings of un- 
 remitting drudgery. The bodily strength which had 
 supported him through his work in those days must 
 have been immense, for he had allowed himself no 
 holidays. And then success and money had come, — 
 and Mrs. Furnival sometimes found herself not quite so 
 
MR., MRS., AND MISS FURNIVAL. 127 
 
 happy as she had been when watching beside him in 
 the days of their poverty. 
 
 The equal mind, — as mortal Delius was bidden 
 to remember, and as Mr. Furnival might also have re- 
 membered had time been allowed him to cultivate the 
 classics, —- the equal mind should be as sedulously 
 maintained when things run well, as well as when they 
 run hardly; and perhaps the maintenance of such equal 
 mind is more difficult in the former than in the latter 
 stage of life. Be that as it may, Mr. Furnival could 
 now be very cross on certain domestic occasions, and 
 could also be very unjust. And there was worse than 
 this, — much worse behind. He, who in the heyday 
 of his youth would spend night after night poring over 
 his books, copying out reports, and never asking to see 
 a female habiliment brighter or more attractive than 
 his wife’s Sunday gown, he, at the age of fifty-five, 
 was now running after strange goddesses! he member 
 for the Essex Marshes, in these his latter days, was 
 obtaining for himself among other successes the char- 
 acter of a Lothario; and Mrs. Furnival, sitting at home 
 in her genteel drawing-room near Cavendish Square, 
 would remember with regret the small dingy parlour 
 in Keppel Street. 
 
 Mrs. Furnival in discussing her gfievances would 
 attribute them mainly to port wine. In his early days 
 Mr. Furnival had been essentially an abstemious man. 
 Young men who work fifteen hours a day must be so. 
 But now he had a strong opinion about certain Por- 
 tuguese vintages, was convinced that there was no port 
 wine in London equai to the contents of his own bin, 
 saving always a certain green cork appertaining to his 
 own club, which was to be extracted at the rate of 
 
EE A ee ee if Ops ah A ee) ge: ne re aS eh Al 
 Smet t iS MAS 0 Birth v wn N hee gs 3 
 : ; i re “ 
 
 128 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 thirty shillings a cork. And Mrs. Furnival attributed 
 to these latter studies not only a certain purple hue 
 which was suffusing his nose and cheeks, but also that 
 unevenness of character and those supposed domestic 
 improprieties to which allusion has been made. It 
 may, however, be as well to explain that Mrs. Ball, 
 the old family cook and housekeeper, who had ascended 
 with the Furnivals in the world, opined that made- 
 dishes did the mischief. He dined out too often, and 
 was a deal too particular about his dinner when he 
 dined at home. If Providence would see fit to visit 
 him with a sharp attack of the gout, it would — so 
 thought Mrs. Ball — be better for all parties. 
 Whether or no it may have been that Mrs. Furnival 
 at fifty-five — for she and her lord were of the same 
 age — was not herself as attractive in her husband’s 
 eyes as she had been at thirty, I will not pretend to 
 say. There can have been no just reason for any such 
 change in feeling, seeing that the two had grown old 
 together. She, poor woman, would still have been 
 quite content with the attentions of Mr. Furnival, though 
 his hair was grizzled and his nose was blue; nor did 
 she ever think of attracting to herself the admiration 
 of any swain whose general comeliness might be more 
 free from all taint of age. Why then should he wander 
 afield — at the age of fifty-five? That he did wander 
 afield, poor Mrs. Furnival felt in her agony convinced; 
 and among those ladies whom on this account she most 
 thoroughly detested was our friend Lady Mason of 
 Orley Farm. Lady Mason and the lawyer had first 
 become acquainted in the days of the trial, now long 
 gone by, on which occasion Mr. Furnival had been 
 employed as the junior counsel; and that acquaintance 
 
MR., MRS., AND MISS FURNIVAL.  - 129 
 
 had ripened into friendship, and now flourished in 
 fall vigour, — to Mrs. Furnival’s great sorrow and dis- 
 turbance. 
 
 Mrs. Furnival herself was a stout, solid woman, 
 sensible on most points, but better adapted, perhaps, 
 to the life in Keppel Street than that to which she 
 had now been promoted. As Kitty Blacker she had 
 possessed feminine charms which would have been 
 famous had they been better known. Mr. Furnival 
 had fetched her from farther East — from the region 
 of Great Ormond-street and the neighbourhood of 
 Southampton Buildings. Her cherry cheeks, and her 
 round eye, and her full bust, and her fresh lip, had 
 conquered the hard-tasked lawyer; and so they had 
 gone forth to fight the world together. Her eye was 
 still round, and her cheek red, and her bust full, — 
 there had certainly been no falling off there; nor will 
 I say that her lip had lost all its freshness. But the 
 bloom of her charms had passed away, and she was 
 now a solid, stout, motherly woman, not bright in con- 
 verse, but by no means deficient in mother-wit, re- 
 cognizing well the duties which she owed to others, 
 but recognizing equally well those which others owed 
 to her. All the charms of her youth — had they not: 
 been given to him, and also all her solicitude, all her 
 -anxious fighting with the hard world? When they 
 had been poor together, had she not patched and turned 
 and twisted, sitting silently by his side into the long 
 nights, because she would not ask him for the price of 
 a new dress? And yet now, now that they were 
 rich —? Mrs. Furnival, when she put such questions 
 within her own mind, could hardly answer this latter 
 one with patience. Others might be afraid of the great 
 
 Orley Farm. I. 9 
 
 * Ve SNS fd a hl aa ck le Ai Bi bia ja ba mY Box fi pam oe ae td . i 
 2 ah ¥ “pS 
 
130 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Mr. Furnival in his wig and gown; others might be 
 struck dumb by his power of eye and mouth; but she, 
 she, the wife of his bosom, she could catch him without 
 his armour. She would so catch him and let him know 
 what she thought of all her wrongs. So she said to 
 herself many a day, and yet the great deed, in all its 
 explosiveness, had never yet been done. Small attacks 
 of words there had been many, but hitherto the courage 
 to speak out her griefs openly had been wanting to 
 her. 
 
 I can now allow myself but a small space to say a 
 few words of Sophia Furnival, and yet in that small 
 space must be confined all the direct description which 
 
 can be given of one of the principal personages of this — 
 
 story. At nineteen Miss Furnival was in all respects 
 a young woman. She was forward in acquirements, in 
 manner, in general intelligence, and in powers of con- 
 versation. She was a handsome, tall girl, with ex- 
 pressive gray eyes and dark-brown hair. Her mouth, 
 and hair, and a certain motion of her neck and turn of 
 her head, had come to her from her mother, but her 
 eyes were those of her father: they were less sharp 
 perhaps, less eager after their prey; but they. were 
 bright as his had been bright, and sometimes had m 
 them more of absolute command than he was ever able 
 to throw into his own. 
 
 Their golden days had come on them at a period 
 of her life which enabled her to make a better use of 
 them than her mother could do. She never felt her- 
 self to be struck dumb by rank or fashion, nor did she 
 in the drawing-rooms of the great ever show signs of 
 an Eastern origin. She could adapt herself without an 
 effort to the manners of Cavendish Square; — ay, and 
 
ge? ae ee Po ee ee See Se Se 
 f $ » A as | s ays | x 
 
 MRS. FURNIVAL AT HOME. 131 
 
 if need were, to the ways of more glorious squares even 
 than that. Therefore was her father never ashamed to 
 be seen with her on his arm in the houses of his new 
 friends, though on such occasions he was willing enough 
 to go out without disturbing the repose of his wife. 
 No mother could have loved her children with a warmer 
 affection than that which had warmed the heart of poor 
 Mrs. Furnival; but under such circumstances as these 
 was it singular that she should occasionally become 
 jealous of her own daughter? 
 
 Sophia Furnival was, as I have said, a clever, at- 
 tractive girl, handsome, well-read, able to hold her own 
 with the old as well as with the young, capable of hiding 
 her vanity if she had any, mild and gentle to girls less 
 gifted, animated in conversation, and yet possessing an 
 eye that could fall softly to the ground, as a woman’s 
 eye always should fall upon occasions. 
 
 Nevertheless she was not altogether charming. “I 
 don’t feel quite sure that she is real,” Mrs. Orme had 
 said of her, when on a certain occasion Miss Furnival 
 had spent a day and a night at The Cleeve. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Mrs. Furnival at Home. 
 
 Lucrus Mason on his road to Liverpool had passed 
 through London, and had found a moment to call in 
 Harley Street. Since his return from Germany he had 
 met Miss Furnival both at home at his mother’s house 
 — or rather his own — and at the Cleeve. Miss Fur- 
 nival had been in the neighbourhood, and had spent 
 two days with the great people at the Cleeve, and one 
 day with the little people at Orley Farm. Lucius 
 
 g% 
 
Py ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Mason had found that she was a sensible girl, capable 
 of discussing great subjects with him; and had possibly 
 found some other charms in her. Therefore he had 
 called in Harley Street. 
 
 On that occasion he could only call as he passed 
 through London without delay; but he received such 
 encouragement as induced him to spend a night in town 
 on his return, in order that he might accept an invita- 
 tion to drink tea with the Furnivals. “We shall be 
 very happy to see you,” Mrs. Furnival had said, back- 
 ing the proposition which had come from her daughter 
 without any very great fervour; “but I fear Mr. Fur- 
 nival will not be at home. Mr. Furnival very seldom 
 is at home now.” Young Mason did not much care for 
 fervour on the part of Sophia’s mother, and therefore 
 had accepted the invitation, though he was obliged by 
 so doing to curtail by some hours his sojourn among 
 the guano stores of Liverpool. 
 
 It was the time of year at which few people are 
 at home in London, being the middle of October; but 
 Mrs. Furnival was a lady of whom at such periods it 
 was not very easy to dispose. She could have made 
 herself as happy as a queen even at Margate, if it could 
 have suited Furnival and Sophia to be happy at Margate 
 with her. But this did not suit Furnival or Sophia. As 
 regards money, any or almost all other autumnal resorts 
 were open to her, but she could be contented at none 
 of them because Mr. Furnival always pleaded that busi- 
 ness — law business or political business — took him 
 elsewhere. Now Mrs. Furnival was a woman who did 
 not like to be deserted, and who could not, in the ab- 
 sence of those social joys which Providence had vouch- 
 safed to her as her own, make herself happy with the 
 
Be Ee Pee ee ee ere an i 
 > a! " 
 
 MRS. FURNIVAL AT HOME. 133 
 
 society of other women such as herself. Furnival was 
 her husband, and she wanted him to carve for her, to 
 sit opposite to her at the breakfast table, to tell her 
 the news of the day, and to walk to church with her 
 on Sundays. ‘They had been made one flesh and one 
 bone, for better and worse, thirty years since; and now 
 in her latter days she could not put up with dissevera- 
 tion and dislocation. 
 
 She had gone down to Brighton in August, soon 
 after the House broke up, and there found that very 
 _ handsome apartments had been taken for her — rooms 
 that would have made glad the heart of many a lawyer’s 
 wife. She had, too, the command of a fly, done up to 
 look like a private brougham, a servant in livery, the 
 run of the public assembly-rooms, a sitting in the centre 
 of the most fashionable church in Brighton — all that 
 the heart of woman could desire. All but the one thing 
 was there; but, that one thing being absent, she came 
 moodily back to town at the end of September. She 
 would have exchanged them all with a happy heart for 
 very moderate accommodation at Margate, could she 
 have seen Mr. Furnival’s blue nose on the other side of 
 the table every morning and evening as she sat over 
 her shrimps and tea. 
 
 Men who had risen in the world as Mr. Furnival 
 had done do find it sometimes difficult to dispose of 
 their wives. It is not that the ladies are in themselves 
 more unfit for rising than their lords, or that if oc- 
 casion demanded they would not as readily adapt them- 
 selves to new spheres. But they do not rise, and oc- 
 casion does not demand it. A man elevates his wife 
 to his own rank, and when Mr. Brown, on becoming 
 solicitor-general, becomes Sir Jacob, Mrs. Brown also 
 
134 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 becomes my lady. But the whole set among whom 
 Brown must be more or less thrown do not want her 
 ladyship. On Brown’s promotion she did not become 
 part of the bargain. Brown must henceforth have two 
 existences — a public and a private existence; and it 
 will be well for Lady Brown, and well also for Sir © 
 Jacob, if the latter be not allowed to dwindle down to — 
 a minimum. 
 
 If Lady B. can raise herself also, if she can make 
 her own occasion — if she be handsome and can flirt, 
 if she be impudent and can force her way, if she have 
 a daring mind and can commit great expenditure if 
 she be clever and can make poetry, if she can in any 
 way create a separate glory for herself, then, indeed, 
 Sir Jacob with his blue nose may follow his own path, 
 and all will be well. Sir Jacob’s blue nose seated 
 opposite to her will not be her summum bonum. 
 
 But worthy Mrs. Furnival — and she was worthy 
 — had created for herself no such separate glory, nor 
 did she dream of creating it; and therefore she had, as 
 it were, no footing left to her. On this occasion she 
 had gone to Brighton, and had returned from it sulky 
 aud wretched, bringing her daughter back to London 
 at the period of London’s greatest desolation. Sophia 
 had returned uncomplaining, remembering that good 
 things were in store for her. She had been asked to 
 spend her Christmas with the Staveleys at Noningsby 
 — the family of Judge Staveley, who lives near Alston, 
 at a very pretty country place so called. Mr. Furnival 
 had been for many years acquainted with Judge Stave- 
 ley -— had known the judge when he was a leading 
 counsel; and now that Mr. Furnival was a rising man, 
 and now that he had a pretty daughter, it was natural 
 
PTE RIN EM Pl te eT eee ued p ew! 
 roe? & : as ha ot, .- a ' 
 
 MRS. FURNIVAL AT HOME. 135 
 
 that the young Staveleys and Sophia Furnival should 
 know each other. But poor Mrs. Furnival was too 
 ponderous for this mounting late in life, and she had 
 not been asked to Noningsby. She was much too good 
 a mother to repine at her daughter’s promised gaiety. 
 Sophia was welcome to go; but by all the laws of God 
 and man it would behove her lord and husband to eat 
 his mincepie at home. 
 
 “Mr. Furnival was to be back in town this evening,” 
 the lady said, as though apologizing to young Mason 
 for her husband’s absence, when he entered the drawing- 
 room, “but he has not come, and I dare say will not 
 come now.” 
 
 Mason did not care a straw for Mr. Furnival. “Oh! 
 won't he?” said he. ‘I suppose business keeps him.” 
 
 ‘Papa is very busy about politics just at present,” 
 said Sophia, wishing to make matters smooth in her 
 mother’s mind. ‘He was obliged to be at Romford in 
 the beginning of the week, and then he went down to 
 Birmingham. ‘There is some congress going on there, 
 is there not?” 
 
 “All that must take a great deal of time,” said 
 Lucius. 
 
 “Yes; and it is a terrible bore,” said Sophia. “TI 
 know papa finds it so.” 
 
 ‘Your papa likes it, I believe,” said Mrs. Furnival, 
 who would not hide even her grievances under a bushel. 
 
 “T don’t think he likes being so much from home, 
 mamma. Of course he likes excitement, and success. 
 All men do. Do they not, Mr. Mason?” 
 
 ‘They all ought to do so, and women also.” 
 
 “Ah! but women have no sphere, Mr. Mason.” 
 
 “They have minds equal to those of men,” said 
 
 Pee TT ee ee Par at PA” Pee eI Pe ie tee eee 
 ’ ‘ f ’ 
 
136 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Lucius, gallantly, ‘and ought to be able to make for 
 themselves careers as brilliant.” 
 
 “Women ought not to have any spheres,” said Mrs. 
 Furnival. 
 
 “YT don’t know that I quite agree with you there, 
 mamma.” 
 
 “The world is becoming a great deal too fond of 
 what you call excitement and success. Of course it is 
 a good thing for a man to make money by his pro- 
 fession, and a very hard thing when he can’t do it,” 
 added Mrs. Furnival, thinking of the olden days. “But 
 if success in life means rampaging about, and never 
 knowing what it is to sit quiet over his own fireside, 
 I for one would as soon manage to do without it.” 
 
 ‘But, mamma, I don’t see why success should al- 
 ways be rampageous.” 
 
 ‘Literary women who have achieved a name bear 
 their honours quietly,” said Lucius. 
 
 -“T don’t know,” said Mrs. Furnival. “I am told 
 that some of them are as fond of gadding as the men. 
 As regards the old maids, I don’t care so much about 
 it; people who are not married may do what they like 
 with themselves, and nobody has anything to say to 
 them. But it is very different for married people. 
 They have no business to be enticed away from their 
 homes by any success.” 
 
 ‘‘Mamma is all for a Darby and Joan life,” said 
 Sophia, laughing. 
 
 ‘No I am not, my dear; and you should not say 
 so. I don’t advocate anything that is absurd. But I 
 do say that life should be lived at home. That is the 
 best part of it. What is the meaning of home if it 
 isn’t that?” 
 
Ny ee ee PN ee Le aN Re ee hy 
 MRS. FURNIVAL AT HOME. 137 
 
 Poor Mrs. Furnival! she had no idea that she was 
 complaining to a stranger of her husband. Had any 
 one told her so she would have declared that she was 
 discussing general world-wide topics; but Lucius Mason, 
 young as he was, knew that the marital shoe was 
 pinching the lady’s domestic corn, and he made haste 
 to change the subject. 
 
 “You know my mother, Mrs. Furnival?” 
 
 Mrs. Furnival said that she had the honour of ac- 
 quaintance with Lady Mason; but on this occasion also 
 she exhibited but little fervour. 
 
 “T shall meet her up in town to-morrow,” said 
 Lucius. ‘She is coming up for some shopping.” 
 
 “Oh! indeed,” said Mrs. Furnival. 
 
 ‘And then we go down home together. I am to 
 meet her at the chymist’s at the top of Chancery 
 Lane.” 
 
 Now this was a very unnecessary communication 
 on the part of young Mason, and also an unfortunate 
 one. “Oh! indeed,” said Mrs. Furnival again, throwing 
 her head a little back. Poor woman! she could not 
 conceal what was in her mind, and her daughter knew 
 all about it immediately. The truth was this. Mr. 
 Furnival had been for some days on the move, at 
 Birmingham and elsewhere, and had now sent up sudden 
 notice that he should probably be at home that very 
 night. He should probably be at home that night, but 
 in such case would be compelled to return to his friends 
 at Birmingham on the following afternoon. Now if it 
 were an ascertained fact that he was coming to London 
 merely with the view of meeting Lady Mason, the wife 
 of his bosom would not think it necessary to provide 
 for him the warmest possible welcome. This of course 
 
Pa URC Sats spa ep wy, ANGIE) 
 ae 
 
 138. 4 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 was not an ascertained fact; but was there not terrible 
 grounds of suspicion? Mr. Furnival’s law chambers 
 were in Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn, close to Chancery 
 Lane, and Lady Mason had made her appointment with 
 her son within five minutes’ walk of that locality. And 
 was it not in itself a strange coincidence that Lady 
 Mason, who came to town so seldom, should now do 
 so on the very day of Mr. Furnival’s sudden return? 
 She felt sure that they were to meet on the morrow, 
 but yet she could not declare even to herself that it 
 was an ascertained fact. 
 
 “Oh! indeed,” she said; and Sophia understood all 
 about it, though Lucius did not. 
 
 Then Mrs. Furnival sank into silence; and we need 
 not follow, word for word, the conversation between the 
 young lady and the young gentleman. Mr. Mason 
 thought that Miss Furnival was a very nice girl, and 
 was not at all ill pleased to have an opportunity of 
 passing an evening in her company; and Miss Furnival 
 thought —. What she thought, or what young ladies 
 may think generally about young gentlemen, is not to 
 be spoken openly; but it seemed as though she also 
 were employed to her own satisfaction, while her mother 
 sat moody in her own arm-chair. In the course of the 
 evening the footman in livery brought in tea, handing 
 it round on a big silver salver, which also added to 
 Mrs. Furnival’s unhappiness. She would have liked 
 to sit behind her tea-tray as she used to do in the 
 good old hard-working days, with a small pile of 
 buttered toast on the slop-bowl, kept warm by hot 
 water below it. In those dear old hard-working days, 
 buttered toast had been a much-loved delicacy with 
 Furnival; and she, kind woman, had never begrudged 
 
MRS. FURNIVAL AT HOME. 139 
 
 her eyes, as she sat making it for him over the parlour 
 fire. Nor would she have begrudged them now, neither 
 her eyes nor the work of her hands, nor all the thoughts 
 of her heart, if he would have consented to accept of 
 her handiwork; but in these days Mr. Furnival had 
 learned a relish for other delicacies. 
 
 She also had liked buttered toast, always, however, 
 taking the pieces with the upper crust, in order that 
 the more luscious morsels might be left for him; and 
 she had liked to prepare her own tea leisurely, putting 
 in slowly the sugar and cream — skimmed milk it 
 had used to be, dropped for herself with a sparing 
 hand, in order that. his large breakfast-cup might be 
 whitened to his liking; but though the milk had been 
 skimmed and scanty, and though the tea itself had 
 been put in with a sparing hand, she had then been 
 mistress of the occasion. She had had her own way, 
 and in stinting herself had found her own reward. But 
 now — the tea had no flavour now that it was made 
 in the kitchen and brought to her, cold and vapid, by 
 a man in livery whom she half feared to keep waiting 
 while she ministered to her own wants. 
 
 And so she sat moody in her arm-chair, cross and 
 sulky, as her daughter thought. But yet there was a 
 vein of poetry in her heart as she sat there, little like 
 a sibyl as she looked. Dear old days, in which her 
 cares and solicitude were valued; in which she could 
 do something for the joint benefit of the firm into 
 which she had been taken as a partner! How happy 
 she had been in her struggles, how piteously had her 
 heart yearned towards him when she thought that he 
 was struggling too fiercely, how brave and constant he 
 had been; and how she had loved him as he sat steady 
 
- pies ae | JT j Stand aw ie ian POET Re Fi odtattian cate ta 
 140 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 as a rock at his grinding work! Now had come the 
 great success of which they had both dreamed together, 
 of which they had talked as arm in arm they were 
 taking the exercise that was so needful to him, walking 
 quickly round Russell Square, quickly round Blooms- 
 bury Square and Bedford Square, and so back to the 
 grinding work in Keppel Street. It had come now — 
 all of which they had dreamed, and more than all they 
 had dared to hope. But of what good was it? Was 
 he happy? No; he was fretful, bilious, and worn with 
 toil which was hard to him because he ate and drank 
 too much; he was ill at ease in public, only half under- 
 standing the political life which he was obliged to 
 assume in his new ambition; and he was sick in his 
 conscience — she was sure that must be so: he could 
 not thus neglect her, his loving, constant wife, without 
 some pang of remorse. And was she happy? She 
 might have revelled in silks and satins, if silks and 
 satins would have done her old heart good. But they 
 would do her no good. How she had joyed in a new 
 dress, when it had been so hard to come by, so slow 
 in coming, and when he would go with her to the 
 choosing of it! But her gowns now were hardly of 
 more interest to her than the joints of meat which the 
 butcher brought to the door with the utmost regularity. 
 It behoved the butcher to send good beef and the mil- 
 liner to send good silk, and there was an end of it. 
 Not but what she could have been eestatic about 
 a full skirt on a smart body if he would have cared to 
 look at it. In truth she was still soft and young 
 enough within, though stout, and solid, and somewhat 
 aged without. Though she looked cross and surly that 
 night, there was soft poetry within her heart, If Pro- 
 
Bh ie | 
 
 ere ae ee oe er me he 
 So ¢ ae 
 
 MRS. FURNIVAL AT HOME. 141 
 
 vidence, who had bountifully given, would now by 
 chance mercifully take away those gifts, would she not 
 then forgive everything and toil for him again with 
 the same happiness as before? Ah! yes; she could 
 forgive everything, anything, if he would only return 
 and be contented to sit opposite to her once again. 
 “Q mortal Delius, dearest lord and husband!” she ex- 
 claimed within her own breast, in language somewhat 
 differing from that of the Roman poet, “why hast thou 
 not remembered to maintain a mind equal in prosperity 
 as it was always equal and well poised in adversity? 
 Oh! my Delius, since prosperity has been too much for 
 thee, may the Lord bless thee once more with the ad- 
 
 versity which thou’ canst bear — which thou canst 
 bear, and I with thee!” ‘Thus did she sing sadly 
 within her own bosom — sadly, but with true poetic 
 
 cadence; while Sophia and Lucius Mason, sitting by, 
 when for a moment they turned their eyes upon her, 
 gave her credit only for the cross solemnity supposed 
 to be incidental to obese and declining years. 
 
 And then there came a ring at the bell and a knock 
 at the door, and a rush along the nether passages, and 
 the lady knew that he of whom she had been thinking 
 had arrived. In olden days she had ever met him in 
 the narrow passage, and, indifferent to the maid, she 
 had hung about his neck and kissed him in the hall. 
 But now she did not stir from her chair. She could 
 forgive him all and run again at the sound of his 
 footstep, but she must first know that such forgiveness 
 and such running would be welcome. 
 
 ‘“'That’s papa,” said Sophia. 
 
 “Don’t forget that I have not met him since I have 
 
Reet CURE US LAELIA QUAND So SaE YS AED EER DEE ESS eR ee ee a 
 f \ r x 4 ’ phan he PA OAS tae 
 
 3 
 
 142 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 been home from Germany,” said Lucius. “You must 
 introduce me.” 
 
 In a minute or two Mr. Furnival opened the door 
 and walked into the room. Men when they arrive from 
 their travels now-a-days have no strippings of great- 
 coats, no deposits to make of thick shawls and double 
 gloves, no absolutely necessary changes of raiment. 
 Such had been the case when he had used to come 
 back cold and weary from the circuits; but now he had 
 left Birmingham since dinner by the late express, had 
 enjoyed his nap in the train for two hours or so, and 
 walked into his own drawing-room as he might have 
 done had he dined in his own dining-room. 
 
 ‘How are you, Kitty?” he said to his wife, hand- — 
 ing to her the forefinger of his right hand by way of 
 greeting. ‘Well, Sophy, my love;” and he kissed his 
 daughter. ‘Oh! Lucius Mason. I am very glad to 
 see you. I can’t say I should have remembered you 
 unless I had been told. You are very welcome in 
 Harley Street, and I hope you will often be here.” 
 
 ‘It’s not very often he’d find you at home, Mr. 
 Furnival,” said the aggrieved wife. 
 
 “Not so often as I could wish just at present; but 
 things will be more settled, I hope, before very long. 
 How’s your mother, Lucius?” 
 
 ‘“‘She’s pretty well, thank you, sir. I’ve to meet 
 her in town to-morrow, and go down home with her.” 
 
 There was then silence in the room for a few 
 seconds, during which Mrs. Furnival looked very sharply 
 at her husband. ‘Oh! she’s to be in town, is she?” 
 said Mr. Furnival, after a moment’s consideration. He 
 was angry with Lady Mason at the moment for having 
 put him into this position. Why had she told her son 
 
Va a 
 
 MRS. FURNIVAL AT HOME. 143 
 
 that she was to be up in London, thus producing con- 
 versation and tittle-tattle which made deceit on his part 
 absolutely necessary? Lady Mason’s business in Lon- 
 don was of a nature which would not bear much open 
 talking. She herself, in her earnest letter summoning 
 Mr. Furnival up from Birmingham, had besought him 
 that her visit to his chambers might not be made matter 
 of discussion. New troubles might be coming on her, 
 but also they might not; and she was very anxious 
 that no one should know that she was seeking a law- 
 yer’s advice on the matter. To all this Mr. Furnival 
 had given in his adhesion; and yet she had put it into 
 her son’s power to come to his drawing-room and chatter 
 there of her whereabouts. For a moment or two he 
 doubted; but at the expiration of those moments he 
 
 saw that the deceit was necessary. ‘“She’s to be in 
 
 town, is she?” said he. The reader will of course ob- 
 serve that this deceit was practised, not as between 
 husband and wife with reference to an assignation with 
 a lady, but between the lawyer and the outer world 
 with reference to a private meeting with a client. But 
 then it is sometimes so difficult to make wives look at 
 such matters in the right light. 
 
 ‘““She’s coming up for some shopping,” said Lucius. 
 
 “Oh! indeed,” said Mrs. Furnival. She would not 
 have spoken if she could have helped it, but she could 
 not help it; and then there was silence in the room for 
 a minute or two, which Lucius vainly endeavoured to 
 break by a few indifferent observations to Miss Fur- 
 nival. ‘The words, however, which he uttered would 
 not take the guise of indifferent observations, but fell 
 flatly on their ears, and at the same time solemnly, 
 
 ? 
 
YC Mile Mae ae OT acu Di LS oe i ae a a 
 oy 
 
 144 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 as though spoken with the sole purpose of creating 
 sound. 
 
 “I hope you have been enjoying yourself at 
 Birmingham,” said Mrs. Furnival. 
 
 ‘Enjoyed myself! I did not exactly go there for 
 enjoyment.” 
 
 “Or at Romford, where you were before?” 
 
 ‘“Women seem to think that men have no purpose 
 but amusement when they go about their daily work,” 
 said Mr. Furnival; and then he threw himself back in 
 his arm-chair, and took up the last Quarterly. 
 
 Lucius Mason soon perceived that all the harmony 
 of the evening had in some way been marred by the 
 return of the master of the house, and that he might 
 be in the way if he remained; he therefore took his 
 leave. 
 
 “T shall want breakfast punctually at half-past 
 eight to-morrow morning,’ said Mr. Furnival, as soon 
 as the stranger had withdrawn. ‘I must be in cham- 
 bers before ten;” and then he took his candle and 
 withdrew to his own room. 
 
 Sophia rang the bell and gave the servant the order; 
 but Mrs. Furnival took no trouble in the matter what- 
 ever. In the olden days she would have bustled down 
 before she went to bed, and have seen herself that 
 everything was ready, so that the master of the house 
 might not be kept waiting. But all this was nothing 
 to her now. 
 
MR. FURNIVAL’S CHAMBERS. ; 145 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 Mr. Furnival's Chambers. 
 
 Mr. Furnivay’s chambers were on the first floor in 
 a very dingy edifice in Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn. This 
 square was always dingy, even when it was comparatively 
 open and served as the approach from Chancery Lane 
 to the Lord Chancellor’s Court; but now it has been 
 built up with new shops for the Vice-Chancellor, and 
 to my eyes it seems more dingy than ever. 
 He there occupied three rooms, all of them suf- 
 ficiently spacious for the purposes required, but which 
 were made oppressive by their general dinginess and 
 by a smell of old leather which pervaded them. In 
 one of them sat at his desk Mr. Crabwitz, a gentleman 
 who had now been with Mr. Furnival for the last 
 fifteen years, and who considered that no inconsiderable 
 portion of the barrister’s success had been attributable 
 to his own energy and genius. Mr. Crabwitz was a 
 genteel-looking man, somewhat over forty years of age, 
 very careful as to his gloves, hat, and umbrella, and 
 not a little particular as to his associates. As he was 
 unmarried, fond of ladies’ society, and presumed to be 
 a warm man in money matters, he had his social suc- 
 cesses, and looked down from a considerable altitude 
 on some men who from their professional rank might 
 have been considered as his superiors. He had a small 
 bachelor’s box down at Barnes, and not unfrequently 
 went abroad in the vacations. 'The door opening into 
 the room of Mr. Crabwitz was in the corner fronting 
 you on the left-hand side as you entered the chambers. 
 Immediately on your left was a large waiting-room, in 
 Orley Farm. I, 10 
 
MEE DOM HOE Tle rae ey CeCe MMANEC TAY co Me NADA NTN” (MMe ag Maser Ws WoT eu NO er Te et SA ee ee 
 
 . &® 4 
 146 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 which an additional clerk usually sat at an ordinary | 
 table. He was not an authorized part of the establish- 
 ment, being kept only from week to week; but never- 
 theless, for the last two or three years he had been 
 always there, and Mr. Crabwitz intended that he should 
 remain, for he acted as fag to Mr. Crabwitz. This 
 waiting-room was very dingy, much more so than the 
 clerk’s room, and boasted of no furniture but eight old 
 Jeathern chairs and two old tables. It was surrounded 
 by shelves which were laden with books and dust, 
 which by no chance were ever disturbed. But to my 
 ideas the most dingy of the three rooms was that large 
 one in which the great man himself sat; the door of — 
 which directly fronted you as you entered. The furni- 
 ture was probably better than that in the other cham- 
 bers, and the place had certainly the appearance of 
 warmth and life which comes from frequent use; but 
 nevertheless, of all the rooms in which I ever sat I 
 think it was the most gloomy. ‘There were heavy 
 curtains to the windows, which had once been ruby 
 but were now brown; and the ceiling was brown, and 
 the thick carpet was brown, and the books which 
 covered every ‘portion of the wall were brown, and the 
 painted wood-work of the doors and windows was of a 
 dark brown. Here, on the morning with which we have 
 now to deal, sat Mr. Furnival over his papers from ten 
 to twelve, at which latter hour Lady Mason was to 
 come to him. The holidays of Mr. Crabwitz had this 
 year been cut short in consequence of his patron’s at- 
 tendance at the great congress which was now sitting, 
 ‘ and although all London was a desert, as he had 
 piteously complained to a lady of his acquaintance 
 whom he had left at Boulogne, he was there in the 
 
ek a ed eal al Gale ok a ih i, 
 
 MR. FURNIVAL’S CHAMBERS. 147 
 
 midst of the desert, and on this morning was sitting in 
 attendance at his usual desk. 
 
 Why Mr. Furnival should have breakfasted by 
 himself at half-past eight in order that he might be at 
 his chambers at ten, seeing that the engagement for 
 which he had come to town was timed for twelve, I 
 will not pretend to say. He did not ask his wife to 
 join him, and consequently she did not come down till 
 her usual time. Mr. Furnival breakfasted by himself, 
 and at ten o'clock he was in his chambers. ‘Though 
 alone for two hours he was not idle, and exactly at 
 twelve Mr. Crabwitz opened his door and announced 
 Lady Mason. 
 
 When we last parted with her after her interview 
 with Sir Peregrine Orme, she had resolved not to com- 
 municate with her friend the lawyer, — at any rate 
 not to do so immediately. Thinking on that resolve 
 she had tried to sleep that night; but her mind was 
 altogether disturbed, and she could get no rest. What, 
 if after twenty years of tranquillity all her troubles 
 must now be recommenced? What if the battle were 
 again to be fought, —- with such termination as the 
 chances of war might send to her? Why was it that 
 she was so much greater a coward now than she had 
 been then? ‘Then she had expected defeat, for her 
 friends had bade her not to be sanguine; but in spite 
 of that she had borne up and gone gallantly through 
 the ordeal. But now she felt that if Orley Farm were 
 hers to give she would sooner abandon it than renew 
 the contest. Then, at that former period of her life, 
 she had prepared her mind to do or die in the cause. 
 She had wrought herself up for the work, and had 
 carried it through. But having done that work, having 
 
 10* 
 
148 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 accomplished her terrible task, she had hoped that rest 
 might be in store for her. 
 
 As she rose from her bed on the morning after her 
 interview with Sir Peregrine, she determined that she 
 would seek counsel from him in whose counsel she 
 could trust. Sir Peregrine’s friendship was more valuable 
 to her than that of Mr. Furnival, but a word of advice 
 from Mr. Furnival was worth all the spoken wisdom of 
 the baronet, ten times over. ‘Therefore she wrote her 
 letter, and proposed an appointment; and Mr. Furnival, 
 tempted as I have said by some evil spirit to stray 
 after strange goddesses in these his blue-nosed days, 
 had left his learned brethren at their congress in Bir- 
 mingham, and had hurried up to town to assist the widow. 
 He had left that congress, though the wisest Rustums 
 of the law from all the civilized countries of Europe 
 were there assembled, with Boanerges at their head, 
 that great, old, valiant, learned, British Rustum, in- 
 quiring with energy, solemnity, and caution, with much 
 shaking of ponderous heads and many sarcasms from 
 those which were not ponderous, whether any and what 
 changes might be made in the modes of answering that 
 great question, “Guilty or not guilty?” and that other 
 equally great question, “Is it meum or is it tuum?” 
 To answer which question justly should be the end 
 and object of every lawyer’s work. There were great 
 men there from Paris, very capable, the Ulpians, Tri- 
 bonians, and Papinians of the new empire, armed with 
 the purest sentiments expressed in antithetical and 
 magniloquent phrases, ravishing to the ears, and armed 
 also with a code which, taken in its integrity, would 
 necessarily, as the logical consequence of its clauses, 
 drive all injustice from the face of the earth. And 
 
sans r PR ALS Ck Ee OE UT Ft OE ier Ome te Dre a 
 PUNTA Ae yn aa oe 8 ish as Ai Be 8 aa 
 
 MR. FURNIVAL’S CHAMBERS. 149 
 
 there were great practitioners from Germany, men very 
 skilled in the use of questions, who profess that the 
 tongue of man, if adequately skilful, may always pre- 
 vail on guilt to disclose itself; who believe in the power 
 of their own craft to produce truth, as our forefathers 
 believed in torture; and sometimes with the same result. 
 And of course all that was great on the British bench, 
 and all that was famous at the British bar was there, 
 — men very unlike their German brethren, men who 
 thought that guilt never should be asked to tell of 
 itself, —- men who were customarily but unconsciously 
 shocked whenever unwary guilt did tell of itself. Men 
 these were, mostly of high and noble feeling, born and 
 bred to live with upright hearts and clean hands, but 
 taught by the peculiar tenets of their profession to think 
 that that which was high and noble in their private 
 intercourse with the world need not also be so esteemed 
 in their legal practice. And there were Italians there, 
 good-humoured, joking, easy fellows, who would laugh 
 their clients in and out of their difficulties; and Spaniards, 
 very grave and serious, who doubted much in their minds 
 whether justice might not best be bought and sold; and 
 our brethren from the United States were present also, 
 very eager to show that in this country law, and justice 
 also, were clouded and nearly buried beneath their wig 
 and gown. 
 
 All these and all this did Mr. Furnival desert for 
 the space of twenty-four hours in order that he might 
 comply with the request of Lady Mason. Had she known 
 what it was that she was calling on him to leave, no 
 doubt she would have borne her troubles for another 
 week, — for another fortnight, till those Rustums at 
 Birmingham had brought their labours to a close. She 
 
A Ce eg egy | Sh a AM OM tgieeyint OT ect doy Sr yr PSE Tt eRe VEER oa te gee Tee 
 Pigtes, bea” x 7 Ay evant 3 ; Ay at 
 
 150 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 would not have robbed the English bar of one of the 
 warmest supporters of its present mode of practice, 
 even for a day, had she known how much that support 
 was needed at the present moment. But she had not 
 known; and Mr. Furnival, moved by her woman’s plea, 
 had not been hard enough in his heart to refuse her. _ 
 
 When she entered the room she was dressed very 
 plainly as was her custom, and a thick veil covered 
 her face; but still she was dressed with care. ‘There 
 was nothing of the dowdiness of the lone iorn woman 
 about her, none of that lanky, washed-out appearance 
 which sorrow and trouble so often give to females. Had 
 she given way to dowdiness, or suffered herself to be, 
 as it were, washed out, Mr. Furnival, we may say, 
 would not have been there to meet her; —- of which 
 fact Lady Mason was perhaps aware. 
 
 ‘“T am so grateful to you for this trouble,” she said, 
 as she raised her veil, and while he pressed her hand 
 between both his own. “I can only ask you to be- 
 lieve that I would not have troubled you unless I had 
 been greatly troubled myself.” 
 
 Mr. Furnival, as he placed her in an arm-chair by 
 the fireside, declared his sorrow that she should be in 
 grief, and then he took the other arm-chair himself, 
 opposite to her, or rather close to her, — much closer 
 to her than he ever now seated himself to Mrs. F. 
 ‘Don’t speak of my trouble,” said he, “it is nothing if 
 I can do anything to relieve you.” But though he 
 was so tender, he did not omit to tell her of her folly 
 in having informed her son that she was to be in London. 
 “And have you seen him?” asked Lady Mason. 
 
 “He was in Harley Street with the ladies last night. 
 But it does not matter. It is only for your sake that 
 
 ” 
 
MR. FURNIVAL’S CHAMBERS. 151 
 
 I speak, as I know that you wish to keep this matter 
 private. And now let us hear what it is. I cannot 
 think that there can be anything which need really 
 cause you trouble.” And he again took her hand, — 
 that he might encourage her. Lady Mason let him 
 keep her hand for a minute or so, as though she did 
 not notice it; and yet as she turned her eyes to him it 
 might appear that this tenderness had encouraged her. 
 
 Sitting there thus, with her hand in his, — with 
 her hand in his during the first portion of the tale — 
 she told him all that she wished to tell. Something 
 more she told now to him than she had done to Sir 
 Peregrine. ‘I learned from her,” she said, speaking 
 about Mrs. Dockwrath and her husband, “that he had 
 found out something about dates which the lawyers 
 did not find out before.” 
 
 “Something about dates,” said Mr. Furnival, look- 
 ing with all his eyes into the fire. “You do not know 
 what about dates?” 
 
 “No; only this; that he said that the lawyers in 
 Bedford Row —” 
 
 ‘Round and Crook.” 
 
 “Yes; he said that they were idiots not to have 
 found it out before; and then he went off to Groby 
 Park. He came back last night; but of course I have 
 not seen her since.” 
 
 By this time Mr. Furnival had dropped the hand, 
 and was sitting still, meditating, looking earnestly at 
 the fire while Lady Mason was looking earnestly at 
 him. She was trying to gather from his face whether 
 he had seen signs of danger, and he was trying to 
 gather from her words whether there might really be 
 cause to apprehend danger. How was he to know what 
 
152 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 was really inside her mind; what were her actual thoughts 
 and inward reasonings on this subject; what private 
 knowledge she might have which was still kept back 
 from him? In the ordinary intercourse of the world 
 when one man seeks advice from another, he who is 
 consulted demands in the first place that he shall be 
 put in possession of all the circumstances of the case. 
 How else will it be possible that he should give ad- 
 vice? But in matters of law it is different. If I, 
 having committed a crime, were to confess my crimi- 
 nality to the gentleman engaged to defend me, might 
 he not be called on to say: “Then, O my friend, con- 
 fess it also to the judge; and so let justice be done. 
 Ruat coelum, and the rest of it?” But who would pay 
 a lawyer for counsel such as that? 
 
 In this case there was no question of payment. The 
 advice to be given was to a widowed woman from an 
 experienced man of the world; but, nevertheless, he 
 could only make his calculations as to her peculiar 
 case in the way in which he ordinarily calculated. 
 Could it be possible that anything had been kept back 
 from him? Were there facts unknown to him, but 
 known to her, which would be terrible, fatal, damning 
 to his sweet friend if proved before all the world? He 
 could not bring himself to ask her, but yet it was so 
 material that he should know! Twenty years ago, at 
 the time of the trial, he had at one time thought, — 
 it hardly matters to tell what, but those thoughts had 
 not been favourable to her cause. Then his mind had 
 altered, and he had learned, — as lawyers do learn — 
 to believe in his own case. And when the day of 
 triumph had come, he had triumphed loudly, com- 
 miserating his dear friend for the unjust suffering to 
 
MR. FURNIVAL’S CHAMBERS. 153 
 
 which she had been subjected, and speaking in no low 
 or modified tone as to the grasping, greedy cruelty of 
 that man of Groby Park. Nevertheless, through it all, 
 he had felt that Round and Crook had not made the 
 most of their case. 
 
 And now he sat, thinking, not so much whether or 
 no she had been in any way guilty with reference to 
 that will, as whether the counsel he should give her 
 ought in any way to be based on the possibility of her 
 having been thus guilty. Nothing might be so damning 
 to her cause as that he should make sure of her inno- 
 cence, if she were not innocent; and yet he would not 
 ask her the question. If innocent, why was it that 
 she was now so much moved, after twenty years of 
 quiet possession ? 
 
 “It was a pity,” he said, at last, “that Lucius 
 should have disturbed that fellow th’ the possession of 
 his fields.” 
 
 “It was; it was!” she said. “But I did not think 
 it possible that Miriam’s husband should turn against 
 me. Would it be wise, do you think, to let him have 
 the land again?” 
 
 ‘‘No, I do not think that. It would be telling him, 
 and telling others also, that you are afraid of him. If 
 he have obtained any information that may be con- 
 sidered of value by Joseph Mason, he can sell it at a 
 higher price than the holding of these fields is worth.” 
 
 “Would it be well —?” She was asking a ques- 
 tion and then checked herself. 
 
 “Would what be well?” 
 
 “YT am so harassed that I hardly know what I am 
 saying. Would it be wise, do you think, if I were te 
 pay him anything, so as to keep him quiet?” 
 
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 “What; buy him off, you mean?” 
 
 “Well, yes; — if you call it so. Give him some 
 sum of money in compensation for his land; and on 
 the understanding, you know —,” and then she paused. 
 
 “That depends on what he may have to sell,” said 
 Mr. Furnival, hardly daring to look at her. 
 
 ‘Ah; yes,” said the widow. And then there was 
 another pause. 
 
 “T do not think that that would be at all discreet,” 
 said Mr. Furnival. ‘After all, the chances are that it 
 is all moonshine.” 
 
 “You think so?” | 
 
 “Yes; I cannot but think so. What can that man 
 possibly have found among the old attorney’s papers 
 that may be injurious to your interests?” 
 
 “Ah! I do not know; I understand so little of these 
 things. At the time they told me, — you told me 
 that the law might possibly go against my boy’s rights. 
 It would have been bad then, but it would be ten times 
 more dreadful now.” 
 
 “But there were many questions capable of doubt 
 then, which were definitively settled at the trial. As 
 to your husband’s intellect on that day, for instance.” 
 
 “There could be no doubt as to that.” 
 
 ‘No; so it has been proved; and they will not 
 raise that point again. Could he possibly have made 
 a later will?” 
 
 “No; I am sure he did not. Had he done so it 
 could not have been found among Mr. Usbech’s papers; 
 for, as far as I remember, the poor man never attended 
 to any business after that day.” 
 
 “What day?” 
 
MR. FURNIVAL’S CHAMBERS. 155 
 
 “The 14th of July, the day on which he was with 
 Sir Joseph.” 
 
 It was singular, thought the barrister, with how 
 much precision she remembered the dates and circum- 
 stances. ‘That the circumstances of the trial should be 
 fresh on her memory was not wonderful; but how was 
 it that she knew so accurately things which had oc- 
 curred before the trial, — when no trial could have 
 been expected? But as to this he said nothing. 
 
 ‘“‘And you are sure he went to Groby Park?” 
 
 “Oh, yes; I have no doubt of it. I am quite sure.” 
 
 “T do not know that we can do anything but wait. 
 Have you mentioned this to Sir Peregrine?” It im- 
 mediately occurred to Lady Mason’s mind that it would 
 be by no means expedient, even if it were possible, to 
 keep Mr. Furnival in ignorance of anything that she 
 really did; and she therefore explained that she had 
 seen Sir Peregrine. “I was so troubled at the first 
 moment that I hardly knew where to turn,” she said. 
 
 ‘You were quite right to go to Sir Peregrine.” 
 
 “T am so glad you are not angry with me as to 
 that.” 
 
 “And did he say anything — anything particular?” 
 
 ‘““He promised that he would not desert me, should 
 there be any new difficulty.” 
 
 ‘That is well. It is always good to have the 
 countenance of such a neighbour as he is.” 
 
 “And the advice of such a friend as you are.” And 
 she again put out her hand to him. 
 
 “Well; yes. It is my trade, you know, to give 
 advice,” and he smiled as he took it. 
 
 “How should I live through such troubles without 
 you?” 
 
156 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 ‘““We lawyers are very much abused now-a-days,” 
 said Mr. Furnival, thinking of what was going on down 
 at Birmingham at that very moment; “but I hardly 
 _ know how the world would get on without us.” 
 
 “Ah! but all lawyers are not like you.” 
 
 ‘Some perhaps worse, and a great many much 
 better. But, as I was saying, I do not think I would 
 take any steps at present. ‘The man Dockwrath is a 
 vulgar, low-minded, revengeful fellow; and I would 
 endeavour to forget him.” 
 
 “Ah, if I could!” 
 
 “And why not? What can he possibly have learned 
 to your injury?” And then as it seemed to Lady 
 - Mason that Mr. Furnival expected some reply to this 
 question, she forced herself to give him one. “I sup- 
 pose that he cannot know anything.” 
 
 “T tell you what I might do,” said Mr. Furnival; 
 who was still musing. “Round himself is not a bad 
 fellow, and I am acquainted with him. He was the 
 junior partner in that house at the time of the trial, 
 and I know that he persuaded Joseph Mason not to 
 appeal to the Lords. I will contrive, if possible, to see 
 him. I shall be able to learn from him at any rate 
 whether anything is being done.” 
 
 “And then if I hear that there is not, I shall be 
 comforted.” 
 
 “Of course; of course.” 
 
 ‘But if there is —” 
 
 “T think there will be nothing of the sort,” said 
 Mr. Furnival, leaving his seat as he spoke. 
 
 “But if there is — I shall have your aid?” and she 
 slowly rose from her chair as she spoke. 
 
 Mr. Furnival gave her a promise of this, as Sir 
 
GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY. _ 157 
 
 Peregrine had done before; and then with her hand- 
 kerchief to her eyes she thanked him. Her tears were 
 not false as Mr. Furnival well saw; and seeing that 
 she wept, and seeing that she was beautiful, and feeling 
 that in her grief and in her beauty she had come to 
 him for aid, his heart was softened towards her, and 
 he put out his arms as though he would take her to 
 his heart — as a daughter. ‘Dearest friend,” he said, 
 ‘trust me that no harm shall come to you.” 
 
 “T will trust you,” she said, gently stopping the 
 motion of his arm. “I will trust you, altogether. And 
 when you have seen Mr. Round, shall I hear from 
 you?” 
 
 At this moment, as they were standing close to- 
 gether, the door opened, and Mr. Crabwitz introduced 
 another lady — who indeed had advanced so quickly 
 towards the door of Mr. Furnival’s room, that the clerk 
 had been hardly able to reach it before her. 
 
 ‘‘Mrs. Furnival, if you please, sir,” said Mr. Crab- 
 witz. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Guilty, or Not Guilty. 
 
 Unrortunatsezy for Mr. Furnival, the intruder was 
 Mrs. Furnival — whether he pleased or whether he did 
 not please. ‘here she was in his law chamber, present 
 in the flesh, a sight pleasing neither to her husband nor 
 to her husband’s client. She had knocked at the out- 
 side door, which, in the absence of the fag, had been 
 opened by Mr. Crabwitz, and had immediately walked 
 across the passage towards her husband’s room, ex- 
 pressing her knowledge that Mr, Furnival was within, 
 
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 158 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Mr. Crabwitz had all the will in the world to stop her 
 progress, but he found that he lacked the power to 
 stay it for a moment. 
 
 The advantages of matrimony are many and great 
 — so many and so great, that all men, doubtless, ought 
 to marry. But even matrimony may have its draw- 
 backs; among which unconcealed and undeserved 
 jealousy on the part of the wife is perhaps as dis- 
 agreeable as any. What is a man to do when he is 
 accused before the world, — before any small fraction 
 of the world, of making love to some lady of his ac- 
 quaintance? What is he to say? What way is he 
 to look? “My love, I didn’t. I never did, and wouldn’t 
 think of it for worlds. I say it with my hand on my 
 heart. There is Mrs. Jones herself, and I appeal to 
 her.” He is reduced to that! But should any inno- 
 cent man be so reduced by the wife of his bosom? 
 
 I am speaking of undeserved jealousy, and it may 
 therefore be thought that my remarks do not apply to 
 Mrs. Furnival. They do apply to her as much as to 
 any woman. ‘That general idea as to the strange god- 
 desses was on her part no more than a suspicion: and 
 all women who so torment themselves and their hus- 
 bands may plead as much as she could. And for this 
 peculiar idea as to Lady Mason she had no ground 
 whatever. Lady Mason may have had her faults, but 
 a propensity to rob Mrs. Furnival of her husband’s 
 affections had not hitherto been one of them. Mr. Fur- 
 nival was a clever lawyer, and she had great need of 
 his assistance; therefore she had come to his chambers, 
 and therefore she had placed her hand ‘in his. That 
 Mr. Furnival liked his client because she was good 
 looking may be true. I like my horse, my picture, 
 
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 a4 ae a s* 
 a . + ; 
 
 GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY. 159 
 
 the view from my study window for the same reason. 
 I am inclined to think that there was nothing more in 
 it than that. 
 
 “My dear!” said Mr. Furnival, stepping a little 
 back, and letting his hands fall to his sides. Lady 
 Mason also took a step backwards, and then with con- 
 siderable presence of mind recovered herself and put 
 out her hand to greet Mrs. Furnival. 
 
 “How do you do, Lady Mason?” said Mrs. Fur- 
 nival, without any presence of mind at all. “I hope I 
 have the pleasure of seeing you very well. I did hear 
 that you were to be in town — shopping; but I did 
 not for a moment expect the — gratification of finding 
 you here.” And every word that the dear, good, heart- 
 sore woman spoke, told the tale of her jealousy as 
 plainly as though she had flown at Lady Mason’s cap 
 with all the bold demonstrative energy of Spitalfields 
 or St. Giles. 
 
 ‘“T came up on purpose to see Mr. Furnival about 
 some unfortunate law business,” said Lady Mason. 
 
 “Oh, indeed! Your son Lucius did say — shop- 
 
 ing.” 
 
 i ‘Yes; I told him so. When a lady is unfortunate 
 enough to be driven to a lawyer for advice, she does 
 not wish to make it known. I should be very sorry if 
 my dear boy were to guess that I had this new trouble; 
 or, indeed, if any one were to know it. I am sure 
 that I shall be as safe with you, dear Mrs. Furnival, 
 as I am with your husband.” And she stepped up to 
 the angry matron, looking earnestly into her face. 
 
 To a true tale of woman’s sorrow Mrs. Furnival’s 
 heart could be as soft as snow under the noonday sun. 
 
 Had Lady Mason gone to her and told her all her 
 
160 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 fears and all her troubles, sought counsel and aid from — 
 her, and appealed to her motherly feelings, Mrs. Fur- 
 nival would have been urgent night and day in per- 
 suading her husband to take up the widow’s case. She 
 would have bade him work his very best without fee 
 or reward, and would herself have shown Lady Mason 
 the way to Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn. She would have 
 been discreet too, speaking no word of idle gossip to 
 any one. When he, in their happy days, had told his 
 legal secrets to her, she had never gossiped, — had 
 never spoken an idle word concerning them. And 
 she would have been constant to her friend, giving great 
 consolation in the time of trouble, as one woman can 
 console another. The thought that all this might be 
 so did come across her for a moment, for there was 
 innocence written in Lady Mason’s eyes. But then 
 she looked at her husband’s face; and as she found no 
 innocence there, her heart was again hardened. The 
 woman’s face could lie; — “the faces of such women 
 are all lies,” Mrs. Furnival said to herself; — but in 
 her presence his face had been compelled to speak the 
 truth. 
 
 “Oh dear, no; I shall say nothing of course,” she 
 said. “I am quite sorry that I intruded. Mr. Fur- 
 nival, as I happened to be in Holborn — at Mudie’s 
 for some books — I thought I would come down and 
 ask whether you intend to dine at home to-day. You 
 said nothing about it either last night or this morning; 
 and nowadays one really does not know how to manage 
 in such matters.” 
 
 “T told you that I should return to Birmingham 
 this afternoon; I shall dine there,” said Mr. Furnival, 
 very sulkily. 
 
a ine pe ol as oo TK tn Al a ee con i Si 
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 GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY. 161 
 
 “Oh, very well. I certainly knew that you were 
 going out of town. I did not at all expect that you 
 would remain at home; but I thought that you might, 
 perhaps, like to have your dinner before you went. 
 Good morning, Lady Mason; I hope you may be suc- 
 cessful in your — lawsuit.” And then, curtsying to 
 her husband’s client, she prepared to withdraw. 
 
 “TI believe I have said all that I need say, Mr. 
 Furnival,” said Lady Mason; “so that if Mrs. Furnival 
 wishes —,” and she also gathered herself up as though 
 she were ready to leave the room. 
 
 “T hardly know what Mrs. Furnival wishes,” said 
 the husband. 
 
 ‘““My wishes are nothing,” said the wife, “and I 
 really am quite sorry that I came in.” And then she 
 did go, leaving her husband and the woman of whom 
 she was jealous once more alone together. Upon the 
 whole I think that Mr. Furnival was right in not going 
 home that day to his dinner. 
 
 As the door closed somewhat loudly behind the 
 angry lady — Mr. Crabwitz having rushed out hardly 
 in time to moderate the violence of the slam — Lady 
 Mason and her imputed lover were left looking at each 
 other. It was certainly hard upon Lady Mason, and 
 so she felt it. Mr. Furnival was fifty-five, and endowed 
 with a bluish nose; and she was over forty, and had 
 lived for twenty years as a widow without incurring a 
 breath of scandal. 
 
 “I hope I have not been to blame,” said Lady 
 Mason in a soft, sad voice; “but perhaps Mrs. Furnival 
 specially wished to find you alone.” 
 
 ‘No, no; not at all.” 
 
 “T shall be so unhappy if I think that I have been 
 
 Orley Farm, 1. 11 
 
162 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 in the way. If Mrs. Furnival wished to speak to you 
 on business I am not surprised that she should be 
 angry, for I know that barristers do not usually allow 
 themselves to be troubled by their clients in their own 
 chambers.” 
 
 ‘Nor by their wives,” Mr. Furnival might have 
 added, but he did not. 
 
 ‘“‘Do not mind it,” he said; “it is nothing. She is 
 the best-tempered woman in the world; but at times it 
 is impossible to answer even for the best tempered.” 
 
 “T will trust you to make my peace with her.” 
 
 “Yes, of course; she will not think of it after to- 
 day; nor must you, Lady Mason.” 
 
 “Oh, no; except that I would not for the world be 
 the cause of annoyance to my friends. Sometimes I 
 am almost inclined to think that I will never trouble 
 any one again with my sorrows, but let things come 
 and go as they may. Were it not for poor Lucius I 
 should do so.” 5 
 
 Mr. Furnival, looking into her face, perceived that 
 her eyes were full of tears. There could be no doubt 
 as to their reality. Her eyes were full of genuine 
 tears, brimming over and running down; and the law- 
 yer's heart was melted. “I do not know why you 
 should say so,” he said. ‘I do not think your friends 
 begrudge any little trouble they may take for you. I 
 am sure at least that I may so say for myself.” 
 
 ‘You are too kind to me; but I do not on that 
 account the less know how much it is I ask of you.” 
 
 ““The labour we delight in physics pain,’” said 
 Mr. Furnival gallantly. ‘But, to tell the truth, Lady 
 Mason, I cannot understand why you should be so much 
 out of heart. I remember well how brave and constant 
 
GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY. 163 
 
 you were twenty years ago, when there really was 
 cause for trembling.” 
 
 “Ah, I was younger then.” 
 
 “So the almanac tells us; but if the almanac did 
 not tell us I should never know it. We are all older, 
 of course. ‘l'wenty years does not go by without leaving 
 its marks, as I can feel myself.” 
 
 “Men do not grow old as women do, who live 
 alone and gather rust as they feed on their own thoughts.” 
 
 “T know no one whom time has touched so lightly 
 as yourself, Lady Mason; but if I may speak to you 
 as a friend —” 
 
 “If you may not, Mr. Furnival, who may?” 
 
 “TI should tell you that you are weak to be so 
 despondent, or rather so unhappy.” 
 
 “Another lawsuit would kill me, I think. You say 
 that I was brave and constant before, but you cannot 
 ainderstand what I suffered. I nerved myself to bear 
 it, telling myself that it was the first duty that I owed 
 to the babe that was lying on my bosom. And when 
 standing there in the Court, with that terrible array 
 around me, with the eyes of all men on me, the eyes 
 of men who thought that I had been guilty of so ter- 
 rible a crime, for the sake of that child who was so 
 weak I could be brave. But it nearly killed me. Mr. 
 Furnival, I could not go through that again; no, not 
 even for his sake. If you can save me from that, 
 even though it be by the buying off of that ungrateful 
 man —” 
 
 “You must not think of that.” 
 
 “Must I not? ah me!” 
 
 “Will you tell Lucius all this, and let him come 
 to me?” 
 
 11* 
 
164 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “No; not for worlds. He would defy every one, 
 
 and glory in the fight; but after all it is I that must 
 «bear the brunt. No; he shall not know it; — unless 
 
 it becomes so public that he must know it.” 
 
 And then, with some further pressing of the hand, 
 and further words of encouragement which were partly 
 tender as from the man, and partly forensic as from 
 the lawyer, Mr. Furnival permitted her to go, and she 
 found her son at the chemist’s shop in Holborn as she 
 had appointed. There were no traces of tears or of 
 sorrow in her face as she smiled on Lucius while giving 
 him her hand, and then when they were in a cab to- 
 gether she asked him as to his success at Liverpool. 
 
 ‘“T am very glad that I went,” said he, “very glad 
 indeed. I saw the merchants there who are the real 
 importers of the article, and I have made arrangements 
 with them.” 
 
 “Will it be cheaper so, Lucius?” 
 
 “Cheaper! not what women generally call cheaper. 
 If there be anything on earth that I hate, it is a bargain. 
 A man who looks for bargains must be a dupe or a 
 cheat, and is probably both.” 
 
 “Both, Lucius. Then he is doubly unfortunate.” 
 
 ‘He is a cheat because he wants things for less 
 than their value; and a dupe because, as a matter of 
 course, he does not get what he wants. I made no 
 bargain at Liverpool, — at least, no cheap bargain; 
 but I have made arrangements for a sufficient supply 
 of a first-rate unadulterated article at its proper market 
 price, and I do not fear but the results will be re- 
 munerative.” And then, as they went home in the 
 railway carriage the mother talked to her son about 
 his farming as though she had forgotten her other 
 
Feet an a. ee ee oa eee OT: 
 GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY. 165 
 
 trouble, and she explained to him how he was to dine 
 with Sir Peregrine. 
 
 “T shall be delighted to dine with Sir Peregrine,” 
 said Lucius, ‘‘and very well pleased to have an op- 
 portunity of talking to him about his own way of 
 managing his land; but, mother, I will not promise to 
 be guided by so very old-fashioned a professor.” 
 
 Mr. Furnival, when he was left alone, sat thinking 
 over the interview that had passed. At first, as was 
 most natural, he bethought himself of his wife; and I 
 regret to say that the love which he bore to her, and 
 the gratitude which he owed to her, and the memory 
 of all that they had suffered and enjoyed together, did 
 not fill his heart with thoughts towards her as tender 
 as they should have done. A black frown came across 
 his brow as he meditated on her late intrusion, and he 
 made some sort of resolve that that kind of thing should 
 be prevented for the future. He did not make up his 
 mind how he would prevent it, — a point which hus- 
 bands sometimes overlook in their marital resolutions. 
 And then, instead of counting up her virtues, he counted 
 up his own. Had he not given her everything; a 
 house such as she had not dreamed of in her younger 
 days? servants, carriages, money, comforts, and luxuries 
 of all sorts? He had begrudged her nothing, had let 
 her have her full share of all his hard-earned gains; 
 and yet she could be ungrateful for all this, and allow 
 her head to be filled with whims and fancies as though 
 she were a young girl, — to his great annoyance and 
 confusion. He would let her know that his chambers, 
 his law chambers, should be private even from her. 
 He would not allow himself to become a laughing-stock 
 to his own clerks and his own brethren through the 
 
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 166 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 impertinent folly of a woman who owed to him every- 
 thing; —- and so on! I regret to say that he never 
 once thought of those lonely evenings in Harley Street, 
 of those long days which the poor woman was doomed 
 to pass without the only companionship which was 
 valuable to her. He never thought of that vow which 
 they had both made at the altar, which she had kept 
 so loyally, and which required of him a cherishing, 
 comforting, enduring love. It never occurred to him 
 that in denying her this he as much broke his promise 
 to her as though he had taken to himself in very truth 
 some strange goddess, leaving his wedded wife with a 
 cold ceremony of alimony or such-like. He had been 
 open-handed to her as regards money, and therefore 
 she ought not to be troublesome! He had done his 
 duty by her, and therefore he would not permit her to 
 be troublesome! Such, I regret to say, were his thoughts 
 and resolutions as he sat thinking and resolving about 
 Mrs. Furnival. 
 
 And then, by degrees, his mind turned away to 
 that other lady, and they became much more tender. 
 Lady Mason was certainly both interesting and comely 
 in her grief. Her colour could still come and go, her 
 hand was still soft and small, her hair was still brown 
 and smooth. There were no wrinkles in her brow 
 though care had passed over it; her step could still fall 
 lightly, though it had borne a heavy weight of sorrow. 
 I fear that he made a wicked comparison — a com- 
 parison that was wicked although it was made uncon- 
 sciously. 
 
 But by degrees he ceased to think of the woman 
 and began to think of the client, as he was in duty 
 bound to do. What was the real truth of all this? 
 
i) aa I a a eee A De eee MC UME? Wn eee Apc FL Ne nA NRA The aT LRN Mae Wi PUN DN 
 “ ‘ ’ wry - ’ -s . , 3 * . " % x ' 
 
 GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY. 1, 
 
 Was it possible that she should be alarmed in that way 
 because a small country attorney had told his wife 
 that he had found some old paper, and because the 
 man had then gone off to Yorkshire? Nothing could 
 be more natural than her anxiety, supposing her to be 
 aware of some secret which would condemn her if dis- 
 covered; — but nothing more unnatural if there were 
 no such secret. And she must know! In her bosom, 
 if in no other, must exist the knowledge whether or no 
 that will were just. If that will were just, was it 
 possible that she should now tremble so violently, 
 seeing that its justice had been substantially proved in 
 various courts of law? But if it were not just — if 
 it were a forgery, a forgery made by her, or with her 
 cognizance — and that now this truth was to be made 
 known! How terrible would that be! But terrible is 
 not the word which best describes the idea as it entered 
 Mr. Furnival’s mind. How wonderful would it be; 
 how wonderful would it all have been! By whose 
 hand in such case had those signatures been traced? 
 Could it be possible that she, soft, beautiful, graceful 
 as she was now, all but a girl as she had then been, 
 could have done it, unaided, — by herself? — that 
 she could have sat down in the still hour of the night, 
 with that old man on one side and her baby in his 
 cradle on the other, and forged that will, signatures 
 and all, in such a manner as to have carried her point 
 for twenty years, — so skilfully as to have baffled 
 lawyers and jurymen and resisted the eager greed of 
 her cheated kinsman? If so, was it not all wonderful! 
 Had not she been a woman worthy of wonder! 
 
 And then Mr. Furnival’s mind, keen and almost 
 unerring at seizing legal points, went eagerly to work, 
 
8 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 considering what new evidence might now be forth- 
 coming. He remembered at once the circumstances of 
 those two chief witnesses, the clerk who had been so 
 muddle-headed, and the servant-girl who had been so 
 clear. They had certainly witnessed some deed, and 
 they had done so on that special day. If there had 
 been a fraud, if there had been a forgery, it had been 
 so clever as almost to merit protection! But if there 
 had been such fraud, the nature of the means by which 
 it might be detected became plain to the mind of the 
 barrister, — plainer to him without knowledge of any 
 circumstances than it had done to Mr. Mason after 
 many of such circumstances had been explained to him. 
 
 But it was impossible. So said Mr. Furnival to 
 himself, out loud; — speaking out loud in order that 
 he might convince himself. It was impossible, he said 
 again; but he did not convince himself. Should he ask 
 her? No; it was not on the cards that he should do 
 that. And perhaps, if a further trial were forthcoming, 
 it might be better for her sake that he should be igno- 
 rant. And then, having declared again that it was 
 impossible, he rang his bell. ‘“Crabwitz,” said he, 
 without looking at the man, “just step over te Bed- 
 ford Row, with my compliments, and learn what is 
 Mr. Round’s present address; — old Mr. Round, you 
 know.” 
 
 Mr. Crabwitz stood for a moment or two with the 
 door in his hand, and Mr. Furnival, going back to his 
 own thoughts, was expecting the man’s departure. 
 “Well,” he said, looking up and seeing that his myr- 
 midon still stood there. 
 
 Mr. Crabwitz was not in a very good humour, and 
 had almost made up his mind to let his master know 
 
RE Ae eRe RW eo Meee TR he (AIR EA, 
 
 GUILTY, OR NOT GUILTY. 169 
 
 that such was the case. Looking at his own general 
 importance in the legal world, and the inestimable 
 services which he had rendered to Mr. Furnival, he did 
 not think that that gentleman was treating him well. 
 He had been summoned back to his dingy chamber 
 almost without an excuse, and now that he was in 
 London was not permitted to join even for a day the 
 other wise men of the law who were. assembled at the 
 great congress. For the last four days his heart had 
 been yearning to go to Birmingham, but had yearned 
 in vain; and now his master was sending him about 
 town as though he were an errand-lad. 
 
 “Shall I step across to the lodge and send the 
 porter’s boy to Round and Crook’s?” asked Mr. Crab- 
 witz. 
 
 “The porter’s boy! no; go yourself; you are not 
 busy. Why should I send the porter’s boy on my 
 business?” 'The fact probably was, that Mr. Furnival 
 forgot his clerk’s age and standing. Crabwitz had 
 been ready to run anywhere when his employer had 
 first known him, and Mr. Furnival did not perceive the 
 change. | 
 
 “Very well, sir; certainly I will go if you wish 
 it; — on this occasion that is. But I hope, sir, you 
 will excuse my saying —” 
 
 “Saying what?” 
 
 “That I am not exactly a messenger, sir. Of course 
 Pll go now, as the other clerk is not in.” 
 
 “Oh, you're too great a man to walk across to Bed- 
 ford Row, are you? Give me my hat, and ll go.” 
 
 “Oh, no, Mr. Furnival, I did not mean that. Tl 
 step over to Bedford Row, of course; — only I did 
 think —” 
 
eT ees NE in RAN PACE Ra OL i Oe aS Saeee ote ae ee oe ae oo OF ‘te 
 SPE SUA WRC RE Re iS Paget POTN Evin tial Dy iy Ns SEEM Pore cou NHEarnt et at Ch ee Ca ED en eae 
 : an he . ‘ c ‘nha ES ney eye gene 
 
 170 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “Think what?” 
 
 ‘That perhaps I was entitled to a little more re- 
 spect, Mr. Furnival. It’s for your sake as much as 
 my own that I speak, sir; but if the gentlemen in the 
 Lane see me sent about like a lad of twenty, sir, they'll 
 think —” | 
 
 “What will they think?” 
 
 _“T hardly know what they'll think, but I know it 
 will be very disagreeable, sir; — very disagreeable to 
 my feelings. I did think, sir, that perhaps —” 
 
 “Tl tell you what it is, Crabwitz, if your situation 
 here does not suit you, you may leave it to-morrow. I 
 shall have no difficulty in finding another man to take 
 your place.” . 
 
 ‘TI am sorry to hear you speak in that way, Mr. 
 Furnival, very sorry — after fifteen years, sir —.” 
 
 “You find yourself too grand to walk to Bedford 
 Row!” 
 
 “Oh, no. Ill go now, of course, Mr. Furnival.” 
 And then Mr. Crabwitz did go, meditating as he went 
 many things to himself. He knew his own value, or 
 thought that he knew it; and might it not be possible 
 to find some patron who would appreciate his services 
 more justly than did Mr. Furnival? 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Dinner at the Cleeve. 
 
 Lapy Mason on her return from London foynd a 
 note from Mrs. Orme asking both her and her bon to 
 dine at The Cleeve on the following day. As it had 
 been already settled between her and Sir Peregrine 
 that Lucius should dine there in order that he might 
 
«cg te i lies Sa Se ie ite lee les Dil asd de OR ia SR 
 ¢ A Taran & ft ‘ v hae v7), wee i“ . 
 iG ‘ * A 4 - . ; 
 
 DINNER AT THE CLEEVE. 171 
 
 be talked to respecting his mania for guano, the in- 
 vitation could not be refused; but, as for Lady Mason 
 herself, she would much have preferred to remain at 
 home. 
 
 Indeed, her uneasiness on that guano matter had 
 been so outweighed by worse uneasiness from another 
 source, that she had become, if not indifferent, at any 
 rate tranquil on the subject. It might be well that Sir 
 Peregrine should preach his sermon, and well that 
 Lucius should hear it; but for herself it would, she 
 thought, have been more comfortable for her to eat her 
 dinner alone. She felt, however, that she could not 
 do so. Any amount of tedium would be better than 
 the danger of offering a slight to Sir Peregrine, and 
 therefore she wrote a pretty little note to say that 
 both of them would be at The Cleeve at seven. 
 
 ‘Lucius, my dear, I want you to do me a great 
 favour,” she said as she sat by her son in the Ham- 
 worth fly. 
 
 “A great favour, mother! of course I will do any- 
 thing for you that I can.” 
 
 “Tt is that you will bear with Sir Peregrine to- 
 night.” 
 
 ‘Bear with him! I do not know exactly what you 
 mean. Of course I will remember that he is an old 
 man, and not answer him as I would one of my own 
 age.” 
 
 “T am sure of that, Lucius, because you are a 
 gentleman. As much forbearance as that a young man, 
 if he be a gentleman, will always show to an old man. 
 But what I ask is something more than that. Sir Pere- 
 grine has been farming all his life.” 
 
 “Yes; and see what are the results! He has three 
 
 he 
 
iS fr ORLEY FARM. 
 
 or four hundred acres of uncultivated land on his 
 estate, all of which would grow wheat.” 
 
 “T know nothing about that,” said Lady Mason. 
 
 “Ah, but that’s the question. My trade is to be 
 that of a farmer, and you are sending me to school. 
 Then comes the question, Of what sort is the school- 
 master?” 
 
 “T am not talking about farming now, Lucius.” 
 
 “But he will talk of it.” 
 
 ‘And cannot you listen to him without contradict- 
 ing him — for my sake? It is of the greatest con- 
 sequence to me, — ofthe very greatest, Lucius, that 
 I should have the benefit of Sir Peregrine’s friend- 
 ship.” 
 
 “If he would quarrel with you because I chanced 
 to disagree with him, about the management of land, 
 his friendship would not be worth having.” 
 
 “T do not say that he will do so; but I am sure 
 you can understand that an old man may be tender on 
 such points. At any rate I ask it from you as a favour. 
 You cannot guess how important it is to me to be on 
 good terms with such a neighbour.” 
 
 “It is always so in England,” said Lucius, after 
 pausing for a while. ‘Sir Peregrine is a man of family, 
 and a baronet; of course all the world, the world of 
 Hamworth that is, should bow down at his feet. And 
 I too must worship the golden image which Nebuchad- 
 nezzar, the King of Fashion, has set up!” 
 
 ‘Lucius, you are unkind to me.” 
 
 “No, mother, not unkind; but like all men, I would 
 fain act in such matters as my own judgment may 
 direct me.” 
 
 ‘“My friendship with Sir Peregrine Orme has no- 
 
DINNER AT THE CLEEVE. 173 
 
 thing to do with his rank; but it is of importance to 
 me that both you and I should stand well in his sight.” 
 There was nothing more said on the matter; and then 
 they got down at the front door, and were ushered 
 through the low wide hall into the drawing-room. 
 
 The three generations of the family were there, — 
 Sir Peregrine, his daughter-in-law, and the heir. Lucius 
 Mason had been at The Cleeve two or three times since 
 his return from Germany, and on going there had 
 always declared to himself that it was the same to 
 him as though he were going into the house of Mrs. 
 Arkwright, the doctor’s widow at Hamworth, — or 
 even into the kitchen of Farmer Greenwood. He re- 
 joiced to call himself a democrat, and would boast that 
 rank could have no effect on him. But his boast was 
 an untrue boast, and he could not carry himself at 
 The Cleeve as he would have done and did in Mrs. 
 Arkwright’s little drawing-room. ‘There was a majesty 
 in the manner of Sir Peregrine which did awe him; 
 there were tokens of birth and a certain grace of manner 
 about Mrs. Orme which kept down his assumption; and 
 even with young Peregrine he found that though he 
 might be equal he could by no means be more than 
 equal. He had learned more than Peregrine Orme, 
 had ten times more knowledge in his head, had read 
 books of which Peregrine did not even know the names 
 and probably never would know them; but on his side 
 also young Orme possessed something which the other 
 wanted. What that something might be Lucius Mason 
 did not at all understand. 
 
 Mrs. Orme got up from her corner on the sofa to 
 greet her friend, and with a soft smile and two or three 
 all but whispered words led her forward to the fire, 
 
 Spb HUET oui wai Simi oUt | sae aed a i a ie ie ea tae Leite hs a 
 
er ey Cty Opn. eee) teem e © iy Maile alg a oh ak 
 ' 4 u r . ihe. 
 
 174 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Mrs. Orme was not a woman given to much speech or 
 endowed with outward warmth of manners, but she 
 could make her few words go very far; and then the 
 pressure of her hand, when it was given, told more than 
 a whole embrace from some other women. There are 
 ladies who always kiss their female friends, and always 
 call them ‘“‘dear.” In such cases one cannot but pity 
 her who is so bekissed. Mrs. Orme did not kiss Lady 
 Mason, nor did she call her dear; but she smiled 
 sweetly as she uttered her greeting, and looked kind- 
 ness out of her marvellously blue eyes; and Lucius 
 Mason, looking on over his mother’s shoulders, thought 
 that he would like to have her for his friend in spite 
 of her rank. If Mrs. Orme would give him a lecture 
 on farming it might be possible to listen to it without 
 contradiction; but there was no chance for him in that 
 respect. Mrs. Orme never gave lectures to any one on 
 any subject. 
 
 “So, Master Lucius, you have been to Liverpool, 
 I hear,” said Sir Peregrine. 
 
 “Yes, sir — I returned yesterday.” 
 
 “And what is the world doing at Liverpool?” 
 
 “lhe world is wide awake there, sir.” 
 
 “Oh, no doubt; when the world has to make money 
 it is always wide awake. But men sometimes may be 
 wide awake and yet make no money; — may be wide 
 awake, or at any rate think that they are so.” 
 
 “Better that, Sir Peregrine, than wilfully go to 
 sleep when there is so much work to be done.” 
 
 ‘‘A man when he’s asleep does no harm,” said Sir 
 Peregrine. 
 
 “What a comfortable doctrine to think of when the 
 
 ¢ 
 
ee ON ES UN ei Peres eee 
 “4 f  elalaith o af 
 
 DINNER AT THE CLEEVE. 175 
 
 servant comes with the hot water at eight o'clock in 
 the morning!” said his grandson. 
 
 “It is one that you study very constantly, I fear,” 
 said the old man, who at this time was on excellent 
 terms with his heir. There had been no apparent 
 hankering after rats since that last compact had been 
 doing great things with the H. H.; winning golden 
 opinions from all sorts of sportsmen, and earning a 
 great reputation for a certain young mare which had 
 been bred by Sir Peregrine himself. Foxes are vermin 
 as well as rats, as Perry in his wickedness had re- 
 marked; but a young man who can break an old one’s 
 heart by a predilection for rat-catching may win it as 
 absolutely and irretrievably by prowess after a fox. 
 Sir Peregrine had told to four different neighbours how 
 a fox had been run into, in the open, near Alston, 
 after twelve desperate miles, and how on that occasion 
 Peregrine had been in at the death with the huntsman 
 and only one other. ‘And the mare, you know, is 
 only four years old and hardly half trained,” said Sir 
 Peregrine, with great exultation. “The young scamp, 
 to have ridden her in that way!” It may be doubted 
 whether he would have been a prouder man or said 
 more about it if his grandson had taken honours. 
 
 And then the gong sounded, and Sir Peregrine led 
 Lady Mason into the dining-room. Lucius, who as we 
 know thought no more of the Ormes than of the Joneses 
 and Smiths, paused in his awe before he gave his arm 
 to Mrs. Orme; and when he did so he led her away in| 
 perfect silence, though he would have given anything 
 to be able to talk to her as he went. But he bethought 
 himself that unfortunately he could find nothing to say. 
 And when he sat down it was not much better. He 
 
> To 
 
 176 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 had not dined at The Cleeve before, and I am not sure 
 whether the butler in plain clothes and the two men in 
 livery did not help to create his confusion, — in spite 
 of his well-digested democratic ideas. 
 
 The conversation during dinner was not very bright. 
 Sir Peregrine said a few words now and again to Lady 
 Mason, and she replied with a few others. On subjects 
 which did not absolutely appertain to the dinner, she 
 perhaps was the greatest talker; but even she did not 
 say much. Mrs. Orme as a rule never spoke unless 
 she were spoken to in any company consisting of more 
 than herself and one other; and young Peregrine seemed 
 to imagine that carving at the top of the table, asking 
 people if they would take stewed beef, and eating his 
 own dinner, were occupations quite sufficient for his 
 energies. ‘‘Have a bit more beef, Mason; do. If you 
 will, I will.” So far he went in conversation, but no 
 farther while his work was still before him. 
 
 When the servants were gone it was a little better, 
 but not much. ‘Mason, do you mean to hunt this 
 season?” Peregrine asked. 
 
 “No,” said the other. 
 
 ‘Well, I would if I were you. You will never know 
 the fellows about here unless you do.” 
 
 ‘In the first place I can’t afford the time,” said 
 Lucius, “and in the next place I can’t afford the money.” 
 This was plucky on his part, and it was felt to be so 
 by everybody in the room; but perhaps had he spoken 
 all the truth, he would have said also that he was not 
 accustomed to horsemanship. 
 
 “To a fellow who has a place of his own as you 
 have, it costs nothing,” said Peregrine. 
 
Da ae) ee Si A i 
 
 DINNER AT THE CLEEVED sire 
 
 “Oh, does it not?” said the baronet; “I used to 
 think differently.” 
 
 “Well; not so much, I mean, as if you had every- 
 thing to buy. Besides, I look upon Mason as a sort 
 of a Croesus. What on earth has he got to do with 
 his money? And then as to time; — upon my word 
 I don’t understand what a man means when he says 
 he has not got time for hunting.” 
 
 “Lucius intends to be a farmer,” said his mother. 
 
 “So do I,” said Peregrine. “By Jove, I should 
 think so. If I had two hundred acres of land in my 
 own hand I should not want anything else in the world, 
 and would never ask any one for a shilling.” 
 
 “Tf that be so, I might make the best bargain at 
 once that ever a man made,” said the baronet. “If I 
 might take you at your word, Master Perry —.” 
 
 “Pray don’t talk of it, sir,” said Mrs. Orme. 
 
 “You may be quite sure of this, my dear — that 
 I shall not do more than talk of it.” Then Sir Pere- 
 grine asked Lady Mason if she would take any more 
 wine; after which the ladies withdrew, and the lecture 
 commenced. 
 
 But we will in the first place accompany the ladies 
 into the drawing-room for a few minutes. It was hinted 
 in one of the first chapters of this story that Lady Mason 
 might have become more intimate than she had done 
 with Mrs. Orme, had she so pleased it; and by this it 
 will of course be presumed that she had not so pleased. 
 All this is perfectly true. Mrs. Orme had now been 
 living at The Cleeve the greater portion of her life, 
 and had never while there made one really well-loved 
 friend. She had a sister of her own, and dear old 
 friends of her childhood, who lived far away from her 
 
 Orley Farm, I, 12 
 
 ? 
 
178 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 in the northern counties. Occasionally she did see 
 them, and was then very happy; but this was not 
 frequent with her. Her sister, who was married to a 
 peer, might stay at ‘he Cleeve for a fortnight, perhaps 
 once in the year; but Mrs. Orme herself seldom left 
 her own home. She thought, and certainly not without 
 cause, that Sir Peregrine was not happy in her ab- 
 sence, and therefore she never left him. Then, living 
 there so much alone, was it not natural that her heart 
 should desire a friend? 
 
 But Lady Mason had been living much more alone. 
 She had no sister to come to her, even though it were 
 but once a year. She had no intimate female friend, 
 none to whom she could really speak with the full 
 - freedom of friendship, and it would have been delight- 
 ful to have bound to her by ties of love so sweet a 
 creature as Mrs. Orme, a widow like herself, — and 
 like herself a widow with one only son. SBut she, 
 warily picking her steps through life, had learned the 
 necessity of being cautious in all things. The coun- 
 tenance of Sir Peregrine had been invaluable to her, 
 and might it not be possible that she should lose that 
 countenance? A word or two spoken now and then 
 again, a look not intended to be noticed, an altered 
 tone, or perhaps a change in the pressure of the old 
 man’s hand, had taught Lady Mason to think that he 
 might disapprove such intimacy. Probably at the mo- 
 ment she was right, for she was quick at reading such 
 small signs. It behoved her to be very careful, and 
 to indulge in no pleasure which might be costly; and 
 therefore she had denied herself in this matter, — as 
 in so many others. 
 
 But now it had occurred to her that it might be 
 
 Rowe ee See 
 
DINNER AT THE CLEEVE. 179 
 
 well to change her conduct. Hither she felt that Sir 
 Peregrine’s friendship for her was too confirmed to be 
 shaken, or perhaps she fancied that she might 
 strengthen it by means of his daughter-in-law. At any 
 rate she resolved to accept the offer which had once 
 been tacitly made to her, if it were still open to her 
 to do so. 
 
 “How little changed your boy is!” she said when 
 they were seated near to each other, with their coffee- 
 cups between them. 
 
 ‘No; he does not change quickly; and, as you say, 
 he is a boy still in many things. I do not know 
 whether it may not be better that it should be so.” 
 
 ‘‘T did not mean to call him a boy in that sense,” 
 said Lady Mason. 
 
 “But you might; now your son is quite a man.” 
 
 “Poor Lucius! yes; in his position it is necessary. 
 His little bit of property is already his own; and then 
 he has no one like Sir Peregrine to look out for him. 
 Necessity makes him manly.” 
 
 “He will be marrying soon, I dare say,’ 
 Mrs. Orme. 
 
 “Oh, I hope not. Do you think that early mar- 
 riages are good for young men?” 
 
 “Yes, I think so. Why not?” said Mrs. Orme, 
 thinking of her own year of married happiness. ‘“ Would 
 you not wish to see Lucius marry?” 
 
 “T fancy not. J should be afraid lest I should be- 
 come as nothing to him. And yet I would-not have 
 you think that I am selfish.” 
 
 “I am sure that you are not that. I am sure that 
 you love him better than all the world besides. I can 
 feel what that is myself.” 
 
 ? 
 
 suggested 
 
 12% 
 
 Aaah ete 0 dh TiN il a a Nam TR a a OS a le A ool Pa ae ae GT et ese IRR, To oe 
 Lane ; a ants * . 3 ‘ Ny 
 
180 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “But you are not alone with your boy as I am. 
 If he were to send me from him, there would be no- 
 thing left for me in this world.” 
 
 “Send you from him! Ah, because Orley Farm 
 belongs to him. But he would not do that; I am sure 
 he would not.” 
 
 “He would do nothing unkind; but how could he 
 help it if his wife wished it? But nevertheless I would 
 not keep him single for that reason; — no, nor for 
 any reason if I knew that he wished to marry. But it 
 would be a blow to me.” 
 
 “T sincerely trust that Peregrine may marry early,” 
 said Mrs. Orme, perhaps thinking that babies were pre- 
 ferable either to rats or foxes. 
 
 ‘Yes, it would be well I am sure, because you have 
 ample means, and the house is large; and you would 
 have his wife to love.” ; 
 
 “If she were nice it would be so sweet to have her 
 for a daughter. I also am very much alone, though 
 perhaps not so much as you are, Lady Mason.” 
 
 ‘IT hope not — for I am sometimes very lonely.” 
 
 “T have often thought that.” 
 
 “But I should be wicked beyond everything if I 
 were to complain, seeing that Providence has given me 
 so much that I had no right to expect. What should 
 I have done in my loneliness if Sir Peregrine’s hand 
 and door had never been opened to me?” And then 
 for the next half-hour the two ladies held sweet con- 
 verse together, during which we will go back to the 
 gentlemen over their wine. 
 
 ‘Are you drinking claret?” said Sir Peregrine, ar- 
 ranging himself and his bottles in the way that was 
 usual to him. He had ever been a moderate man him- 
 
DINNER AT THE CLEEVE. 181 
 
 self, but nevertheless he had a business-like way of going 
 to work after dinner, as though there was a good deal 
 to be done before the drawing-room could be visited. 
 
 ‘““No more wine for me, sir,” said Lucius. 
 
 “No wine!” said Sir Peregrine the elder. 
 
 ‘“Why, Mason, you'll never get on if that’s the way 
 with you,” said Peregrine the younger. 
 
 “ll try at any rate,” said the other. 
 
 ‘““Water-drinker, moody thinker,” and Peregrine 
 sang a word or two from an old drinking-song. 
 
 “T am not quite sure of that. We Englishmen I 
 suppose are the moodiest thinkers in all the world, and 
 yet we are not so much given to water-drinking as our 
 lively neighbours across the Channel.” 
 
 Sir Peregrine said nothing more on the subject, but 
 he probably thought that his young friend would not 
 be a very comfortable neighbour. His present task, 
 however, was by no means that of teaching him to 
 drink, and he struck off at once upon the business he 
 had undertaken. ‘So your mother tells me that you 
 are going to devote all your energies to farming.” 
 
 “Hardly that, I hope. There is the land, and I 
 mean to see what I can do with it. It is not much, 
 and I intend to combine some other occupation with it.” 
 
 “You will find that two hundred acres of land will 
 give you a good deal to do; — that is if you mean to 
 make money by it.” 
 
 “T certainly hope to do that, — in the long run.” 
 
 “Tt seems to me the easiest thing in the world,” 
 said Peregrine. 
 
 “You'll find out your mistake some day; but with 
 Lucius Mason it is very important that he should make 
 no mistake at the commencement. For a country gen- 
 
182 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 tleman I know no prettier amusement than experimental 
 farming; — but then a man must give up all idea of 
 making his rent out of the land.” 
 
 “T can’t afford that,” said Lucius. 
 
 “No; and that is why I take the liberty of speaking 
 to you. I hope that the great friendship which I _ 
 feel for your mother will be allowed to stand as my 
 excuse.” 
 
 ‘“T am very much obliged by your kindness, sir; I 
 am indeed.” 
 
 “The truth is, I think you are beginning wrong. 
 You have now been to Liverpool, to buy guano, I be- 
 lieve.” 
 
 ‘Yes, that and some few other things. There is a 
 man there who has taken out a patent —” 
 
 ‘My dear fellow, if you lay out your money in 
 that way, you will never see it back again. Have you 
 considered in the first place what your journey to 
 Liverpool has cost you?” 
 
 ‘‘Eixactly nine and sixpence per cent. on the money 
 that I laid out there. Now that is not much more 
 than a penny in the pound on the sum expended, and 
 is not for a moment to be taken into consideration in 
 comparison with the advantage of an improved market.” 
 
 There was more in this than Sir Peregrine had ex- 
 pected to encounter. He did not for a moment doubt 
 the truth of his own experience or the folly and danger 
 of the young man’s proceedings; but he did doubt his 
 own power of proving either the one or the other to 
 one who so accurately computed his expenses by per- 
 centages on his outlay. Peregrine opened his eyes and 
 sat by, wondering in silence. What on earth did Mason 
 mean by an improved market? 
 
Ph ile ae 2 a yi kel. Pe Or ey vie Bk Oia “Bah: 
 eo ye eit, Pike 
 2 Sabi 5 ial 
 
 DINNER AT THE CLEEVE. 183 
 
 “T am afraid then,” said the baronet, “that you 
 must have laid out a large sum of money.” 
 
 “A man can’t do any good, Sir Peregrine, by 
 hoarding his capital. I don’t think very much of ca- 
 pital myself —” 
 
 “Don’t you?” 
 
 “Not of the theory of capital; — not so much as 
 some people do; but if a man has got it, of course it 
 should be expended on the trade to which it is to be 
 applied.” 
 
 “But some little knowledge — some experience is 
 perhaps desirable before any great outlay is made.” 
 
 “Yes; some little knowledge is necessary, — and 
 some great knowledge would be desirable if it were 
 accessible; — but it is not, as I take it.” 
 
 “Long years, perhaps, devoted to such pursuits —” 
 
 “Yes, Sir Peregrine; I know what you are going 
 to say. Experience no doubt will teach something. 
 A man who has walked thirty miles a day for thirty 
 years will probably know what sort of shoes will best 
 suit his feet, and perhaps also the kind of food that 
 will best support him through such exertion; but there 
 is very little chance of his inventing any quicker mode 
 of travelling.” 
 
 “But he will have earned his wages honestly,” said 
 Sir Peregrine, almost angrily. In his heart he was 
 very angry, for he did not love to be interrupted. 
 
 “Oh, yes; and if that were sufficient we might all 
 walk our thirty miles a day. But some of us must 
 earn wages for other people, or the world will make 
 no progress. Civilization, as I take it, consists in 
 efforts made not for oneself but for others.” 
 
i i cane’ Wet ah bet hs Fs ih ie OD RE Se ye eT SD Lt OTe vee fe LW eam Eres as en a 
 ees x es Y t a oe 
 
 184 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “Tf you won't take any more wine we will join the 
 ladies,” said the baronet. 
 
 “He has not taken any at all,” said Peregrine, 
 filling his own glass for the last time and emptying it. 
 
 “That young man is the most conceited puppy it 
 was ever my misfortune to meet,” said Sir Peregrine 
 to Mrs. Orme, when she came to kiss him and to take 
 his blessing as she always did before leaving him for 
 the night. 
 
 “T am sorry for that,” said she, “for I like his 
 mother so much.” 
 
 “T also like her,” said Sir Peregrine; “but I cannot 
 say that I shall ever be very fond of her son.’ 
 
 “T'll tell you what, mamma,” said young Peregrine, 
 the same evening in his mother’s dressing-room. ‘“Lu- 
 cius Mason was too many for the governor this even- 
 ing.” 
 
 “T hope he did not tease your grandfather.” 
 
 “He talked him down regularly, and it was paw 
 enough that the governor did not like it.” 
 
 And then the day was over. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 A Morning Call at Mount Pleasant Villa. 
 
 On the following day Lady Mason made two visits, 
 using her new vehicle for the first time. She would 
 fain have walked had she dared; but she would have 
 given terrible offence to her son by doing so. He had 
 explained to her, and with some truth, that as their 
 joint income was now a thousand a year, she was quite 
 entitled to such a luxury; and then he went on to say 
 that as he had bought it for her, he should be much 
 
PETER Cee ie Se re a 
 * ~ ; > . . 
 A 
 
 A MORNING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASANT VILLA. 185 
 
 hurt if she would not use it. She had put it off from 
 day to day, and now she could put it off no longer. 
 
 Her first visit was by appointment at The Cleeve. 
 She had promised Mrs. Orme that she would come up, 
 some special purpose having been named; — but with 
 the real idea, at any rate on the part of the latter, 
 that they might both be more comfortable together 
 than alone. The walk across from Orley Farm to The 
 Cleeve had always been very dear to Lady Mason. 
 Every step of it was over beautiful ground, and a de- 
 light in scenery was one of the few pleasures which 
 her lot in life had permitted her to enjoy. But to-day 
 she could not allow herself the walk. Her pleasure 
 and delight must be postponed to her son’s wishes! 
 But then she was used to that. 
 
 She found Mrs. Orme alone, and sat with her for 
 an hour. I do not know that anything was said be- 
 tween them which deserves to be specially chronicled. 
 Mrs. Orme, though she told her many things, did not 
 tell her what Sir Peregrine had said as he was going 
 up to his bedroom on the preceding evening, nor did 
 Lady Mason say much about her son’s farming. She 
 had managed to gather from Lucius that he had not 
 been deeply impressed by anything that had fallen 
 from Sir Peregrine on the subject, and therefore thought 
 it as well to hold her tongue. She soon perceived also, 
 from the fact of Mrs. Orme saying nothing about Lu- 
 cius, that he had not left behind him any very favour- 
 able impression. This was to her cause of additional 
 sorrow, but she knew that it must be borne. Nothing 
 that she could say would induce Lucius to make him- 
 self acceptable to Sir Peregrine. 
 
 When the hour was over she went down again to 
 
Bs Fe a OE ee a ee ey ea ee Ae ee nS es ae oe 
 poe pa is ON RNa . Se ty a ied Sul Ss 
 
 186 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 her little carriage, Mrs. Orme coming with her to look 
 at it, and in the hall they met Sir Peregrine. 
 
 “Why does not Lady Mason stop for lunch?” said 
 he. ‘It is past half-past one. I never knew anything 
 so inhospitable as turning her out at this moment.” 
 
 “T did ask her to stay,” said Mrs. Orme. 
 
 ‘But I command her to stay,” said Sir Peregrine, 
 knocking his stick upon the stone floor of the hall. 
 ‘“‘And let me see who will dare to disobey me. John, 
 let Lady Mason’s carriage and pony stand in the open 
 coach-house till she is ready.” So Lady Mason went 
 back and did remain for lunch. She was painfully 
 anxious to maintain the best-possible footing in that 
 house, but still more anxious not to have it thought 
 that she was intruding. She had feared that Lucius 
 by his offence might have estranged Sir Peregrine 
 against herself; but that at any rate was not the case. 
 
 After lunch she drove herself to Hamworth and 
 made her second visit. On this occasion she called on 
 one Mrs. Arkwright, who was a very old acquaintance, 
 though hardly to be called an intimate friend. The 
 late Mr. Arkwright — Dr. Arkwright as he used to be 
 styled in Hamworth — had been Sir Joseph’s medical 
 attendant for many years, and therefore there had been 
 room for an intimacy. No real friendship, that is no 
 friendship of confidence, had sprung up; but never- 
 theless the doctor’s wife had known enough of Lady 
 - Mason in her younger days to justify her in speaking 
 of things which would not have been mentioned be- 
 tween merely ordinary acquaintance. ‘I am glad to 
 see you have got promotion,” said the old lady, looking 
 out at Lady Mason’s little phaeton on the gravel sweep 
 which divided Mrs, Arkwright’s house from the street. 
 
A MORNING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASANT VILLA. 187 
 
 For Mrs. Arkwright’s house was Mount Pleasant Villa, 
 and therefore was entitled to a sweep. 
 
 “It was a present from Lucius,” said the other, 
 “and as such must be used. But I shall never feel 
 myself at home in my own carriage.” 
 
 “Tt is quite proper, my dear Lady Mason, quite 
 proper. With his income and with yours I do not 
 wonder that he insists upon it. It is quite proper, and 
 just at the present moment peculiarly so.” 
 
 Lady Mason did not understand this; but she would 
 probably have passed it by without understanding Abs 
 had she not thought that there was some expression 
 more than ordinary in Mrs. Arkwright’s face. ‘‘ Why 
 peculiarly so at the present moment?” she said. 
 
 ‘Because it shows that this foolish report which is 
 going about has no foundation. People won’t believe 
 it for a moment when they see you out and about, and 
 happy-like.” 
 
 ‘What rumour, Mrs. Arkwright?” And Lady Ma- 
 son’s heart sunk within her as she asked the question. 
 She felt at once to what it must allude, though she 
 had conceived no idea as yet that there was any rumour 
 on the subject. Indeed, during the last forty-eight 
 hours, since she had left the chambers of Mr. Furnival, 
 she had been more at ease within herself than during 
 the previous days which had elapsed subsequent to the 
 ill-omened visit made to her by Miriam Dockwrath. It 
 had seemed to her that Mr. Furnival anticipated no 
 danger, and his manner and words had almost given 
 her confidence. But now, — now that a public rumour 
 was spoken of, her heart was as low again as ever. 
 
 “Sure, haven’t you heard?” said Mrs. Arkwright, 
 
 Ab pent) Ve PS ee ee ere LT DT OR ate ee re ce ee Ey ea COR See Puen o 
 Sie + ek a) : ss \ 
 
SOE EON PS peep mor ane 
 188 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “Well, I wouldn’t be the first to tell you, only that I 
 know that there is no truth in it.” 
 
 “You might as well tell me now, as I shall be apt 
 to believe worse than the truth after what you have 
 said.” 7 
 
 And then Mrs. Arkwright told her. ‘People have 
 been saying that Mr. Mason is again going to begin 
 those law proceedings about the farm; but I for one 
 don’t believe it.” 
 
 “People have said so!” Lady Mason repeated. She 
 meant nothing; it was nothing to her who the people 
 were. If one said it now, all would soon be saying it. 
 But she uttered the words because she felt herself 
 forced to say something, and the power of thinking 
 what she might best say was almost taken away from her. 
 
 “T am sure I don’t know where it came from,” 
 said Mrs. Arkwright; “but I would not have alluded 
 to it if I had not thought that of course you had heard 
 it. I am very sorry if my saying it has vexed you.” 
 
 “Oh, no,” said Lady Mason, trying to smile. 
 
 ‘As I said before, we all know that there is nothing 
 in it; and your having the pony chaise just at this time 
 will make everybody see that you are quite comfortable 
 yourself.” 
 
 “Thank you, yes; good-bye, Mrs. Arkwright.” And 
 then she made a great effort, feeling aware that she 
 was betraying herself, and that it behoved her to say 
 something which might remove the suspicion which her 
 emotion must have created. ‘The very name of that 
 lawsuit is so dreadful to me that I can hardly bear it. 
 The memory of it is so terrible to me, that even my 
 enemies would hardly wish that it should commence 
 again.” 
 
re IR PON Re aM Mat Tar te eee Pet roe” Lat 
 
 A MORNING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASANT VILLA. 189 
 
 “Of course it is merely a report,” said Mrs. Ark- 
 wright, almost trembling at what she had done. 
 
 “That is all — at least I believe so. I had heard 
 myself that some such threat had been made, but I did 
 not think that any tidings of it had got abroad.” 
 
 “It was Mrs. Whiting told me. She is a great 
 busybody, you know.” Mrs. Whiting was the wife of 
 the present doctor. 
 
 “Dear Mrs. Arkwright, it does not matter in the 
 least. Of course I do not expect that people should 
 hold their tongue on my account. Good-bye, Mrs. 
 Arkwright.” And then she got into the little carriage, 
 and did contrive to drive herself home to Orley Farm. 
 
 “Dear, ‘dear, dear, dear!” said Mrs. Arkwright to 
 herself when she was left alone. “Only to think of 
 that; that she should be knocked in a heap by a few 
 words — in a moment, as we may say.” And then 
 she began to consider of the matter. ‘I wonder what 
 there is in it! There must be something, or she would 
 never have looked so like a ghost. What will they 
 do if Orley Farm is taken away from them after all!” 
 And then Mrs. Arkwright hurried out on her daily 
 little toddle through the town, that she might talk 
 about this and be talked to on the same subject. She 
 was by no means an ill-natured woman, nor was she 
 at all inclined to direct against Lady Mason any slight 
 amount of venom which might alloy her disposition. 
 But then the matter was of such importance! The 
 people of Hamworth had hardly yet ceased to talk of 
 the last Orley Farm trial; and would it not be neces- 
 sary that they should talk much more if a new trial 
 were really pending? Looking at the matter in that 
 light, would not such a trial be a godsend to the people 
 
PEP ORES Sir Natt ty MBDA ROE MON eT RNC LR Cem” a a a ea 
 uy) ; SMES pe A cera 
 
 190 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 of Hamworth? Therefore I beg that it may not be 
 imputed to Mrs. Arkwright as a fault that she toddled 
 out and sought eagerly for her gossips. 
 
 Lady Mason did manage to drive herself home; 
 but her success in the matter was more owing to the 
 good faith and propriety of her pony, than to any skil- 
 ful workmanship on her own part. Her first desire had 
 been to get away from Mrs. Arkwright, and having 
 made that effort she was for a time hardly able to 
 make any other. It was fast coming upon her now. 
 Let Sir Peregrine say what comforting words he might, 
 let Mr. Furnival assure her that she was safe with ever 
 so much confidence, nevertheless she could not but be- 
 lieve, could not but feel inwardly convinced, that that 
 which she so dreaded was to happen. It was written 
 in the book of her destiny that there should be a new 
 trial. 
 
 And now, from this very moment, the misery would 
 again begin. People would point at her, and talk of 
 her. Her success in obtaining Orley Farm for her 
 own child would again be canvassed at every house in 
 Hamworth; and not only her success, but the means 
 also by which that success had been obtained. The 
 old people would remember and the young people 
 would inquire; and, for her, tranquillity, repose, and 
 that retirement of life which had been so valuable to 
 her, were all gone. 
 
 There could be no doubt that Dockwrath had 
 spread the report immediately on his return from York- 
 shire; and had she well thought of the matter she 
 might have taken some comfort from this. Of course 
 he would tell the story which he did tell. His con- 
 fidence in being able again to drag the case before the . 
 
04 
 
 A MORNING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASANT VILLA. 191 
 
 Courts would by no means argue that others believed 
 
 as he believed. In fact the enemies now arraigned 
 against her were only those whom she already knew 
 to be so arraigned. But she had not sufficient command 
 of her thoughts to be able at first to take comfort from 
 such a reflection as this. She felt, as she was being 
 carried home, that the world was going from her, and 
 that it would be well for her, were it possible, that 
 she should die. 
 
 But she was stronger when she reached her own 
 door than she had been* at Mrs. Arkwright’s. There 
 was still within her a great power of self-maintenance, 
 if only time were allowed to her to look about and 
 consider how best she might support herself. Many 
 
 -women are in this respect as she was. With fore- 
 
 thought and summoned patience they can endure great 
 agonies; but a sudden pang, unexpected, overwhelms 
 them. She got. out of the pony carriage with her ordi- 
 nary placid face, and walked up to her own room 
 without having given any sign that she was uneasy; 
 and then she had to determine how she should bear 
 herself before her son. It had been with her a great 
 object that both Sir Peregrine and Mr. Furnival should 
 first hear of the tidings from her, and that they should 
 both promise her their aid when they had heard the 
 story as she would tell it. In this she had been suc- 
 cessful; and it now seemed to her that prudence would 
 require her to act in the same way towards Lucius. 
 Had it been possible to keep this matter from him al- 
 together, she would have given much to do so; but 
 now it would not be possible. It was clear that Mr. 
 Dockwrath had chosen to make the matter public, 
 acting no doubt with forethought in ‘doing so; and 
 
alr PRON RR Hye ay SIL NRE ae COC ARREST OSSRet TA On era et gn ne 
 
 192 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Lucius would be sure to hear words which would be- 
 “come common in Hamworth. Difficult as the task 
 would be to her, it would be best that she should pre- 
 pare him. So she sat alone till dinner-time planning 
 how she would do this. She had sat alone for hours 
 in the same way planning how she would tell her story 
 to Sir Peregrine; and again as to her second story for 
 Mr. Furnival. Those whose withers are unwrung can 
 hardly guess how absolutely a sore under the collar 
 will embitter every hour for the poor jade who is so 
 tormented! 
 
 But she met him at dinner with a smiling face. 
 He loved to see her smile, and often told her so, al- 
 most upbraiding her when she would look sad. Why 
 should she be sad, seeing that she had everything that 
 a woman could desire? Her mind was burdened with 
 no heavy thoughts as to feeding coming multitudes. 
 She had no contests to wage with the desultory chemists 
 of the age. His purpose was to work hard during the 
 hours of the day, — hard also during many hours of 
 the night; and it was becoming that his mother should 
 greet him softly during his few intervals of idleness. 
 He told her so, in some words not badly chosen for 
 such telling; and she, loving mother that she was, 
 strove valiantly to obey him. 
 
 During dinner she could not speak to him, nor im- 
 mediately after dinner. The evil moment she put off 
 from half-hour to half-hour, still looking as though all 
 were quiet within her bosom as she sat beside him with 
 her book in her hand. He was again at work before 
 she began her story: he thought at least that he was 
 at work, for he had before him on the table both 
 Prichard and Latham, and was occupied in making 
 
See RAT AP ER ie, See Fe Ra RS ETROR NCAT EMO Care CRte By Wena etal PORE ema 
 
 A MORNING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASANT VILLA. 193 
 
 copies from some drawings of skulls which purposed to 
 represent the cerebral development of certain of our® 
 more distant Asiatic brethren. 
 
 “Ts it not singular,” said he, “that the jaws of 
 men born and bred in a hunter state should be diffe- 
 rently formed from those of the agricultural tribes?” 
 
 “Are they?” said Lady Mason. 
 
 “Oh yes; the maxillary profile is quite different. 
 You will see this especially with the Mongolians, among 
 the Tartar tribes. It seems to me to be very much 
 the same difference as that between a man and a sheep, 
 but Prichard makes no such remark. Look here at 
 this fellow; he must have been intended to eat nothing 
 but flesh; and that raw, and without any knife or 
 fork.” 
 
 “YT don’t suppose they had many knives or forks.” 
 
 “By close observation I do not doubt that one 
 could tell from a single tooth not only what food the 
 owner of it had been accustomed to eat, but what 
 language he had spoken. I say close observation, you 
 know. It could not be done in a day.” 
 
 “T suppose not.” And then the student again bent 
 over his drawing. ‘You see it would have been im- 
 possible for the owner of such a jaw as that to have 
 ground a grain of corn between his teeth, or to have 
 masticated even a cabbage.” 
 
 “Lucius,” said Lady Mason, becoming courageous 
 on the spur of the moment} “I want you to leave that 
 for a moment and speak to me.” 
 
 “Well,” said he, putting down his pencil and 
 turning round. ‘Here [/am.” 
 
 “You have heard of the lawsuit which I had with 
 your brother when you were an infant?” 
 
 Orley Farm. I, 13 
 
194 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “Of course I have heard of it; but I wish you 
 ¢ would not call that man my brother. He would not 
 own me as such, and I most certainly would not own 
 him. As far as I can learn he is one of the most 
 detestable human beings that ever existed.” 
 
 ‘““You have heard of him from an unfavourable side, 
 Lucius; you should remember that. He is a hard man, 
 I believe; but I do not know that he would do any- 
 thing which he thought to be unjust.” 
 
 “Why then did he try to rob me of my pro- 
 perty?” 
 
 ‘Because he thought that it should have been his 
 own. I cannot see into his breast, but I presume that 
 it was so.” 
 
 “T do not presume anything of the kind, and never 
 shall. I was an infant and you were a woman, — a 
 woman at that time without many friends, and he 
 thought that he could rob us under cover of the law. 
 Had he been commonly honest it would have been 
 enough for him to know what had been my father’s 
 wishes, even if the will had not been rigidly formal. I 
 look upon him as a robber and a thief.” 
 
 “T am sorry for that, Lucius, because I aiitee from 
 you. What I wish to tell you now is this, — that he 
 is thinking of trying the question again.” 
 
 ‘What! — thinking of another trial now?” and 
 Lucius Mason pushed his drawings and books from him 
 with a vengeance. 
 
 “So I am told.” 
 
 ‘And who told you? I cannot believe it. If he 
 intended anything of the kind I must have been the 
 first person to hear of it. It would be my business 
 
 a 
 
“yA iNET fe aig aie aa RNG a fe he ai 
 
 A MORNING CALL AT MOUNT PLEASANT VILLA. 195 
 
 now, and you may be sure that he would have taken 
 care to let me know his purpose.” 
 
 And then by degrees she explained to him that 
 the man himself, Mr. Mason of Groby, had as yet de- 
 clared no such purpose. She had intended to omit all 
 mention of the name of Mr. Dockwrath, but she was 
 unable to do so without seeming to make a mystery 
 with her son. When she came to explain how the 
 rumour had arisen and why she had thought it ne- 
 cessary to tell him this, she was obliged to say that it 
 had all arisen from the wrath of the attorney. “He 
 has been to Groby Park,” she said, “and now that he 
 has returned he is spreading this report.” 
 
 “T shall go to him to-morrow,” said Lucius, very 
 sternly. 
 
 “No, no; you must not do that. You must promise 
 me that you will not do that.” 
 
 “But I shall. You cannot suppose that I shall 
 allow such a man as that to tamper with my name 
 without noticing it! It is my business now.” 
 
 “No, Lucius. The attack will be against me 
 rather than you; — that is, if an attack be made. I 
 have told you because I do not like to have a secret 
 from you.” 
 
 “Of course you have told me. If you are attacked 
 who should defend you, if I do not?” 
 
 “The best defence, indeed the only defence till 
 they take some active step, will be silence. Most 
 probably they will not do anything, and then we can 
 afford to live down such reports as these. You can 
 understand, Lucius, that the matter is grievous enough 
 to me; and I am sure that for my sake you will not 
 
 13* 
 
ERNIE Ce LOTR unl NRC MIE ON A re HE Rt Oe ee eR Si ela si ae Gitule N ‘ 
 . 7 
 
 196 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 make it worse by a personal quarrel with such a man 
 as that.” 
 
 “T shall go to Mr. Furnival,” said he, ‘and ask 
 his advice.” 
 
 “T have done that already, Lucius. I thought it 
 best to do so, when first I heard that Mr. Dockwrath 
 was moving in the matter. It was for that that I went 
 up to town.” 
 
 “And why did you not tell me?” 
 
 “T then thought that you might be spared the pain 
 of knowing anything of the matter. I tell you now 
 because I hear to-day in Hamworth that people are 
 talking on the subject. You might be annoyed, as I 
 was just now, if the first tidings had reached you from 
 some stranger.” 
 
 He sat silent for a while, turning his pencil in his 
 hand, and looking as though he were going to settle 
 the matter off hand by his own thoughts. “I tell you 
 what it is, mother; I shall not let the burden of this 
 fall on your shoulders. You carried on the battle be- 
 fore, but I must do so now. IfI can trace any word 
 of scandal to that fellow Dockwrath, I shall indict him 
 for a libel.” 
 
 “Oh, Lucius!” 
 
 “T shall, and no mistake!” 
 
 What would he have said had he known that his 
 mother had absolutely proposed to Mr. Furnival to 
 buy off Mr. Dockwrath’s animosity, almost at any 
 price? 
 
Pe MA Te ey OR rey seer om eT Meme YR YAP RUAN) Vine feof CNN? Sek OORT SRT ALTO Ui ey ee a 
 ¥ i- A ’ j hei y Dy) Mei Pee LRT 8 iis. 
 
 MR. DOCKWRATH IN oun ROW, 19% 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath in Bedford Row. 
 
 Mr. Docxwrats, as he left Leeds and proceeded 
 to join the bosom of his family, was not discontented 
 with what he had done. It might not improbably have 
 been the case that Mr. Mason would altogether refuse 
 to see him, and having seen him, Mr. Mason might 
 altogether have declined his assistance. He might have 
 been forced as a witness to disclose his secret, of which 
 he could make so much better a profit as a legal 
 adviser. As it was, Mr. Mason had promised to pay 
 him for his services, and would no doubt be induced 
 to go so far as to give him a legal claim for payment. ° 
 Mr. Mason had promised to come up to town, and had 
 instructed the Hamworth attorney to meet him there; 
 and under such circumstances the Hamworth attorney 
 had but little doubt that time would produce a con- 
 siderable bill of costs in his favour. 
 
 And then he thought that he saw his way to a 
 great success. I should be painting the Devil too black 
 were I to say that revenge was his chief incentive in 
 that which he was doing. All our motives are mixed; 
 and his wicked desire to do evil to Lady Mason in 
 return for the evil which she had done to him was 
 mingled with professional energy, and an ambition to 
 win a cause that ought to be won — especially a cause 
 which others had failed to wm. He said to himself, 
 on finding those names and dates among old Myr. 
 Usbech’s papers, that there was still an opportunity of 
 doing something considerable in this Orley Farm Case, 
 and he had made up his mind to do it. Professional 
 
198 | ORLEY FARM. 
 
 energy, revenge, and money considerations would work 
 hand in hand in this matter; and therefore, as he left 
 Leeds in the second-class railway carriage for London, 
 he thought over the result of his visit with consider- 
 able satisfaction. 
 
 it eT a. 
 eye. 0a 
 
 He had left Leeds at ten, and Mr. Moulder had — 
 
 come down in the same omnibus to the station, and 
 was travelling in the same train in a first-class car- 
 riage. Mr. Moulder was a man who despised the 
 second-class, and was not slow to say so before other 
 commercials who travelled at a cheaper rate than he 
 did. ‘‘Hubbles and Grease,” he said, “allowed him 
 respectably, in order that he might go about their 
 business respectable; and he wasn’t going to give the 
 firm a bad name by being seen in a second-class 
 carriage, although the difference would go into his own 
 pocket. That wasn’t the way he had begun, and that 
 wasn’t the way he was going to end.” He said nothing 
 to Mr. Dockwrath in the morning, merely bowing in 
 answer to that gentleman’s salutation. ‘“‘Hope you 
 were comfortable last night in the back drawing room,” 
 said Mr. Dockwrath; but Mr. Moulder in reply only 
 looked at him. 
 
 At the Mansfield station, Mr. Kantwise, with his 
 huge wooden boxes, appeared on the platform, and he 
 got into the same carriage with Mr. Dockwrath. He 
 had come on by a night train, and had been doing a 
 stroke of business that morning. “Well, Kantwise,” 
 Moulder holloaed out from his warm, well-padded seat, 
 ‘doing it cheap and nasty, eh?” 
 
 “Not at all nasty, Mr. Moulder,” said the other. 
 ‘And I find myself among as respectable a class of 
 society in the second-class as you do in the first; quite 
 
Pe eee ee, ne See Sa , iets Suet La VAS ca st dap dia hy 
 
 MR. DOCKWRATH IN BEDFORD ROW. 199 
 
 so; — and perhaps a little better,” Mr. Kantwise 
 added, as he took his seat immediately opposite to Mr. 
 Dockwrath. “I hope I have the pleasure of seeing 
 you pretty bobbish this morning, sir.” And he shook 
 hands cordially with the attorney. 
 
 “Tidy, thank you,” said Dockwrath. ‘My com- 
 pany last night did not do me any harm; you may 
 swear to that.” 
 
 “Ha! ha! ha! I was so delighted that you got the 
 better of Moulder; a domineering party, isn’t he? quite 
 terrible! For myself, I can’t put up with him some- 
 times.” 
 
 “T didn’t have to put up with him last night.” 
 
 ‘No, no; it was very good, wasn’t it now? very 
 capital, indeed. All the same I wish you'd heard 
 Busby give us ‘Beautiful Venice, City of Song!’ A 
 charming voice has Busby; quite charming.” And there 
 was a pause for a minute or so, after which Mr. Kant- 
 wise resumed the conversation. ‘You'll allow me to 
 
 put you up one of those drawing-room sets?” he 
 
 said. 
 
 “Well, I am afraid not. I don’t think they are 
 strong enough where there are children.” 
 
 ‘Dear, dear; dear, dear; to hear you say so, Mr. 
 Dockwrath! Why, they are made for strength. They 
 are the very things for children, because they don’t 
 break, you know.” 
 
 “But they’d bend terribly.” 
 
 “By no means. They’re so elastic that they always 
 recovers themselves. I didn’t show you that; but you 
 might turn the backs of them chairs nearly down to 
 the ground, and they will come straight again. You 
 let me send you a set for your wife to look at. If 
 
200 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 she’s not charmed with them TVll — Tl — I'll eat 
 them.” 
 
 “Women are charmed with anything,” said Mr. 
 Dockwrath. ‘A new bonnet does that.” 
 
 “They know what they are about pretty well, as 
 I dare say you have found out. ITJl send express to 
 Sheffield and have a completely new set put up for 
 
 ou.” 
 
 “For twelve seventeen six, of course?” 
 
 “Oh! dear no, Mr. Dockwrath. The lowest figure 
 for ready money, delivered free, is fifteen ten.” 
 
 “T couldn’t think of paying more than Mrs. Mason.” 
 
 “Ah! but that was a damaged set; it was, indeed. 
 And she merely wanted it as a present for the curate’s 
 wife. The table was quite sprung, and the music-stool 
 wouldn’t twist.” 
 
 “But youll send them to me new?” 
 
 “New from the manufactory; upon my word we 
 will.” 
 
 “A table that you have never acted upon — have 
 never shown off on; standing in the middle, you 
 know?” 
 
 “Yes; upon my honour. You shall have them 
 direct from the workshop, and sent at once; you shall 
 find them in your drawing-room on Tuesday next.” 
 
 ‘We'll say thirteen ten.” 
 
 “T couldn’t do it, Mr. Dockwrath —” And so they 
 went on, bargaining half the way up to town, till at 
 last they came to terms for fourteen eleven. “And a 
 very superior article your lady will find them,” Mr. 
 Kantwise said as he shook hands with his new friend 
 at parting. 
 
 One day Mr, Dockwrath remained at home in the 
 
 4 hee 13 ate 
 es 
 
A) ee ee hy PUNY p,m, es Of Re ty wer ella ye toe AOY A Nadler in “uk Wt ae oe ae \ Hr Ply erence ee a, St 
 ’ a a ’ ie a yet Cyt erree 
 
 MR. DOCKWRATH IN BEDFORD ROW. 201 
 
 bosom of his family, saying all manner of spiteful 
 things against Lady Mason, and on the next day he 
 went up to town and called on Round and Crook. 
 That one day he waited in order that Mr. Mason might 
 have time to write; but Mr. Mason had written on the 
 very day of the visit to Groby Park, and Mr. Round 
 junior was quite ready for Mr. Dockwrath when that 
 gentleman called. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath when at home had again cautioned 
 his wife to have no intercourse whatever “with that 
 swindler at Orley Farm,” wishing thereby the more 
 thoroughly to imbue poor Miriam with a conviction 
 that Lady Mason had committed some fraud with 
 reference to the will. “You had better say nothing 
 about the matter anywhere; d’ you hear? People will 
 talk; all the world will be talking about it before long. 
 But that is nothing to you. If people ask you, say 
 that you believe that I am engaged in the case pro- 
 fessionally, but that you know nothing further.” As 
 to all which Miriam of course promised the most exact 
 obedience. But Mr. Dockwrath, though he only re- 
 mained one day in Hamworth before he went to London, 
 took care that the curiosity of his neighbours should 
 be sufficiently excited. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath felt some little trepidation at the 
 heart as he walked into the office of Messrs. Round 
 and Crook in Bedford Row. Messrs. Round and Crook 
 stood high in the profession, and were men who in 
 the ordinary way of business would have had no per- 
 sonal dealings with such a man as Mr. Dockwrath. 
 Had any such intercourse become necessary on com- 
 monplace subjects Messrs. Round and Crook’s con- 
 fidential clerk might have seen Mr. Dockwrath, but 
 
Be Te, TR Pp PO er MAP, RTT Ee COME, enn Si oe eg te eee ee 
 202 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 even he would have looked down upon the Hamworth 
 attorney as from a great moral height. But now, in 
 the matter of the Orley Farm Case, Mr. Dockwrath 
 had determined that he would transact business only 
 on equal terms with the Bedford Row people. The 
 secret was his — of his finding; he knew the strength 
 of his own position, and he would use it. But never- 
 theless he did tremble inwardly as he asked whether 
 Mr. Round was within; — or if not Mr. Round, then 
 Mr. Crook. 
 
 There were at present three members in the firm, 
 though the old name remained unaltered. The Mr. 
 Round and the Mr. Crook of former days were still 
 working partners; — the very Round and the very 
 Crook who had carried on the battle on the part of 
 Mr. Mason of Groby twenty years ago; but to them 
 had been added another Mr. Round, a son of old Round, 
 who, though his name did not absolutely appear in 
 the nomenclature of the firm, was, as a working man, 
 the most important person in it. Old Mr. Round might 
 now be said to be ornamental and communicative. He 
 was a hale man of nearly seventy, who thought a great 
 deal of his peaches up at Isleworth, who came to the 
 office five times a week — not doing very much hard 
 work, and who took the largest share in the profits. 
 Mr. Round senior had enjoyed the reputation of being 
 a sound, honourable man, but was now considered by 
 some to be not quite sharp enough for the practice of 
 the present day. 
 
 Mr. Crook had usually done the dirty work of the 
 firm, having been originally a managing clerk; and he 
 still did the same — in a small way. He had been 
 the man to exact penalties, look after costs, and attend 
 
oo glee ey CNA Bilis aii Pee, er ee Tt te gto ey 
 MR. DOCKWRATH IN BEDFORD ROW. 208 
 
 to any criminal business, or business partly criminal in 
 
 its nature, which might by chance find its way to them. 
 But latterly in all great matters Mr. Round junior, Mr. 
 Matthew Round — his father was Richard — was the 
 member of the firm on whom the world in general 
 placed the greatest dependence. Mr. Mason’s letter 
 had in the ordinary way of business come to him, 
 although it had been addressed to his father, and he 
 had resolved on acting on it himself. 
 
 When Mr. Dockwrath called Mr. Round senior was 
 at Birmingham, Mr. Crook was taking his annual 
 holiday, and Mr. Round junior was reigning alone in 
 Bedford Row. Instructions had been given to the 
 clerks that if Mr. Dockwrath called he was to be shown 
 in, and therefore he found himself seated, with much 
 less trouble than he had expected, in the private room 
 of Mr. Round junior. He had expected to see an old 
 man, and was therefore somewhat confused, not feeling 
 quite sure that he was in company with one of the 
 principals; but nevertheless, looking at the room, and 
 especially at the arm-chair and carpet, he was aware 
 that the legal gentleman who motioned him to a seat 
 could be no ordinary clerk. 
 
 The manner of this legal gentleman was not, as 
 Mr. Dockwrath thought, quite so ceremoniously civil 
 as it might be, considering the important nature of the 
 business to be transacted between them. Mr. Dock- 
 wrath intended to treat on equal terms, and so intend- 
 ing would have been glad to have shaken hands with 
 his new ally at the commencement of their joint opera- 
 tions. But the man before him — a man younger 
 than himself too — did not even rise from his chair. 
 “Ah! Mr. Dockwrath,” he said, taking up a letter 
 
 ie aio nl] eis as iD 
 
PERG PEO Tr CeO EUR ec aksEAt eT CE NCA OSU eN token BONNIE UR RR ee a ee 
 ye ag eae o> \ 4 Ap md Ey, ’ 7 a RRR NA Nig ee ye) Oe ee ee ee < TA TaN nae 
 
 204 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 from the table, “will you have the goodness to sit 
 down?” And Mr. Matthew Round wheeled his own 
 arm-chair towards the fire, stretching out his legs com- 
 fortably, and pointing to a somewhat distant seat as 
 that intended for the accommodation of his visitor. 
 Mr. Dockwrath seated himself in the somewhat distant 
 seat, and deposited his hat upon the floor, not being 
 as yet quite at home in his position; but he made up 
 his mind as he did so that he would be at home be- 
 fore he left the room. 
 
 “TY find that you have been down in Yorkshire 
 with a client of ours, Mr. Dockwrath,” said Mr. Mat- 
 thew Round. 
 
 “Yes, I have,” said he of Hamworth. 
 
 ‘““Ah! well —; you are in the profession yourself, 
 I believe?” 
 
 “Yes; I am an attorney.” 
 
 “Would it not have been well to have come to us 
 first 2” | 
 
 “No, I think not. I have not the pleasure of 
 knowing your name, sir.” | 
 
 ‘““My name is Round — Matthew Round.” 
 
 “T beg your pardon, sir; I did not know,” said 
 Mr. Dockwrath, bowing. It was a satisfaction to him 
 to learn that he was closeted with a Mr. Round, even 
 if it were not the Mr. Round. “No, Mr. Round, I 
 can’t say that I should have thought of that. In the 
 first place I didn’t know whether Mr. Mason employed 
 any lawyer, and in the next —” 
 
 “Well, well; it does not matter. It is usual among 
 the profession; but it does not in the least signify. 
 Mr. Mason has written to us, and he says that you have 
 found out something about that Orley Farm business,” 
 
 b] 
 
eve wp Secs (Ate Oo aioe 2d VO) Be es ae Dele le ea) eh Fe BOP A ier A RS i nh a eo il ON 
 Spa P ba aE eat a A le a ls Sd a & ee “e i VLE SY Ree Toe 
 
 Ey be 
 MR. DOCKWRATH IN BEDFORD ROW. 205 
 
 “Yes: I have found out something. At least, I 
 rather think so.” 
 
 “Well, what is it, Mr. Dockwrath?” 
 
 “Ah! that’s the question. It’s rather a ticklish 
 business, Mr. Round; a family affair, as I may say.” 
 
 ‘Whose family ?” 
 
 ‘To a certain extent my family, and to a certain 
 extent Mr. Mason’s family. I don’t know how far I 
 should be justified in laying all the facts before you 
 — wonderful facts they are too — in an off-hand way 
 like that. These matters have to be considered a 
 great deal. It is not only the extent of the property. 
 There is much more than that in it, Mr. Round.” 
 
 “If you don’t tell me what there is in it, I don’t 
 see what we are to do. I am sure you did not give 
 yourself the trouble of coming up here from Hamworth 
 merely with the object of telling us that you are going 
 to hold your tongue.” 
 
 “Certainly not, Mr. Round.” 
 
 “Then what did you come to say?” 
 
 “May I ask you, Mr. Round, what Mr. Mason has 
 told you with reference to my interview with him?” 
 
 “Yes; I will read you a part of his letter — ‘Mr. 
 Dockwrath is of opinion that the will under which the 
 estate is now enjoyed is absolutely a forgery.’ I pre- 
 sume you mean the codicil, Mr. Dockwrath?” 
 
 “Oh yes! the codicil of course.” 
 
 “And he has in his possession documents which 
 I have not seen, but which seem to me, as described, 
 to go far to prove that this certainly must have been 
 the case.’ And then he goes on with a description of 
 dates, although it is clear that he does not understand 
 the matter himself — indeed he says as much. Now 
 
 A 
 
i een RY Wa en ee Wine te, : ime ee ee, ' ks RY es te ae ey v YAM ET Ree tlt al) RC Pak FRED SAied ORS ee ely 
 7 ‘ Lv ass ) : 
 
 206° ORLEY FARM. 
 
 of course we must see these documents before we can 
 give our client any advice.” A certain small portion 
 of Mr. Mason’s letter Mr. Round did then read, but he 
 did not read those portions in which Mr. Mason ex- 
 pressed his firm determination to re-open the case 
 against Lady Mason, and even to prosecute her for 
 forgery if it were found that he had anything like a 
 fair chance of success in doing so. “I know that you 
 were convinced,” he had said, addressing himself per- 
 sonally to Mr. Round senior, “that Lady Mason was 
 acting in good faith. JI was always convinced of the 
 contrary, and am more sure of it now than ever.” 
 This last paragraph, Mr. Round junior had not thought 
 it necessary to read to Mr. Dockwrath. 
 
 “The documents to which I allude are in reference 
 to my confidential family matters; and I certainly 
 shall not produce them without knowing on what 
 ground I am standing.” 
 
 ‘Of course you are aware, Mr. Dockwrath, that we 
 could compel you.” 
 
 “There, Mr. Round, I must be allowed to differ.” 
 
 ‘It won't come to that, of course. If you have 
 anything worth showing, you'll show it; and if we 
 make use of you as a witness, it must be as a willing 
 witness.” 
 
 ‘“T don’t think it probable that I shall be a witness 
 in the matter at all.” 
 
 “Ah, well; perhaps not. My own impression is 
 that no case will be made out; that there will be 
 nothing to take before a jury.” 
 
 “There again, I must differ from you, Mr. Round.” 
 
 . ‘Oh, of course! I suppose the real fact is, that it 
 is a matter of money. You want to be paid for what 
 
eon al ae ey + 3 * OY ee ag ie) yh ge wen ee gh er, ut Bis EY “ * a i Bi he ein aay rs 
 Lo. o : fg : . oe 
 
 MR. DOCKWRATH IN BEDFORD ROW. 207 
 
 information you have got. That is about the long 
 and the short of it; eh, Mr. Dockwrath?” 
 
 “T don’t know what you call the long and the 
 short of it, Mr. Round; or what may be your way of 
 doing business. As a professional man, of course I 
 expect to be paid for my work; — and I have no 
 doubt that you expect the same.” 
 
 “No doubt, Mr. Dockwrath; but — as you have 
 made the comparison, I hope you will excuse me for 
 saying so — we always wait till our clients come to us.” 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath drew himself up with some inten- 
 tion of becoming angry; but he hardly knew how to 
 carry it out; and then it might be a question whether 
 anger would serve his turn. ‘Do you mean to say, 
 Mr. Round, if you had found documents such as these, 
 you would have done nothing about them — that you 
 would have passed them by as worthless?” 
 
 “T can’t say that till I know what the documents 
 are. If I found papers concerning the client of an- 
 other firm, I should go to that firm if I thought that 
 they demanded attention.” 
 
 “YT didn’t know anything about the firm; — how 
 
 was I to know?” 
 | “Well! you know now, Mr. Dockwrath. As I 
 understand it, our client has referred you to us. If 
 you have anything to say, we are ready to hear 
 it. If you have anything to show, we are ready to 
 look at it. If you have nothing to say, and nothing 
 to show —” 
 
 “Ah, but I have; only —” 
 
 “Only you want us to make it worth your while. 
 We might as well have the truth at once. Is not that 
 about it?” 
 
MRRP eT An Be ORF TT SRR ig AL Fen ye) Th EVES er aT NY COE a De SST ke hh One ae 
 rea 3 t — J Ae. : aa ee Lei hh bee i: 
 
 BOS. s' ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “TI want to see my way, of course.” 
 
 “Exactly. And now, Mr. Dockwrath, I must make 
 you understand that we don’t do business in that 
 way.” 
 
 ‘Then I shall see Mr. Mason again myself.” 
 
 “That you can do. He will be in town next week, 
 and, as I believe, wishes to see you. As regards your 
 expenses, if you can show us that you have any com- 
 munication to make that is worth our client’s attention, 
 we will see that you are paid what you are out of 
 pocket, and some fair remuneration for the time you 
 may have lost; — not as an attorney, remember, for 
 in that light we cannot regard you.” 
 
 ‘IT am every bit as much an attorney as you are.” 
 
 ‘‘No doubt; but you are not Mr. Mason’s attorney; 
 and as long as it suits him to honour us with his 
 custom, you cannot be so regarded.” 
 
 ‘““That’s as he pleases.” 
 
 “No; it is not, Mr. Dockwrath. It is as he pleases 
 whether he employs you or us; but it is not as he 
 pleases whether he employs both on business of the 
 same class. He may give us his confidence, or he 
 may withdraw it.” 
 
 “Looking at the way the matter was bay be- 
 fore, perhaps the latter may be the better for him.” 
 
 ‘“Tixcuse me, Mr. Dockwrath, for saying that that 
 is a question I shall not discuss with you.” 
 
 Upon this Mr. Dockwrath jumped from his chair, 
 and took up his hat. “Good morning to you, sir,” 
 said Mr. Round, without moving from his chair; “I 
 will tell Mr. Mason that you have declined making 
 any communication to us. He will probably know 
 your address — if he should want it.” 
 
Soe ie he a Fal ell Sena er ah tis at so eS UN NOLS wi iia Ahh adda, Sea  i ie oc ie Ui 
 ~ , ‘ et v . 
 
 MR. DOCKWRATH IN BEDFORD Row. 209 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath paused. Was he not about to 
 sacrifice substantial advantage to momentary anger? 
 Would it not be better that he should carry this im- 
 pudent young London lawyer with him if it were 
 possible? “Sir,” said he, “I am quite willing to tell 
 you all that I know of this matter at present, if you 
 will have the patience to hear it.” 
 
 “Patience, Mr. Dockwrath! Why I am made of 
 patience. Sit down again, Mr. Dockwrath, and think 
 of it.” 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath did sit down again, and did think 
 of it; and it ended in his telling to Mr. Round all 
 that he had told to Mr. Mason. As he did so, he 
 looked closely at Mr. Round’s face, but there he could 
 read nothing. “Exactly,” said Mr. Round. “The 
 fourteenth of July is the date of both. I have taken 
 a memorandum of that. A final deed for closing 
 partnership, was it? I have got that down. John 
 Kennedy and Bridget Bolster. I remember the names, 
 — witnesses to both deeds, were they? I understand; 
 nothing about this other deed was brought up at the 
 trial? I see the point — such as it is. John Kennedy 
 and Bridget Bolster; — both believed to be living. 
 Oh, you can give their address, can you? Decline to 
 do so now? Very well; it does not matter. I think 
 I understand it all now, Mr. Dockwrath; and when we 
 want you again, you shall hear from us. Samuel 
 Dockwrath, is it? Thank you. Good morning. If 
 Mr. Mason wishes to see you, he will write, of course. 
 Good day, Mr. Dockwrath.” 
 
 And so Mr. Dockwrath went home, not quite con- 
 tented with his day’s work. 
 
 Orley Farm. I. 14 
 
210 
 
 CORLEY FARM. . 
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 Von Baubhr. 
 
 Ir will be remembered that Mr. Crabwitz was-sent 
 across from Lincoln’s Inn to Bedford Row to ascertain 
 the present address of old Mr. Round. “Mr. Round is ‘" 
 at Birmingham,” he said, coming back. “Every one 
 connected with the profession is at Birmingham, ex- 
 cept —” 
 
 “The more fools they,” said Mr. Furnival. 
 
 “T am thinking of going down myself this even- 
 ing,” said Mr. Crabwitz. ‘As you will be out of town, 
 sir, | suppose I can be spared?” 
 
 “You too!” 
 
 “And why not me, Mr. Furnival? When all the 
 ‘profession is meeting together, why should not I be | 
 there as well as another? I hope you do not deny | 
 me my right to feel an interest in the great subjects 
 which are being discussed.” 
 
 ‘“Not in the least, Mr. Crabwitz. I do not deny 
 you your right to be Lord Chief Justice, if you can 
 accomplish it. But you cannot be Lord Chief Justice 
 and my clerk at the same time. Nor can you be in 
 my chambers if you are at Birmingham. I rather think 
 I must trouble you to remain here, as I cannot tell at 
 what moment I may be in town again.” 
 
 “Then, sir, 'm afraid —” Mr. Crabwitz began his 
 speech and then faltered. He was going to tell Mr. 
 Furnival that he must suit himself with another clerk, ‘ 
 when he remembered his fees, and paused. It would _ 
 be very pleasant to him to quit Mr. Furnival, but where 
 could he get such another place? He knew that he 
 
 is ve 
 
 % f z : gc vu 
 * : A he lee i 
 bgt eS ¢ be \ 8 rhe $5 A tee mee 
 
oe ee ob dy Soak he ena lela ie asi gS Wel ita eer i eke i or i ete UR i ae wk ea a 
 ‘ ¥ 
 
 VON BAUHR. 4 211 
 
 himself was invaluable, but then he was invaluable 
 only to Mr. Furnival. Mr. Furnival would be mad to 
 part with him, Mr. Crabwitz thought; but then would 
 he not be almost more mad to part with Mr. Furnival? 
 
 “Eh; well?” said Mr. Furnival. 
 
 ‘Oh! of course; if you desire it, Mr. Furnival, I 
 will remain. But I must say I think it is rather 
 hard.” 
 
 “Look here, Mr. Crabwitz; if you think my service 
 is too hard upon you, you had better leave it. But if 
 you take upon yourself to tell me so again, you must 
 leave it. Rementber that.” Mr. Furnival possessed 
 the master mind of the two; and Mr. Crabwitz felt this 
 as he slunk back to his own room. 
 
 So Mr. Round also was at Birmingham, and could 
 be seen there. This was so far well; and Mr. Furnival, 
 having again with ruthless malice sent Mr. Crabwitz 
 for a cab, at once started for the Euston Square Sta- 
 tion. He could master Mr. Crabwitz, and felt a certain 
 pleasure in having done so; but could he master Mrs. 
 F.? That lady had on one or two late occasions shown 
 her anger at the existing state of her domestic affairs, 
 and had once previously gone so far as to make her 
 lord understand that she was jealous of his proceedings 
 with reference to other goddesses. But she had never 
 before done this in the presence of other people; — 
 she had never allowed any special goddess to see that 
 she was the special object of such jealousy. Now she 
 had not only committed herself in this way, but had 
 also committed him, making him feel himself to be 
 ridiculous; and it was highly necessary that some steps 
 should be taken; — if he only knew what step! All 
 which kept his mind active as he journeyed in the cab. 
 
 14* 
 
pa Sa ANY 
 
 INET MAR ap Sat MG iM) MRT tM ATP nM 
 212 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 At the station he found three or four other lawyers, 
 all bound for Birmingham. Indeed, during this fort- 
 night the whole line had been alive with learned gentle- 
 men going to and fro, discussing weighty points as 
 they rattled along the iron road, and shaking their 
 ponderous heads at the new ideas which were being 
 ventilated. Mr. Furnival, with many others — indeed, 
 with most of those who were so far advanced in the 
 world as to be making bread by their profession — 
 was of opinion that all this palaver that was going on 
 in the various tongues of Babel would end as it began 
 — in words. “Vox et preterea nihil.” To practical 
 Englishmen most of these international congresses seem 
 to arrive at nothing else. Men will not be talked out 
 of the convictions of their lives. No living orator would 
 convince a grocer that coffee should be. sold without 
 chicory; and no amount of eloquence will make an 
 English lawyer think that loyalty to truth should come 
 before loyalty to his client. And therefore our own 
 pundits, though on this occasion they went to Birming- 
 ham, summoned by the greatness of the occasion, by 
 the dignity of foreign names, by interest in the ques- 
 tion, and by the influence of such men as Lord Boan- 
 erges, went there without any doubt on their minds as 
 to the rectitude of their own practice, and fortified with 
 strong resolves to resist all idea of change. 
 
 And indeed one cannot understand how the bent of 
 any man’s mind should be altered by the sayings and 
 doings of such a congress. 
 
 ‘Well, Johnson, what have you all been doing to- 
 day?” asked Mr. Furnival of a special friend whom he 
 chanced to meet at the club which had been extempo- 
 rized at Birmingham. 
 
VON BAUBR. 13 
 
 ‘““We have had a paper read by Von Bauhr. It 
 lasted three hours.” 
 
 “Three hours! heavens! Von Bauhr is, I think, 
 from Berlin.” 
 
 “Yes; he and Dr. Slotacher. Slotacher is to read 
 his paper the day after to-morrow.” 
 
 “Then I think I shall go to London again. But 
 what did Von Bauhr say to you during those three hours?” 
 
 “Of course it was all in German, and I don’t sup- 
 pose that any one understood him, — unless it was 
 Boanerges. But I believe it was the old story, going 
 to show that the same man might be judge, advocate, 
 
 and jury.” 
 
 ‘“No doubt; — if men were machines, and if you 
 could find such machines perfect at all points in their 
 machinery.” 
 
 “And if the machines had no hearts?” 
 
 ‘“‘Machines don’t have hearts,” said Mr. Furnival; 
 “especially those in Germany. And what did Boanerges 
 say? His answer did not take three hours more, I hope.” 
 
 “About twenty minutes; but what he did say was 
 lost on Von Bauhr, who understands as much English 
 as I do German. He said that the practice of the 
 Prussian courts had always been to him a subject of 
 intense interest, and that the general justice of their 
 verdicts could not be impugned.” 
 
 “Nor ought it, seeing that a single trial for murder 
 will occupy a court for three weeks. He should have 
 asked Von Bauhr how much work he usually got 
 through in the course of a sessions. I don’t seem to 
 have lost much by being away. By-the-by, do you 
 happen to know whether Round is here?” 
 
 “What, old Round? I saw him in the hall to-day 
 
914 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 yawning as though he would burst.” And then Mr. 
 Furnival strolled off to look for the attorney among the 
 various purlieus frequented by the learned strangers. 
 
 “Furnival,” said another barrister, accosting him 
 — an elderly man, small, with sharp eyes and bushy 
 eyebrows, dirty in his attire and poor in his general 
 appearance, “have you seen Judge Staveley?” This 
 was Mr. Chaffanbrass, great at the Old Bailey, a man 
 well able to hold his own in spite of the meanness of 
 his appearance. At such a meeting as this the Eng- 
 lish bar generally could have had no better represen- 
 tative than Mr. Chaffanbrass. 
 
 “No; is he here?” 
 
 ‘He must be here. He is the only man they could 
 find who knows enough Italian to understand what that 
 fat fellow from Florence will say to-morrow.” 
 
 ‘““We’re to have the Italian to-morrow, are we?” 
 
 ‘Yes; and Staveley afterwards. It’s as good as 
 a play; only, like all plays, it’s three times too long, 
 I wonder whether anybody here believes in it?” 
 
 “Yes, Felix Graham does.” . 
 
 “He believes everything — unless it is the Bible. 
 He is one of those young men who look for an instant 
 millennium, and who regard themselves not only as 
 the prophets who foretell it, but as the preachers who 
 will produce it. For myself, I am too old for a new 
 gospel, with Felix Graham as an apostle.” 
 
 “They say that Boanerges thinks a great deal of 
 him.” ; 
 
 “That can’t be true, for Boanerges never thought 
 much of any one but himself. Well, I’m off to bed, 
 for I find a day here ten times more fatiguing than the 
 Old Bailey in July.” 
 
ek ah aaa av iia CO ala ik AE Oi ok a a 0 
 Bae VON BAUHR. 215 
 
 On the whole the meeting was rather dull, as such 
 meetings usually are. It must not be supposed that 
 any lawyer could get up at will, as the spirit moved 
 him, and utter his own ideas; or that all members of 
 the congress could speak if only they could catch the 
 speaker’s eye. Had this been so, a man might have 
 been supported by the hope of having some finger in 
 the pie, sooner or later. But in such case the congress 
 would have lasted for ever. As it was, the names of 
 those who were invited to address the meeting were 
 arranged, and of course men from each country were 
 selected who were best known in their own special 
 walks of their profession. But then these best-known 
 men took an unfair advantage of their position, and 
 were ruthless in the lengthy cruelty: of their addresses. 
 Von Bauhr at Berlin was no doubt a great lawyer, but 
 he should not have felt so confident that the legal pro- 
 ceedings of England and of the civilized world in. 
 general could be reformed by his reading that book 
 of his from the rostrum in the hall at Birmingham! 
 The civilized world in general, as there represented, 
 had been disgusted, and it was surmised that poor 
 Dr. Slotacher would find but a meagre audience when 
 his turn came. 
 
 At last Mr. Furnival succeeded in hunting up Mr. 
 Round, and found him recruiting outraged nature with 
 a glass of brandy and water and a cigar. ‘Looking 
 for me, have you? Well, here I am; that is to say, 
 what is left of me. Were you in the hall to-day?” 
 
 “No; l was up in town.” 
 
 “Ah! that accounts for your being so fresh. I wish 
 I had been there. Do ‘you ever do anything in this 
 way?” and Mr, Round touched the outside of his glass 
 
BP RE ae RATA DON ey EE TTI OTe NAN RT REID RL CaM i uA Oe og oe a 
 ; ' i= ’ 
 
 bug eee 
 et 4 
 
 216 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 of toddy with his spoon. Mr. Furnival said that he 
 never did do anything in that way, which was true. 
 Port wine was his way, and it may be doubted whether 
 
 on the whole it is not the more dangerous way of the 
 two. But Mr. Furnival, though he would not drink 
 brandy and water or smoke cigars, sat down opposite 
 to Mr. Round, and had soon broached the subject which 
 was on his mind. 
 
 “Yes,” said the attorney, “it is quite true that I 
 had a letter on the subject from Mr. Mason. The lady 
 is not wrong in supposing that some one is moving in 
 the matter.” 
 
 ‘And your client wishes you to take up the case 
 again?” 
 
 ‘‘No doubt he does. He was not a man that I ever 
 greatly liked, Mr. Furnival, though I believe he means 
 well. He thinks that he has been ill used; and per- 
 haps he was ill used — by his father.” 
 
 ‘But that can be no possible reason for badgering 
 the life out of his father’s widow twenty years atter his 
 father’s death!” 
 
 “Of course he thinks that he has some new 
 evidence. I can’t say I looked into the matter much 
 myself. I did read the letter; but that was all, and 
 then I handed it to my son. As far as I remember 
 Mr. Mason said that some attorney at Hamworth had 
 been to him.” 
 
 “Exactly; a low fellow whom you would be 
 ashamed to see in your office! He fancies that young 
 Mason has injured him; and though he has received 
 numberless benefits from Lady Mason, this is the way 
 in which he chooses to be revenged on her son.” 
 
ie inh Sava ocak me it raat Oe Si al ies A aN bP ID fA ee A } AWE fy eo 
 ed ae : ? 
 
 VON BAUHR. . 217 
 
 “We should have nothing to do with such a matter 
 as that, you know. It’s not our line.” 
 
 “No, of course it is not; I am well aware of that. 
 And I am equally well aware that nothing Mr. Mason 
 can do can shake Lady Mason’s title, or rather her 
 son’s title, to the property. But, Mr. Round, if he be 
 encouraged to gratify his malice —” 
 
 “If who be encouraged?” 
 
 “Your client, Mr. Mason of Groby; — there can 
 be no doubt that he might harass this unfortunate lady 
 till he brought her nearly to the grave.” 
 
 “That would be a pity, for I believe she’s still an 
 uncommon pretty woman.” And the attorney indulged 
 in a little fat inward chuckle; for in these days Mr. 
 Furnival’s taste with reference to strange goddesses 
 was beginning to be understood by the profession. 
 
 ‘She is a very old friend of mine,” said Mr. Fur- 
 nival, gravely, ‘“‘a very old friend indeed; and if I 
 were to desert her now, she would have no one to 
 whom she could look.” 
 
 “Oh, ah, yes; ’'m sure you're very kind;” and Mr. 
 Round altered his face and tone, so that they might 
 be in conformity with those of his companion. “ Any- 
 thing I can do, of course I shall be very happy. I 
 should be slow, myself, to advise my client to try the 
 matter again, but to tell the truth anything of this 
 kind would go to my son now. I did read Mr. Mason’s 
 letter, but I immediately handed it to Matthew.” 
 
 “YT will tell you how you can oblige me, Mr. 
 Round.” 
 
 ‘Do tell me; I am sure I shall be very happy.” 
 
 “Look into this matter yourself, and talk it over 
 with Mr, Mason before you ailow anything to be done, 
 
218 ORLEY- FARM. 
 
 It is not that I doubt your son’s discretion. Indeed 
 we all know what an exceedingly good man of busi- 
 ness he is.” | 
 
 ‘‘Matthew is sharp enough,” said the prosperous 
 father. 
 
 ‘But then young men are apt to be too sharp. I 
 don’t know whether you remember the case about that 
 Orley Farm, Mr. Round.” 
 
 ‘As well as if it were yesterday,” said the at- 
 torney. 
 
 “Then you must recollect how thoroughly you 
 were convinced that your client had not a leg to stand 
 upon.” 
 
 “Tt was I that insisted that he should not carry it 
 before the Chancellor. Crook had the general manage- 
 ment of those cases then, and would have gone on; 
 but I said, no. I would not see my client’s money 
 wasted in such a wild-goose chase. In the first place 
 the property was not worth it; and in the next place 
 there was nothing to impugn the will. If I remember 
 right it all turned on whether an old man who had 
 ‘signed as witness was well enough to write his 
 name.” 
 
 “That was the point.” 
 
 “And I think it was shown that he had himself 
 signed a receipt on that very day — or the day after, 
 or the day before. It was something of that kind.” 
 
 “Exactly; those were the facts. As regards the re- 
 sult of a new trial, no sane man, I fancy, could have 
 any doubt. You know as well as any one living how 
 great is the strength of twenty years of possession —” 
 
 “It would be very strong on her side, certainly.” 
 
 ‘“‘He would not have a chance; of course not. But, 
 
 ) am, 
 : i ae i. 
 at) 
 \ as. 
 a a i 
 
VON BAUHR. 219 
 
 Mr. Round, he might make that poor woman so 
 wretched that death would be a relief to her. Now it 
 may be possible that something looking like fresh 
 evidence may have been discovered; something of this 
 kind probably has been found, or this man would not 
 be moving; he would not have gone to the expense of 
 a journey to Yorkshire had he not got hold of some 
 new story.” 
 
 “He has something in his head; you may be sure 
 of that.” 
 
 “Don’t let your son be run away with by this, or 
 advise your client to incur the terrible expense of a 
 new trial, without knowing what you are about. I tell 
 you fairly that I do dread such a trial on this poor 
 lady’s account. Reflect what it would be, Mr. Round, 
 to any lady of your own family.” 
 
 “TI don’t think Mrs. Round would mind it much; 
 that is, if she were sure of her case.” 
 
 “She is a strong-minded woman; but poor Lady 
 Mason —.” 
 
 ‘She was strong-minded enough too, if I remember 
 right, at the last trial. I shall never forget how com- 
 posed she was when old Bennett tried to shake her 
 evidence. Do you remember how bothered he was?” 
 
 ‘He was an excellent lawyer, — was Bennett. 
 There are few better men at the bar now-a-days.” 
 
 “You wouldn’t’ have found him down here, Mr. 
 Furnival, listening to a German lecture three hours 
 long. I don’t know how it is, but I think we all used 
 to work harder in those days than the young men do 
 now.” And then these eulogists of past days went 
 back to the memories of their youths, declaring how in 
 the old glorious years, now gone, no congress such as 
 
 we 4 han yaa oe a" a 
 
Ne a 
 Sh he ascesy: 
 Lic , 
 
 = 
 
 PERE By RET nn VED am Se GS wate: ta nn as i Bs tS ita Bete Ciena 7 
 POET Me a ant MAR gE ee CUNT SONAR TOE Tey cI Ne Pane 
 \ Ge a SoS 2 
 
 220 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 this would have had a chance of success. Men had 
 men’s work to do then, and were not wont to play the 
 fool, first at one provincial town and then at another, 
 but stuck to their oars and made their fortunes. “It 
 seems to me, Mr. Furnival,” said Mr. Round, “that this 
 is all child’s play, and to tell the truth I am half 
 ashamed of myself for being here.” 
 
 ‘And you'll look into that matter yourself, Mr 
 Round?” 
 
 “Yes, I will, certainly.” 
 
 “T shall take it as a great favour. Of course you 
 will advise your client in accordance with any new 
 facts which may be brought before you; but as I feel 
 certain that no case against young Mason can have any 
 merits, 1 do hope that you will be able to suggest to 
 Mr. Mason of Groby that the matter should be allowed 
 to rest.” And then Mr. Furnival took his leave, still, 
 thinking how far it might be possible that the enemy’s 
 side of the question might be supported by real merits. 
 Mr. Round was a good-natured old fellow, and if the 
 case could be inveigled out of his son’s hands and into 
 his own, it might be possible that even real merits 
 should avail nothing. 
 
 “T confess I am getting rather tired of it,” said 
 Felix Graham that evening to his friend young Stave- 
 ley, as he stood outside his bedroom door at the top of 
 a narrow flight of stairs in the back part of a large 
 hotel at Birmingham. 
 
 “Tired of it! I should think you are too.’ 
 
 “But nevertheless I am as sure as ever that good 
 will come from it. I am inclined to think that the 
 same kind of thing must be endured before any im- 
 provement is made in anything.” 
 
ET PRET RE FT TT TUN Ay Th ieee) |. Ont ee 
 7 ely os Ths rats ; hig . K + heya 
 
 VON BAUHR. 93 
 
 “That all reformers have to undergo Von Bauhr?” 
 
 “Yes, all of them that do any good. Von Bauhr’s 
 words were very dry, no doubt.” 
 
 “You don’t mean to say that you understood 
 them?” 
 
 “Not many of them. A few here and there, for 
 the first half-hour, came trembling home to my dull 
 comprehension, and then —” 
 
 ‘You went to sleep.” 
 
 ‘The sounds became too difficult for my ears; but 
 dry and dull and hard as they were, they will not ab- 
 solutely fall to the ground. He had a meaning in 
 them, and that ‘meaning will reproduce itself in some 
 shape.” 
 
 ‘Heaven forbid that it should ever do so in my 
 presence! All the iniquities of which the English bar 
 may be guilty cannot be so intolerable to humanity as 
 Von Bauhr.” 
 
 “Well, good-night, old fellow; your governor is to 
 give us his ideas to-morrow, and perhaps he will be as 
 bad to the Germans as your Von Bauhr was to us.” 
 
 “Then I can only say that my governor will be 
 very cruel to the Germans.” And so they two went to 
 their dreams. | 
 
 In the mean time Von Bauhr was sitting alone 
 looking back on the past hours with ideas and views 
 very different from those of the many English lawyers 
 who were at that time discussing his demerits. To him 
 the day had been one long triumph, for his voice had 
 sounded sweet in his own ears as, period after period, 
 he had poured forth in full flowmg language the 
 gathered wisdom and experience of his life. Public 
 men in England have so much to do that they cannot 
 
ORLEY FARM. 
 
 give time to the preparation of speeches for such meet- 
 ings as these, but Von Bauhr had been at work on his 
 pamphlet for months. Nay, taking it in the whole, 
 had he not been at work on it for years? And now a 
 kind Providence had given him the _ opportunity 
 of pouring it forth before the assembled pundits 
 gathered from all the nations of the civilized world. 
 
 As he sat there, solitary in his bedroom, his hands 
 dropped down by his side, his pipe hung from his 
 mouth on to his breast, and his eyes, turned up to the 
 ceiling, were lighted almost with inspiration. Men there 
 at the congress, Mr. Chaffanbrass, young Staveley, 
 Felix Graham, and others, had regarded him as an im-_ 
 personation of dullness; but through his mind and brain, 
 as he sat there wrapped in his old dressing-gown, there 
 ran thoughts which seemed to lift him lightly from the 
 earth into an elysium of justice and mercy. And at 
 the end of this elysium, which was not wild in its 
 beauty, but trim and orderly in its gracefulness — as 
 might be a beer-garden at Munich — there stood 
 among flowers and vases a pedestal, grand above all 
 other pedestals in that garden; and on this there was 
 a bust with an inscription: — “To Von Bauhr, who 
 reformed the laws of nations.” 
 
 It was a grand thought; and though there was in 
 it much of human conceit, there was in it also much of 
 human philanthropy. If a reign of justice could be 
 restored through his efforts — through those efforts in 
 which on this hallowed day he had been enabled to 
 make so great a progress — how beautiful would it 
 be! And then as he sat there, while the smoke still 
 curled from his unconscious nostrils, he felt that he 
 loved all Germans, all Englishmen, even all French- 
 
Pes | 
 
 PEE) ENGLISH VON BAUBR. 993 
 
 men, in his very heart of hearts, and especially those 
 
 who had travelled wearily to this English town that 
 
 they might listen to the results of his wisdom. He 
 said to himself, and said truly, that he loved the world, 
 and that he would willingly spend himself in these 
 great endeavours for the amelioration of its laws and 
 the perfection of its judicial proceedings. And then he 
 betook himself to bed in a frame of mind that was 
 
 not unenviable. 
 
 I am inclined, myself, to agree with Felix Graham 
 that such efforts are seldom absolutely wasted. A man 
 who strives honestly to do good will generally do good, 
 though seldom perhaps as much as he has himself an- 
 ticipated. Let Von Bauhr have his pedestal among the 
 flowers, even though it be small and humble! 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 The English von Bauhr. 
 
 On the following morning, before breakfast, Felix 
 Graham and Augustus Staveley prepared themselves 
 for the labours of the coming day by a walk into the 
 country; for even at Birmingham, by perseverance, a 
 walk into the country may be attained, — and very 
 pretty country it is when reached. ‘These congress 
 meetings did not begin before eleven, so that for 
 those who were active time for matutinal exercise was 
 allowed. 
 
 Augustus Staveley was the only son of the judge 
 
 who on that day was to defend the laws of England 
 
 from such attacks as might be made on them by a 
 very fat advocate from Florence. Of Judge Staveley 
 himself much need not be said now, except that he 
 
y aly Ayes Oh Sete UME ee hg es NERS BEG Bee ONS ACK s Sage MORE us w) : ia + fe ne i iy t 4 We Fete at pie na > reel: Dye 
 J ae ae hee al ak j 12 Gee ey, ig 
 oy wee ORLEY FARM. 
 
 lived at Noningsby near Alston, distant from The 
 Cleeve about nine miles, and that at his house Sophia 
 Furnival had been invited to pass the coming Christ- 
 mas. His son was a handsome clever fellow, who had 
 nearly succeeded in getting the Newdegate, and was 
 now a member of the Middle Temple. He was des- 
 tined to follow the steps of his father, and become 
 a light at the Common Law bar; but hitherto he 
 had not made much essential progress. The world 
 had been too pleasant to him to allow of his giving 
 many of his hours to work. His father was one of 
 the best men in the world, revered on the bench, and 
 loved by all men; but he had not sufficient parental 
 sternness to admit of his driving his son well into har- 
 ness. He himself had begun the world with little or 
 nothing, and had therefore succeeded; but his son was 
 already possessed of almost everything that he could 
 want, and therefore his success seemed doubtful. His 
 chambers were luxuriously furnished, he had his horse 
 in Piccadilly, his father’s house at Noningsby was 
 always open to him, and the society of London spread 
 out for him all its allurements. Under such circum- 
 stances how could it be expected that he should work? 
 Nevertheless he did talk of working, and had some 
 idea in his head of the manner in which he would do 
 so. ‘To a certain extent he had worked, and he could 
 talk fluently of the little that he knew. The idea of 
 a far niente life would have been intolerable to him; 
 but there were many among his friends who began to 
 think that such a life would nevertheless be his ul- 
 timate destiny. Nor did it much matter, they said, 
 for the judge was known to have made money. 
 
 But his friend Felix Graham was rowing in a very 
 
 gg 
 
EE Ce ee ee ELT NS flee EN AL Nee \tetea Per ere mete Sn Par 
 THE ENGLISH VON BAUUR. 225 
 
 different boat; and of him also many prophesied that 
 he would hardly be able to push his craft up against 
 the strength of the stream. Not that he was an idle 
 man, but that he would not work at his oars in the 
 only approved method of making progress for his boat. 
 He also had been at Oxford; but he had done little 
 there except talk at a debating society, and make him- 
 self notorious by certain ideas on religious subjects 
 which were not popular at the University. He had left 
 without taking a degree, in consequence, as it was be- 
 lieved, of some such notions, and had now been called 
 to the bar with a fixed resolve to open that oyster with 
 such weapons, offensive and defensive, as nature had 
 given to him. But here, as at Oxford, he would not 
 labour on the same terms with other men, or make 
 himself subject to the same conventional rules; and 
 therefore it seemed only too probable that he might 
 win no prize. He had ideas of his own that men 
 should pursue their labours without special conven- 
 tional regulations, but should be guided in their work 
 by the general great rules of the world, — such for 
 instance as those given in the commandments: — Thou 
 shalt not bear false witness; Thou shalt not steal; and 
 others. His notions no doubt were great, and perhaps 
 were good; but hitherto they had not led him to much 
 pecuniary success in his profession. A sort of a name 
 he had obtained, but it was not a name sweet in the 
 ears of practising attorneys. 
 
 And yet it behoved Felix Graham to make money, 
 for none was coming to him ready made from any 
 father. Father or mother he had none, nor uncles and 
 aunts likely to be of service to him. He had begun 
 
 Orley Farm, I. 15 
 
TE erie ee OF eh eR TRG Tae Ae Ae RES ANON ate EL MIRE Ce Re aT eae 
 PRTG Sap Sia ? We \ Sa ry cid A ee i, Pq ree eae 
 
 \ 
 226 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 the world with some small sum, which had grown 
 smaller and smaller, till now there was left to him 
 hardly enough to create an infinitesimal dividend. But 
 he was not a man to become down-hearted on that 
 account. <A living of some kind he could pick up, 
 and did now procure for himself, from the press of the 
 day. He wrote poetry for the periodicals, and politics 
 for the penny papers with considerable success and 
 sufficient pecuniary results. He would sooner do this, 
 he often boasted, than abandon his great ideas or 
 descend into the arena with other weapons than those 
 which he regarded as fitting for an honest man’s hand. 
 
 Augustus Staveley, who could be very prudent for 
 his friend, declared that marriage would set him right. 
 If Felix would marry he would quietly slip his neck 
 into the collar and work along with the team, as useful 
 a horse as ever was put at the wheel of a coach. But 
 Felix did not seem inclined to marry. He had notions 
 about that also, and was believed by one or two who 
 knew him intimately to cherish an insane affection for 
 some unknown damsel, whose parentage, education, 
 and future were not likely to assist his views in the 
 outer world. Some said that he was educating this damsel 
 for his wife, — moulding her, so that she might be 
 made fit to suit his taste; but Augustus, though he 
 knew the secret of all this, was of opinion that it 
 would come right at last. ‘He'll meet some girl in 
 the world with a hatful of money, a pretty face, and a 
 sharp tongue; then he’ll bestow his moulded bride on 
 a neighbouring baker with two hundred pounds for her 
 fortune; —— and everybody will be happy.” 
 
 Felix Graham was by no means a handsome man. 
 He was tall and thin, and his face had been slightly 
 
THE ENGLISH VON BAUHR. OA 
 
 marked with the small-pox. He stooped in his gait as 
 he walked, and was often awkward with his hands and 
 legs. But he was full of enthusiasm, indomitable, as 
 far as pluck would make him so, in contests of all 
 kinds, and when he talked on subjects which were 
 near his heart there was a radiance about him which 
 certainly might win the love of the pretty girl with the 
 sharp tongue and the hatful of money. Staveley, who 
 really loved him, had already selected the prize, and 
 she was no other than our friend, Sophia Furnival. 
 The sharp tongue and the pretty face and the hatful 
 of money would all be there; but then Sophia Furnival 
 was a girl who might perhaps expect in return for 
 these things more than an ugly face which could occa- 
 sionally become radiant with enthusiasm. 
 
 The two men had got away from the thickness of 
 the Birmingham smoke, and were seated on the top 
 rung of a gate leading into a stubble field. So far 
 they had gone with mutual consent, but further than 
 this Staveley refused to go. He was seated with a 
 cigar in his mouth. Graham also was smoking, but he 
 was accommodated with a short pipe. 
 
 ‘““A walk before breakfast is all very well,” said 
 Staveley, ‘but I am not going on a pilgrimage. We 
 are four miles from the inn this minute.” 
 
 “And for your energies that is a good deal. Only 
 think that you should have been doing anything for 
 two hours before you begin to feed.” 
 
 “T wonder why matutinal labour should always be 
 considered as so meritorious. Merely, I take it, because 
 it is disagreeable.” 
 
 “Tt proves that the man can make an effort.” 
 
 “Every prig who wishes to have it believed that 
 
 15* 
 
Prim ae es ry Si a BR ed Sere Oh eS ee a ee ay Ler eee 
 i by more ecient Sins Seana i eel eee LoL Bll FL 
 7 pa i . ve, oe 7 ./* aa : an, 
 
 928 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 he does more than his neighbours either burns the mid- 
 night lamp or gets up at four in the morning. Good 
 wholesome work between breakfast and dinner never 
 seems to count for anything.” 
 
 “Have you ever tried?” 
 
 “Yes; I am trying now, here at Birmingham.” 
 
 “Not you.” 
 
 ‘““That’s so like you, Graham. You don’t believe 
 that anybody is attending to what is going on except 
 yourself. I mean to-day to take in the whole theory 
 of Italian jurisprudence.” 
 
 “T have no doubt that you may do so with advan- 
 tage. I do not suppose that it is very good, but it 
 must at any rate be better than our own. Come, let 
 us go back to the town; my pipe is finished.” 
 
 ‘Fill another, there’s a good fellow. I can’t afford 
 to throw away my cigar, and I hate walking and 
 smoking. You mean to assert that our whole system 
 is bad, and rotten, and unjust?” 
 
 “T mean to say that I think so.” 
 
 ‘“‘And yet we consider ourselves the greatest people 
 in the world, or at any rate the honestest.” 
 
 “T think we are; but laws and their management 
 have nothing to do with making people honest. Good 
 laws won’t make people honest, nor bad laws dishonest.” 
 
 ‘But a people who are dishonest in one trade will 
 probably be dishonest in others. Now, you go so far 
 as to say that all English lawyers are rogues.” 
 
 “IT have never said so. I believe your father to be 
 as honest a man as ever breathed.” 
 
 ‘Thank you, sir,” and Staveley lifted his hat. 
 
 ‘‘And I would fain hope that I am an honest man 
 myself.” 
 
eee NS ee 
 THE ENGLISH VON BAUHR. 229 
 
 “Ah, but you don’t make money by it.” 
 
 ““What I do mean is this, that from our love of 
 precedent and ceremony and old usages, we have re- 
 tained a system which contains many of the barbarities 
 of the feudal times, and also many of its lies. We 
 try our culprit as we did in the old days of the ordeal. 
 If luck will carry him through the hot ploughshares, 
 we let him escape though we know him to be guilty. 
 We give him the advantage of every technicality, and 
 teach him to lie in his own defence, if nature has not 
 sufficiently so taught him already.” 
 
 “You mean as to his plea of not guilty.” 
 
 ‘No, I don’t; that is little or nothing. We ask 
 him whether or no he confesses his guilt in a foolish 
 way, tending to induce him to deny it; but that is not 
 much. Guilt seldom will confess as long as a chance 
 remains. But we teach him to lie, or rather we lie for 
 him during the whole ceremony of his trial. We think 
 it merciful to give him chances of escape, and hunt him 
 as we do a fox, in obedience to certain laws framed for 
 his protection.” 
 
 ‘‘And should he have no protection?” 
 
 “None certainly, as a guilty man; none which may 
 tend towards the concealing of his guilt. Till that be 
 ascertained, proclaimed, and made apparent, every 
 man’s hand should be against him.” 
 
 “But if he is innocent?” 
 
 “Therefore let him be tried with every possible 
 care. I know you understand what I mean, though 
 you look as though you did not. For the protection 
 of his innocence let astute and good me. work their 
 best, but for the concealing of his guilt let no astute 
 or good man work at all,” 
 
230 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “And you would leave the poor victim in the dock 
 without defence?” 
 
 “By no means. Let the poor victim, as you call 
 him, — who in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred is a 
 rat who has been preying in our granaries, — let him, 
 I say, have his defender, — the defender of his possible 
 innocence, not the protector of his probable guilt. It 
 all resolves itself into this. Let every lawyer go into 
 court with a mind resolved to make conspicuous to the 
 light of day that which seems to him to be the truth. 
 A lawyer who does not do that — who does the 
 reverse of that, has in my mind undertaken work 
 which is unfit for a gentleman and impossible for an 
 honest man.” | 
 
 “What a pity it is that you should not have an 
 opportunity of rivalling Von Bauhr at the congress!” 
 
 “T have no doubt that Von Bauhr said a great 
 deal of the same nature; and what Von Bauhr said will 
 not wholly be wasted, though it may not yet have 
 reached our sublime understandings.” 
 
 ‘Perhaps he will vouchsafe to us a translation.” 
 
 “It would be useless at present, seeing that we 
 cannot bring ourselves to believe it possible. that a 
 foreigner should in any respect be wiser than our- 
 selves. If any such point out to us our follies, we at 
 once claim those follies as the special evidences of our 
 wisdom. We are so self-satisfied with our own customs, 
 that we hold up our hands with surprise at the fatuiiy 
 of men who presume to point out to us their defects. 
 Those practices in which we most widely depart from 
 the broad and recognized morality of all civilized ages 
 and countries are to us the Palladiums of our juris- 
 prudence, Modes of proceeding which, if now first 
 
moe a 
 
 ia 
 
 THE ENGLISH VON BAUHR. 251 
 
 proposed to us, would be thought to come direct from 
 the devil, have been made so sacred by time that they 
 have lost all the horror of their falseness in the holi- 
 ness of their age. We cannot understand that other 
 nations look upon such doings as we regard the human 
 sacrifices of the Brahmins, but the fact is that we drive 
 a Juggernaut’s car through every assize town in the 
 country, three times a year, and allow it to be dragged 
 ruthlessly through the streets of the metropolis at all 
 times and seasons. Now come back to breakfast, for I 
 won't wait here any longer.” Seeing that these were 
 the ideas of Felix Graham, it is hardly a matter of 
 wonder that such men as Mr. Furnival and Mr. Round 
 should have regarded his success at the bar as doubtful. 
 
 “Uncommon bad mutton chops these are,” said 
 Staveley, as they sat at their meal in the coffee-room 
 of the Imperial Hotel. 
 
 “Are they?” said Graham. ‘“‘They seem to me 
 much the same as other mutton chops.” 
 
 ‘They are uneatable. And look at this for coffee! 
 Waiter, take this away, and have some made fresh.” 
 
 ‘Yes, sir,” said the waiter, striving to escape with- 
 out further comment. 
 
 “And, waiter —” 
 
 “Yes, sir;” and the poor overdriven fanctionary 
 returned. 
 
 “Ask them from me whether they know how to 
 make coffee. It does not consist of an unlimited supply 
 of lukewarm water poured over an infinitesimal pro- 
 portion of chicory. ‘That process, time-honoured in the 
 hotel line, will not produce the beverage called coffee. 
 Will you have the goodness to explain that in the bar 
 as coming from me?” 
 
watt aA teal t Satin iB i ire See Ral i 
 , Ie =  F , > A Pees r 
 
 232 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “Ves, sir,” said the waiter; and then he was 
 allowed to disappear. 
 
 “How can you give yourself so much trouble with 
 no possible hope of an advantageous result?” said Felix 
 Graham. 
 
 “That's what you weak men always say. Per- 
 severance in such a course will produce results. It is 
 because we put up with bad things that hotel-keepers 
 continue to give them to us. Three or four Frenchmen 
 were dining with my father yesterday at the King’s 
 Head, and I had to sit at the bottom of the table. I 
 declare to you that I literally blushed for my country; 
 I did indeed. It was useless to say anything then, but. 
 it was quite clear that there was nothing that one of 
 them could eat. At any hotel in France you'll get a 
 good dinner; but we’re so proud that we are ashamed 
 to take lessons.” And thus Augustus Staveley was 
 quite as loud against his own country, and as laudatory 
 with regard to others, as Felix Graham had been be- 
 fore breakfast. 
 
 And so the congress went on at Birmingham. The 
 fat Italian from Tuscany read his paper; but as he, 
 though judge in his own country and reformer here in 
 England, was somewhat given to comedy, this morning 
 was not so dull as that which had been devoted to 
 Von Bauhr. After him Judge Staveley made a very 
 elegant, and some said, a very eloquent speech; and so 
 that day was done. Many other days also wore them- 
 selves away in this process; numerous addresses were 
 read, and answers made to them, and the newspapers 
 for the time were full of law. The defence of our own 
 system, which was supposed to be the most remarkable 
 for its pertinacity, if not for its justice, came from Mr, 
 
hd 
 
 THE STAVELEY FAMILY. MO 
 
 Furnival, who roused himself to a divine wrath for the 
 occasion. And then the famous congress at Birmingham 
 was brought to a close, and all the foreigners returned 
 to their own countries. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 The Staveley Family. 
 
 THe next two months passed by without any events 
 which deserve our special notice, unless it be that Mr. 
 Joseph Mason and Mr. Dockwrath had a meeting in 
 the room of Mr. Matthew Round, in Bedford Row. Mr. 
 Dockwrath struggled hard to effect this without the 
 presence of the London attorney, but he struggled in 
 vain. Mr. Round was not the man to allow any 
 stranger to tamper with his client, and Mr. Dockwrath 
 was forced to lower his flag before him. The result 
 was that the document or documents which had been 
 discovered at Hamworth were brought up to Bedford 
 Row; and Dockwrath at last made up his mind that 
 as he could not supplant Matthew Round, he would 
 consent to fight under him as his lieutenant — or even 
 as his sergeant or corporal, if no higher position might 
 be allowed to him. 
 
 ‘There is something in it, certainly, Mr. Mason,” 
 said young Round; “but I cannot undertake to say as 
 yet that we are in a position to prove the point.” 
 
 “Tt will be proved,” said Mr. Dockwrath. 
 
 “IT confess it seems to me very clear,” said Mr. 
 Mason, who by this time had been made to understand 
 the bearings of the question. “It is evident that she 
 chose that day for her date because those two persons 
 
234 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 had then been called upon to act as witnesses to that 
 other deed.” 
 
 ‘That of course is our allegation. I only say that 
 we may have some difficulty in proving it. 
 
 “The crafty, thieving swindler!” exclaimed Mr. 
 Mason. 
 
 “She has been sharp enough if it is as we think,” 
 said Round, laughing; and then there was nothing 
 more done in the matter for some time, to the great 
 disgust both of Mr. Dockwrath and Mr. Mason. Old 
 Mr. Round had kept his promise to Mr. Furnival; or, 
 at least, had done something towards keeping it. He 
 had ah himself taken the matter into his own hands, 
 but he had begged his son to be cautious. “It’s not 
 the sort of business that we care for, Mat.,” said he; 
 “and as for that fellow down in Yorkshire, I never 
 liked him.” To this Mat. had answered that neither 
 did he like Mr. Mason; but as the case had about it 
 some very remarkable points, it was necessary to look 
 into it; and then the matter was allowed to stand over 
 till after Christmas. 
 
 We will now change the scene to Noningsby, the 
 judge’s country seat, near Alston, at which a party 
 was assembled for the Christmas holidays. The judge 
 was there of course, — without his wig; in which guise 
 I am inclined to think that judges spend the more 
 comfortable hours of their existence: and there also 
 was Lady Staveley, her presence at home being alto- 
 gether a matter of course, inasmuch as she had no 
 other home than Noningsby. For many years past, 
 ever since the happy day on which Noningsby had 
 been acquired, she had repudiated London; and the 
 
THE STAVELEY FAMILY. 235 
 
 poor judge, when called upon by his duties to reside 
 there, was compelled to live like a bachelor, in 
 lodgings. Lady Staveley was a good, motherly, warm- 
 hearted woman, who thought a great deal about her 
 flowers and fruit, believing that no one else had them 
 so excellent, — much also about her butter and eggs, 
 which in other houses were, in her opinion, generally 
 unfit to be eaten; she thought also a great deal about 
 her children, who were all swans, — though, as she 
 often observed with a happy sigh, those of her neigh- 
 bours were so uncommonly like geese. But she thought 
 most of all of her husband, who in her eyes was the 
 perfection of all manly virtues. She had made up her 
 mind that the position of a puisne judge in England 
 was the highest which could fall to the lot of any mere 
 mortal. To become a Lord Chancellor, or a Lord 
 Chief Justice, or a Chief Baron, a man must dabble 
 with Parliament, politics, and dirt; but the bench- 
 fellows of these politicians were selected for their 
 wisdom, high conduct, knowledge, and discretion. Of 
 all such selections, that made by the late king when 
 he chose her husband, was the one which had done 
 most honour to England, and had been in all its results 
 most beneficial to Englishmen. Such was her creed 
 with reference to domestic matters. 
 
 The Staveley young people at present were only 
 two in number, Augustus, namely, and his sister 
 Madeline. The eldest daughter was married, and 
 therefore, though she spent these Christmas holidays at 
 Noningsby, must not be regarded as one of the 
 Noningsby family. Of Augustus we have said enough; 
 but as I intend that Madeline Staveley shall, to many 
 of my readers, be the most interesting personage in 
 
TA ee a RTL ACE eon ae gee ee egw Aen Oa ee) ie Oe et ee 
 x Tee Tes eee (ie ib le i yd 2 age em Cais 
 ‘3 So hte 
 
 236 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 this story, I must pause to say something of her. I 
 must say something of her; and as, with all women, 
 the outward and visible signs of grace and beauty are 
 those which are thought of the most, or at any rate 
 spoken of the oftenest, I will begin with her exterior 
 attributes. And that the muses may assist me in my 
 endeavour, teaching my rough hands to draw with 
 some accuracy the delicate lines of female beauty, I 
 now make to them my humble but earnest prayer. 
 Madeline Staveley was at this time about nineteen 
 years of age. ‘That she was perfect in her beauty I 
 cannot ask the muses to say, but that she will some 
 day become so, I think the goddesses may be requested | 
 to prophesy. At present she was very slight, and ap- 
 peared to be almost too tall for her form. She was 
 indeed above the average height of women, and from 
 her brother encountered some ridicule on this head; 
 but not the less were all her movements soft, graceful, 
 and fawnlike as should be those of a young girl. She 
 was still at this time a child in heart and spirit, and 
 could have played as a child had not the instinct of a 
 woman taught to her the expediency of a staid 
 demeanour. There is nothing among the wonders of 
 womanhood more wonderful than this, that the young 
 mind and young heart — hearts and minds young as 
 youth can make them, and in their natures as gay, — 
 can assume the gravity and discretion of threescore 
 years and maintain it successfully before all comers. 
 And this is done, not as a lesson that has been taught, 
 but as the result of an instinct implanted from the 
 birth. Let us remember the mirth of our sisters in our 
 homes, and their altered demeanours when those homes 
 were opened to strangers; and remember also that this 
 
THE STAVELEY FAMILY. oS 
 
 _ change had come from the inward working of their 
 own feminine natures! 
 
 But I am altogether departing from Madeline Stave- 
 ley’s external graces. It was a pity almost that she 
 should ever have become grave, because with her it 
 was her smile that was so lovely. She smiled with her 
 whole face. There was at such moments a peculiar 
 laughing light in her gray eyes, which inspired one 
 with an earnest desire to be in her confidence; she 
 smiled with her soft cheek, the light tints of which 
 would become a shade more pink from the excitement, 
 as they softly rippled into dimples; she smiled with 
 her forehead which would catch the light from her eyes 
 and arch itself in its glory; but above all she smiled 
 with her mouth, just showing, but hardly showing, the 
 beauty of the pearls within. I never saw the face of 
 a woman whose mouth was equal in pure beauty, in 
 beauty that was expressive of feeling, to that of Made- 
 line Staveley. Many have I seen with a richer lip, 
 with a more luxurious curve, much more tempting as 
 baits to the villainy and rudeness of man; but never 
 one that told so much by its own mute eloquence of a 
 woman’s happy heart and a woman’s happy beauty. It 
 was lovely as I have said in its mirth, but if possible 
 it was still more lovely in its woe; for then the lips 
 would separate, and the breath would come, and in the 
 emotion of her suffering the life of her beauty would 
 be unrestrained. 
 
 Her face was oval, and some might say that it 
 was almost too thin; they might say so till they knew - 
 it well, but would never say so when they didyso know 
 it. Her complexion was not clear, though it would be 
 wrong to call her a brunette. Her face and forehead 
 
238 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 were never brown, but yet she could not boast the pure 
 pink and the pearly white which go to the formation of 
 a clear complexion. For myself I am not sure that I 
 love a clear complexion. Pink and white alone will 
 not give that hue which seems best to denote light and 
 life, and to tell of a mind that thinks and of a heart 
 that feels. I can name no colour in describing the soft 
 changing tints of Madeline Staveley’s face, but I will 
 make bold to say that no man ever found it insipid or 
 inexpressive. 
 
 And now what remains for me to tell? Her nose 
 was Grecian, but perhaps a little too wide at the nostril 
 to be considered perfect in its chiselling. Her hair was. 
 soft and brown, — that dark brown which by some 
 lights is almost black; but she was not a girl whose 
 loveliness depended much upon her hair. With some 
 women it is their great charm, — Nezras who love to 
 sit half sleeping in the shade, — but it is a charm that 
 possesses no powerful eloquence. All beauty of a high 
 order should speak, and Madeline’s beauty was ever 
 speaking. And now that I have said that, I believe 
 that I have told all that may be necessary to place 
 her outward form before the inward eyes of my readers. 
 
 In commencing this description I said that I would 
 begin with her exterior; but it seems to me now that 
 in speaking of these I have sufficiently noted also that 
 which was within. Of her actual thoughts and deeds 
 up to this period it is not necessary for our purposes 
 that anything should be told; but of that which she 
 might probably think or might possibly do, a fair guess . 
 may, I hope, be made from that which has been already 
 written. 
 
 Such was the Staveley family. Those of their guests 
 
, sib 
 
 ee ee te ae PR NOUR oe 
 
 THE STAVELEY FAMILY. 239 
 
 whom it is necessary that I should now name, have been 
 already introduced to us. Miss Furnival was there, as 
 was also her father. He had not intended to make any 
 prolonged stay at Noningsby, — at least so he had said 
 in his own drawing-room; but nevertheless he had now 
 been there for a week, and it seemed probable that he 
 might stay over Christmas-day. And Felix Graham was 
 there. He had been asked with a special purpose by 
 his friend Augustus, as we already have heard; in 
 order, namely, that he might fall in love with Sophia 
 Furnival, and by the aid of her supposed hatful of 
 money avoid the evils which would otherwise so pro- 
 bably be the consequence of his highly impracticable 
 turn of mind. The judge was not averse to Felix 
 Graham; but as he himself was a man essentially 
 practical in all his views, it often occurred that, in his 
 mild kindly way, he ridiculed the young barrister. 
 And Sir Peregrine Orme was there, being absent from 
 home as on a very rare occasion; and with him of 
 course were Mrs. Orme and his grandson. Young Perry 
 was making, or was prepared to make, somewhat of a 
 prolonged stay at Noningsby. He had a horse there 
 with him for the hunting, which was changed now and 
 again; his groom going backwards and forwards between 
 that place and The Cleeve. Sir Peregrine, however, 
 intended to return before Christmas, and Mrs. Orme 
 would go with him. He had come for four days, which 
 for him had been a long absence from home, and at 
 the end of the four days he would be gone. 
 
 They were all sitting in the dining-room round the 
 luncheon-table on a hopelessly wet morning, listening 
 to a lecture from the judge on the abomination of 
 eating meat in the middle of the day, when a servant 
 
Ref Watt hi SE ae SN Ue ib ae ei 
 ' - > - * ry * "i. » a“ mae 
 
 240 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 came behind young Orme’s chair and told him that 
 Mr. Mason was in the breakfast-parlour and wished to 
 see him. 
 
 ‘“Who wishes to see you?” said the baronet in a 
 tone of surprise. He had caught the name, and thought 
 at the moment that it was the owner of Groby Park. 
 
 ‘Lucius Mason,” said Peregrine, getting up. “I 
 wonder what he can want me for?” 
 
 “Oh, Lucius Mason,” said the grandfather. Since 
 the discourse about agriculture he was not personally 
 much attached even to Lucius; but for his mother’s 
 sake he could be forgiven. 
 
 “Pray ask him into lunch,” said Lady Staveley. 
 Something had been said about Lady Mason since the 
 Ormes had been at Noningsby, and the Staveley family 
 were prepared to regard her with sympathy, and if ne- 
 cessary with the right hand of fellowship. 
 
 “He is the great agriculturist, is he not?” said 
 Augustus. “Bring him in by all means; there is no 
 knowing how much we may not learn before dinner on 
 such a day as this.” 
 
 ‘He is an ally of mine; and you must not laugh 
 at him,” said Miss Furnival, who was sitting next to 
 Augustus. ; 
 
 But Lucius Mason did not come in. Young Orme 
 remained with him for about a quarter of an hour, and 
 then returned to the room, declaring with rather a 
 serious face, that he must ride to Hamworth and back 
 before dinner. 
 
 “Are you going with young Mason?” asked his 
 grandfather. | 
 
 “Yes, sir; he wishes me to do something for him 
 at Hamworth, and I cannot well refuse him.” 
 
* 
 
 THE STAVELEY FAMILY. 241 
 
 “You are not going to fight a duel!” said Lady 
 Staveley, holding up her hands in horror as the idea 
 came across her brain. 
 
 ‘A duel!” screamed Mrs. Orme. ‘Oh, Peregrine!” 
 
 ‘There can be nothing of the sort,” said the judge. 
 “T should think that young Mason is, not so foolish; 
 and I am sure that Peregrine Orme is not.” 
 
 “T have not heard of anything of the kind,” said 
 Peregrine, laughing. 
 
 ‘Promise me, Peregrine,’ 
 that you promise me.” 
 
 ‘“My dearest mother, I have no more thought of it 
 than you have; — indeed I may say not so much.” 
 
 “You will be back to dinner?” said Lady Staveley. 
 
 “Oh yes, certainly.” 
 
 ‘“‘And tell Mr. Mason,” said the judge, “that if he 
 will return with you we shall be delighted to see him.” 
 
 The errand which took Peregrine Orme off to Ham- 
 worth will be explained in the next chapter, but his 
 going led to a discussion among the gentlemen after 
 dinner as to the position in which Lady Mason was 
 now placed. There was no longer any possibility of 
 keeping the matter secret, seeing that Mr. Dockwrath 
 had taken great care that every one in Hamworth 
 should hear of it. He had openly declared that evidence 
 would now be adduced to prove that Sir Joseph Mason’s 
 widow had herself forged the will, and had said to 
 many people that Mr. Mason of Groby had determined 
 to indict her for forgery. This had gone so far that 
 Lucius had declared as openly that he would prosecute 
 the attorney for a libel, and Dockwrath had sent him 
 word that he was quite welcome to do so if he pleased. 
 
 “It is a scandalous state of things,” said Sir Pere- 
 
 Orley Farm, I. 16 
 
 ’ 
 
 said his mother. “Say 
 
942 | ORLEY FARM. 
 
 erine, speaking with much enthusiasm, and no little 
 temper, on the subject. ‘Here is a question which 
 was settled twenty years ago to the satisfaction of 
 every one who knew anything of the case, and now it 
 is brought up again that two men may wreak their 
 vengeance on a poor widow. ‘They are not men; they 
 are brutes.” 
 
 ‘““But why does she not bring an action against this 
 attorney?” said young Staveley. 
 
 ‘Such actions do not easily lie,” said his father. 
 “It may be quite true that Dockwrath may have said 
 all manner of evil things against this lady, and yet it 
 may be very difficult to obtain evidence of a libel. It 
 seems to me from what I have heard that the man 
 himself wishes such an action to be brought.” 
 
 ‘And think of the state of poor Lady Mason!” 
 said. Mr. Furnival. ‘Conceive the misery which it 
 would occasion her if she were dragged forward to 
 give evidence on such a matter!” 
 
 “T believe it would kill her,” said Sir Peregrine. 
 
 ‘The best means of assisting her would be to give 
 her some countenance,” said the judge; ‘“‘and from all 
 that I can hear of her, she deserves it.” 
 
 ‘‘She does deserve it,” said Sir Peregrine, “and she 
 shall have it. The people at Hamworth shail see at 
 any rate that my daughter regards her as a fit associate. 
 I am happy to say that she is coming to The Cleeve 
 on my return home, and that she will remain there till 
 after Christmas.” 
 
 “It is a very singular case,” said Felix Graham, 
 who had been thinking over the position of the lady 
 hitherto in silence. 
 
 “Indeed it is,” said the judge; “and it shows how 
 
THE STAVELEY FAMILY. 943 
 
 careful men should be in all matters relating to their 
 wills. The will and the codicil, as it appears, are 
 both in the handwriting of the widow, who acted as 
 an amanuensis not only for her husband but for the 
 attorney. That fact does not in my mind produce 
 suspicion; but I do not doubt that it has produced all 
 this suspicion in the mind of the claimant. The at- 
 torney who advised Sir Joseph should have known 
 better.” 
 
 “Tt is one of those cases,” continued Graham, ‘‘in 
 which the sufferer should be protected by the very fact 
 of her own innocence. No lawyer should consent to 
 take up the cudgels against her.” 
 
 “T am afraid that she will not escape persecution 
 from any such professional chivalry,” said the judge. 
 
 ‘“‘All that is moonshine,” said Mr. Furnival. 
 
 ‘‘And moonshine is a very pretty thing if you were 
 not too much afraid of the night air to go and look at 
 it. If the matter be as you all say, I do think that 
 any gentleman would disgrace himself by lending a 
 hand against her.” 
 
 “Upon my word, sir, I fully agree with you,” said 
 Sir Peregrine, bowing to Felix Graham over his glass. 
 
 ‘“T will take permission to think, Sir Peregrine,” 
 said Mr. Furnival, “that you would not agree with 
 Mr. Graham if you had given to the matter much deep 
 consideration.” 
 
 “T have not had the advantage of a professional 
 educatiun,” said Sir Peregrine, again bowing, and on 
 this occasion addressing himself to the lawyer; “but I 
 cannot see how any amount of learning should alter 
 my views on such a subject.” 
 
 “Truth and honour cannot be altered by any pro-= 
 
 16* 
 
944 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 fessional arrangements,” said Graham; and then the 
 conversation turned away from Lady Mason, and di- 
 rected itself to those great corrections of legal reform 
 which had been debated during the past autumn. 
 
 The Orley Farm Case, though in other forms and 
 different language, was being discussed also in the 
 drawing-room. “I have not seen much of her,” said 
 Sophia Furnival, who by some art had usurped the 
 most prominent part in the conversation, “but what I 
 did see I liked much. She was at The Cleeve when I 
 was staying there, if you remember, Mrs. Orme.” Mrs. 
 Orme said that she did remember. 
 
 ‘And we went over to Orley Farm. Poor lady! I 
 think everybody ought to notice her under such cir- 
 cumstances. Papa, I know, would move heaven and 
 earth for her if he could.” 
 
 “T cannot move the heaven or the earth either,” 
 said Lady Staveley; “but if I thought that my calling 
 on her would be any satisfaction to her ——” 
 
 “It would, Lady Staveley,” said Mrs. Orme. “It 
 would be a great satisfaction to her. I cannot tell 
 you how warmly I regard her, nor how perfectly Sir 
 Peregrine esteems her.” 
 
 ‘We will drive over there next week, Madeline.” 
 
 “Do, mamma. Everybody says that she is very 
 nice.” 
 
 “Tt will be so kind of you, Lady Staveley,” said 
 Sophia Furnival. 
 
 ‘Next week she will be staying with us,” said 
 Mrs. Orme. ‘And that would save you three miles, 
 you know, and we should be so glad to see you.” 
 
 Lady Staveley declared that she would do both. 
 She would call at The Cleeve, and again at Orley 
 
THE STAVELEY FAMILY. Q45 
 
 Farm after Lady Mason’s return home. She well un- 
 derstood, though she could not herself then say so, that 
 the greater part of the advantage to be received from 
 her kindness would be derived from its being known 
 at Hamworth that the Staveley carriage had been 
 driven up to Lady Mason’s door. 
 
 ‘““Her son is very clever, is he not?” said Madeline, 
 addressing herself*to Miss Furnival. 
 
 Sophia shrugged her shoulders and put her head 
 on one side with a pretty grace. “Yes, I believe so. 
 People say so. But who is to tell whether a young 
 man be clever or no?” 
 
 ‘But some are so much more clever than others. 
 Don’t you think so?” 
 
 ‘Oh yes, as some girls are so much prettier than 
 others. But if Mr. Mason were to talk Greek to you, 
 you would not think him clever.” 
 
 ‘“T should not understand him, you know.” 
 
 “Of course not; but you would understand that he 
 was a blockhead to show off his learning in that way. 
 You don’t want him to be clever, you see; you only 
 want him to be agreeable.” 
 
 “T don’t know that I want either the one or the 
 other.” 3 
 
 “Do you not? I know I do. I think that young 
 men in society are bound to be agreeable, and that 
 they should not be there if they do not know how to 
 talk pleasantly, and to give something in return for all 
 the trouble we take for them.” 
 
 “T don’t take any trouble for them,” said Madeline 
 laughing. 
 
 “Surely you must, if you only think of it. All 
 ladies do, and so they ought. But if in return for 
 
» he cm ay Y Le es MOS Ce ee Ug Pe le PA i ee ee ws oe 4, i ‘ 
 TYE ULM ee BUC Saar Ee ae Pan ce Nar GSR A Pie ae gt eet a ee 
 / ¥ “7 ‘ = 
 
 246 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 that a man merely talks Greek to me, I, for my part, 
 do not think that the bargain is fairly carried out.” 
 
 “T declare you will make me quite afraid of Mr. 
 Mason.” 
 
 “Oh, he never talks Greek: — at least he never 
 has to me. I rather like him. But what I mean is 
 this, that I do not think a man a bit more likely to be 
 agreeable because he has the reputation of being very 
 clever. For my part I rather think that I like stupid 
 young men.” 
 
 “Oh, do you? Then now I shall know what you 
 think of Augustus. We think he is very clever; but 
 I do not know any man who makes himself more 
 popular with young ladies.” 
 
 “Ah, then he is a gay deceiver.” 
 
 “He is gay enough, but I am sure he is no de- 
 ceiver. A man may make himself nice to young ladies 
 without deceiving any of them; may he not?” 
 
 “You must not take me ‘au pied de la lettre,’ Miss 
 Staveley, or I shall be lost. Of course he may. But 
 when young gentlemen are so very nice, young ladies 
 are so apt to ———” 
 
 “To what?” 
 
 “Not to fall in love with them exactly, but to be 
 ready to be fallen in love with; and then if a man 
 does do it he is a deceiver. I declare it seems to me 
 that we don’t allow them a chance of going right.” 
 
 “T think that Augustus manages to steer through 
 such difficulties very cleverly.” 
 
 “He sails about in the open sea, touching at all 
 the most lovely capes and promontories, and is never 
 driven on shore by stress of weather! What a happy 
 sailor he must be!” 
 
et ei 
 THE STAVELEY FAMILY. Q47 
 
 “T think he is happy, and that he makes others so.” 
 
 “He ought to be made an admiral at once. But 
 we shall hear some day of his coming to a terrible 
 shipwreck.” 
 
 “Oh, I hope not!” 
 
 “He will return home in desperate plight, with 
 only two planks left together, with all his glory and 
 beauty broken and crumpled to pieces against some 
 rock that he has despised in his pride.” 
 
 ‘“Why do you prophesy such terrible things for 
 him?” 
 
 “T mean that he will get married.” 
 
 “Get married! of course he will. That’s just what 
 we all want. You don’t call that a shipwreck; do you?” 
 
 “Tt’s the sort of shipwreck that these very gallant 
 barks have to encounter.” 
 
 “You don’t mean that he'll marry a disagreeable 
 wife!” 
 
 “Oh, no; not in the least. JI only mean to say 
 that like other sons of Adam, he will have to strike 
 his colours. I dare say, if the truth were known, he 
 has done so already.” 
 
 “T am sure he has not.” 
 
 “T don’t at all ask to know his secrets, and I 
 should look upon you as a very bad sister if you told 
 them.” 
 
 “But I am sure he has not got any, — of that 
 kind.” 
 
 “Would he tell you if he had?” 
 
 “Oh, I hope so; any serious secret. I am sure he 
 ought, for I am always thinking about him.” 
 
 ‘And would you tell him your secrets?” 
 
 ‘IT have none.” 
 
248 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “But when you have, will you do so?” 
 
 “Will I? Well, yes; I think so. But a girl has 
 no such secret,” she continued to say, after pausing for 
 a moment. ‘None, generally, at least, which she tells, 
 even to herself, till the time comes in which she tells 
 it to all whom she really loves.” And then there was 
 another pause for a moment. 
 
 “T am not quite so sure of that,” said Miss Furnival. 
 After which the gentlemen came into the drawing-room. 
 
 Augustus Staveley had gone to work in a manner 
 which he conceived to be quite systematic, having be- 
 fore him the praiseworthy object of making a match 
 between Felix Graham and Sophia Furnival. “By 
 George, Graham,” he had said, “the finest girl in Lon- 
 don is coming down to Noningsby; upon my word I 
 think she is.” 
 
 “And brought there expressly for your delectation, 
 
 I suppose.” 
 “Oh no, not at all; indeed, she is not exactly in 
 my style; she is too, — too, — too — in point of 
 
 fact, too much of a girl for me. She has lots of money, 
 and is very clever, and all that kind of thing. 
 
 “T never knew you so humble before.” 
 
 “T am not joking at all. She is a daughter of old 
 Furnival’s, whom by-the-by I hate as I do poison. 
 Why my governor has him down at Noningsby I can’t 
 guess. But I tell you what, old fellow, he can give 
 his daughter five-and-twenty thousand pounds. Think 
 of that, Master Brook.” But Felix Graham was a man 
 who could not bring himself to think much of such 
 things on the spur of the moment, and when he was 
 introduced to Sophia, he did not seem to be taken with 
 her in any wonderful way. 
 
THE STAVELEY FAMILY. 249 
 
 Augustus had asked his mother to help him, but 
 she had laughed at him. “It would be a splendid ar- 
 rangement,” he had said with energy. ‘Nonsense, 
 Gus,” she had answered. “You should always let 
 those things take their chance. All I will ask of you 
 is that you don’t fall in love with her yourself; I don’t 
 think her family would be nice enough for you.” 
 
 But Felix Graham certainly was ungrateful for the 
 friendship spent upon him, and so his friend felt it. 
 Augustus had contrived to whisper into the lady’s ear 
 that Mr. Graham was the cleverest young man now 
 rising at the bar, and as far as she was concerned, 
 some amount of intimacy might at any rate have been 
 produced; but he, Graham himself, would not put him- 
 self forward. “I will pique him into it,” said Augus- 
 tus to himself, and therefore when on this occasion they 
 came into the drawing-room, Staveley immediately 
 took a vacant seat beside Miss Furnival, with the very 
 friendly object which he had proposed to himself. 
 
 There was great danger in this, for Miss Furnival 
 was certainly handsome, and Augustus Staveley was 
 very susceptible. But what will not a man go through 
 for his friend? “I hope we are to have the honour of 
 your company as far as Monkton Grange the day we 
 meet there,” he said. The hounds were to meet at 
 Monkton Grange, some seven miles from Noningsby, 
 and all the sportsmen from the house were to be there. 
 
 “T shall be delighted,” said Sophia, ‘“‘that is to 
 say if a seat in the carriage can be spared for me.” 
 
 “But we'll mount you. I know that you are a 
 horsewoman.” In answer to which Miss Furnival con- 
 fessed that she was a horsewoman, and owned also to 
 having brought a habit and hat with her. 
 
ey ee, ee aT). * = an aig Seat el aaa beg tees Bl nhc TI a wrt) oe oe Lee eee ee hate: PFs 
 
 io a: 
 5 es 
 
 250 ORLEY FARM. ~ 
 
 “That will be delightful. Madeline will ride also, 
 and you will meet the Miss Tristrams. ‘They are the 
 famous horsewomen of this part of the country.” 
 
 “You don’t mean that they go after the dogs, 
 across the hedges.” 
 
 ‘Indeed they do.” 
 
 “And does Miss Staveley do that?” 
 
 “Oh, no — Madeline is not good at a five-barred 
 gate, and would make but a very bad hand at a double 
 ditch. If you are inclined to remain among the tame 
 people, she will be true to your side.” 
 
 “T shall certainly be one of the tame people, Mr. 
 Staveley.” | 
 
 “JT rather think I shall be with you myself; I have 
 only one horse that will jump well, and Graham will 
 ride him. By-the-by, Miss Furnival, what do you think 
 of my friend Graham?” 
 
 “Think of him! Am I bound to have thought any- 
 thing about him by this time?” 
 
 “Of course you are; — or at any rate of course 
 you have. I have no doubt that you have composed 
 in your own mind an essay on the character of every- 
 body here. People who think at all always do.” 
 
 ‘Do they? My essay upon him then is a very 
 short one.” 
 
 ‘But perhaps not the less correct on that account. 
 You must allow me to read it.” 
 
 ‘Like all my other essays of that kind, Mr. Stave- 
 ley, it has been composed solely for my own use, 
 and will be kept quite private.” 
 
 ‘TY am so sorry for that, for I intended to propose 
 a bargain to you. If you would have shown me some 
 of your essays, I would have been equally liberal with 
 
MR. DOCKWRATH IN HIS OWN OFFICE. 251 
 
 some of mine.” And in this way, before the evening 
 was over, Augustus Staveley and Miss Furnival became 
 very good friends. 
 
 ‘Upon my word she is a very clever girl,” he said 
 afterwards, as young Orme and Graham were sitting 
 with him in an outside room which had been fitted up 
 for smoking. 
 
 ‘And uncommonly handsome,” said Peregrine. 
 
 ‘And they say she'll have lots of money,” said 
 Graham. “After all, Staveley, perhaps you could not 
 do better.” 
 
 ‘“She’s not my style at all,” said he. “But of 
 course a man is obliged to be civil to girls in his own 
 house.” And then they all went to bed. 
 
 ) 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Mr. Dockwrath in his own Office. 
 
 Ix the conversation which had taken place after 
 dinner at Noningsby with regard to the Masons Pere- 
 grine Orme took no part, but his silence had not arisen 
 from any want of interest on the subject. He had 
 been over to Hamworth that day on a very special 
 mission regarding it, and as he was not inclined to 
 speak of what he had then seen and done, he held his 
 tongue altogether. 
 
 “T want you to do me a great favour,” Lucius had 
 said to him, when the two were together in the break- 
 fast-parlour of Noningsby; “but I am afraid it will 
 give you some trouble.” 
 
 “T sha’n’t mind that,” said Peregrine, ‘‘if that’s all.” 
 
 ‘You have heard of this row about Joseph Mason 
 
252 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 and my mother? It has been so talked of that I fear 
 you must have heard it.” 
 
 “About the lawsuit? Oh yes. It has certainly been 
 spoken of at The Cleeve.” 
 
 “Of course it has. All the world is talking of — 
 it. Now there is a man named Dockwrath in Ham- 
 worth —;” and then he went on to explain how it 
 had reached him from various quarters that Mr. Dock- 
 wrath was accusing his mother of the crime of forgery’, 
 how he had endeavoured to persuade his mother to 
 indict the man for libel; how his mother had pleaded 
 to him with tears in her eyes that she found it impos- 
 sible to go through such an ordeal; and how he, there- 
 fore, had resolved to go himself to Mr. Dockwrath. 
 “But,” said he, ‘‘I must have some one with me, some 
 gentleman whom I can trust, and therefore I have 
 ridden over to ask you to accompany me as far as 
 Hamworth.” 
 
 “YT suppose he is not a man that you can kick,” 
 said Peregrine. 
 
 “IT am afraid not,” said Lucius; “he’s over forty 
 years old, and has dozens of children.” 
 
 ‘‘And then he is such a low beast,” said Pere- 
 grine. 
 
 ‘“T have no idea of kicking him, but I think it 
 would be wrong to allow him to go on saying these 
 frightful things of my mother, without showing him 
 that we are not afraid of him.” Upon this the two 
 young men got on horseback, and riding into Ham- 
 worth, put their horses up at the inn. 
 
 ‘And now I suppose we might as well go at once,” 
 said Peregrine, with a very serious face. 
 
 “Yes,” said the other; “there’s nothing to delay us. 
 
MR. DOCKWRATH IN HIS OWN OFFICE. 253 
 
 I cannot tell you how much obliged I am to you for 
 coming with me.” : 
 
 “Qh, don’t say anything about that; of course ’'m 
 only too happy.” But all the same he felt that his 
 heart was beating, and that he was a little nervous. 
 Had he been called upon to go in and thrash some- 
 body, he would have been quite at home; but he did 
 not feel at his ease in making an inimical visit to an 
 attorney’s office. 
 
 It would have been wise, perhaps, if in this matter 
 Lucius had submitted himself to Lady Mason’s wishes. 
 On the previous evening they had talked the matter 
 over with much serious energy. Lucius had been told 
 in the streets of Hamworth by an intermeddling little 
 busybody of an apothecary that it behoved him to do 
 something, as Mr. Dockwrath was making grievous 
 accusations against his mother. Lucius had replied 
 haughtily, that he and his mother would know how to 
 protect themselves, and the apothecary had retreated, 
 resolving to spread the report everywhere. Lucius on 
 his return home had declared to the unfortunate lady 
 that she had now no alternative left to her. She must 
 bring an action against the man, or at any rate put 
 the matter into the hands of a lawyer with a view of 
 ascertaining whether she could do so with any chance 
 of success. If she could not, she must then make 
 known her reason for remaining quiet. In answer to 
 this, Lady Mason had begun by praying her son to 
 allow the matter to pass by. 
 
 “But it will not pass by,” Lucius had said. 
 
 “Yes, dearest, if we leave it, it will,— in a month 
 or two. We can do nothing by interference. Remem- 
 
; 954 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 ber the old saying, You cannot touch pitch without 
 being defiled.” 
 
 But Lucius had replied, almost with anger, that 
 the pitch had already touched him, and that he was 
 defiled. “I cannot consent to hold the property,” he 
 had said, “unless something be done.” And then his’ 
 mother had bowed her head as she sat, and had covered 
 her face with her hands. 
 
 “T shall go to the man myself,” Lucius had declared 
 with energy. 
 
 ‘As your mother Lucius, I implore you not to do 
 so,” she had said to him through her tears. 
 
 “T must either do that or leave the country. It is 
 impossible that I should live here, hearing such things 
 said of you, and doing nothing to clear your name.” 
 To this she had made no actual reply, and now he 
 was standing at the attorney’s door about to do that 
 which he had threatened. 
 
 They found Mr. Dockwrath sitting at his desk at 
 the other side of which was seated his clerk. He had 
 not yet promoted himself to the dignity of a private 
 office, but generally used his parlour as such when he 
 was desirous of seeing his clients without disturbance. 
 On this occasion, however, when he saw young Mason 
 enter, he made no offer to withdraw. His hat was on 
 his head as he sat on his stool, and he did not even 
 take it off as he.returned the stiff salutation of his 
 visitor. “Keep your hat on your head. Mr. Orme,” he 
 said, as Peregrine was about to take his off. ‘Well, 
 gentlemen, what can I do for you?” 
 
 Lucius looked at the clerk, and felt that there 
 would be great difficulty in talking about his mother 
 before such a witness. ‘‘We wish to see you in pri- 
 
ae ee 
 MR. DOCKWRATH IN HIS OWN OFFICE. O55 
 
 vate, Mr. Dockwrath, for a few minutes — if it be 
 convenient.” 
 
 “Ts not this private enough?” said Dockwrath. 
 
 ‘There is no one here but my confidential clerk.” 
 
 “If you could make it convenient —” began 
 Lucius. 
 
 “Well, then, Mr. Mason, I cannot make it con- 
 venient, and there is the long and the short of it. You 
 have brought Mr. Orme with you to hear what you’ve 
 got to say, and I choose that my clerk shall remain 
 by to hear it also. Seeing the position in which you 
 stand there is no knowing what may come of such an 
 
 / interview as this.” 
 ‘In what position do I stand, sir?” 
 _ “Tf you don’t know, Mr. Mason, I am not going to 
 tell you. I feel for you, I do upon my word. I feel 
 for you, and I pity you.” Mr. Dockwrath as he thus 
 expressed his commiseration was sitting with his high 
 chair tilted back, with his knees against the edge of 
 his desk, with his hat almost down upon his nose as 
 he looked at his visitors from under it, and he amused 
 himself by cutting up a quill pen into small pieces 
 with his penknife. It was not pleasant to be pitied 
 by such aman as that, and so Peregrine Orme conceived. 
 
 ‘Sir, that is nonsense,” said Lucius. ‘I require 
 no pity from you or from any man.” 
 
 ‘I don’t suppose there is one in all Hamworth that 
 does not feel for you,” said Dockwrath. 
 
 ‘He means to be impudent,” said Peregrine. “You 
 had better come to the point with him at once.” 
 
 “No, I don’t mean to be impudent, young gen- 
 tleman. A man may speak his own mind in his own 
 house I suppose without any impudence. You wouldn't 
 
BE rg OSB A BINT EEG COCR TCS a St CADE SEAS IP Jame Ge NE PTY ata et a en a eT Pad 
 cumilt ; sters / “sis UY youre ten 4} TE ohh Stage aoe 
 
 256 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 stand cap in hand to me if I were to go down to you 
 at The Cleeve. 
 
 “TI have come here to ask of you,” said Lucius, 
 ‘“‘whether it be true that you are spreading these re- 
 ports about the town with reference to Lady Mason. 
 If you are a man you will tell me the truth.” 
 
 “Well; I rather think I am a man.” 
 
 “It is necessary that Lady Mason should be pro- 
 tected from such infamous falsehoods, and it may be 
 necessary to bring the matter into a court of law —” 
 
 “You may be quite easy about that, Mr. Mason. 
 It will be necessary.” 
 
 ‘As it may be necessary, I wish to know whether you 
 will acknowledge that these reports have come from you?” 
 
 “You want me to give evidence against myself. 
 Well, for once in a way I don’t mind if I do. The 
 reports have come from me. Now, is that manly?” 
 And Mr. Dockwrath, as he spoke, pushed his hat 
 somewhat off his nose, and looked steadily across into 
 the face of his opponent. 
 
 Lucius Mason was too young for the task which he 
 had undertaken, and allowed himself to be disconcerted. 
 He had expected that the lawyer would deny the 
 charge, and was prepared for what he would say and 
 do in such a case; but now he was not prepared. 
 
 “How on earth could you bring yourself to be 
 guilty of such villainy?” said young Orme. 
 
 “Highty -tighty! What are you talking about, 
 young man? ‘The fact is, you do not know what you 
 are talking about. But as I have a respect for your 
 grandfather and for your mother I will give you and them 
 ad’ piece of advice, gratis. Don’t let them be too thick 
 with Lady Mason till they see how this matter goes,” 
 
MR. DOCKWRATH IN HiS OWN OFFICE. O57 
 
 “Mr. Dockwrath,” said Lucius, “‘you are a mean, 
 low, vile scoundrel.” 
 
 ‘Very well, sir. Adams, just take a note of that. 
 Don’t mind what Mr. Orme said. I can easily excuse 
 him. He'll know the truth before long, and then he'll 
 beg my pardon.” 
 
 “Tl take my oath I look upon you as the greatest 
 miscreant that ever I met,” said Peregrine, who was of 
 course bound to support his friend. 
 
 “You'll change your mind, Mr. Orme, before long, 
 and then you'll find that you have met a worse mis- 
 creant than I am. Did you put down those words, 
 Adams?” 
 
 ‘“'Them as Mr. Mason spoke? Yes; Pve got them 
 down.” 
 
 “Read them,” said the master. 
 
 »And the clerk read them, “Mr. Dockwrath, you are 
 a mean, low, vile scoundrel.” 
 
 “And now, young gentlemen, if you have got 
 nothing else to observe, as I am rather busy, perhaps 
 you will allow me to wish you good morning.” 
 
 “Very well, Mr. Dockwrath,” said Mason; “you 
 may be sure that you will hear further from me.” 
 
 ‘“We shall be sure to hear of each other. There is 
 no doubt in the world about that,” said the attorney. 
 And then the two young men withdrew with an un- 
 expressed feeling in the mind of each of them, that 
 they had not so completely got the better of their anta- 
 gonist as the justice of their case demanded. 
 
 They then rémounted their horses, and Orme ac- 
 companied his friend as far as Orley Farm, from whence 
 he got into the Alston road through The Cleeve grounds. 
 
 Orley Farm. I. 17 
 
258 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “And what do you intend to do now?” said Peregrine 
 as soon as they were mounted. 
 
 “T shall employ a lawyer,” said he, ‘on my own 
 footing; not my mother’s lawyer, but some one else. 
 Then I suppose I shall be guided by his advice.” Had 
 he done this before he made his visit to Mr. Dock- 
 wrath, perhaps it might have been better. All this sat 
 very heavily on poor Peregrine’s mind; and therefore 
 as the company were talking about Lady Mason after 
 dinner, he remained silent, listening, but not joining in 
 the conversation. 
 
 The whole of that evening Lucius and his mother 
 sat together, saying nothing. There was not absolutely 
 any quarrel between them, but on this terrible subject 
 there was an utter want of accordance, and almost of 
 sympathy. It was not that Lucius had ever for a 
 moment suspected his mother of aught that was wrong. 
 Had he done so he might perhaps have been more 
 gentle towards her in his thoughts and words. He not 
 only fully trusted her, but he was quite fixed in his 
 confidence that nothing could shake either her or him 
 in their rights. But under these circumstances he could 
 not understand how she could consent to endure with- 
 out resistance the indignities which were put upon her. 
 “She should combat them for my sake, if not for her 
 own,” he said to himself over and over again. And 
 he had said so also to her, but his words had had no 
 effect. 
 
 She, on the other hand, felt that he was cruel to 
 her. She was weighed down almost to the ground by 
 these sufferings which had fallen on her, and yet he 
 would not be gentle and soft to her. She could have 
 borne it all, she thought, if he would have borne with 
 
SE ee ee se 
 MR. DOCKWRATH IN HIS OWN OFFICE. 259 
 
 her. She still hoped that if she remained quiet no 
 further trial would take place. At any rate this might 
 be so. That it would be so she had the assurance of 
 Mr. Furnival. And yet all this evil which she dreaded 
 worse than death was to be precipitated on her by her 
 son! So they sat through the long evening, speechless; 
 each seated with the pretence of reading, but neither 
 of them capable of the attention which a book re- 
 quires. 
 
 He did not tell her then that he had been with 
 Mr. Dockwrath, but she knew by his manner that he 
 had taken some terrible step. She waited patiently the 
 whole evening, hoping that he would tell her, but when 
 the hour came for her to go up to her room he had 
 
 told her nothing. If he now were to turn against her, 
 that would be worse than all! She went up to her 
 room and sat herself down to think. All that passed 
 through her brain on that night I may not now tell; 
 but the grief which pressed on her at this moment with 
 peculiar weight was the self-will and obstinacy of her 
 boy. She said to herself that she would be willing 
 now to die, — to give back her life at once, if such 
 might be God’s pleasure; but that her son should bring 
 down her hairs with shame and sorrow to the grave { 
 In that thought there was a bitterness of agony which 
 she knew not how to endure! 
 
 The next morning at breakfast he still remained 
 silent, and his brow was still black. “Lucius,” she 
 said, “did you do anything in that matter yesterday ?” 
 
 “Yes, mother; I saw Mr. Dockwrath.” 
 
 HAW LL? 
 
 “T took Peregrine Orme with me that I might have 
 a witness, and I then asked him whether he had spread 
 
 17* 
 
» Nad ra Se ae LE PO EAP od eae at Oo eee ee oe fe ite Ae Te ois 
 ne? Tce sah Ea aR es a ae ry ) K 
 a c $ ya RN Pee ad fot , 
 
 - 960 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 these reports. He acknowledged that he had done so, 
 and I told him that he was a villain.” 
 
 Upon hearing this she uttered a long, low sigh, 
 but she said nothing. What use could there now be 
 in her saying aught? Her look of agony went to the 
 young man’s heart, but he still thought that he had 
 been right. ‘Mother,” he continued to say, “I am very 
 sorry to grieve you in this way; — very sorry. But I 
 could not hold up my head in Hamworth, — I could 
 not hold up my head anywhere, if I heard these things 
 said of you and did not resent it.” 
 
 “Ah, Lucius, if you knew the weakness of a 
 woman!”’ 
 
 ‘And therefore you should let me bear it all. 
 There is nothing I would not suffer; no cost I would 
 not undergo rather than you should endure all this. 
 If you would only say that you would leave it to me!” 
 
 “But it cannot be left to you. I have gone to a 
 lawyer, to Mr. Furnival. Why will you not permit 
 that I should act in it as he thinks best? Can you 
 not believe that that willbe the best for both of us?” 
 
 “If you wish it, I will see Mr. Furnival?” 
 
 Lady Mason did not wish that, but she was obliged 
 so far to yield as to say that he might do so if he 
 would. Her wish was that he should bear it all and 
 say nothing. It was not that she was indifferent to 
 good repute among her neighbours, or that she was 
 careless as to what the apothecaries and attorneys said 
 of her; but it was easier for her to bear the evil than 
 to combat it. The Ormes and the Furnivals would 
 support her. They and such-like persons would ac- 
 knowledge her weakness, and would know that from 
 her would not be expected such loud outbursting in- 
 
MR. DOCKWRATH IN HIS OWN OFFICE. 261 
 
 dignation as might be expected from a man. She had 
 calculated the strength of her own weakness, and 
 thought that she might still be supported by that, — if 
 only her son would so permit. 
 
 It was two days after this that Lucius was allowed 
 the honour of a conference by appointment with the 
 great lawyer; and at the expiration of an hour’s delay 
 he was shown into the room by Mr. Crabwitz. ‘And, 
 Crabwitz,” said the barrister, before he addressed him- 
 self to his young friend, “just run your eye over those 
 papers, and let Mr. Bideawhile have them to-morrow 
 morning; and, Crabwitz —.” 
 
 GS, Sir. 
 
 “That opinion of Sir Richard’s in the Ahatualpaca 
 Mining Company — I have not seen it, have I?” 
 
 “It's all ready, Mr. Furnival.” 
 
 “T will look at it in five minutes. And now, my 
 young friend, what can I do for you?” 
 
 It was quite clear from Mr. Furnival’s tone and 
 manner that he did not mean to devote much time to 
 Lucius Mason, and that he was not generally anxious 
 to hold any conversation with him on the subject in 
 question. Such, indeed, was the case. Mr. Furnival 
 was determined to pull Lady Mason out of the sea of 
 trouble into which she had fallen, let the effort cost 
 him what it might, but he did not wish to do so by 
 the instrumentality, or even with the aid, of her son. 
 
 “Mr. Furnival,” began Mason, “I want to ask your 
 advice about these dreadful reports which are being 
 spread on every side in Hamworth about my mother.” 
 
 “Tf you will allow me then to say so, I think that 
 the course which you should pursue is very simple. 
 Indeed there is, I think, only one course which you 
 
Cea ah ea a puna” ethan bc an ra MN i Ci 2 lh aN Te OR i a a 
 
 262 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 can pursue with proper deference to your mother’s 
 feelings.” 
 
 “And what is that, Mr. Furnival?” 
 
 “Do nothing, and say nothing. I fear from what 
 I have heard that you have already done and said 
 much more than was prudent.” 
 
 “But how am I to hear such things as these spoken 
 of my own mother?” 
 
 “That depends on the people by whom the things 
 are spoken. In this world, if we meet a chimney- 
 sweep in the path we do not hustle with him for the 
 right of way. Your mother is going next week to The 
 Cleeve. It was only yesterday that I heard that the 
 Noningsby people are going to call on her. You can 
 hardly, I suppose, desire for your mother better friends 
 than such as these. And can you not understand why 
 such people gather to her at this moment? If you can 
 understand it you will not trouble yourself to interfere 
 much more with Mr. Dockwrath.” 
 
 There was a rebuke in this which Lucius Mason 
 was forced to endure; but nevertheless as he retreated 
 disconcerted from the barrister’s chambers, he could 
 not bring himself to think it right that such calumny 
 should be borne without resistance. He knew but 
 little as yet of the ordinary life of gentlemen in Eng- 
 land; but he did know, — so at least he thought, — | 
 that it was the duty of a son to shield his mother from 
 insult and libel. 
 
CHRISTMAS IN HARLEY STREET. 263 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Christmas in Harley Street. 
 
 Ir seems singular to me myself, considering the 
 idea which I have in my own mind of the character of 
 Lady Staveley, that I should be driven to declare that 
 about this time she committed an unpardonable offence, 
 not only against good nature, but also against the 
 domestic proprieties. But I am driven so to say, al- 
 though she herself was of all women the most good- 
 natured and most domestic; for she asked Mr. Furnival 
 to pass his Christmas-day at Noningsby, and I find it 
 impossible to forgive her that offence against the poor 
 wife whom in that case he must leave alone by her 
 desolate hearth. She knew that he was a married man 
 as well as I do. Sophia, who had a proper regard for 
 the domestic peace of her parents, and who could have 
 been happy at Noningsby without a father’s care, not 
 unfrequently spoke of her, so that her existence in 
 Harley Street might not be forgotten by the Staveleys 
 — explaining, however, as she did so, that her dear 
 mother never left her own fireside in winter, so that no 
 suspicion might be entertained that an invitation was 
 desired for her also; nevertheless, in spite of all this, 
 on two separate occasions did Lady Staveley say to 
 Mr. Furnival that he might as well prolong his visit 
 over Christmas. 
 
 And yet Lady Staveley was not attached to Mr. 
 Furnival with any peculiar warmth of friendship; but 
 she was one of those women whose foolish hearts will 
 not allow themselves to be controlled in the exercise 
 of their hospitality. Her nature demanded of her that 
 she should ask a guest to stay. She would not haye 
 
264 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 allowed a dog to depart from her house at this season 
 of the year, without suggesting to him that he had 
 better take his Christmas bone in her yard. It was for 
 Mr. Furnival to adjust all matters between himself and 
 his wife. He was not bound to accept the invitation — 
 because she gave it; but she, finding him there, already 
 present in the house, did feel herself bound to give it; 
 —— for which offence, as I have said before, I cannot 
 bring myself to forgive her. 
 
 At his sin in staying away from home, or rather — 
 as far as the story has yet carried us — in thinking 
 that he would do so, I am by no means so much sur- 
 prised. An angry ill-pleased wife is no pleasant com- 
 panion for a gentleman on a long evening. For those 
 who have managed that things shall run smoothly over 
 the domestic rug there is no happier time of life than 
 these long candlelight hours of home and silence. No 
 spoken content or uttered satisfaction is necessary. The 
 fact that is felt is enough for peace. But when the 
 fact is not felt; when the fact is by no means there; 
 when the thoughts are rvnning in a direction altogether 
 different; ‘when bitter grievances from one to the other 
 fill the heart, rather than memories of mutual kind- 
 ness; then, I say, those long candlelight hours of home 
 and silence are not easy of endurance. Mr. Furnival 
 was a man who chose to be the master of his own 
 destiny, so at least to himself he boasted; and therefore 
 when he found himself encountered by black looks and 
 occasionally by sullen words, he declared to himself 
 that he was ill-used and that he would not bear it. 
 Since the domestic rose would no longer yield him 
 honey, he would seek his sweets from the stray honey- 
 suckle on which there grew no thorns. 
 
CHRISTMAS IN HARLEY STREET. 265 
 
 Mr. Furnival was no coward. He was not one of 
 those men who wrong their wives by their absence, 
 and then prolong their absence because they are afraid 
 to meet their wives. His resolve was to be free him- 
 self, and to be free without complaint from her. He 
 would have it so, that he might remain out of his own 
 house for a month at the time and then return to it for 
 a week — at any rate without outward bickerings. 
 [ have known other men who have dreamed of such a 
 state of things, but at this moment I can remember 
 none who have brought their dream to bear. 
 
 Mr. Furnival had written to his wife, — not from 
 Noningsby, but from some provincial town, probably 
 situated among the Essex marshes, — saying various 
 
 things, and among others that he should not, as he 
 thought, be at home at Christmas-day. Mrs. Furnival 
 had remarked about a fortnight since that Christmas- 
 day was nothing to her now; and the base man, for it 
 was base, had hung upon this poor, sore-hearted word 
 an excuse for remaining away from home. “There are 
 lawyers of repute staying at Noningsby,” he had said, 
 “with whom it is very expedient that I should remain 
 at this present crisis.” — When yet has there been no 
 crisis present to a man who has wanted an excuse? — 
 ‘“‘And therefore I may probably stay,” — and so on. 
 Who does not know the false mixture of excuse and 
 defiance which such a letter is sure to maintain; the 
 crafty words which may be taken as adequate reason 
 if the receiver be timid enough so to receive them, or 
 as a noisy gauntlet thrown to the ground if there be 
 spirit there for the picking of it up? Such letter from 
 his little borough in the Essex marshes did Mr. Furnival 
 write to the. partner of his cares, and there was still 
 
266 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 sufficient spirit left for the picking up of the gauntlet. 
 “T shall be home to-morrow,” the letter had gone on 
 to say, “but I will not keep you waiting for diner, as 
 my hours are always so uncertain. I shall be at my 
 chambers till late, and will be with you before tea. 
 I will then return to Alston on the following morning.” 
 There was at any rate good courage in this on the 
 part of Mr. Furnival; —— great courage; but with it 
 coldness of heart, dishonesty of purpose, and black in- 
 gratitude. Had she not given everything to him? 
 
 Mrs. Furnival when she got the letter was not 
 alone. “There,” said she, throwing it over to a lady 
 who sat on the other side of the fireplace handling a 
 loose sprawling mass of not very clean crochet-work. 
 “I knew he would stay away on Christmas-day. I 
 told you so.” 
 
 “TI didn’t think it possible,” said Miss Biggs, rolling 
 up the big ball of soiled cotton, that she might read 
 Mr. Furnival’s letter at her leisure. “I didn’t really 
 think it possible — on Christmas-day! Surely, Mrs. 
 Furnival, he can’t mean Christmas-day? Dear, dear, 
 dear! and then to throw it in your face in that way 
 that you said you didn’t care about it.” 
 
 “Of course I said so,” answered Mrs. Furnival. “I 
 was not ging to ask him to come home as a favour.” 
 
 “Not to make a favour of it, of course not.” This 
 was Miss Biggs from —. I am afraid if I tell the 
 truth I must say that she came from Red Lion Square! 
 And yet nothing could be more respectable than Miss 
 Biggs. Her father had been a partner with an uncle of 
 Mrs. Furnival’s; and when Kitty Blacker had given 
 herself and her young prettinesses to the hardworking 
 lawyer, Martha Biggs had stood at the altar with her, 
 
ee maya Ne Me owe> “Ki ues ee MP es 
 CHRISTMAS IN HARLEY STREET. 067 
 
 then just seventeen years of age, and had promised to 
 her all manner of success for her coming life. Martha 
 Biggs had never, not even then, been pretty; but she 
 had been very faithful. She had not been a favourite 
 with Mr. Furnival, having neither wit nor grace to 
 recommend her, and therefore in the old happy days 
 of Keppel Street she had been kept in the _ back- 
 ground; but now, in this present time of her adver- 
 sity, Mrs. Furnival found the benefit of having a trusty 
 friend. 
 
 “If he likes better to be with these people down 
 at Alston, I am sure it is the same to me,” said the 
 injured wife. 
 
 “But there’s nobody special at Alston, is there?” 
 asked Miss Biggs, whose soul sighed for a tale more 
 piquant than one of mere general neglect. She knew 
 that her friend had dreadful suspicions, but Mrs. Fur- 
 nival had never as yet committed herself by uttering 
 the name of any woman as her rival. Miss Biggs 
 thought that a time had now come in which the 
 strength of their mutual confidence demanded that such 
 name should be uttered. It could not be expected 
 that she should sympathize with generalities for ever. 
 She longed to hate, to reprobate, and to shudder at 
 the actual name of the wretch who had rebbed her 
 friend of a husband’s heart.. And therefore she asked 
 the question, “‘There’s nobody special at Alston, is 
 there?” 
 
 Now Mrs. Furnival knew to a furlong the distance 
 from Noningsby to Orley Farm, and knew also that 
 the station at Hamworth was only twenty-five minutes 
 from that at Alston. She gave no immediate answer, 
 but threw up her head and shook her nostrils, as 
 
268 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 though she were preparing for war; and then Miss 
 Martha Biggs knew that there was somebody special at 
 Alston. Between such old friends why should not the 
 name be mentioned? 
 
 On the following day the two ladies dined at six, 
 and then waited tea patiently till ten. Had the thirst 
 of a desert been raging within that drawing-room, and 
 had tea been within immediate call, those ladies would 
 have died ere they would have asked for it before his 
 return. He had said he would be home to tea, and 
 they would have waited for him, had it been till four 
 o'clock in the morning! Let the female married victim 
 ever make the most of such positive wrongs as Pro- 
 vidence may vouchsafe to her. Had Mrs. Furnival 
 ordered tea on this evening before her husband’s return, 
 she would have been a woman blind to the advantages 
 of her own position. At ten the wheels of Mr. Furni- 
 val’s cab were heard, and the faces of both the ladies 
 prepared themselves for the encounter. 
 
 ‘Well, Kitty, how are you?” said Mr. Furnival, 
 entering the room with his arms prepared for a pre- 
 meditated embrace. ‘‘What, Miss Biggs with you? I 
 did not know. How do you do, Miss Biggs?” and 
 Mr. Furnival extended his hand to the lady. They 
 both looked at him, and they could tell from the 
 brightness of his eye and from the colour of his nose 
 that he had been dining at his club, and that the 
 bin with the precious cork had been visited on his 
 behalf. 
 
 “Yes, my dear; it’s rather lonely being here in 
 this big room all by oneself so long; so I asked Martha 
 Biggs to come over to me. I suppose there’s no harm 
 in that.” 
 
CHRISTMAS IN HARLEY STREET. 269 
 
 “Oh, if I’m in the way,” began Miss Biggs, “‘or if 
 Mr. Furnival is going to stay at home for long —-” 
 
 “You are not in the way, and I am not going to 
 stay at home for long,” said Mr. Furnival, speaking 
 with a voice that was perhaps a little thick, — only a 
 very little thick. No wife on good terms with her 
 husband would have deigned to notice, even in her 
 own mind, an amount of thickness of voice which was 
 so very inconsiderable. But Mrs. Furnival at the pre- 
 sent moment did notice it. 
 
 “Oh, I did not know,” said Miss Biggs. 
 
 “You know now,” said Mr. Furnival, whose ear at 
 once appreciated the hostility of tone which had been 
 assumed. 
 
 ‘You need not be rude to my friend after she has 
 been waiting tea for you till near eleven o’clock,” said 
 Mrs. Furnival. “It is nothing to me, but you should 
 remember that she is not used to it.” 
 
 ‘“T wasn’t rude to your friend, and who asked you 
 to wait tea till near eleven o'clock? It is only just 
 ten now, if that signifies.” 
 
 “You expressly desired me to wait tea, Mr. Fur- 
 nival. I have got your letter, and will show it you if 
 you wish it.” 
 
 ‘Nonsense; I just said I should be home —” 
 
 ‘““Of course you just said you would be home, and 
 so we waited; and it’s not nonsense; and I declare —! 
 Never mind, Martha, don’t mind me, there’s a good 
 creature. I shall get over it soon;” and then fat, solid, 
 good-humoured Mrs. Furnival burst out into an hys- 
 terical fit of sobbing. ‘There was a welcome for a man 
 on his return to his home after a day’s labour! 
 
 Miss Biggs immediately got up and came round 
 
270 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 behind the drawing-room table to her friend’s head. 
 “Be calm, Mrs. Furnival,” she said; ‘‘do be calm, and 
 then you will be better soon. Here is the hartshorn.” 
 
 “Tt doesn’t matter, Martha: never mind: leave me 
 alone,” sobbed the poor woman. 
 
 ‘““May I be excused for asking what is really the 
 matter?” said Mr. Furnival, “for Pll be whipped if I 
 know.” Miss Biggs looked at him as if she thought 
 that he ought to be whipped. 
 
 ‘I wonder you ever come near the place at all, I 
 do,” said Mrs. Furnival. 
 
 “What place?” asked Mr. Furnival. 
 
 “This house in which I am obliged to live by 
 myself, without a soul to speak to, unless when Martha 
 Biggs comes here.” 
 
 ‘“Which would be much more frequent, only that I 
 know I am not welcome to everybody.” 
 
 ‘““T know that you hate it. How can I help know- 
 ing it? — and you hate me too; I know you do; and 
 I believe you would be glad if you need never come 
 back here at all; I do. Don’t, Martha; leave me alone. 
 I don’t want all that fuss. There; I can hear it now, 
 whatever it is. Do you choose to have your tea, Mr. 
 Furnival? or do you wish to keep the servants waiting 
 out of their beds all night?” 
 
 ‘“D— the servants,” said Mr. Furnival. 
 
 ‘Oh laws!” exclaimed Miss Biggs, jumping up out 
 of her chair with her hands and fingers outstretched, 
 as though never, never in her life before, had her ears 
 been wounded by such wicked words as those. 
 
 “Mr. Furnival, I am ashamed of you,” said his wife 
 with gathered calmness of stern reproach. 
 
 Mr. Furnival was very wrong to swear; doubly 
 
dae wi dicta pial ANG lara SoS iti ial oi aa la een Ne aie eee 
 . on te. vo oye *} “ 4 . a r , ’ od 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN HARLEY STREET. O71 
 
 wrong to swear before his wife; trebly wrong to swear 
 before a lady visitor; but it must be confessed that 
 there was provocation. That he was at this present 
 period of his life behaving badly to his wife must be 
 allowed, but on this special evening he had intended 
 to behave well. The woman had sought a ground of 
 quarrel against him, and had driven him on till he 
 had forgotten himself in his present after-dinner humour. 
 When a man is maintaining a whole household on his 
 own shoulders, and working hard to maintain it well, 
 it is not right that he should be brought to book be- 
 cause he keeps the servants up half an hour later than 
 usual to wash the tea-things. It is very proper that 
 the idle members of the establishment should conform 
 to hours, but these hours must give way to his require- 
 ments. In those old days of which we have spoken 
 so often he might have had his tea at twelve, one, two, 
 or three without a murmur. ‘Though their staff of 
 servants then was scanty enough, there was never a 
 difficulty then in supplying any such want for him. 
 If no other pair of hands could boil the kettle, there 
 was one pair of hands there which no amount of such 
 work on his behalf could tire. But now, because he 
 had come in for his tea at ten o’clock, he was asked 
 if he intended to keep the servants out of their beds 
 all night! 
 
 “Oh laws!” said Miss Biggs, jumping up from her 
 chair as though she had been electrified. 
 
 Furnival did not think it consistent with his 
 fi hte to keep up any dispute in the presence of Miss 
 Biggs, and therefore sat himself down in his accustomed 
 chair without further speech. ‘Would you wish to 
 
ia UR WS Aa eer ie A le a Be a Mio amk oF TL Me | 
 
 (Na APM) asta tel sD ain bea 9 2! CSE Gh RT eee 
 
 ERNE eA AE RD Bl LO Reet ae tg eae 3 al Se 
 d ‘ if + 
 
 ADA ORLY FARM. 
 
 have tea now, Mr. Furnival?” asked his wife again, 
 putting considerable stress upon the word now. 
 
 “YT don’t care about it,” said he. 
 
 “And I am sure I don’t at this late hour,” said 
 Miss Biggs. “But so tired as you are, dear —” 
 
 ‘‘Never mind me, Martha; as for myself, I shall 
 take nothing now.” And then they all sat without a 
 word for the space of some five minutes. “If you 
 like to go, Martha,” said Mrs. Furnival, ‘‘don’t mind 
 waiting for me.” 
 
 “Oh; very well,” and then Miss Biggs took her 
 bed-candle and left the room. Was it not hard upon 
 her that she should be forced to absent herself at this 
 moment, when the excitement of the battle was about 
 to begin in earnest? Her footsteps lingered as she 
 slowly retreated from the drawing-room door, and for 
 one instant she absolutely paused, standing still with 
 eager ears. It was but for an instant, and then she 
 went on up stairs, out of hearing, and sitting herself 
 down by her bedside allowed the battle to rage in her 
 imagination. 
 
 Mr. Furnival would have sat there silent till his 
 wife had gone also, and so the matter would have 
 terminated for that evening, — had she so willed it. 
 But she had been thinking of her miseries; and, having 
 come to some sort of resolution to speak of them openly, 
 what time could she find more appropriate for doing 
 so than the present? ‘‘T’om,” she said, — and as she 
 spoke there was still a twinkle of the old love in her 
 eye, “we are not going on together as well as we 
 should do, — not lately. Would it not be well to 
 make a change before it is too late?” 
 
 ‘““What change?” he asked; not exactly in an ill 
 
CHRISTMAS IN HARLEY STREET. B43. 
 
 humour, but with a husky, thick voice. He would 
 have preferred now that she should have followed her 
 friend to bed. 
 
 “T do not want to dictate to you, Tom, but —! 
 Oh Tom, if you knew how wretched I am!” 
 
 “What makes you wretched?” 
 
 ‘Because you leave me all alone; because you care 
 more for other people than you do for me; because you 
 never like to be at home, never if you can possibly 
 help it. You know you don’t. You are always away . 
 now upon some excuse or other; you know you are. I 
 don’t have you home to dinner not one day in the 
 week through the year. That can’t be right, and you 
 know it is not. Oh Tom! you are breaking my heart, 
 and deceiving me, — you are. Why did I go down 
 and find that woman in your chamber with you, when 
 you were ashamed to own to me that she was coming 
 to see you? If it had been in the proper way of law 
 business, you wouldn’t have been ashamed. Oh Tom!” 
 
 The poor woman had begun her plaint in a manner 
 that was not altogether devoid of a discreet eloquence. 
 If only she could have maintained that tone, if she 
 could have confined her words to the tale of her own 
 grievances, and have been contented to declare that 
 she was unhappy, only because he was not with her, 
 it might have been well. She might have touched his 
 heart, or at any rate his conscience, and there might 
 have been some enduring result for good. But her 
 feelings had been too many for her, and as her wrongs 
 came to her mind, and the words heaped themselves 
 upon her tongue, she could not keep herself from the 
 one subject which she should have left untouched. Mr. 
 Furnival was not the man to bear any interference 
 
 Orley Farm. 1. 18 
 
BPE LSE AOE ERTS NY Pee RN ae eT Ln ee Wine a ae eae ae 
 : : Payne at ig te Maia oes ain ane co ah 
 274. ORLEY FARM. 
 
 such as this, or to permit the privacy of Lincoln’s Inn 
 to be invaded even by his wife. His brow grew very 
 black, and his eyes became almost bloodshot. The port 
 wine which might have worked him to softness, now 
 worked him to anger, and he thus burst forth with 
 words of marital vigour: 
 
 ‘Let me tell you once for ever, Kitty, that I will 
 admit of no interference with what I do, or the people 
 whom I may choose to see in my chambers in Lincoln’s 
 Inn. If you are such an infatuated simpleton as to 
 believe —” : 
 
 “Yes; of course I am a simpleton; of course I am 
 a fool; women always are.” 
 
 “Listen to me, will you?” 
 
 “Listen, yes; it’s my business to listen. Would 
 you like that I should give this house up for her, and 
 go into lodgings somewhere? I shall have very little 
 objection as matters are going now. Oh dear, oh dear, 
 that things should ever have come to this!” 
 
 “Come to what?” 
 
 “Tom, I could put up with a great deal, — more 
 I think than most women; I could slave for you like 
 a drudge, and think nothing about it. And now that 
 you have got among grand people, I could see you go 
 out by yourself without thinking much about that 
 either. I am very lonely sometimes, — very; but I 
 could bear that. Nobody has longed to see you rise 
 in the world half so anxious as I have done. But, 
 Tom, when I know what your goings on are with a 
 nasty, sly, false woman like that, I won’t bear it; and 
 there’s an end.” In saying which final words Mrs. 
 Furnival rose from her seat, and thrice struck her 
 
Re TN tere pe eee a 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN HARLEY STRERT. 275 
 
 hand by no means lightly on the loo table in the middle 
 of the room. 
 
 “T did not think it possible that you should be so 
 silly. I did not indeed.” 
 
 “Oh, yes, silly! very well. Women always are 
 silly when they mind that kind of thing. Have you 
 got anything else to say, sir?” 
 
 “Yes, I have; I have this to say, that I will not 
 endure this sort of usage.” 
 
 “Nor I won't,” said Mrs. Furnival; “so you may 
 as well understand it at once. As long as there was 
 nothing absolutely wrong, I would put up with it for 
 the sake of appearances, and because of Sophia. For 
 myself I don’t mind what loneliness I may have to 
 bear. If you had been called on to go out to the Hast 
 Indies or even to China, I could have put up with it. 
 
 / But this sort of thing I won’t put up with; — nor I 
 won't be blind to what I can’t help seeing. So now, 
 Mr. Furnival, you may know that I have made up 
 my mind.” And then, without waiting further parley, 
 having wisked herself in her energy near to the door, 
 she stalked out, and went up with hurried steps to her 
 own room. 
 
 Occurrences of a nature such as this are in all 
 respects unpleasant in a household. Let the master be 
 ever so much master, what is he to do? Say that his 
 wife is wrong from the beginning to the end of the 
 quarrel, — that in no way improves the matter. His 
 anxiety is that the world abroad shall not know he 
 has ought amiss at home; but she, with her hot sense 
 of injury, and her loud revolt against supposed wrongs, 
 cares not who hears it. ‘Hold your tongue, madam,” 
 the husband says. But the wife, bound though she be 
 
 18* 
 
276 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 by an oath of obedience, will not obey him, but only 
 screams the louder. 
 
 * All which, as Mr. Furnival sat there thinking of it, 
 disturbed his mind much. That Martha Biggs would 
 spread the tale through all Bloomsbury and St. Pancras 
 of course he was aware. “If she drives me to it, it 
 must be so,” he said to himself at last. And then he 
 also betook himself to his rest. And so it was that 
 preparations for Christmas were made in Harley Street. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Christmas at Noningsby. 
 
 THe house at Noningsby on Christmas-day was 
 quite full, and yet it was by no means a small house. 
 Mrs. Arbuthnot, the judge’s married daughter, was 
 there, with her three children; and Mr. Furnival was 
 there, having got over those domestic difficulties in 
 which we lately saw him as best he might; and Lucius 
 Mason was there, having been especially asked by 
 Lady Staveley when she heard that his mother was to _ 
 be at The Cleeve. There could be no more comfortable 
 country-house than Noningsby; and it was, in its own 
 way, pretty, though essentially different in all respects 
 from The Cleeve. It was a new house from the cellar 
 to the ceiling, and as a house was no doubt the better 
 for being so. All the rooms were of the proper pro- 
 portion, and all the newest appliances for comfort had 
 been attached to it. But nevertheless it lacked that 
 something, in appearance rather than in fact, which 
 age alone can give to the residence of a gentleman in 
 the country. ‘The gardens also were new, and the 
 grounds around them trim, and square, and orderly. 
 
CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. 277 
 
 Noningsby was a delightful house; no one with money 
 and taste at command could have created for himself 
 one more delightful; but then there are delights 
 which cannot be created even by money and taste. 
 
 It was a pleasant sight to see, the long, broad, 
 well-filled breakfast table, with all that company round 
 it. There were some eighteen or twenty gathered now 
 at the table, among whom the judge sat pre-eminent, 
 looming large in an arm-chair and having a double 
 space allotted to him; — some eighteen or twenty, 
 children included. At the bottom of the table sat Lady 
 Staveley, who still chose to preside among her own 
 tea cups as a lady should do; and close to her, assisting 
 in the toils of that presidency, sat her daughter 
 Madeline. Nearest to them were gathered the children, 
 and the rest had formed themselves into little parties, 
 each of which already well knew its own place at the 
 board. In how very short a time will come upon one 
 that pleasant custom of sitting In an accustomed place! 
 But here, at these Noningsby breakfasts, among other 
 customs already established, there was one by which 
 Augustus Staveley was always privileged to sit by the 
 side of Sophia Furnival. No doubt his original object 
 was still unchanged. A match between that lady and 
 his friend Graham was still desirable, and by per- 
 severance he might pique Felix Graham to arouse 
 himself. But hitherto Felix Graham had not aroused 
 himself in that direction, and one or two people among 
 the party were inclined to mistake young Staveley’s 
 intentions. 
 
 “Gus,” his sister had said to him the night before, 
 “T declare I think you are going to make love to 
 Sophia Furnival.” 
 
a seins arate Mei AER NP TE 2 Th. ne Batis) ~ Pre ty Yh Fe Cs Ok AE 1 eit en vie Ab, e s He 
 ‘ Ng) ee : i 3 tne eat) a wa 5 % 7. 
 i yan * é a x 
 
 278 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “Do you?” he had replied. “As a rule I do not 
 think there is any one in the world for whose discern- 
 ment I have so much respect as I have for yours. But 
 in this respect even you are wrong.” 
 
 ‘““Ah, of course you say so.” 
 
 “If you won't believe me, ask her. What more can 
 I say?” 
 
 “T certainly shan’t ask her, for I don’t know her 
 well enough.” 
 
 “She’s a very clever girl; let me tell you that, 
 whoever falls in love with her.” 
 
 “I’m sure she is, and she is handsome too, very; 
 but for all that she is not good enough for our Gus.” 
 
 “Of course she is not, and therefore I am not 
 thinking of her. And now go to bed and dream that 
 you have got the Queen of the Fortunate Islands for 
 your sister-in-law.” 
 
 But although Staveley was himself perfectly in- 
 different to all the charms of Miss Furnival, never- 
 theless he could hardly restrain his dislike to Lucius 
 Mason, who, as he thought, was disposed to admire the 
 lady in question. In talking of Lucius to his own 
 family and to his special friend Graham, he had called 
 him conceited, pedantic, uncouth, unenglish, and detest- 
 able. His own family, that is, his mother and sister, 
 rarely contradicted him in anything; but Graham was 
 by no means so cautious, and usually contradicted him 
 in everything. Indeed, there was no sign of sterling 
 worth so plainly marked in Staveley’s character as the 
 full conviction which he entertained of the superiority 
 of his friend Felix. ) 
 
 “You are quite wrong about him,” Felix had said. 
 “He has not been at an English school, or English 
 
CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. 279 
 
 ‘university, and therefore is not like other young men 
 that you know; but he is, I think, well educated and 
 clever. As for conceit, what man will do any good 
 who is not conceited? Nobody holds a good opinion 
 of a man who has a low opinion of himself.” 
 
 “All the same, my dear fellow, I do not like 
 Lucius Mason.” 
 
 ‘“‘And some one else, if you remember, did not like 
 Dr. Fell.” 
 
 ‘And now, good people, what are you all going to 
 do about church?” said Staveley, while they were still 
 engaged with their rolls and eggs. 
 
 ‘“T shall walk,” said the judge. 
 
 ‘‘And I shall go in the carriage,” said the judge’s wife. 
 
 “That disposes of two; and now it will take half 
 an hour to settle for the rest. Miss Furnival, you no 
 doubt will accompany my mother. As I shall be among 
 the walkers you will see how much I sacrifice by the 
 suggestion.” 
 
 It was a mile to the church, and Miss Furnival 
 knew the advantage of appearing ia her seat unfatigued 
 and without subjection to wind, mud, or rain. “I 
 must confess,” she said, ‘“‘that under all the circum- 
 stances, I shall prefer your mother’s company to 
 yours;” whereupon Staveley, in the completion of his 
 arrangements, assigned the other places in the carriage 
 to the married ladies of the company. 
 
 “But I have taken your sister Madeline’s seat in 
 the carriage,” protested Sophia with great dismay. 
 
 ‘““My sister Madeline generally walks.” 
 
 “Then of course I shall walk with her;” but when 
 the time came Miss Furnival did go in the carriage 
 whereas Miss Staveley went on foot. 
 
¥ as h wail; al OE PS ae a A at ascs Re oe is Fs ie » aN aes 2 hea Pre SR CUNT sere 
 i“ Daa Rae (ER EIR Fab ie tote en 
 
 280 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 It so fell out, as they started, that Graham found 
 himself walking at Miss Staveley’s side, to the great 
 disgust, no doubt, of half a dozen other aspirants for 
 that honour. “I cannot help thinking,” he said, as 
 they stepped briskly over the crisp white frost, “that 
 this Christmas-day of ours is a great mistake.” 
 
 “Oh, Mr. Graham!” she exclaimed. 
 
 “You need not regard me with horror, — at least 
 not with any special horror on this occasion.” 
 
 “But what you say is very horrid.” 
 
 ‘That, I flatter myself, seems so only because I 
 have not yet said it. That part of our Christmas-day 
 which is made to be in any degree sacred is by no 
 means a mistake.” 
 
 “T am glad you think that.” 
 
 “Or rather, it is not a mistake in as far as it is in 
 any degree made sacred. But the peculiar conviviality 
 of the day is so ponderous! Its roast-beefiness oppresses 
 one so thoroughly from the first moment of one’s 
 waking, to the last ineffectual effort at a bit of fried 
 pudding for supper!” 
 
 “But you need not eat ied pudding for supper. 
 Indeed, here, I am afraid, you will not have any sup- 
 per offered you at all.” 
 
 ‘No; not to me individually, under that name. I 
 might also manage to guard my ownself under any 
 such offers. But there is always the flavour of the 
 sweetmeat, in the air, —— of all the sweetmeats, edible 
 and noa edible.” 
 
 “You begrudge the children their snap-dragon. 
 That’s what it all means, Mr. Graham.” 
 
 “No; I deny it; unpremeditated snap-dragon is dear 
 to my soul; and I could expend myself in blindman’s buff.” 
 
CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. 281 
 
 “You shall then, after dinner; for of course you 
 know that we all dine early.” 
 
 “But blindman’s buff at three, with snap-dragon at 
 a quarter to four — charades at five, with wine and 
 sweet cake at half-past six, is ponderous. And that’s 
 our mistake. The big turkey would be very good; — 
 capital fun to see a turkey twice as big as it ought to 
 be! But the big turkey, and the mountain of beef, 
 and the pudding weighing a hundredweight, oppress 
 one’s spirits by their combined gravity. And then they 
 impart a memory of indigestion, a halo as it were of 
 apoplexy, even to the church services.” 
 
 “T do not agree with you the least in the world.” 
 
 “T ask you to answer me fairly. Is not additional 
 eating an ordinary Englishman’s ordinary idea of 
 Christmas-day ?” 
 
 “T am only an ordinary Englishwoman and there- 
 fore cannot say. It is not my idea.” 
 
 ‘IT believe that the ceremony, as kept by us, is 
 perpetuated by the butchers and beersellers, with a 
 helping hand from the grocers. It is essentially a 
 material festival; and I would not object to it even on 
 that account if it were not so grievously overdone. 
 How the sun is moistening the frost on the ground. As 
 we come back the road will be quite wet.” 
 
 “We shall be going home then and it will not 
 signify. Remember, Mr. Graham, I shall expect you 
 to come forward in great strength for blindman’s buff.” 
 As he gave her the required promise, he thought that 
 even the sports of Christmas-day would be bearable, if 
 she also were to make one of the sportsmen; and then 
 they entered the church. 
 
 I do not know anything more pleasant to the eye 
 
Gea rural Ha alta et ey Fa ae Raniah alla ta Peet hee en Sg eS ONG en, ad ke faye 
 $ ; rh Ge eee Ore f i ae 
 
 282 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 than a pretty country church, decorated for Christmas- 
 day. The effect in a city is altogether different. I 
 will not say that churches there should not be 
 decorated, but comparatively it is a matter of indif- 
 ference. No one knows who doés it. The peculiar 
 muunificence of the squire who has sacrificed his holly 
 bushes is not appreciated. The work of the fingers that 
 have been employed is not recognized. The efforts 
 made for hanging the pendent wreaths to each capital 
 have been of no special interest to any large number 
 of the worshippers. It has been done by contract, pro- 
 bably, and even if well done has none of the grace of 
 association. But here at Noningsby church, the winter 
 flowers had been cut by Madeline and the gardener, 
 and the red berries had been grouped by her own 
 hands. She and the vicar’s wife had stood together 
 with perilous audacity on the top of the clerk’s desk 
 while they fixed the branches beneath the cushion of 
 the old-fashioned turret, from which the sermons were 
 preached. And all this had of course been talked about 
 at the house; and some of the party had gone over to 
 see, including Sophia Furnival, who had declared that 
 nothing could be so delightful, though she had omitted 
 to endanger her fingers by any participation in the 
 work. And the children had regarded the operation as 
 a triumph of all that was wonderful in decoration; and 
 thus many of them had been made happy. 
 
 On their return from church, Miss Furnival insisted 
 on walking, in order, as she said, that Miss Staveley 
 might not have all the fatigue; but Miss Staveley 
 would walk also, and the carriage, after a certain 
 amount of expostulation and delay, went off with its 
 load incomplete. 
 
« or Oa 
 oy Sra hk Se 
 we 
 , ¥ a 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. 283 
 
 “And now for the plum-pudding part of the ar- 
 rangement,” said Felix Graham. 
 
 “Yes, Mr. Graham,” said Madeline, ‘‘now for the 
 plum-pudding — and the blindman’s buff.” 
 
 3 “Did you ever see anything more perfect than the 
 church, Mr. Mason?” said Sophia. 
 
 ‘Anything more perfect? no; in that sort of way, 
 perhaps, never. I have seen the choir of Cologne.” 
 
 “Come, come; that’s not fair,” said Graham. ‘‘ Don’t 
 import Cologne in order to crush us here down in our 
 little English villages. You never saw the choir of 
 Cologne bright with holly berries.” 
 
 “No; but I have with cardinal’s stockings, and 
 bishop’s robes.” 
 
 “T think I should prefer the holly,” said Miss 
 Furnival. “And why should not our churches always 
 look like that, only changing the flowers and the foliage 
 with the season? It would make the service so at- 
 tractive.” 
 
 “It would hardly do at Lent,” said Madeline, in a 
 serious tone. 
 
 “No, perhaps not at Lent exactly.” 
 
 Peregrine and Augustus Staveley were walking on 
 in front, not perhaps as well satisfied with the day as 
 the rest of the party. Augustus, on leaving the church, 
 had made a little effort to assume his place as usual 
 by Miss Furnival’s side, but by some accident of war, 
 Mason was there before him. He had not cared to make 
 
 - one of a party of three, and therefore had gone on in 
 _ advance with young Orme. Nor was Peregrine himself 
 - much more happy. He did not know why, but he felt 
 ; within his breast a growing aversion to Felix Graham. 
 
 1 Graham was a puppy, he thought, and a fellow that 
 | 
 od 
 
 My 
 
Mik eine ae discon Miia k1 Vial Sr ore Le TES NS LAR ee we Ree ee Map i ee A te Oe oe Ag SRE RST Vay 
 Pe we ~ ee - 4 A E aa re ea eee " > : ai Bates 
 ‘ A ‘pa ¥ ; Ley 
 
 284. ORLEY FARM. 
 
 talked too much; and then he was such a confoundedly 
 ugly dog, and — and — and — Peregrine Orme did not 
 like him. He was not a man to analyze his own feelings 
 in such matters. He did not ask himself why he 
 should have been rejoiced to hear that instant business 
 had taken Felix Graham off to Hong Kong; but he 
 knew that he would have rejoiced. He knew also that 
 Madeline Staveley was —. No; he did not know what she 
 was; but when he was alone, he carried on with her 
 all manner of imaginary conversations, though when 
 he was in her company he had hardly a word to say 
 to her. Under these circumstances he fraternized with 
 her brother; but even in that he could not receive 
 much satisfaction, seeing that he could not abuse Gra- 
 ham to Graham’s special friend, nor could he breathe 
 a sigh as to Madeline’s perfections into the ear of Ma- 
 deline’s brother. 
 
 The children, — and there were three or four as- 
 sembled there besides those belonging to Mrs. Arbuthnot, 
 were by no means inclined to agree with Mr. Graham’s 
 strictures as to the amusements of Christmas-day. To 
 them it appeared that they could not hurry fast enough 
 into the vortex of its dissipations. 'The dinner was a 
 serious consideration, especially with reference to certain 
 illuminated mince-pies which were the crowning glory 
 of that banquet; but time for these was almost begrudged 
 in order that the fast handkerchief might be tied over 
 the eyes of the first blindman. 
 
 “And now we'll go into the schoolroom,” said 
 Marian Arbuthnot, jumping up and leading the way. 
 “Come along, Mr. Felix;” and Felix Graham followed 
 her. 
 
 Madeline had declared that Felix Graham should 
 
awe * 
 ise 
 
 as 
 
 4 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. 285 
 
 be blinded first, and such was his doom. ‘‘Now mind 
 you catch me, Mr. Felix; pray do,” said Marian, when 
 she had got him seated in a corner of the room. She 
 was a beautiful fair little thing, with long, soft curls, 
 and lips red as a rose, and large, bright blue eyes, all 
 soft and happy and laughing, loving the friends of her 
 childhood with passionate love, and fully expecting an 
 
 — equal devotion from them. It is of such children that 
 eur wives and sweethearts should be made. 
 
 “But how am I to find you when my eyes are 
 
 blinded?” 
 
 “Oh, you can feel, you know. You can put your 
 hand on the top of my head. I mustn’t speak, you 
 _ know; but I’m sure I shall laugh; and then you must 
 
 guess that it’s Marian.” 'That was her idea of playing 
 _ blindman’s buff according to the strict rigour of the 
 game. 
 
 ‘““And you'll give me a big kiss?” said Felix. 
 
 “Yes, when we've done playing,” she promised 
 with great seriousness. 
 
 And then a huge white silk handkerchief, as big 
 
 as a small sail, was brought down from grandpapa’s 
 _ dressing-room, so that nobody should see the least bit 
 “in the world,” as Marian had observed with great 
 energy; and the work of blinding was commenced. “I 
 ain’t big enough to reach round,” said Marian, who 
 had made an effort, but in vain. “You do it, aunt 
 Mad.,” and she tendered the handkerchief to Miss 
 Staveley, who, however, did not appear very eager to 
 undertake the task. 
 “Pll be the executioner,” said grandmamma, “the 
 more especially as I shall not take any other share in 
 _ the ceremony. This shall be the chair of doom. Come 
 
 ’ 
 
286 ORLEY FARM 
 
 here, Mr. Graham, and submit yourself to me.” And 
 so the first victim was blinded. “Mind you remember,” 
 said Marian, whispering into his ear as he was led 
 away. ‘Green spirits and white; blue spirits and 
 gray —, and then he was twirled round in the room 
 
 and left to commence his search as best he might. 
 
 Marian Arbuthnot was not the only soft little 
 laughing darling that wished to be caught, and blinded, 
 so that there was great pulling at the blindman’s tails, 
 and much grasping at his out-stretched arms before the 
 desired object was attained. And he wandered round 
 the room skilfully, as though a thought were in his. 
 mind false to his treaty with Marian, — as though he 
 imagined for a moment that some other prize might be 
 caught. But if so, the other prize evaded him care- 
 fully, and in due progress of play, Marian’s soft curls 
 were within his grasp. ‘I’m sure I didn’t speak, or 
 say a word,” said she, as she ran up to her grand- 
 mother to have the handkerchief put over her eyes. 
 “Did I, grandmamma?” 
 
 “There are more ways of speaking than one,” said 
 
 Lady Staveley. ‘You and Mr. Graham -understand 
 each other, I think.” 
 
 “Oh, I was caught quite fairly,” said Marian — 
 ‘‘and now lead me round and round.” ‘To her at any 
 rate the festivities of Christmas-day were not too pon- 
 derous for real enjoyment. 
 
 And then, at last, somebody caught the judge. I 
 rather think it was Madeline; but his time in truth 
 was come, and he had no chance of escape. The 
 whole room was set upon his capture, and though he 
 barricaded himself with chairs and children, he was / 
 
 f 
 J 
 } 
 
aia 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. 287 
 
 duly apprehended and named. “That's papa; I know 
 by his watch-chain, for I made it.” 
 
 ‘Nonsense, my dears,” said the judge. “I will do 
 no such thing. I should never catch anybody, and 
 should remain blind for ever.” 
 
 “But grandpapa must,” said Marian. “It’s the 
 game that he should be blinded when he’s caught.” 
 
 ‘‘Suppose the game was that we should be whipped 
 when we are caught, and I was to catch you,” said 
 Augustus. 
 
 “But I would not play that game,” said Marian. 
 
 “Oh, papa, you must,” said Madeline. ‘“Do— and 
 you shall catch Mr. Furnival.” 
 
 ‘“'That would be a temptation,” said the judge. 
 ‘“‘T’ve never been able to do that yet, though I’ve been 
 trying it for some years.” 
 
 “Justice is blind,” said Graham. ‘‘Why should a 
 
 judge be ashamed to follow the example of his own 
 
 goddess?” And so at last the owner of the ermine 
 submitted, and the stern magistrate of the bench was 
 
 led round with the due incantation of the spirits, and 
 
 dismissed into chaos to seek for a new victim. 
 
 One of the rules of blindman’s buff at Noningsby 
 was this, that it should not be played by candlelight, 
 —a rule that is in every way judicious, as thereby an 
 end is secured for that which might otherwise be un- 
 ending. And therefore when it became so dark in the 
 schoolroom that there was not much difference between 
 the blind man and the others, the handkerchief was 
 smuggled away, and the game was at an end. 
 
 ‘And now for snap-dragon,” said Marian. 
 
 ‘Exactly as you predicted, Mr. Graham,” said 
 
288 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Madeline: “‘blindman’s buff at a quarter past three, 
 and snap-dragon at five.” 
 
 “T revoke every word that I uttered, for I was 
 never more amused in my life.” 
 
 ‘“‘And you will be prepared to endure the wine and 
 sweet cake when they come.” 
 
 ‘Prepared to endure anything, and go through 
 everything. We shall be allowed candles now, I sup- 
 pose.” 
 
 “Oh, no, by no means. Snap-dragon by candle- 
 light! who ever heard of such a thing? It would wash 
 all the dragon out of it, and leave nothing but the 
 snap. It is a necessity of the game that it should be 
 played in the dark, — or rather by its own lurid 
 light.” : 
 
 “Oh, there is a lurid light; is there?” 
 
 ‘““You shall see;” and then she turned away to make 
 her preparations. 
 
 To the game of snap-dragon, as played at Non- 
 ingsby, a ghost was always necessary, and aunt Madeline 
 had played the ghost ever since she had been an aunt, 
 and there had been any necessity for such a part. But 
 in previous years the spectators had been fewer in 
 number and more closely connected with the family. 
 “T think we must drop the ghost on this occasion,” she 
 said, coming up to her brother. 
 
 “You'll disgust them all dreadfully if you do,” said. 
 he. “The young Sebrights have come specially to see 
 the ghost.” 
 
 “Well, you can do ghost for them.” 
 
 “TI! no; I can’t act a ghost. Miss Furmival, you'd 
 make a lovely ghost.” 
 
 “T shall be most happy to be useful,” said Sophia. 
 
OU ee ie ee im ce ey 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. 289 
 
 “Oh, aunt Mad., you must be ghost,” said Marian, 
 following her. 
 
 “You foolish little thing, you; we are going to 
 have a beautiful ghost — a divine ghost,” said uncle 
 Gus. 
 
 “But we want Madeline to be the ghost,” said a 
 big Miss Sebright, ten or eleven years old. 
 
 ‘“She’s always ghost,” said Marian. 
 
 “To be sure; it will be much better,” said Miss 
 Furnival. ‘I only offered my poor services hoping to 
 be useful. No Banquo that ever lived could leave a 
 worse ghost behind him than I should prove.” 
 
 It ended in there being two ghosts. It had become 
 quite impossible to rob Miss Furnival of her promised 
 part, and Madeline could not refuse to solve the dif- 
 ficulty in this way without making more of the matter 
 than it deserved. The idea of two ghosts was delight- 
 ful to the children, more especially as it entailed two 
 large dishes full of raisins, and two blue fires blazing 
 up from burnt brandy. So the girls went out, not 
 without proffered assistance from the gentlemen, and 
 after a painfully long interval of some fifteen or twenty 
 minutes, — for Miss Furnival’s back hair would not 
 come down and adjust itself into ghostlike lengths 
 with as much readiness as that of her friend — they 
 returned bearing the dishes before them on large trays. 
 In each of them the spirit was lighted as they entered 
 the schoolroom door, and thus, as they walked in, they 
 were illuminated by the dark-blue flames which they 
 carried. 
 
 “Oh, is it not grand?” said Marian, appealing to 
 Felix Graham. 
 
 ‘“Uncommonly grand,” he replied. 
 
 Orley Farm. I. 19 
 
290 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “And which ghost do you think is the grandest? 
 Tl tell you which ghost I like the best, —in a secret, 
 you know; I like aunt Mad. the best, and I think 
 she’s the grandest too.” 
 
 “And I'll tell you in a secret that I think the 
 same. ‘To my mind she is the grandest ghost I ever 
 saw in my life.” 
 
 ‘Is she indeed?” asked Marian, solemnly, thinking 
 probably that her new friend’s experience in ghosts 
 must be extensive. However that might be, he thought 
 that as far as his experience in women went, he had 
 never seen anything more lovely than Madeline 
 Staveley dressed in a long white sheet, with a long 
 bit of white cambric pinned round her face. 
 
 And it may be presumed that the dress altogether 
 is not unbecoming when accompanied by blue flames, 
 for Augustus Staveley and Lucius Mason thought the 
 same thing of Miss Furnival, whereas Peregrine Orme 
 did not know whether he was standing on his head or 
 his feet as he looked at Miss Staveley. Miss Furnival 
 may possibly have had some inkling of this when she 
 offered to undertake the task, but I protest that such 
 was not the case with Madeline. There was no second 
 thought in her mind when she first declined the 
 ghosting, and afterwards undertook the part. No wish 
 to look beautiful in the eyes of Felix Graham had 
 come to her — at any rate as yet; and as to Pere- 
 grine Orme, she had hardly thought of his existence. 
 “By heavens!” said Peregrine to himself, “she is the 
 most beautiful creature that I ever saw;” and then he 
 began to speculate within his own mind how the idea 
 might be received at The Cleeve. 
 
 But there was no such realized idea with Felix 
 
CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. Q91 
 
 Graham. He saw that Madeline Staveley was very 
 beautiful, and he felt in an unconscious manner that 
 her character was very sweet. He may have thought 
 that he might have loved such a girl, had such love 
 been a thing permitted to him. But this was far from 
 being the case. Felix Graham’s lot in this life, as 
 regarded that share which his heart might have in it, 
 was already marked out for him; — marked out for 
 himself and by himself. The future wife of his bosom 
 had already been selected, and was now in course of 
 preparation for the duties of her future life. He was 
 one of those few wise men who have determined not 
 to take a partner in life at hazard, but to mould a 
 young mind and character to those pursuits and modes 
 of thought which may best fit a woman for the duties 
 she will have to perform. What little it may be 
 necessary to know of the earlier years of Mary Snow 
 shall be told hereafter. Here it will be only necessary 
 to say that she was an orphan, that as yet she was 
 little more than a child, and that she owed her main- 
 tenance and the advantage of her education to the 
 charity and love of her destined husband. Therefore, 
 as I have said, it was manifest that Felix Graham 
 could not think of falling in love with Miss Staveley, 
 even had not his very low position, in reference to 
 worldly affairs, made any such passion on his part 
 quite hopeless. But with Peregrine Orme the matter 
 was different. ‘There could be no possible reason why 
 Peregrine Orme should not win and wear the beautiful 
 gil whom he so much admired. 
 
 But the ghosts are kept standing over their flames, 
 the spirit is becoming exhausted, and the raisins will 
 be burnt. At snap-dragon, too, the ghosts here had 
 
 19*. 
 
292 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 something to do. The law of the game is this — a 
 Jaw on which Marian would have insisted had not the 
 flames been so very hot — that the raisins shall be- 
 come the prey of those audacious marauders only who 
 dare to face the presence of the ghost, and to plunge 
 their hands into the burning dish. As a rule the boys 
 do this, clawing out the raisins, while the girls pick 
 them up and eat them. But here at Noningsby the 
 boys were too little to act thus as pioneers in the face 
 of the enemy, and the raisins might have remained till 
 the flames were burnt out, had not the beneficent ghost 
 scattered abroad the richness of her own treasures. 
 
 ‘Now, Marian,” said Felix Graham, bringing her 
 up in his arms. 
 
 “But it will burn, Mr. Felix. Look there; see; 
 there are a great many at that end. You do it.” 
 
 “T must have another kiss then.” 
 
 “Very well, yes; if you get five.” And then Felix 
 dashed his hand in among the flames and brought 
 forth a fistful of fruit, which imparted to his fingers 
 and wristband a smell of brandy for the rest of the 
 evening. 
 
 “Tf you take so many at a time I shall rap your 
 knuckles with the spoon,” said the ghost, as she stirred 
 up the flames to keep them alive. 
 
 “But the ghost shouldn’t speak,” said Marian, who 
 was evidently unacquainted with the best ghosts of 
 tragedy. 
 
 “But the ghost must speak when such large hands 
 invade the caldron;” and then another raid was 
 effected, and the threatened blow was given. Had 
 any one told her in the morning that she would that 
 day have rapped Mr. Graham’s knuckles with a kitchen 
 
CHRISTMAS AT NONINGSBY. 293 
 
 spoon, she would not have believed that person; but it 
 is thus that hearts are lost and won. 
 
 And Peregrine Orme looked on from a distance, 
 thinking of it all. That he should have been stricken 
 dumb by the beauty of any girl was surprising even 
 to himself; for though young and almost boyish in his 
 manners, he had never yet feared to speak out in any 
 presence. ‘he tutor at his college had thought him 
 insolent beyond parallel; and his grandfather, though 
 he loved him for his open face and plain outspoken 
 words, found them sometimes almost too much for 
 him. But now he stood there looking and longing, 
 and could not summon courage to go up and address 
 a few words to this young girl even in the midst of 
 their sports. Twice or thrice during the last few days 
 he had essayed to speak to her, but his words had 
 been dull and vapid, and to himself they had appeared 
 childish. He was quite conscious of his own weakness. 
 More than once during that period of the snap-dragon, 
 did he say to himself that he would descend into the 
 lists and break a lance in that tournay; but still he did 
 not descend, and his lance remained inglorious in its 
 rest. 
 
 At the other end of the long table the ghost also 
 had two attendant knights, and neither of them re- 
 frained from the battle. Augustus Staveley, if he 
 thought it worth his while to keep the lists at all, 
 would not be allowed to ride through them unopposed 
 from any backwardness on the part of his rival. Lucius 
 Mason was not likely to become a timid, silent, longing 
 lover. ‘To him it was not possible that he should fear 
 the girl whom he loved. He could not worship that 
 which he wished to obtain for himself. It may be 
 
994. ORLEY FARM. 
 
 doubted whether he had much faculty of worshipping 
 anything in the truest meaning of that word. One 
 worships that which one feels, through the inner and 
 unexpressed conviction of the mind, to be greater, 
 better, higher than oneself: but it was not probable 
 that Lucius Mason should so think of any woman that 
 he might meet. 
 
 Nor, to give him his due, was it probable that he 
 should be in any way afraid of any man that he might 
 encounter. He would fear neither the talent, nor the 
 rank, nor the money influence, nor the dexterity of 
 any such rival. In any attempt that he might make 
 on a woman’s heart he would regard his own chance 
 as good against that of any other possible he. Augustus 
 Staveley was master here at Noningsby, and was a 
 clever, dashing, handsome, fashionable young fellow; 
 but Lucius Mason never dreamed of retreating before 
 such forces as those. He had words with which to 
 speak as fair as those of any man, and flattered him- 
 self that he as well knew how to use them. 
 
 It was pretty to see with what admirable tact and 
 judicious management of her smiles Sophia received 
 the homage of the two young men, answering the com- 
 pliments of both with ease, and so conducting herself 
 that neither could fairly accuse her of undue favour 
 to the other. But unfairly, in his own mind, Augustus 
 did so accuse her. And why should he have been so 
 venomous, seeing that he entertained no regard for the 
 lady himself? His object was still plain enough, — 
 that, namely, of making a match between his needy 
 friend and the heiress. 
 
 His needy friend in the mean time played on 
 through the long evening in thoughtless happiness; 
 
CHRISTMAS AT GROBY PARK. 295 
 
 and Peregrine Orme, looking at the game from a 
 distance, saw that rap given to the favoured knuckles 
 with a bitterness of heart and an inner groaning of the 
 spirit that will not be incomprehensible to many. 
 
 ‘IT do so love that Mr. Felix!” said Marian, as her 
 aunt Madeline kissed her in her little bed on wishing 
 her good night. “Don’t you, aunt Mad. —?” 
 
 And so it was that Christmas-day was passed at 
 Noningsby. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Christmas at Groby Park. 
 
 CHRISTMAS-DAY was always a time of very great 
 trial to Mrs. Mason of Groby Park. It behoved her, 
 as the wife of an old English country gentleman, to 
 spread her board plenteously at that season, and in 
 some sort to make an open house of it. But she 
 could not bring herself to spread any board with 
 plenty, and the idea of an open house would almost 
 break her heart. Unlimited eating! There was some- 
 thing in the very sounds of such words which was ap- 
 palling to the inner woman. 
 
 And on this Christmas-day she was doomed to go 
 through an ordeal of very peculiar severity. It so 
 happened that the cure of souls in the parish of Groby 
 had been intrusted for the last two or three years to a 
 young, energetic, but not very opulent curate. Why 
 the rector of Groby should be altogether absent, 
 leaving the work in the hands of a curate, whom he 
 paid by the lease of a cottage and garden and fifty- 
 five pounds a year, — thereby behaving as he ima- 
 gined with extensive liberality, — it is unnecessary 
 
PE Be Fae ME OR AD De see! Ceram GRD Tab) Stain TESS th eam SET, MPI UM ete RN oe Dy hs SRR Sk A 2 ai On ib 
 : > td MA ¥ in : ‘ eh eae ee ‘te eS yen SEO ee NS FF oe oJ Spon et > Ae? 
 . oe i ; é , ~ - = > * 
 
 996 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 here to inquire. Such was the case, and the Rev. 
 Adolphus Green, with Mrs. A. Green and the four 
 children, managed to live with some difficulty on the 
 produce of the garden and the allotted stipend; but 
 could not probably have lived at all in that position 
 had not Mrs. Adolphus Green been blessed with some 
 small fortune. 
 
 It had so happened that Mrs. Adolphus Green had 
 been instrumental in imparting some knowledge of 
 singing to two of the Miss Masons, and had continued 
 her instructions over the last three years. This had 
 not been done in any preconcerted way, but the les- 
 sons had grown by chance. Mrs. Mason the while 
 had looked on with a satisfied eye at an arrangement 
 that was so much to her taste. 
 
 ‘There are no regular lessons you know,” she had 
 said to her husband, when he suggested that some re- 
 ward for so much work would be expedient. “Mrs. 
 Green finds it convenient to have the use of my draw- 
 ing-room, and would never see an instrument from 
 year’s end to year’s end if she were not allowed to 
 come up here. Depend upon it she gets a great deal 
 more than she gives.” 
 
 But after two years’ of tuition Mr. Mason had 
 spoken a second time. “My dear,” he said, “I cannot 
 allow the girls to accept su great a favour from Mrs. 
 Green without making her some compensation.” 
 
 ‘‘T don’t see that it is at all necessary,” Mrs. Mason 
 had answered; “but if you think so, we could send her 
 down a hamper of apples, — that is, a basketful.” 
 Now it happened that apples were very plentiful that 
 year, and that the curate and his wife were blessed 
 with as many as they could judiciously consume. 
 
CHRISTMAS AT GROBY PARK. 297 
 
 ‘Apples! nonsense!” said Mr. Mason. 
 
 “Tf you mean money, my dear, I couldn't do it. I 
 wouldn't so offend a lady for all the world.” 
 
 “You could buy them something handsome, in the 
 way of furniture. That little room of theirs that they 
 call the drawing-room has nothing in it at all. Get 
 Jones from Leeds to send them some things that will 
 do for them.” And hence, after many inner misgivings, 
 had arisen that purchase of a drawing-room set from 
 Mr. Kantwise, — that set of metallic ““Louey Catorse 
 furniture,” containing three tables, eight chairs, &c. &c., 
 as to which it may be remembered that Mrs. Mason 
 made such an undoubted bargain, getting them for 
 less than cost price. That they had been “strained,” 
 as Mr. Kantwise himself admitted in discoursing on 
 the subject to Mr. Dockwrath, was not matter of much 
 moment. They would do extremely well for a curate’s 
 wife. 
 
 And now on this Christmas-day the present was to 
 be made over to the happy lady. Mr. and Mrs. Green 
 were to dine at Groby Park, — leaving their more 
 fortunate children to the fuller festivities of the cottage; 
 and the intention was that before dinner the whole 
 drawing-room set should be made over. It was with 
 grievous pangs of heart that Mrs. Mason looked forward 
 to such an operation. Her own house was plenteously 
 furnished from the kitchens to the attics, but still she 
 would have loved to keep that metallic set of painted 
 trumpery. She knew that the table would not screw 
 on; she knew that the pivot of the music stool was 
 bent; she knew that there was no place in the house 
 in which they could stand; she must have known that 
 in no possible way could they be of use to her or hers, 
 
coe Ae oe ORO Remnant hci Ab aoe Obi had ee eh tii otal a) oa od ca 2 co 
 ; : ; rey a Oe =O , ved Sas CaN, War Cee pth ee de al s ie 7 
 
 ¥ 
 298 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 — and yet she could not part with them without an 
 agony. Her husband was infatuated in this matter of 
 compensation for the use of Mrs. Green’s idle hours; 
 no compensation could be necessary; — and then she 
 paid another visit to the metallic furniture. She knew 
 in her heart of hearts that they could never be of use 
 to anybody, and yet she made up her mind to keep 
 back two out of the eight chairs. Six chairs would be 
 quite enough for Mrs. Green’s small room. 
 
 As there was to be feasting at five, real roast beef, 
 plum-pudding and mince-pies; — “Mince-pies and 
 plum-pudding together are vulgar, my dear,” Mrs. Ma- 
 son had said to her husband; but in spite of the 
 vulgarity he had insisted: — the breakfast was of 
 course scanty. Mr. Mason liked a slice of cold meat 
 in the morning, or the leg of a fowl, or a couple of 
 fresh eggs as well as any man; but the matter was not 
 worth a continual fight. “As we are to dine an hour 
 earlier to-day I did not think you would eat meat,” 
 his wife said to him. ‘Then there would be less ex- 
 pense in putting it on the table,” he had answered; 
 and after that there was nothing more said about it. 
 He always put off till some future day that great 
 contest which he intended to wage and to win, and by 
 which he hoped to bring it about that plenty should 
 henceforward be the law of the land at Groby Park. 
 And then they all went to church. Mrs. Mason would 
 not on any account have missed church on Christmas- 
 day or a Sunday. It was a cheap duty, and therefore 
 rigidly performed. As she walked from her carriage 
 up to the church-door she encountered Mrs. Green, and 
 smiled sweetly as she wished that lady all the com- 
 pliments of the season. 
 
CHRISTMAS AT GROBY PARK. 299 
 
 ‘We shall see you immediately after church,” said 
 Mrs. Mason. 
 
 “Oh yes, certainly,” said Mrs. Green. 
 
 “And Mr. Green with you?” 
 
 “He intends to do himself the pleasure,” said the 
 curate’s wife. 
 
 ‘‘Mind he comes, because we have a little ceremony 
 to go through before we sit down to dinner;” and Mrs. 
 Mason smiled again ever so graciously. Did she think, 
 or did she not think, that she was going to do a kind- 
 ness to her neighbour? Most women would have 
 sunk into their shoes as the hour grew nigh at 
 which they were to show themselves guilty of so much 
 meanness. 
 
 She stayed for the sacrament, and it may here be 
 remarked that on that afternoon she rated both the 
 footman and housemaid because they omitted to do so. 
 She thought, we must presume, that she was doing her 
 duty, and must imagine her to have been ignorant that 
 she was cheating her husband and cheating her friend. 
 She took the sacrament with admirable propriety of 
 demeanour, and then on her return home, withdrew 
 another chair from the set. There would still be six, 
 including the rocking chair, and six would be quite 
 enough for that little hole of a room. 
 
 There was a large chamber up stairs at Groby 
 Park which had been used for the children’s lessons, 
 but which now was generally deserted. ‘There was in 
 it an old worn-out pianoforte, — and though Mrs. Ma- 
 son had talked somewhat grandly of the use of her 
 drawing-room, it was here that the singing had been 
 taught. Into this room the metallic furniture had been 
 brought, and up to that Christmas morning it had re- 
 
UC ee ee enemy ORE TLS We By tee eRe RO Pele Tn OE nO. Sh ee ree eg 
 Pe se my 4 cy ‘ 
 
 300 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 mained here packed in its original boxes. Hither im- 
 mediately after breakfast Mrs. Mason had taken her- 
 self, and had spent an hour in her efforts to set the 
 things forth to view. Two of the chairs she then 
 put aside into a cupboard, and a third she added 
 to her private store on hex return to her work after 
 church. 
 
 But, alas, alas! let her do what she would, she 
 could not get the top on to the table. “It’s all 
 smashed, ma’am,” said the girl whom she at last sum- 
 moned to her aid. “Nonsense, you simpleton; how 
 can it be smashed when it’s new,” said the mistress. 
 And then she tried again, and again, declaring as she 
 did so, that she would have the law of the rogue who 
 had sold her a damaged article. Nevertheless she had 
 known that it was damaged, and had bought it cheap 
 on that account, insisting in very urgent language 
 that the table was in fact worth nothing because of its 
 injuries. 
 
 At about four Mr. and Mrs. Green walked up to 
 the house and were shown into the drawing-room. Here 
 was Mrs. Mason supported by Penelope and Creusa. 
 As Diana was not musical, and therefore under no 
 compliment to Mrs. Green, she kept out of the way. 
 Mr. Mason also was absent. He knew that something 
 very mean was about to be done, and would not show 
 his face till it was over. He ought to have taken the 
 matter in hand himself, and would have done so had 
 not his mind been full of other things. He himself 
 was a man terribly wronged and wickedly injured, and 
 could not therefore in these present months interfere 
 much in the active doing of kindnesses. His hours 
 were spent in thinking how he might best obtain jus- 
 
CHRISTMAS AT GROBY PARK. 301 
 
 tice, — how he might secure his pound of flesh. He 
 only wanted his own, but that he would have; — his 
 own, with due punishment on those who had for so 
 many years robbed him of it. He therefore did not 
 attend at the presentation of the furniture. 
 
 ‘And now we'll go up stairs, if you please,” said 
 Mrs. Mason, with that gracious smile for which she 
 was so famous. ‘Mr. Green, you must come too. Dear 
 Mrs. Green has been so very kind to my two girls; 
 and now I have got a few articles, — they are of the 
 very newest fashion, and I do hope that Mrs. Green 
 will like them.” And so they all went up into the 
 schoolroom. 
 
 ‘“'There’s a new fashion come up lately,” said Mrs. 
 Mason as she walked along the corridor, “quite new: 
 of metallic furniture. JI don’t know whether you 
 have seen any.” Mrs. Green said she had not seen any 
 as yet. tok 
 
 “The Patent Steel Furniture Company makes it, 
 and it has got very greatly into vogue for small rooms. 
 I thought that perhaps you would allow me to present 
 you with a set for your drawing-room.” 
 
 “Tm sure it is very kind of you to think of it,” 
 said Mrs. Green. 
 
 ‘‘Uncommonly so,” said Mr. Green. But both Mr. 
 Green and Mrs. Green knew the lady, and their hopes 
 did not run high. 
 
 And then the door was opened and there stood the 
 furniture to view. ‘There stood the furniture, except 
 the three subtracted chairs, and the loo table. The 
 claw and leg of the table indeed were standing there, 
 but the top was folded up and lying on the floor be- 
 side it. “I hope you'll like the pattern,” began Mrs. 
 
802 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Mason. “I’m told that it is the prettiest that has yet 
 been brought out. There has been some little accident 
 about the screw of the table, but the smith in the 
 village will put that to rights in five minutes. He lives 
 so close to you that I didn’t think it worth while to 
 have him up here.” 
 
 “It’s very nice,” said Mrs. Green, looking round 
 her almost in dismay. 
 
 “Very nice indeed,” said Mr. Green, wondering in 
 his mind for what purpose such utter trash could have 
 been manufactured, and endeavouring to make up his 
 mind as to what they might possibly do with it. Mr. 
 Green knew what chairs and tables should be, and 
 was well aware that the things before him were 
 absolutely useless for any of the ordinary purposes of 
 furniture. 
 
 “And they are the most convenient things in the 
 world,” said Mrs. Mason, “for when you are going to 
 change house you pack them all up again in these 
 boxes. Wooden furniture takes up so much room, and 
 is so lumbersome.” 
 
 ‘““Yes, it is,” said Mrs. Green. 
 
 “Tl have them all put up again and sent down in 
 the cart to-morrow.’ 
 
 “Thank you; that will be very kind,” said Mr. 
 Green, and then the ceremony of the presentation was 
 over. On the following day the boxes were sent down, 
 and Mrs. Mason might have abstracted even another 
 chair without detection, for the cases lay unheeded 
 from month to month in the curate’s still unfurnished 
 room. ‘The fact is they cannot afford a carpet,” Mrs. 
 Mason afterwards said ‘to one of her daughters, ‘‘and 
 with such things as those they are quite right to keep 
 
eee Oa eee, Me ASHP ry GAMA Mn ye ; My 
 "yy ‘2 % Tr 4 . - eM A 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT GROBY PARK. 803 
 
 them up till they can be used with advantage. I al- 
 ways gave Mrs. Green credit for a good deal of 
 
 prudence.” 
 And then, when the show was over, they descended 
 again into the drawing-room, — Mr. Green and Mrs. 
 
 Mason went first, and Creusa followed. Penelope was 
 thus so far behind as to be able to speak to her friend 
 without being heard by the others. 
 
 ‘You know mamma,” she said, with a shrug of her 
 shoulders and a look of scorn in her eye. 
 
 ‘The things are very nice.” 
 
 ‘No, they are not, and you know they are not. 
 They are worthless; perfectly worthless.” 
 
 “But we don’t want anything.” 
 
 ‘No; and if there had been no pretence of a gift 
 it would all have been very well. What will Mr. Green 
 think?” 
 
 “TY rather think he likes iron chairs;” and then 
 they were in the drawing-room. 
 
 Mr. Mason did not appear till dinner-time, and 
 came in only just in time to give his arm to Mrs. 
 Green. He had had letters to write, — a letter to 
 Messrs. Round and Crook, very determined in its tone; 
 and a letter also to Mr. Dockwrath, for the little attor- 
 ney had so crept on in the affair that he was now Ccor- 
 responding with the principal. ‘I'll teach those fellows 
 in Bedford Row to know who I am,” he had said to 
 
 himself more than once, sitting on his high stool at 
 Hamworth. 
 
 | And then came the Groby Park Christmas dinner. 
 To speak the truth Mr. Mason had himself gone to the 
 neighbouring butcher, and ordered the surloin of beef, 
 knowing that it would be useless to trust to orders 
 
8304 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 conveyed through his wife. He had seen the piece of — 
 
 meat put on one side for him, and had afterwards 
 traced it on to the kitchen dresser. But nevertheless 
 when it appeared at table it had been sadly mutilated. 
 A stake had been cut off the full breadth of it — a 
 monstrous cantle from out its fair proportions. The 
 lady had seen the jovial, thick, ample size of the 
 goodly joint, and her heart had been unable to spare 
 it. She had made an effort and turned away, saying 
 to herself that the responsibility was all with him. 
 But it was of no use. There was that within her which 
 could not do it. ‘Your master will never be able to 
 carve such a mountain of meat as that,” she had said, 
 turning back to the cook. ‘’Deed, an’ it’s he that 
 will, ma’am,” said the Irish mistress of the spit; for 
 Trish cooks are cheaper than those bred and born in 
 England. But nevertheless the thing was done, and it 
 was by her own fair hands that the envious knife was 
 used. ‘I couldn’t do it, ma’am,” the cook had said; 
 “T couldn’t railly.” 
 
 Mr. Mason’s face became very black when he saw 
 the raid that had been effected, and when he looked 
 up across the table his wife’s eye was on him. She 
 knew what she had to expect, and she knew also that 
 it would not come now. Her eye stealthily looked at 
 his, quivering with fear; for Mr. Mason could be savage 
 enough in his anger. And what had she gained? One 
 
 may as well ask what does the miser gain who hides © 
 
 away his gold in an old pot, or what does that other 
 madman gain who is locked up for long long years 
 because she fancies himself the grandmother of the 
 Queen of England? 
 
 But there was still enough beef on the table for all 
 
 y yf 
 
\ 
 
 x : 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN GREAT ST. HELENS. 305 
 
 of them to eat, and as Mrs. Mason was not intrusted 
 
 with the carving of it, their plates were filled. As far 
 as a sufficiency of beef can make a good dinner Mr. 
 and Mrs. Green did have a good dinner on that Christ- 
 mas-day. Beyond that their comfort was limited, for 
 no one was in a humour for happy conversation. 
 
 And over and beyond the beef there was a plum- 
 pudding and three mince-pies. Four mince-pies had 
 originally graced the dish, but before dinner one had 
 been conveyed away to some upstairs receptacle for 
 such spoils. ‘The pudding also was small, nor was it 
 black and rich, and laden with good things as a Christ- 
 mas pudding should be laden. Let us hope that what 
 the guests so lost was made up to them on the follow- 
 ing day, by an absence of those ill effects which some- 
 times attend upon the consumption of rich viands. 
 
 ‘“‘And now, my dear, we'll have a bit of bread and 
 cheese and a glass of beer,” Mr. Green said when he 
 arrived at his own cottage. And so it was that Christ- 
 mas-day was passed at Groby Park. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 Christmas in Great St. Helens. 
 
 We will now look in for a moment at the Christ- 
 mas doings of our fat friend, Mr. Moulder. Mr. Moulder 
 was a married man living in lodgings over a wine- 
 merchant’s vaults in Great St. Helens. He was blessed 
 — or troubled, with no children, and prided himself 
 greatly on the material comfort with which his humble 
 home was surrounded. “His wife,” he often boasted, 
 “never wanted for plenty of the best of eating; and 
 for linen and silks and such-like, she could show her 
 
 Orley Farm. I, 20 
 
__ my dee BO wee: ey NG Wee, Oe ees TE eae at ot ee eee ne ‘ 2 bE b> br ¥ = 
 a a i ae tS 4 hy fs fyi ‘ala Ree 7) : sane a4) BSE ete M i eS hate ae he Bai thai ea ¢ eet ae 
 
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 306 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 drawers and her wardrobes with many a great lady 
 from Russell Square, and not be ashamed, neither! And 
 then, as for drink, — “tipple,” as Mr. Moulder sport- 
 ively was accustomed to name it among his friends, 
 he opined that he was not altogether behind the mark 
 in that respect. “He had got some brandy — he — 
 didn’t care what anybody might say about Cognac and 
 eau de vie; but the brandy which he had got from 
 Betts’ private establishment seventeen years ago, for 
 richness of flavour and fullness of strength, would beat 
 any French article that anybody in the city could 
 show. That at least was his idea. If anybody didn’t 
 like it, they needn’t take it. There was whisky that 
 would make your hair stand on end.” So said Mr. 
 Moulder, and I can believe him; for it has made my 
 hair stand on end merely to see other people drink- 
 ing it. 
 
 And if comforts of apparel, comforts of eating and 
 drinking, and comforts of the feather-bed and easy- 
 chair kind can make a woman happy, Mrs. Moulder 
 was no doubt a happy woman. She had quite fallen 
 in to the mode of life laid out for her. She had a 
 little bit of hot kidney for breakfast at about ten; she 
 dined at three, having seen herself to the accurate 
 cooking of her roast fowl, or her bit of sweetbread, 
 and always had her pint of Scotch ale. She turned 
 over all her clothes almost every day. In the evening 
 she read Reynolds’s Miscellany, had her tea and but- 
 tered muffins, took a thimbleful of brandy and water 
 at nine, and then went to bed. The work of her life 
 consisted in sewing buttons on to Moulder’s shirts, and 
 seeing that his things were properly got up when he 
 was at home. No doubt she would have done better 
 
- vee een 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN GREAT ST. HELENS. 307 
 
 as to the duties of the world, had the world’s duties 
 come to her. As it was, very few such had come in 
 her direction. Her husband was away from home three- 
 fourths of the year, and she had no children that re- 
 quired attention. As for society, some four or five 
 times a year she would drink tea with Mrs. Hubbles 
 at Clapham. Mrs. Hubbles was the wife of the senior 
 partner in the firm, and on such occasions Mrs. Moulder 
 dressed herself in her best, and having travelled to 
 Clapham in an omnibus, spent the evening in dull 
 propriety on one corner of Mrs. Hubbles’s sofa. When 
 I have added to this that Moulder every year took her 
 to Broadstairs for a fortnight, I think that I have 
 described with sufficient accuracy the course of Mrs. 
 Moulder’s life. 
 
 On the occasion of this present Christmas-day Mr. 
 Moulder entertained a small party. And he delighted 
 in such occasional entertainments, taking extraordinary 
 pains that the eatables should be of the very best; and 
 he would maintain an hospitable good humour to the 
 last, — unless anything went wrong in the cookery, 
 in which case he could make himself extremely un- 
 pleasant to Mrs. M. Indeed, proper cooking for Mr. M. 
 and the proper starching of the bands of his shirts 
 were almost the only trials that Mrs. Moulder was 
 doomed to suffer. ‘“‘What the d— are you for?” he 
 would say, almost throwing the displeasing viands at 
 her head across the table, or tearing the rough linen 
 from off his throat. “It ain’t much I ask of you in 
 return for your keep;” and then he would scowl at 
 her with bloodshot eyes till she shook in her shoes. 
 But this did not happen often, as experiences had made 
 her careful. 
 
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 308. } ORLEY FARM. 
 
 But on this present Christmas festival all went 
 swimmingly to the end. ‘Now, bear a hand, old girl,” 
 was the harshest word he said to her; and he enjoyed 
 himself like Duncan, shut up in measureless content. 
 He had three guests with him on this auspicious day. 
 There was his old friend Snengkeld, who had dined 
 with him on every Christmas since his marriage; there 
 was his wife’s brother, of whom we will say a word or 
 two just now; — and there was our old friend, Mr. 
 Kantwise. Mr. Kantwise was not exactly the man 
 whom Moulder would have chosen as his guest, for 
 they were opposed to each other in all their modes of 
 thought and action; but he had come across the travel- 
 ling agent of the Patent Metallic Steel Furniture 
 Company on the previous day, and finding that he was 
 to be alone in London on this general holiday, he had 
 asked him out of sheer good nature. Moulder could 
 be very good natured, and full of pity when the sor- 
 row to be pitied arose from some such source as the 
 want of a Christmas dinner. So Mr. Kantwise had been 
 asked, and precisely at four o’clock he made his ap- 
 pearance at Great St. Helens. 
 
 But now, as to this brother-in-law. He was no 
 other than that John Kenneby whom Miriam Usbech 
 did not marry, — whom Miriam Usbech might, per- 
 haps, have done well to marry. John Kenneby, after 
 one or two attempts in other spheres of life, had at 
 last got into the house of Hubbles and Grease, and 
 had risen to be their book-keeper. He had once been 
 tried by them as a traveller, but in that line he had 
 failed. He did not possess that rough, ready, self- 
 confident tone of mind which is almost necessary for a 
 man who is destined to move about quickly from one 
 
CHRISTMAS IN GREAT ST. HELENS. 309 
 
 circle of persons to another. After a six months’ trial 
 he had given that up, but during the time, Mr. Moulder, 
 the senior traveller of the house, had married his sister. 
 John Kenneby was a good, honest, painstaking fellow, 
 and was believed by his friends to have put a few 
 pounds together in spite of the timidity of his 
 character. 
 
 When Snengkeld and Kenneby were shown up into 
 the room, they found nobody there but Kantwise. That 
 Mrs. Moulder should be down stairs looking after the 
 roast turkey was no more than natural; but why should 
 not Moulder himself be there to receive his guests? 
 He soon appeared, however, coming up without his 
 coat. 
 
 “Well, Snengkeld, how are you, old fellow; many 
 happy returns, and all that; the same to you, John. 
 Ill tell you what, my lads; it’s a prime ’un. I never 
 saw such a bird in all my days.” 
 
 “What, the turkey?” said Snengkeld. 
 
 ‘You didn’t think it’d be a ostrich, did you?” 
 
 ‘Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Snengkeld. ‘No, I didn’t 
 expect nothing but a turkey here on Christmas-day.” 
 
 ‘‘And nothing but a turkey you'll have, my boys. 
 Can you eat turkey, Kantwise?” 
 
 Mr. Kantwise declared that his only passion in the 
 way of eating was for a turkey. 
 
 “As for John, I’m sure of him. I’ve seen him at 
 the work before.” Whereupon John grinned but said 
 nothing. 
 
 “TY never see such a bird in my life, certainly.” 
 
 “From Norfolk, I suppose,” said Snengkeld, with 
 a great appearance of interest. 
 
 “Oh, you may swear to that. It weighed twenty- 
 
eal 1S Acide ee aes Las PALS aC ae aaa lsh 
 
 aN ec Mee Mie a LC MIRA Skt tala eg ak i = 
 310 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 four pounds, for I put it into the scales myself, and 
 old Gibbetts let me have it for a guinea. The price 
 marked on it was five-and-twenty, for I saw it. He’s 
 had it hanging for a fortnight, and I’ve been to see it 
 wiped down with vinegar regular every morning. And 
 now, my boys, it’s done to a turn. I’ve been in the 
 kitchen most of the time myself, and either I or Mrs. 
 M. has never left it for a single moment.” 
 
 “How did you manage about divine service?” said 
 Kantwise; and then, when he had spoken, closed his 
 eyes and sucked his lips. 
 
 Mr. Moulder looked at him for a minute, and then 
 said, ‘‘Gammon.” 
 
 ‘Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Snengkeld. And then Mrs. 
 Moulder appeared, bringing the turkey with her; for 
 she would trust it to no hands less careful than her 
 own. 
 ‘‘By George, it is a bird,” said Snengkeld, standing 
 over it and eyeing it minutely. 
 
 ‘““Uncommon nice it looks,” said Kantwise. 
 
 ‘All the same, I wouldn’t eat none, if I were you,” 
 said Moulder, ‘‘seeing what sinners have been a basting 
 it.” And then they all sat down to dinner, Moulder 
 having first resumed his coat. 
 
 For the next three or four minutes Moulder did not 
 speak a word. ‘The turkey was on his mind, with the 
 stuffing, the gravy, the liver, the breast, the wings, 
 and the legs. He stood up to carve it, and while he 
 was at the work he looked at it as though his two 
 eyes were hardly sufficient. He did not help first one 
 person and then another, so ending by himself; but he 
 cut up artistically as much as might probably be con- 
 sumed, and located the fragments in small heaps or 
 
CHRISTMAS IN GREAT ST. HELENS. dit 
 
 shares in the hot gravy; and then, having made a par- 
 tition of the spoils, he served it out with unerring im- 
 partiality. To have robbed any one of his or her fair 
 slice of the breast would, in his mind, have been gross 
 dishonesty. In his heart he did not love Kantwise, 
 but he dealt by him with the utmost justice in the 
 great affair of the turkey’s breast. When he had done 
 all this, and his own plate was laden, he gave a long 
 sigh. ‘I shall never cut up such another bird as that, 
 the longest day that I have to live,” he said; and then 
 he took out his large red silk handkerchief and wiped 
 the perspiration from his brow. 
 
 ‘““Deary me, M.; don’t think of that now,” said the 
 wife. 
 
 ‘““What’s the use?” said Snengkeld. ~“Care killed 
 a cat.” 
 
 ‘‘And perhaps you may,” said John Kenneby, trying 
 to comfort him; ‘who knows?” 
 
 ‘It’s all in the hands of Providence,” said Kantwise, 
 ‘‘and we should look to him.” 
 
 ‘‘And how does it taste?” asked Moulder, shaking 
 the gloomy thoughts from his mind. 
 
 “Uncommon,” said Snengkeld, with his mouth quite 
 full. “I never eat such a turkey in all my life.” 
 
 “Like melted diamonds,” said Mrs. Moulder, who 
 was not without a touch of poetry. 
 
 “Ah, there’s nothing like hanging of ’em long 
 enough, and watching of ’em well. It’s that vinegar 
 as done it;” and then they went seriously to work, and 
 there was nothing more said of any importance until 
 the eating was nearly over. 
 
 And now Mrs. M. had taken away the cloth, and 
 they were sitting cozily over their port wine. ‘The very 
 
BERIT PRS GRE ESO PR MPN Lee BM ee re Am FNS bee Ay Maer a: ed POA oe Re OME SS See 
 ” Z . 4 : wa b's _ ‘ Ge aig ie!) 
 
 Le ORLEY FARM. 
 
 apple of the eye of the evening had not arrived even 
 yet. That would not come till the pipes were brought 
 out, and the brandy was put on the table, and the 
 whisky was there that made the people’s hair stand on 
 end. It was then that the floodgates of convivial 
 eloquence would be unloosed. In the mean time it 
 was necessary to sacrifice something to gentility, and 
 therefore they sat over their port wine. 
 
 ‘Did you bring that letter with you, John?” said 
 his sister. John replied that he had done so, and that 
 he had also received another letter that morning from 
 another party on the same subject. 
 
 “Do show it to Moulder, and ask him,” said 
 Mrs. M. 
 
 “T’ve got ’em both on purpose,” said John; and 
 then he brought forth two letters, and handed one of 
 them to his brother-in-law. It contained a request, very 
 civilly worded, from Messrs. Round and Crook, begging 
 him to call at their office in Bedford Row on the 
 earliest possible day, in order that they might have 
 some conversation with him regarding the will of the 
 late Sir Joseph Mason, who died in 18—. 
 
 ‘“Why, this is law business,” said Moulder, who 
 liked no business of that description. “Don’t you go 
 near them, John, if you ain’t obliged.” 
 
 And then Kenneby gave his explanation on the 
 matter, telling how in former years, — many years 
 ago, he had been a witness in a lawsuit. And then as 
 he told it he sighed, remembering Miriam Usbech, for 
 whose sake he had remained unmarried even to this 
 day. And he went on to narrate how he had been 
 bullied in the court, though he had valiantly striven 
 to tell the truth with exactness; and as he spoke, an 
 
is vs tele Reles se Ve ee, WP Oe a ee Pe eS > Ah 
 : BEY, y F ‘ " 
 + > 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN GREAT 8ST. HELENS. 313 
 
 opinion of his became manifest that old Usbech had 
 not signed the document in his presence. ‘The girl 
 signed it certainly,” said he, ‘for I handed her the 
 pen. I recollect it, as though it were yesterday.” 
 
 “They are the very people we were talking of at 
 Leeds,” said Moulder, turning to Kantwise. ‘Mason 
 and Martock; don’t you remember how you went out 
 to Groby Park to sell some of them iron gimeracks? 
 That was old Mason’s son. They are the same 
 people.” 
 
 “Ah, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Kantwise, who was 
 listening all the while. He never allowed intelligence 
 of this kind to pass by him idly. 
 
 “And who’s the other letter from?” asked Moulder. 
 “But, dash my wigs, it’s past six o’clock. Come, old 
 girl, why don’t you give us the tobacco and stuff?” 
 
 “Tt ain’t far to fetch,” said Mrs. Moulder. And 
 then she put the tobacco and “stuff” upon the table. 
 
 “The other letter is from an enemy of mine,” said 
 John Kenneby, speaking very solemnly; “an enemy of 
 mine, named Dockwrath, who lives at Hamworth. He’s 
 an attorney too.” 
 
 ‘“‘Dockwrath!” said Moulder. 
 
 Mr. Kantwise said nothing, but he looked round 
 over his shoulder at Kenneby, and then shut his eyes. 
 
 “That was the name of the man whom we left in 
 the commercial room at the Bull,” said Snengkeld. 
 
 “He went out to Mason’s at Groby Park that same 
 day,” said Moulder. 
 
 “Then it’s the same man,” said Kenneby; and 
 there was as much solemnity in the tone of his voice 
 as though the unravelment of all the mysteries of the 
 iron mask was now about to take place. Mr. Kantwise 
 
SU (8) alas lay Se ee at Aa rm ANI Ue Bad ett a), 
 ran ; ° wg WMD 7 ee i r 
 yO MP Pee. ee ket EES) Se ee 
 ( 
 
 314 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 still said nothing, but he also perceived that it was 
 the same man. 
 
 “Let me tell you, John Kenneby,” said Moulder, 
 with the air of one who understood well the subject 
 that he was discussing, ‘‘if they two be the same man, 
 then the man who wrote that letter to you is as big a 
 blackguard as there is from this to hisself.” And Mr. 
 Moulder in the excitement of the moment puffed hard 
 at his pipe, took a long pull at his drink, and dragged 
 open his waistcoat. ‘‘I don’t know whether Kantwise 
 has anything to say upon that subject,” added Moulder. 
 
 ‘Not a word at present,” said Kantwise. Mr. 
 Kantwise was a very careful man, and usually cal- 
 culated with accuracy the value which he might extract 
 from any circumstance with reference to his own main 
 chance. Mr. Dockwrath had not as yet paid him for 
 the set of metallic furniture, and therefore he also might 
 well have joined in that sweeping accusation; but it 
 might be that by a judicious use of what he now heard 
 he might obtain the payment of that little bill, — and 
 perhaps other collateral advantages. 
 
 And then the letter from Dockwrath to Kenneby 
 was brought forth and read. ‘My dear John,” it 
 began, — for the two had known each other when 
 they were lads together, — and it went on to request 
 Kenneby’s attendance at Hamworth for the short space 
 of a few hours, — “I want to have a little conversa- 
 tion with you about a matter of considerable interest 
 to both of us; and as I cannot expect you to under- 
 take expense I enclose a money order for thirty 
 shillings.” 
 
 ‘‘He’s in earnest at any rate,” said Mr. Moulder. 
 
 “No mistake about that,” said Snengkeld. 
 
eas Pd ae ene Se Rie? bh oe el ak Te ede is 
 
 . 
 : 
 
 CHRISTMAS IN GREAT ST. HELENS. 315 
 
 But Mr. Kantwise spoke never a word. 
 
 It was at last decided that John Kenneby should 
 go both to Hamworth and to Bedford Row, but that 
 he should go to Hamworth first. Moulder would have 
 counselled him to have gone to neither, but Snengkeld 
 remarked that there were too many at work to let the 
 matter sleep, and John himself observed that “anyways 
 he hadn’t done anything to be ashamed of.” 
 
 “Then go,” said Moulder at last, “only don’t say 
 more than you are obliged to.” 
 
 ‘“T does not like these business talkings on Christ- 
 mas night,” said Mrs. Moulder, when the matter was 
 arranged. 
 
 ‘What can one do?” asked Moulder. 
 
 ‘It's a tempting of Providence in my mind,” said 
 Kantwise, as he replenished his glass, and turned his 
 eyes up to the ceiling. 
 
 “Now that’s gammon,” said Moulder. And then 
 there arose among them a long and animated discussion 
 on matters theological. 
 
 “Tl tell you what my idea of death is,” said 
 Moulder, after a while. “I aint a bit afeard of it. 
 My father was an honest man as did his duty by his 
 employers, and he died with a bottom of brandy be- 
 fore him and a pipe in his mouth. I sha’n’t live long 
 myself — —” 
 
 “Gracious, Moulder, don’t!” said Mrs. M. 
 
 ‘““No more I sha’n’t, ’cause I’m fat as he was; and I 
 hope I may die as he did. I’ve been honest to Hubbles 
 and Grease. They’ve made thousands of pounds along 
 of me, and have never lost none. Who can say more 
 than that? When I took to the old girl there, I in- 
 
 . 4 
 
 sie 
 
316 ORLEY FARM. | 
 
 sured my life, so that she shouldn’t want her wittles 
 and) drink — ——” 
 
 “Oh, M., don’t!” 
 
 “And I aint afeard to die. Snengkeld, my old pal, 
 hand us the brandy.” 
 
 Such is the modern philosophy of the Moulders, 
 pigs out of the sty of Epicurus. And so it was they 
 passed Christmas-day in Great St. Helens. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 Mr. Furnival again at his Chambers. 
 
 Tre Christmas doings at the Cleeve were not very 
 gay. 'There was no visitor there, except Lady Mason, 
 and it was known that she was in trouble. It must 
 not, however, be supposed that she constantly bewailed 
 herself while there, or made her friends miserable by 
 a succession of hysterical tears. By no means. She 
 made an effort to be serene, and the effort was success- 
 ful — as such efforts usually are. On the morning of 
 Christmas-day they duly attended church, and Lady 
 Mason was seen by all Hamworth sitting in the Cleeve 
 pew. In no way could the baronet’s friendship have 
 been shown more plainly than in this, nor could a 
 more significant mark of intimacy have been given; — 
 all which Sir Peregrine well understood. The people 
 of Hamworth had chosen to talk scandal about Lady 
 Mason, but he at any rate would show how little 
 attention he paid to the falsehoods that there were 
 circulated. So he stood by her at the pew door as 
 she entered, with as much deference as though she had 
 been a duchess; and the people of Hamworth, looking 
 
me 
 
 “ee Th De ee: , ge att | A Lie ot Abs » Oe LMA? § 
 
 MR. FURNIVAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBERS. 317 
 
 on, wondered which would be right, Mr. Dockwrath or 
 Sir Peregrine. 
 
 After dinner Sir Peregrine gave a toast. “Lady 
 Mason, we will drink the health of the absent boys. 
 God bless them! I hope they are enjoying them- 
 selves.” 
 
 “God bless them!” said Mrs. Orme, putting her 
 handkerchief to her eyes. 
 
 “God bless them both!” said Lady Mason, also 
 putting her handkerchief to her eyes. Then the ladies 
 left the room, and that was the extent of their special 
 festivity. “Robert,” said Sir Peregrine immediately 
 afterwards to his butler, “let them have what port 
 wine they want in the servants’ hall — within mea- 
 sure.” 
 
 “Yes, Sir Peregrine.” 
 
 “And, Robert, I shall not want you again.” 
 
 “Thank you, Sir Peregrine.” 
 
 From all which it may be imagined that the Christ- 
 mas doings at the Cleeve were chiefly maintained 
 below stairs. 
 
 “T do hope they are happy,” said Mrs. Orme, when 
 the two ladies were together in the drawing-room. 
 “They have a very nice party at Noningsby.” 
 
 “Your boy will be happy, I’m sure,” said Lady 
 Mason. 
 
 “And why not Lucius also?” 
 
 It was sweet in Lady Mason’s ear to hear her son 
 called by his Christian name. All these increasing 
 
 signs of interest and intimacy were sweet, but especially 
 any which signified some favour shown to her son. 
 
 “This trouble weighs heavy on him,” she replied. “It 
 
 is only natural that he should feel it.” 
 
Tea RE Gg Ree eee ey ER ro MR Vere: Ie ier a Sane A eee Ae a rr rae 
 
 318 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 “Papa does not seem to think much of it,” said 
 Mrs. Orme. “If I were you, I would strive to forget it.” 
 
 ‘“‘T do strive,” said the other; and then she took 
 the hand which Mrs. Orme had stretched out to her, 
 and that lady got up and kissed her. 
 
 ‘Dearest friend,” said Mrs. Orme, “if we can com- 
 fort you we will.’ And then they sobbed in each 
 other’s arms. 
 
 In the mean time Sir Peregrine was sitting alone, 
 thinking. He sat thinking, with his glass of claret 
 untouched by his side, and with the biscuit which he 
 had taken lying untouched upon the table. As he sat 
 he had raised one leg upon the other, placing his foot 
 on his knee, and he held it there with his hand upon 
 his instep. And so he sat without moving for some 
 quarter of an hour, trying to use all his mind on the 
 subject which occupied it. At last he roused himself, 
 almost with a start, and leaving his chair, walked 
 three or four times the length of the room. “Why 
 should I not?” at last he said to himself, stopping 
 suddenly and placing his hand upon the table. ‘Why 
 should I not, if it pleases me? It shall not injure him 
 — nor her.” And then he walked again. “But I 
 will ask Edith,” he said, still speaking to himself. “If 
 she says that she disapproves of it, I will not do it.” 
 And then he left the room, while the wine still remained 
 untasted on the table. 
 
 On the day following Christmas Mr. Furnival went 
 up to town, and Mr. Round junior — Mat Round, as 
 he was ealled in the profession — came to him at his 
 chambers. A promise had been made to the barrister 
 by Round and Crook that no active steps should be 
 taken against Lady Mason on the part of Joseph Mason 
 
MR. FURNIVAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBERS. 319 
 
 of Groby, without notice being given to Mr. Furnival. 
 And this visit by appointment was made in con- 
 sequence of that promise. 
 
 “You see,” said Matthew Round, when that visit 
 was nearly brought to a close, ‘“‘that we are pressed 
 very hard to go on with this, and if we do not, some- 
 body else will.” 
 
 “Nevertheless, if I were you, I should decline,” 
 said Mr. Furnival. 
 
 “You're looking to your client, not to ours, sir,” 
 said the attorney. ‘The fact is that the whole case is 
 very queer. It was proved on the last trial that Bolster 
 and Kenneby were witnesses to a deed on the 14th of 
 July, and that was all that was proved. Now we can 
 prove that they were on that day witnesses to another 
 deed. Were they witnesses to two?” 
 
 ‘““Why should they not be?” ; 
 
 “That is for us to see. We have written to them 
 both to come up to us, and in order that we might be 
 quite on the square I thought it right to tell you.” 
 
 “Thank you; yes; I cannot complain of you. And 
 what form do you think that your proceedings will 
 take?” 
 
 “Joseph Mason talks of indicting her for — 
 forgery,” said the attorney, pausing a moment before 
 he dared to pronounce the dread word. 
 
 ‘Indict her for forgery!” said Furnival, with a 
 start. And yet the idea was one which had been for 
 some days present to his mind’s eye. 
 
 “I do not say so,” said Round. “I have as yet 
 seen none of the witnesses myself. If they are pre- 
 pared to prove that they did sign two separate docu- 
 ments on that day, the thing must pass off.” It was 
 
ey, Spee LEARN RPE ae ait cet a APR eee ee ean ee 
 } i. rt , Vas ay. C LQ Bese 
 820 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 clear to Mr. Furnival that even Mr. Round junior would 
 be glad that it should pass off. And then he also sat 
 thinking. Might it not be probable that, with a little 
 judicious exercise of their memory, those two wit- 
 nesses would remember that they had signed two docu- 
 ments; or at any rate, looking ‘to the lapse of the 
 time, that they might be induced to forget altogether 
 whether they had signed one, two, or three? Or even 
 if they could be mystified so that nothing could be 
 proved, it would still be well with his client. Indeed 
 no magistrate would commit such a person as Lady 
 Mason, especially after so long an interval, and no 
 grand jury would find a bill against her, except upon 
 evidence that was clear, well defined, and almost in- 
 dubitable. If any point of doubt could be shown, she 
 might be brought off without a trial, if only she would 
 be true to herself. At the former trial there was the 
 existing codicil, and the fact also that the two surviving 
 reputed witnesses would not deny their signatures. These 
 signatures — if they were genuine signatures — had been 
 attached with all proper formality; and the form used 
 went to state that the testator had signed the instrument in 
 the presence of them all, they all being present together 
 at the same time. The survivors had both asserted 
 that when they did affix their names the three were 
 then present, as was also Sir Joseph; but there had 
 been a terrible doubt even then as to the identity of 
 the document; and a doubt also as to there having 
 been any signature made by one of the reputed wit- 
 nesses — by that one, namely, who at the time of that 
 trial was dead. Now another document was forth- 
 coming, purporting to have been witnessed, on the 
 same day, by these two surviving witnesses! If that 
 
MR. FURNIVAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBERS. 321 
 
 document were genuine, and if these two survivors 
 should be clear that they had written their names but 
 once on that 14th of July, in such case could it be 
 possible to quash further public inquiry? The criminal 
 prosecution might not be possible as a first proceeding, 
 but if the estate were recovered at common law, would 
 not: the .criminal prosecution follow as a matter of 
 course? And then Mr. Furnival thought it all over 
 again and again. 
 
 If this document were genuine — this new docu- 
 ment which the man Dockwrath stated that he had 
 found — this deed of separation of partnership which 
 purported to have been executed on that 14th of July! 
 That was now the one important question. If it were 
 genuine! And why should there not be as strong a 
 question of the honesty of that document as of the other? 
 My. Furnival well knew that no fraudulent deed would 
 be forged and produced without a motive; and that if 
 he impugned this deed he must show the motive. 
 Motive enough there was, no doubt. Mason might 
 have had it forged in order to get the property, or 
 Dockwrath to gratify his revenge. But in such case 
 it would be a forgery of the present day. ‘There could 
 have been no motive for such a forgery twenty years 
 ago. ‘The paper, the writing, the attested signature of 
 Martock, the other party to it, would prove that it had 
 not been got up and manufactured now. Dockwrath 
 would not dare to bring forward such a forgery as 
 that. There was no hope of any such result. 
 
 But might not he, Furnival,; if the matter were 
 pushed before a jury, make them think that the two 
 documents stood balanced against each other? and that 
 Lady Mason’s respectability, her long possession, 
 
 Orley Farm. I. 21 
 
FIRS Ot Ae Dee, DRS pe mem? SS Yeh ah eal Cen ee Nee a SN all cto avy La a i 
 oe ae Oo RRM NC INAD oe CATE ct SOLANA IR TRS A ACR 
 te aM * ¥ , 
 
 322 ORLEY FARM. — 
 
 together with the vile malignity of her antagonists, 
 gave the greater probability of honesty to the disputed 
 codicil? Mr. Furnival did think that he might induce 
 a jury to acquit her; but he terribly feared that he 
 
 might not be able to induce the world to acquit her 
 
 also. As he thought of all the case, he seemed to put 
 himself apart from the world at large. He did not 
 question himself as to his own belief, but seemed to 
 feel that it would suffice for him if he could so bring 
 it about that her other friends should think her inno- 
 
 cent. It would by no means suffice for him to secure’ 
 
 for her son the property, and for her a simple acquittal. 
 It was not that he dreaded the idea of thinking her 
 guilty himself; perhaps he did so think her now — he 
 half thought her so,-at any rate; but he greatly 
 dreaded the idea of others thinking so. It might be 
 well to buy up Dockwrath, if it were possible. If it 
 were possible! But then it was not possible that he 
 himself could have a hand in such a matter. Could 
 Crabwitz do it? No; he thought not. And then, at 
 this moment, he was not certain that he could depend 
 on Crabwitz. 
 
 And why should he trouble himself inthis way? 
 Mr. Furnival was a man loyal to his friends at heart. 
 Had Lady Mason been a man, and had he pulled that 
 man through great difficulties in early life, he would 
 have been loyally desirous of carrying him through 
 the same or similar difficulties at any after period. In 
 that cause which he had once battled he was always 
 ready to do battle, without reference to any profes- 
 sional consideration of triumph or profit. It was to 
 this feeling of loyalty that he had owed much of his 
 success in life. And in such a case as this it may be 
 
ese ee 4 PAS Oe Poy Po) eb ad Mee eae ed yA ot FEE i) eet eee 
 #3, ee \ , f ye . 
 : 5 ‘ 
 4 , x | : 
 
 MR. FURNIVAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBERS. 323 
 
 supposed that that feeling would be strong. But then such 
 a feeling presumed a case in which he could sympathize 
 — in which he could believe. Would it be well that he 
 should allow himself to feel the same interest in this 
 case, to-maintain respecting it the same personal anxiety, 
 if he ceased to believe in it? He did ask himself the 
 question, and he finally answered it in the affirmative. 
 He had beaten Joseph Mason once in a good stand-up 
 fight; and having done so, having thus made the matter 
 his own, it was necessary to his comfort that he should 
 beat him again, if another fight were to be fought. 
 Lady Mason was his client, and all the associations of 
 his life taught him to be true to her as much. 
 
 And as we are thus searching into his innermost 
 heart we must say more than this. Mrs. Furnival per- 
 haps had no sufficient grounds for those terrible fears 
 of hers; but nevertheless the mistress of Orley Farm 
 was very comely in the eyes of the lawyer. Her eyes, 
 when full of tears, were very bright, and her hand, as 
 it lay in his, was very soft. He laid out for himself 
 no scheme of wickedness with reference to her; he pur- 
 posely entertained no thoughts which he knew to be 
 wrong; but, nevertheless, he did feel that he liked to 
 have her by him, that he liked to be her adviser and 
 friend, that he liked to wipe the tears from those eyes 
 — not by a material handkerchief from his pocket, but 
 by immaterial manly sympathy from his bosom; and 
 that he liked also to feel the pressure of that hand. 
 Mrs. Furnival had become solid, and heavy, and red; 
 and though he himself was solid, and heavy, and red 
 also — more so, indeed, in proportion than his poor 
 wife, for his redness, as I have said before, had almost 
 reached a purple hue; nevertheless his eye loved to 
 
 21% 
 
Asn 
 
 PO tation th ORL ere iN, ae ete ae abi ce lek ul, wy gael Pear Wedge nly je rca Simla usta SS ett) 
 Fos) ‘aH + a ra a) ee ates rg NAG) ieee A epee S rh ea: br ‘ 
 af cy * a ty \ y ay 
 
 324 | ORLEY FARM. 
 
 look upon the beauty of a lovely woman, his ear loved 
 to hear the tone of her voice, and his hand loved to 
 meet the soft ripeness of her touch. It was very wrong 
 that it should have been so, but the case is not without 
 a parallel. 
 
 And therefore he made up his mind that he would 
 not desert Lady Mason. He would not desert her; but 
 how would he set about the fighting that would be ne- 
 cessary in her behalf? He was well aware of this, 
 that if he fought at all, he must fight now. -It would 
 not do to let the matter go on till she should be sum- 
 moned to defend herself. Steps which might now be 
 available would be altogether unavailable in two or 
 three months’ time — would be so, perhaps, if he 
 allowed two or three weeks to pass idly by him. Mr. 
 Round, luckily, was not disposed to hurry his pro- 
 ceedings; nor, as far as he was concerned, was there 
 any bitterness of antagonism. But with both Mason 
 and Dockwrath there would be hot haste, and hotter 
 malice. From those who were really her enemies she 
 could expect no quarter. 
 
 He was to return on that evening to Noningsby, 
 and on the following day he would go over to The 
 Cleeve. He knew that Lady Mason was staying there; 
 but his object in making that visit would not be merely 
 that he might see her, but also that he might speak to 
 Sir Peregrine, and learn how far the baronet was in- 
 clined to support his neighbour in her coming tribula- 
 tion. He would soon be able to ascertain what Sir 
 Peregrine really thought — whether he suspected the 
 possibility of any guilt; and he would ascertain also 
 what was the general feeling in the neighbourhood of 
 Hamworth. It would be a great thing if he could 
 
ey were eee. O(a mk ek oy ald eget TA ad as ia dh Os Ra ena oe a A nei No te BO ae ee ar 
 i ile ke Sad ee oe YP aT hg . x * k 5.3 y 173 eae 7 a} Ke 
 ye , ’ Z e ' ; 
 
 = 
 
 MR. FURNIVAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBERS. 325 
 
 spread abroad a conviction that she was an injured 
 woman. It would be a great thing even if he could 
 make it known that the great people of the neighbour- 
 hood so thought. The jurymen of Alston would be 
 mortal men; and it might be possible that they should 
 be imbued with a favourable bias on the subject before 
 they assembled in their box for its consideration. 
 
 He wished that he knew the truth in the matter; 
 or rather he wished he could know whether or no she 
 were innocent, without knowing whether or no she. 
 were guilty. The fight in his hands would be con- 
 ducted on terms so much more glorious if he could feel 
 sure of her innocence. But then if he attempted that, 
 and she were not innocent, all might be sacrificed by 
 the audacity of his proceedings. He could not venture 
 that, unless he were sure of his ground. For a moment 
 or two he thought that he would ask her the question. 
 He said to himself that he could forgive the fault. 
 That it had been repented ere this he did not doubt, 
 and it would be sweet to say to her that it was very 
 grievous, but that yet it might be forgiven. It would 
 be sweet to feel that she was in his hands, and that 
 he would treat her with mercy and kindness. But 
 then a hundred other thoughts forbade him to think 
 more of this. If she had been guilty —if she declared 
 her guilt to him — would not restitution be necessary? © 
 In that case her son must know it, and all the world 
 must know it. Such a confession would be incom- 
 patible with that innocence before the world which it 
 was necessary that she should maintain. Moreover, he 
 must be able to proclaim aloud his belief in her inno- 
 cence; and how could he do that, knowing her to be 
 guilty — knowing that she also knew that he had such 
 
326 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 knowledge? It was impossible that he should ask any 
 such question, or admit of any such confidence. 
 
 It would be necessary, if the case did come to a 
 trial, that she should employ some attorney. The 
 matter must come into the barrister’s hands in the 
 usual way, through a solicitor’s house, and it would 
 be well that the person employed should have a firm 
 faith in his client. What could he say — he, as a 
 barrister — if the attorney suggested to him that the 
 lady might possibly be guilty? As he thought of all 
 these things he almost dreaded the difficulties before him. 
 
 He rang the bell for Crabwitz — the peculiar bell 
 which Crabwitz was bound to answer — having first 
 of all gone through a little ceremony with his cheque- 
 book. Crabwitz entered, still sulky in his demeanour, 
 for as yet the old anger had not been appeased, and 
 it was still a doubtful matter in the clerk’s mind 
 whether or no it might not be better for him to seek a 
 master who would better appreciate his services. A 
 more lucrative position it might be difficult for him to 
 find; but money is not everything, as Crabwitz said to 
 himself more than once. 
 
 “Crabwitz,” said Mr. Furnival, looking with a 
 pleasant face at his clerk, “I am leaving town this 
 evening, and I shall be absent for the next ten days. 
 If you like you can go away for a holiday.” 
 
 “It’s rather late in the season now, sir,” said Crab- 
 witz, gloomily, as though he were determined not to 
 be pleased. 
 
 “It is a little late, as you say; but I really could 
 not manage it earlier. Come, Crabwitz, you and I 
 should not quarrel. Your work has been a little hard, 
 but then so has mine also.” 
 
ge Heaps hy alg Cal A Dy SL A a al a ead hte ie idea a eat i OS 
 
 MR. FURNIVAL AGAIN AT HIS CHAMBERS. 327 
 
 “T fancy you like it, six.” 
 
 “Ha! ha! Like it, indeed! But so do you like it 
 — in its way. Come, Crabwitz, you have been an 
 excellent servant to me; and I don’t think that, on the 
 whole, I have been a bad master to you.” 
 
 “T am making no complaint, sir.” 
 
 “But you're cross because I’ve kept you in town a 
 little too long. Come, Crabwitz, you must forget all 
 that. You have worked very hard this year past. 
 Here is a cheque for fifty pounds. Get out of town 
 for a fortnight or so, and amuse yourself.” 
 
 “Ym sure I’m very much obliged, sir,” said Crab- 
 witz, putting out his hand and taking the cheque. He 
 felt that his-master had got the better of him, and he 
 was still a little melancholy on that account. He would 
 have valued his grievance at that moment almost more 
 than the fifty pounds, especially as by the acceptance 
 of it he surrendered all right to complain for some con- 
 siderable time to come. 
 
 ““By-the-by, Crabwitz,” said Mr. Furnival, as the 
 clerk was about to leave the room. 
 
 “Yes, sir,” said Crabwitz. 
 
 ‘You have never chanced to hear of an attorney 
 named Dockwrath, I suppose?” 
 
 “What! in London, Mr. Furnival?” 
 
 ‘“‘No; I fancy he has no place of business in town. 
 He lives I know at Hamworth.” 
 
 “It’s he you mean, sir, that is meddling in this 
 affair of Lady Mason’s.” 
 
 “What! you have heard of that; have you?” 
 
 “Oh! yes, sir. It’s being a good deal talked about 
 in the profession. Messrs. Round and Crook’s leading 
 young man was up here with me the other day, and 
 
rl 
 
 ? 
 
 ia eM es lies ee ies Be ae BUF Kose sae le) heute nl Tt eg! ‘ & rae Hs eta Seal Ae Mire is 
 - ‘ 5 “ ty ,’ , re Pn a 4 * fx Noes PY i Alor) 9 fe) es 
 
 328 - ORLEY FARM. 
 
 he did say a good deal about it. He’s a very decent 
 young man, considering his position, is Smart.” 
 
 “And he knows Dockwrath, does he?” 
 
 “Well, sir, I can’t say that he knows much of the 
 man; but Dockwrath has been at their place of busi- 
 ness pretty constant of late, and he and Mr. Matthew 
 seem thick enough together.” 
 
 “Oh! they do; do they?” 
 
 “So Smart tells me. I don’t know how it is my- 
 self, sir. I don’t suppose this Dockwrath is a very —” 
 
 ‘No, no; exactly. I dare say not. You've never 
 seen him yourself, Crabwitz?” 
 
 “Who, sir? I, sir? No, sir, [ve never set eyes 
 on the man, sir. From all I hear it’s not very likely 
 he should come here; and I’m sure it is not at all 
 likely that I should go to him.” 
 
 Mr. Furnival sat thinking awhile, and the clerk 
 stood waiting opposite to him, leaning with both his 
 hands upon the table. ‘You don’t know any one in 
 the neighbourhood of Hamworth, I suppose?” Mr. 
 Furnival said at last. 
 
 “Who, sir? I, sir? Not a soul, sir. I never was 
 there in my life.” 
 
 “Tl tell you why I ask. I strongly suspect that 
 that man Dockwrath is at some very foul play.” And 
 then he told to his clerk so much of the whole story 
 of Lady Mason and her affairs as he chose that he 
 should know. “It is plain enough that he may give 
 Lady Mason a great deal of annoyance,” he ended by 
 saying. 
 
 ‘“There’s no doubting that, sir,” said Crabwitz. 
 ‘And, to tell the truth, I believe ‘his mind is made up 
 to do it.” 
 
 ite me Ti ea 
 
OPS sok ere St Se ae) ae he Gre tient) “CT Dene ie 
 Go PA ‘ } bs 
 i Mi \ } 
 
 WHY SHOULD I NOT? 329 
 
 “You don’t think that anything could be done by 
 seeing him? Of course Lady Mason has got nothing 
 to compromise. Her son’s estate is as safe as my hat; 
 but —” 
 
 “The people at Round’s think it isn’t quite so safe, sir.” 
 
 ‘'Then the people at Round’s know nothing about 
 it. But Lady Mason is so averse to legal proceedings 
 that it would be worth her while to have matters settled. 
 You understand?” 
 
 “Yes, sir; I understand. Would not an attorney 
 be the best person, sir?” : 
 
 ‘Not just at present, Crabwitz. Lady Mason is a 
 very dear friend of mine —” 
 
 “Yes, sir; we know that,” said Crabwitz. 
 
 “Tf you could make any pretence for running down 
 to Hamworth — change of air, you know, for a week 
 or so. It’s a beautiful country; just the place you like. 
 And you might find out whether anything could be 
 done, eh?” 
 
 Mr. Crabwitz was well aware, from the first, that 
 he did not get fifty pounds for nothing. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 Why should I not? 
 
 A pay or two after his conversation with Crabwitz, 
 as described in the last chapter, Mr. Furnival was 
 driven up to the door of Sir Peregrine Orme’s house in 
 a Hamworth fly. He had come over by train from 
 Alston on purpose to see the baronet, whom he found 
 seated in his library. At that very moment he was 
 again asking himself those questions which he had be- 
 fore asked as he was walking up and down his own 
 
330 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 dining-room. ‘Why should I not?” he said to him- 
 self, — “unless, indeed, it will make her unhappy.” 
 And then the barrister was shown into his room, muf- 
 fled up to his eyes in his winter clothing. 
 
 Sir Peregrine and Mr. Furnival were well known 
 to each other, and had always met as friends. They 
 had been interested on the same side in the first Orley 
 Farm Case, and possessed a topic of sympathy in their 
 mutual dislike to Joseph Mason of Groby Park. Sir 
 Peregrine therefore was courteous, and when he learned 
 the subject on which he was to be consulted he be- 
 came almost more than courteous. 
 
 “Oh! yes; she’s staying here, Mr. Furnival. Would 
 you like to see her?” 
 
 ‘Before I leave I shall be glad to see her, Sir Pere- 
 grine; but if I am justified in regarding you as special- 
 ly her friend, 1t may perhaps be well that I should 
 first have some conversation with you.” Sir Pere- 
 grine in answer to this declared that Mr. Furnival cer- 
 tainly would be so justified; that he did regard himself 
 as Lady Mason’s special friend, and that he was ready to 
 hear anything that the barrister might have to say to him. 
 
 Many of the points of this case have alréady been 
 named so often, and will, I fear, be necessarily named 
 so often again that I will spare the repetition when it 
 is possible. Mr. Furnival on this occasion told Sir 
 Peregrine — not all that he had heard, but all that 
 he thought it necessary to tell, and soon became fully 
 aware that in the baronet’s mind there was not the 
 slightest shadow of suspicion that Lady Mason could 
 have been in any way to blame. He, the baronet, was 
 thoroughly convinced that Mr. Mason was the great 
 sinner in this matter, and that he was prepared to 
 
‘te fegs': see Ve meh) Ome Pye " tod yes CD ATT NS or ont i Ml Ba ea fT 
 PE Se Bm Ne NS SaaS 8 ieee ee | ape | an vs ") ‘ 
 come SSN : . 
 
 WHY SHOULD I NOT? 331 
 
 harass an innocent and excellent lady from motives of 
 disappointed cupidity and long-sustained malice, which 
 made him seem in Sir Peregrine’s eyes a being almost 
 too vile for humanity. And of Dockwrath he thought 
 almost as badly — only that Dockwrath was below the 
 level of his thinking. Of Lady Mason he spoke as an 
 excellent and beautiful woman driven to misery by 
 unworthy persecution; and so spoke with an enthusiasm 
 that was surprising to Mr. Furnival. It was very 
 manifest that she would not want for friendly counte- 
 nance, if friendly countenance could carry her through 
 her difficulties. 
 
 There was no suspicion against Lady Mason in the 
 mind of Sir Peregrine, and Mr. Furnival was careful 
 not to arouse any such feeling. When he found that 
 the baronet spoke of her as being altogether pure and 
 good, he also spoke of her in the same tone; but in 
 doing so his game was very difficult. “Let him do 
 his worst, Mr. Furnival,” said Sir Peregrine; ‘‘and let 
 her remain tranquil; that is my advice to Lady Mason. 
 It is not possible that he can really injure her.” 
 
 “It is possible that he can do nothing — very 
 probable that he can do nothing; but nevertheless, Sir 
 Peregrine —” 
 
 “T would have no dealing with him or his. I 
 would utterly disregard them. If he, or they, or any 
 of them choose to take steps to annoy her, let her at- 
 torney manage that in the usual way. I am no lawyer 
 myself, Mr. Furnival, but that I think is the manner 
 | in which things of this kind should be arranged. I 
 do not know whether they have still the power of dis- 
 puting the will, but if so, let them do it.” 
 
 Gradually, by very slow degrees, Mr. Furnival 
 
Ra PLY hte aed nee See ABT AY nd Pung Sa "ge hA os 
 4 mT actin 
 
 $32 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 made Sir Peregrine understand that the legal doings 
 now threatened were not of that nature; — that Mr. 
 Mason did not now talk of proceeding at law for the — 
 recovery of the property, but for the punishment of his 
 father’s widow as a criminal; and at last the dreadful 
 word “forgery” dropped from his lips. 
 
 ‘“Who dares to make such a charge as that?” de- 
 manded the baronet, while fire literally flashed from 
 his eyes in his anger. And when he was told that 
 Mr. Mason did make such a charge he called him “a 
 mean, unmanly dastard.” “I do not believe that he 
 
 _ would dare to make it against a man,” said Sir Peregrine. | 
 
 But there was the fact of the charge — the fact 
 that it had been placed in the hands of respectable at- 
 torneys, with instructions to them to press it on — and 
 the fact also that the evidence by which that charge — 
 was to be supported possessed at any rate a primd 
 facie appearance of strength. All this it was neces-_ 
 sary to explain to Sir Peregrine, as it would also be — 
 necessary to explain it to Lady Mason. 
 
 ‘“‘Am I to understand, then, that you also think —?” 
 began Sir Peregrine. | 
 
 “You are not to understand that I think anything — 
 injurious to the lady; but I do fear that she is in a 
 position of much jeopardy, and that great care will be 
 necessary.” 
 
 “Good heavens! Do you mean to say that an in- © 
 nocent person can under such circumstances be in 
 danger in this country?” : 
 
 ‘‘An innocent person, Sir Peregrine, may be in™ 
 danger of very great annoyance, and also of very great } 
 delay in proving that innocence. Innocent people have |, 
 died under the weight of such charges. We. must re- 
 
ad 
 
 WHY SHOULD I NoT? 3o0 
 
 member that she is a woman, and therefore weaker 
 
 than you or I.” 
 
 “Yes, yes; but still —. You do not say that you 
 
 think she can be in any real danger?” It seemed, 
 from the tone of the old man’s voice, as though he were 
 almost angry with Mr. Furnival for supposing that 
 
 such could be the case. ‘And you intend to tell her 
 
 | all this?” he asked. 
 
 “TI fear that, as her friend, neither you nor I will 
 
 : be warranted in keeping her altogether in the dark. 
 Think what her feelings would be if she were sum- 
 _moned before a magistrate without any preparation!” 
 
 = TT = = wee D4: 2 
 
 “No magistrate would listen to such a charge,” 
 said Sir Peregrine. 
 
 “In that he must be guided by the evidence.” 
 
 “TJ would sooner throw up my commission than 
 lend myself in any way to a proceeding so iniquitous.” 
 
 This was all very well, and the existence of such 
 
 a feeling showed great generosity, and perhaps also 
 _ poetic chivalry on the part of Sir Peregrine Orme; 
 
 but it was not the way of the world, and so Mr. Furni- 
 val was obliged to explain. Magistrates would listen 
 to the charge — would be forced to listen to~ the 
 charge, — if the evidence were apparently sound. A 
 refusal on the part of a magistrate to do so would not 
 be an act of friendship to Lady Mason, as Mr. Furni- 
 
 val endeavoured to explain. “And you wish to see 
 
 her?” Sir Peregrine asked at last. 
 
 ‘T think she should be told; but as she is in your 
 house, I will, of course, do nothing in which you do 
 not concur.” Upon which Sir Peregrine rang the bell 
 and desired the servant to take his compliments to 
 Lady Mason and beg her attendance in the library if 
 
 dE le Si Ne Malta ea a i A Nt ee AC 
 
ROU NS Ce as Ne Arret ary cent lee ‘ i fetal oth ad iii 
 334 ) ORLEY FARM. Sue | 
 
 it were quite convenient. “Tell her,” said Sir Pere- 
 grine, “that Mr. Furnival is here.” 
 
 When the message was given to her she was seated 
 with Mrs. Orme, and at the moment she summoned 
 strength to say that she would obey the invitation, 
 without displaying any special emotion while the ser- 
 vant was in the room; but when the door was shut, 
 her friend looked at her and saw that she was as pale 
 as death. She was pale and her limbs quivered, and 
 that look of agony, which now so often marked her 
 face, was settled on her brow. Mrs. Orme had never 
 yet seen her with such manifest signs of suffering as 
 she wore at this instant. 
 
 “T suppose I must go to them,” she said, slowly 
 rising from her seat; and it seemed to Mrs. Orme that 
 she was forced to hold by the table to support herself. 
 
 “Mr. Furnival is a friend, is he not?” 
 
 ‘Oh, yes! a kind friend, but —” 
 
 “They shall come in here if you like it better, - 
 dear.” 
 
 “Oh, no! I will go to them. It would not do that 
 I should seem so weak. What must you think of me 
 to see me so?” 
 
 “T do not wonder at it, dear,” said Mrs. Orme, 
 coming round to her; “such cruelty would kill me. I 
 wonder at your strength rather than your weakness.” 
 And then she kissed her. What was there about the 
 woman that had made all those fond of her that came 
 near her? ! 
 
 Mrs. Orme walked with her across the hall, and 
 left her only at the library door. There she pressed 
 her hand and again kissed her, and then Lady Mason 
 turned the handle of the door and entered the room. 
 
bi a a ese Wu Te aT Aaa ANS arcana aon a a 
 ri. % ae 4 dip ‘ a ee > ‘eg “ 
 ; sh ale is me ‘ 4 
 
 WHY SHOULD I NOT? ES 
 
 Mr. Furnival, when he looked at her, was startled by 
 the pallor of her face, but nevertheless he thought that 
 s.e had never looked so beautiful. ‘Dear Lady Mason,” 
 said he, ‘I hope you are well.” 
 
 Sir Peregrine advanced to her and handed her over 
 to his own arm-chair. Had she been a queen in dis- 
 tress she could not have been treated with more gentle 
 deference. But she never seemed to count upon this, 
 or in any way to assume it as her right. I should ac- 
 cuse her of what I regard as a sin against all good 
 taste were I to say that she was humble in her de- 
 meanour; but there was a soft meekness about her, an 
 air of feminine dependence, a proneness to lean and 
 almost to cling as she leaned, which might have been 
 felt as irresistible by any man. She was a woman to 
 know in her deep sorrow rather than in her joy and 
 happiness; one with whom one would love to weep 
 rather than to rejoice. And, indeed, the present was 
 a time with her for weeping, not for rejoicing. 
 
 Sir Peregrine looked as though he were her father 
 as he took her hand, and the barrister immediately 
 comforted himself with the remembrance of the baronet’s 
 great age. It was natural, too, that Lady Mason 
 should hang on him in his own house. So Mr. Furni- 
 val contented himself at the first moment with touch~ 
 ing her hand and hoping that she was well. She an- 
 swered hardly a word to either of them, but she 
 attempted to smile as she sat down, and murmured 
 something about the trouble she was giving them. 
 
 “Mr. Furnival thinks it best that you should be 
 made aware of the steps which are being taken by Mr. 
 Mason of Groby Park,” began Sir Peregrine. “I am 
 
336 ORLEY FARM. 
 no lawyer myself, and therefore of course I cannot put 
 my advice against his.” 
 
 “T am sure that both of you will tell me for the 
 best,” she said. 
 
 ‘In such a matter as this it is right that you should 
 be guided by him. That he is as firmly your friend 
 as I am there can be no doubt. 
 
 “I believe Lady Mason trusts me in that,” said the 
 lawyer. 
 
 “Indeed I do; I would trust you both in anything,” 
 she said. . 
 
 ‘‘And there can be no doubt that he must be able 
 to direct you for the best. I say so much at the first, 
 because I myself so thoroughly despise that man in 
 Yorkshire, — I am so convinced that anything which 
 his malice may prompt him to do must be futile, that 
 I could not myself have thought it needful to pain you 
 by what must now be said.” 
 
 This was a dreadful commencement, but she bore 
 it, and even was relieved by it. Indeed, no tale that 
 Mr. Furnival could have to tell after such an exordium 
 would be so bad as that which she had feared as the 
 possible result of his visit. He might have come there 
 to let her know that she was at once to be carried 
 away — immediately to be taken to her trial — per- 
 haps to be locked up in gaol. In her ignorance of the 
 law she could only imagine what might or might not 
 happen to her at any moment, and therefore the words 
 which Sir Peregrine had spoken relieved her rather 
 than added to her fears. 
 
 And then Mr. Furnival began his tale, and gradu- 
 ally put before her the facts of the matter. ‘This he 
 did with a choice of language and a delicacy of phra- 
 
WHY SHOULD I NoT? ' 337 
 
 seology which were admirable, for he made her clearly 
 understand the nature of the accusation which was 
 brought against her without using any word which was 
 in itself harsh in its bearing. He said nothing about 
 fraud, or forgery, or false evidence, but he made it 
 manifest to her that Joseph Mason had now instructed 
 his lawyer to institute a criminal proceeding against 
 her for having forged a codicil to her husband’s will. 
 
 “T must bear it as best I may,” she said. ‘May 
 the Lord give me strength to bear it!” 
 
 “It is terrible to think of,” said Sir Peregrine; 
 “but nobody can doubt how it will end. You are not 
 to suppose that Mr. Furnival intends to express any 
 doubt as to your ultimate triumph. What we fear for 
 you is the pain you must endure before this triumph 
 comes.” 
 
 Ah, if that were all! As the baronet finished 
 speaking she looked furtively into the lawyer’s face to 
 see how far the meaning of these smooth words would 
 be supported by what she might read there. Would 
 he also think that a final triumph did certainly await 
 her? Sir Peregrine’s real opinion was easily to be 
 learned, either from his countenance or from his words; 
 but it was not so with Mr. Furnival. In Mr. Furnival’s 
 face, and from Mr. Furnival’s words, could be learned 
 only that which Mr. Furnival wished to declare. He 
 saw that glance, and fully understood it; and he knew 
 instinctively, on the spur of the moment, that he must 
 now either assure her by a lie, or break down all her 
 hopes by the truth. ‘That final triumph was not 
 certain to her —- was very far from certain! Should he 
 now be honest to his friend, or dishonest? One great 
 object with him was to secure the support which Sir 
 
 Orley Farm. I. 22 
 
wy et a eal i ete aie Ae 
 
 338° ' \ > ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Peregrine could give by his weight in the county; and 
 therefore, as Sir Peregrine was present, it was needful 
 that he should be dishonest. Arguing thus he looked 
 the lie, and Lady Mason derived more comfort from 
 that look than from all Sir Peregrine’s words. 
 
 And then those various details were explained to 
 her which Mr. Furnival understood that Mr. Dockwrath 
 had picked up. They went into that matter of the 
 partnership deed, and questions were asked as to the 
 man Kenneby and the woman Bolster. They might 
 both, Lady Mason said, have been witnessess to half a 
 dozen deeds on that same day, for aught she knew to 
 the contrary. She had been present with Sir Joseph, 
 as far as she could now remember, during the whole 
 of that morning, “in and out, Sir Peregrine, as you 
 can understand.” Sir Peregrine said that he did under- 
 stand perfectly. She did know that Mr. Usbech had 
 been there for many hours that day, probably from ten 
 to two or three, and no doubt therefore much business 
 was transacted. She herself remembered nothing but 
 the affair of the will; but then that was natural, seeing 
 that there was no other affair in which she had specially 
 interested herself. 
 
 ‘No doubt these people did witness both the deeds,” 
 said Sir Peregrine. “For myself, I cannot conceive 
 how that wretched man can be so silly as to spend his 
 money on such a case as this.” 
 
 ‘He would do anything for revenge,” said Mr. 
 Furnival. 
 
 And then Lady Mason was allowed to go back to 
 the drawing-room, and what remained to be said was 
 said between the two gentlemen alone. Sir Peregrine 
 was very anxious that his own attorneys should be 
 
WHY SHOULD I NOT? 339 
 
 employed, and he named Messrs. Slow and Bideawhile, 
 than whom there were no more respectable men in the 
 whole profession. But then Mr. Furnival feared that 
 they were too respectable. They might look at the 
 matter in so straight-forward a light as to fancy their 
 client really guilty; and what might happen then? 
 Old Slow would not conceal the truth for all the ba- 
 ronets in England — no, nor for all the pretty women. 
 The touch of Lady Mason’s hand and the tear in her 
 eye would be nothing to old Slow. Mr. Furnival, 
 therefore, was obliged to explain that Slow and Bide- 
 awhile did not undertake that sort of business. 
 
 ‘But 1 should wish it to be taken up through them. 
 There must be some expenditure, Mr. Furnival, and I 
 should prefer that they should arrange about that.” 
 
 My. Furnival made no further immediate objection, 
 and consented at last to having an interview with one 
 of the firm on the subject, provided, of course, that 
 that member of the firm came to him at his chambers. 
 And then he took his leave. Nothing positive had 
 been done, or even settled to be done, on this morning; 
 but the persons most interested in the matter had been 
 made to understand that the affair was taking an ab- 
 solute palpable substance, and that steps must be taken 
 — indeed, would be taken almost immediately. Mr. 
 Furnival, as he left the house, resolved to employ the 
 attorneys whom he might think best adapted for the 
 purpose. He would settle that matter with Slow and 
 Bideawhile afterwards. 
 
 And then, as he returned to Noningsby, he won- 
 dered at his persistence in the matter. He believed 
 that his client had been guilty; he believed that this 
 codicil was no real instrument made by Sir Joseph 
 
 22* 
 
340 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Mason. And so believing, would it not be better for 
 him to wash his hands of the whole affair? Others 
 
 did not think so, and would it not be better that such ~ 
 
 others should be her advisers? Was he not taking up 
 for himself endless trouble and annoyance that could 
 have no useful purpose? So he argued with himself, 
 
 and yet by the time that he had reached Noningsby 
 
 he had determined that he would stand by Lady Mason 
 to the last. He hated that man Mason, as he declared 
 to himself when providing himself with reasons for his 
 resolve, and regarded his bitter, malicious justice as 
 more criminal than any crime of which Lady Mason 
 might have been guilty. And then as he leaned back 
 in the railway carriage he still saw her pale face before 
 him, still heard the soft tone of her voice, and was still 
 melted by the tear in her eye. Young man, young 
 friend of mine, who art now filled to the overflowing 
 of thy brain with poetry, with chivalry, and love, thou 
 seest seated opposite to thee there that grim old man, 
 with long snuffy nose, with sharp piercing eyes, with 
 scanty frizzled hairs. He is rich and cross, has been 
 three times married, and has often quarrelled with his 
 children. He is fond of his wine, and snores dread- 
 fully after dinner. To thy seeming he is a dry, with- 
 ered stick, from which all the sap of sentiment has 
 been squeezed by the rubbing and friction of years. 
 Poetry, the feeling if not the words of poetry, — is he 
 not dead to it, even as the pavement is dead over 
 which his wheels trundle? Oh, my young friend! thou 
 art ignorant in this — as in most other things. He 
 may not twitter of sentiment, as thou doest; nor may 
 I trundle my hoop along the high road as do the little 
 boys. ‘The fitness of things forbids it. But that old 
 
 DRED 
 
WHY SHOULD {I NOT? 341 
 
 man’s heart is as soft as thine, if thou couldst but read 
 it. The body dries up and withers away, and the 
 bones grow old; the brain, too, becomes decrepit, as 
 do the sight, the hearing, and the soul. But the heart 
 that is tender once remains tender to the last. 
 
 Lady Mason, when she left the library, walked 
 across the hall towards the drawing-room, and then she 
 paused. She would fain remain alone for a while if it 
 were possible, and therefore she turned aside into a 
 small breakfast parlour, which was used every morning, 
 but which was rarely visited afterwards during the day. 
 Here she sat, leaving the door slightly open, so that 
 she might know when Mr. Furnival left the baronet. 
 Here she sat for a full hour, waiting — waiting — 
 waiting. ‘There was no sofa or lounging-chair in the 
 room, reclining in which she could remain there half 
 sleeping, sitting comfortably at her ease; but she placed 
 herself near the table, and leaning there with her face 
 upon her hand, she waited patiently till Mr. Furnival 
 had gone. ‘That her mind was full of thoughts I need 
 hardly say, but yet the hour seemed very long to her. 
 At last she heard the library door open, she heard Sir 
 Peregrine’s voice as he stood in the hall and shook 
 hands with his departing visitor, she heard the sound 
 of the wheels as the fly moved upon the gravel, and 
 then she heard Sir Peregrine again shut the library 
 door behind him. 
 
 She did not immediately get up from her chair; 
 she still waited awhile, perhaps for another period of 
 ten minutes, and then she noiselessly left the room, 
 and moving quickly and silently across the hall she 
 knocked at Sir Peregrine’s door. This she did so 
 gently that at first no answer was made to her. ‘Then 
 
342 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 she knocked again, hardly louder but with a repeated 
 rap, and Sir Peregrine summoned her to come in. 
 ‘““May I trouble you once more — for one moment?” 
 she said. 
 
 “Certainly, certainly; it is no trouble. I am glad 
 that you are here in the house at this time, that you 
 may see me at any moment that you may wish.” 
 
 “TI do not know why you should be so good to me.” 
 
 “Because you are in great grief, in undeserved 
 
 grief, because —. Lady Mason, my services are at 
 your command. I will act for you as I would for a — 
 daughter.” 
 
 “You hear now of what it is that they accuse me.” 
 
 “Yes,” he said; ‘I do hear:” and as he spoke he 
 came round so that he was standing near to her, but 
 with his back to the fireplace. “I do hear, and I 
 blush to think that there is a man in England, holding 
 the position of a county magistrate, who can so forget 
 all that is due to honesty, to humanity, and to self- 
 respect.” 
 
 “You do not then think that I have been guilty of 
 this thing?” 
 
 “Guilty — I think you guilty! No, nor does he 
 think so. It is impossible that he should think so. I 
 am no more sure of my own innocence than of yours;” 
 and as he spoke he took both her hands and looked 
 into her face, and his eyes also were full of tears. “You 
 may be sure of this, that neither I nor Edith will 
 ever think you guilty” 
 
 ‘“Dearest Edith,” she said; she had never before 
 called Sir Peregrine’s daughter-in-law by her Christian 
 name, and as she now did so she almost felt that she 
 had sinned. But Sir Peregrine took it in good part. 
 
Ue SRA te tah alas Puts ib a ho a ls te rr RL teas hee aa 
 
 WHY SHOULD I NOT? 343 
 
 “She is dearest,” he said; “and be sure of this, that 
 she will be true to you through it all.” 
 
 And so they stood for a while without further 
 speech. He still held both her hands, and the tears 
 still stood in his eyes. Her eyes were turned to the 
 ground, and from them the tears were running fast. 
 At first they ran silently, without audible sobbing, and 
 Sir Peregrine, with his own old eyes full of salt water, 
 hardly knew that she was weeping. But gradually the 
 drops fell upon his hand, one by one at first, and then 
 faster and faster; and soon there came a low sob, a 
 sob all but suppressed, but which at last forced itself 
 forth, and then her head fell upon his shoulder. ‘My 
 dear,” he said, himself hardly able to speak; ‘my 
 poor dear, my ill-used dear!” and as she withdrew one 
 hand from his, that she might press a handkerchief to 
 her face, his vacant arm passed itself round her waist. 
 “My poor, ill-used dear!” he said again, as he pressed 
 her to his old heart, and leaning over her he kissed 
 her lips. 
 
 So she stood for some few seconds, feeling that she 
 was pressed close by the feeble pressure of his arm, 
 and then she gradually sank through from his embrace, 
 and fell upon her knees at his feet. She knelt at his 
 feet, supporting herself with one arm upon the table, 
 and with the other hand she still held his hand over 
 which her head was bowed. ‘My friend,” she said, 
 still sobbing, and sobbing loudly now; “my friend, 
 that God has sent me in my trouble.” And then, with 
 words that were wholly inaudible, she murmured some 
 prayer on his behalf. 
 
 “T am better now,” she said, raising herself quickly 
 to her feet when a few seconds had passed. “I am 
 
 7 
 
344 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 better now,’ and she stood erect before him. “By 
 God’s mercy I will endure it; I think I can endure it 
 now.” 
 
 “Tf I can lighten the load —” 
 
 ‘You have lightened it — of half its weight; but, 
 Sir Peregrine, I will leave this —” 
 
 ‘Leave this! go away from The Cleeve!” 
 
 “Yes; I will not destroy the comfort of your home 
 by the wretchedness of my position. I will not —” 
 
 ‘‘Lady Mason, my house is altogether at your service. 
 If you will be led by me in this matter, you will not 
 leave it till this cloud shall have passed by you. Yow 
 will be better to be alone now;” and then before she 
 could answer him further, he led her to the door. She 
 felt that it was better for her to be alone, and she 
 hastened up the stairs to her own chamber. 
 
 ‘And why should I not?” said Sir Peregrine to 
 himself, as he again walked the length of the library. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVILI. 
 
 Commerce. 
 
 Lucius Mason was still staying at Noningsby when 
 Mr. Furnival made his visit to Sir Peregrine, and on 
 that afternoon he received a note from his mother. 
 Indeed, there were three notes passed between them 
 on that afternoon, for he wrote an answer to his mother, 
 and then received a reply to that answer. Lady Mason 
 told him that she did not intend to return home to the 
 Farm quite immediately, and explained that her reason 
 for not doing so was the necessity that she should have 
 assistance and advice at this period of her trouble. 
 She did not say that she misdoubted the wisdom of her 
 
COMMERCE. 345 
 
 son’s counsels; but it appeared to him that she intended 
 to signify to him that she did so, and he answered her 
 in words that were sore and almost bitter. “I am 
 sorry,” he said, “that you and I cannot agree about a 
 matter that is of such vital concern to both of us; but as it 
 is so, we can only act as each thinks best, you for yourself 
 and I for myself. I am sure, however, that you will 
 believe that my only object is your happiness and your 
 fair name, which is dearer to me than anything else in 
 the world.” In answer to this, she had written again im- 
 mediately, filling her letter with sweet words of motherly 
 love, telling him that she was sure, quite sure, of his 
 affection and kind spirit, and excusing herself for not 
 putting the matter altogether in his hands by saying 
 that she was forced to lean on those who had supported 
 her from the beginning — through that former trial 
 which had taken place when he, Lucius, was yet a 
 baby. ‘‘And, dearest Lucius, you must not be angry 
 with me,” she went on to say; “I am suffering much 
 under this cruel persecution, but my sufferings would 
 be more than doubled if my own boy quarrelled with 
 me.” Lucius, when he received this, flung up his 
 head. “Quarrel with her,” he said to himself; “nothing 
 on earth would make me quarrel with her; but I can- 
 not say that that is right which I think to be wrong.” 
 His feelings were good and honest, and kindly too in 
 their way; but tenderness of heart was not his weak- 
 ness. J should wrong him if I were to say that he 
 was hard-hearted, but he flattered himself that he was 
 just-hearted, which sometimes is nearly the same — 
 as had been the case with his father before him, and 
 was now the case with his half-brother Joseph. 
 
 The day after this was his last at Noningsby. He 
 
346 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 had told Lady Staveley that he intended to go, and 
 though she had pressed his further stay, remarking 
 that none of the young people intended to move till 
 after twelfth-night, nevertheless he persisted. With the 
 young people of the house themselves he had not much 
 advanced himself; and altogether he did not find him- 
 self thoroughly happy in the judge’s house. They were 
 more thoughtless than he — as he thought; they did 
 not. understand him, and therefore he would leave 
 them. Besides, there was a great day of hunting 
 coming on, at which everybody was to take a part, 
 and as he did not hunt that gave him another reason 
 for going. “They have nothing to do but amuse them- 
 selves,” he said to himself; ‘‘but I have a man’s work 
 
 before me, and a man’s misfortunes. I will go home 
 
 and face both.” 
 
 In all this there was much of conceit, much of 
 pride, much of deficient education — deficiency in that 
 special branch of education which England has imparted 
 to the best of her sons, but which is now becoming 
 out of fashion. He had never learned to measure him- 
 self against others, — I do not mean his knowledge 
 or his book-acquirements, but the every-day conduct 
 of his life, — and to perceive that that which is in- 
 significant in others must be insignificant in himself also. 
 To those around him at Noningsby his extensive read- 
 ing respecting the Iapetide recommended him not at 
 all, nor did his agricultural ambitions; — not even to 
 Felix Graham, as a companion, though Felix Graham 
 could see further into his character than did the others. 
 He was not such as they were. He had not the un- 
 pretentious, self-controlling humour, perfectly free from 
 all conceit, which was common to them. Life did not 
 
COMMERCE. 347 
 
 come easy to him, and the effort which he was ever 
 making was always visible. All men should ever be 
 making efforts, no doubt; but those efforts should not be 
 conspicuous. But yet Lucius Mason was not a bad fellow, 
 and young Staveley showed much want of discernment 
 when he called him empty-headed and selfish. Those 
 epithets were by no means applicable to him. That 
 he was not empty-headed is certain; and he was more- 
 over capable of a great self-sacrifice. 
 
 That his talents and good qualities were appreciated 
 by one person in the house, seemed evident to Lady 
 Staveley and the other married ladies of the party. 
 Miss Furnival, as they all thought, had not found him 
 empty-neaded. And, indeed, it may be doubted whe- 
 ther Lady Staveley would have pressed his stay at 
 Noningsby, had Miss Furnival been less gracious. 
 Dear Lady Staveley was always living in a fever lest 
 her only son, the light of her eyes, should fall irrevo- 
 cably in love with some lacy that was by no means 
 good enough for him. Revocably in love he was daily 
 falling; but some day he would go too deep, and the 
 waters would close over his well-loved head. Now in 
 her dear old favouring eyes Sophia Furnival was by 
 no means good enough, and it had been quite clear 
 that Augustus had become thoroughly lost in his at- 
 tempts to bring about a match between Felix Graham 
 and the barrister’s daughter. In preparing the bath 
 for his friend he had himself fallen bodily into the 
 water. He was always at Miss Furnival’s side, as long 
 as Miss Furnival would permit it. But it seemed to 
 Lady Staveley that Miss Furnival, luckily, was quite 
 as fond of having Lucius Mason at her side; — that 
 of the two she perhaps preferred Lucius Mason. That 
 
348 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 her taste and judgment should be so bad was wonder- 
 ful to Lady Staveley; but this depravity though won- 
 derful was useful; and therefore Lucius Mason might 
 have been welcome to remain at Noningsby. 
 
 It may, however, be possible that Miss Furnival 
 knew what she was doing quite as well as Lady Stave- 
 ley could know for her. In the first place she may 
 possibly have thought it indiscreet to admit Mr. Stave- 
 ley’s attentions with too much freedom. She may 
 have doubted their sincerity, or feared to give offence 
 to the family, or Mr. Mason may in her sight have 
 been the preferable suitor. That his gifts of intellect 
 were at any rate equal to those of the other there can 
 be no doubt. Then his gifts of fortune were already 
 his own, and, for ought that Miss Furnival knew, 
 might be equal to any that would ever appertain to 
 the other gentleman. That Lady Staveley should think 
 her swan better looking than Lady Mason’s goose was 
 very natural; but then Lady Mason would no doubt 
 have regarded the two birds in an exactly opposite 
 light. It is only fair to conceive that Miss Furnival 
 was a better judge than either of them. 
 
 On the evening before his departure -the whole 
 party had been playing commerce; for the rule 
 of the house during these holidays was this, that 
 all the amusements brought into vogue were to be 
 adapted to the children. If the grown-up people could 
 adapt themselves to them, so much the better for them; 
 if not, so much the worse; they must in such case 
 provide for themselves. On the whole, the grown-up 
 people seemed to live nearly as jovial a life as did the 
 children. Whether the judge himself was specially 
 fond of commerce I cannot say; but he persisted im 
 
COMMERCE. 349 
 
 _ putting in the whole pool, and played through the 
 entire game, rigidly fighting for the same pool on be- 
 half of a very small grandchild, who sat during the 
 whole time on his knee. There are those who call 
 ecards the devil’s books, but we will presume that the 
 judge was of a different way of thinking. 
 
 On this special evening Sophia had been sitting 
 next to Augustus, -- a young man can always arrange 
 these matters in his own house, — but had neverthe- 
 less lost all her lives early in the game. ‘‘I will not 
 have any cheating to-night,” she had said to her neigh- 
 bour; ‘“‘I will take my chance, and if I die, I die. 
 One can die but once.” And so she had died, three 
 times indeed instead of once only, and had left the 
 table. Lucius Mason also had died. He generally did 
 die the first, having no aptitude for a collection of 
 kings or aces, and so they two came together over the 
 fire in the second drawing-room, far away from the 
 eard-players. ‘l'here was nothing at all remarkable in 
 this, as Mr. Furnival and one or two others who did 
 not play commerce were also there; but nevertheless 
 they were separated from those of the party who were 
 most inclined to criticise their conduct. 
 
 ‘So you are leaving to-morrow, Mr. Mason,” said 
 Sophia. 
 
 “Yes. I go home to-morrow after breakfast; to 
 my own house, where for some weeks to come I shall 
 be absolutely alone.” 
 
 “Your mother is staying at The Cleeve, I think.” 
 
 ‘““Yes, — and intends remaining there as she tells 
 me. J wish with all my heart she were at Orley 
 Farm.” 
 
 ‘Papa saw her yesterday. He went over to The 
 
350 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 Cleeve on purpose to see her; and this morning he has 
 been talking to me about her. I cannot tell you how 
 I grieve for her.” 
 
 “It is very sad; very sad. But I wish she were in 
 her own house. Under the circumstances as they now 
 are, I think it would be better for her to be there than 
 elsewhere. Her name has been disgraced —” 
 
 “No, Mr. Mason; not disgraced.” 
 
 “Yes; disgraced. Mark you; I do not say that she 
 has been disgraced; and pray do not suppose it pos- 
 sible that I should think so. But a great opprobrium 
 has been thrown on her name, and it would be better, 
 I think, that she should remain at home till she has 
 cast it off from her. Kven for myself, I feel it almost 
 wrong to be here; nor would I have come had I known 
 when I did come as much as I do know now.” 
 
 ‘But no one can for a moment think that your 
 mother has done anything that she should not have 
 done.” 
 
 ‘Then why do so many people talk of her as 
 though she had committed a great crime? Miss 
 Furnival, I know that she is innocent. I know it as 
 surely as I know the fact of my own existence —” 
 
 “And we all feel the same thing.” 
 
 ‘But if you were in my place, — if it were your 
 father whose name was so bandied about in people’s 
 mouths, you would think that it behoved him to do 
 nothing, to go nowhere, till he had forced the world to 
 confess his innocence. And this is ten times stronger — 
 with regard to a woman. I have given my mother 
 my counsel, and I regret to say that she differs 
 from me.” 
 
 “Why do you not speak to papa?” 
 
COMMERCE. BOL 
 
 “T did once. I went to him at his chambers, and 
 he rebuked me.” 
 
 ‘““Rebuked you, Mr. Mason! He did not do that in- 
 tentionally I am sure. I have heard him say that you 
 are an excellent son.” 
 
 “But nevertheless he did rebuke me. He considered 
 that I was travelling beyond my own concerns, in 
 wishing to interfere for the protection of my mother’s 
 name. He said that I should leave it to such people 
 as the Staveleys and the Ormes to guard her from 
 ignominy and disgrace.” 
 
 “Oh, he did not mean that!” 
 
 ‘But to me it seems that it should be a son’s first 
 duty. They are talking of trouble and of cost. Lf 
 would give every hour I have in the day, and every 
 shilling I own in the world to save her from one week 
 of such suffering as she now endures; but it cuts me 
 to the heart when she tells me that because she is 
 suffering, therefore she must separate herself from me. 
 I think it would be better for her, Miss Furnival, to 
 be staying at home with me, than to be at The 
 Cleeve.” 
 
 “The kindness of Mrs. Orme must be a great sup- 
 port to her.” 
 
 “And why should not my kindness be a support to 
 her, — or rather my affection? We know from whom 
 all these scandals come. My desire is to meet that man 
 in a court of law and thrust these falsehoods down his 
 throat.” 
 
 “Ah! but you are a man.” 
 
 “And therefore I would take the burden from her 
 shoulders. But no; she will not trust to me. The 
 truth, Miss Furnival, is this, that she has not yet 
 
bose Nhe SEO oe Re rset] a epee Oe OR eg og fT Site «|e. eerie 
 PPR Mt bolt Ate ie NK Mean Le Aer. A A Et oes wee, Tye ren 
 
 352 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 learned to think of me as a man. To her I am still 
 the boy for whom she is bound to provide, not the son 
 who should bear for her all her cares. As it is I feel 
 that I do not dare again to trouble her with my ad- 
 vice.” 
 
 “Grandmamma is dead,” shouted out a shrill small 
 voice from the card-table. “Oh, grandmamma, do 
 have one of my lives. Look! I’ve got three,” said 
 another. 
 
 “Thank you, my dears; but the natural term of 
 my existence has come, and I will not rebel against 
 fate.” 
 
 “Oh, grandmamma, — we’ll let you have another 
 grace.” 
 
 “By no means, Charley. Indeed I am not clear 
 that I am entitled to Christian burial, as it is.” 
 
 “A case of felo de se, I rather think,” said her son. 
 ‘About this time of the night suicide does become 
 common among the elders. Unfortunately for me, the 
 pistol that I have been snapping at my own head for 
 the last half-hour always hangs fire.” 
 
 There was not much of love-making in the con- 
 versation which had taken place between young Mason 
 and Sophia; not much at least up to this point; but a 
 confidence had been established, and before he left her 
 he did say a word or two that was more tender in its 
 nature. “You must not be in dudgeon with me,” he 
 said, “‘for speaking to you of all this. Hitherto I have 
 kept it all to myself, and perhaps I should still have 
 done so.” 
 
 “Qh no; do not say that.” 
 
 “YT am in great grief. It is dreadful to me to hear 
 these things said, and as yet I have found no sympathy.” 
 
COMMERCE. 853 
 
 “TI can assure you, Mr. Mason, that I do sym- 
 pathize with you most sincerely. I only wish my 
 sympathy could be of more value.” 
 
 “It will be invaluable,” he said, not looking at 
 her, but fixing his eyes upon the fire, “if it be given 
 with. constancy from the first to the last of this sad 
 affair.” 
 
 “Tt shall be so given,” said Miss Furnival, also 
 looking at the fire. 
 
 “It will be tolerably long, and men will say cruel 
 things of us. I can foresee this, that it will be very 
 hard to prove to the world with certainty that there is 
 no foundation whatever for these charges. If those 
 who are now most friendly to us turn away from 
 us aid? 
 
 “T will never turn away from you, Mr. Mason.” 
 
 ‘Then give me your hand on that, and remember 
 that such a promise in my ears means much.” He in 
 his excitement had forgotten that there were others in 
 the room who might be looking at them, and that there 
 was a long vista open upon them direct from all the 
 eyes at the card-table; but she did not forget it. Miss 
 Furnival could be very enthusiastic, but she was one 
 of those who in her enthusiasm rarely forgot anything. 
 Nevertheless, after a moment’s pause, she gave him her 
 hand. ‘There it is,” she said; ‘“‘and you may be sure 
 of this, that with me also such a promise does mean 
 something. And now I will say good night.” And 
 so, having received the pressure of her hand, she 
 left him. 
 
 “YT will get you your candle,” he said, and so 
 he did. 
 
 “Good night, papa,” she said, kissing her father. 
 
 Orley Farm. I. 23 
 
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 And then, with a slight muttered word to Lady Stave- 
 ley, she withdrew, having sacrificed the remainder of 
 that evening for the sake of acceding to Mr. Mason’s 
 request respecting her pledge. It could not be ac- 
 counted strange that she should give her hand to the 
 gentleman with whom she was immediately talking as 
 she bade him good night. 
 
 “And now grandpapa is dead too,” said Marian, 
 ‘‘and there’s nobody left but us three.” 
 
 ‘‘And we'll divide,” said Fanny Sebright; and so 
 the game of commerce was brought to an end. 
 
Fe OT ey er ethn Pe 
 
 MONKTON GRANGE. 355 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 Monkton Grange. 
 
 Durina these days Peregrine Orme — though he 
 was in love up to his very chin, seriously in love, 
 acknowledging this matter to himself openly, pulling 
 his hair in the retirement of his bedroom, and resolving 
 that he would do that which he had hitherto in life — 
 always been successful in doing —ask, namely, boldly 
 for that he wanted sorely — Peregrine Orme, I say, 
 though he was in this condition, did not in these days 
 neglect his hunting. A proper attendance upon the 
 proceedings of the H. H. was the only duty which he 
 had hitherto undertaken in return for all that his grand- 
 father had done for him, and I have no doubt that he 
 conceived that he was doing a duty in going hither 
 and thither about the county to their most distant 
 meets. At this period of the present season it hap- 
 pened that Noningsby was more central to the pro- 
 ceedings of the hunt than The Cleeve, and therefore 
 he was enabled to think that he was remaining away 
 from home chiefly on business. On one point, how- 
 ever, he had stoutly come to a resolution. That ques- 
 tion should be asked of Madeline Staveley before he 
 returned to his grandfather’s house. 
 
 And now had arrived a special hunting morning — 
 special, because the meet was in some degree a show 
 meet, appropriate for ladies, at a comfortable distance 
 from Noningsby, and affording a chance of amusement 
 
 23* 
 
356 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 to those who sat in carriages as well as to those on 
 horseback. Monkton Grange was the well-known name 
 of the place, a name perhaps dearer to the ladies than 
 to the gentlemen of the country, seeing that show 
 meets do not always give the best sport. Monkton 
 Grange is an old farm-house, now hardly used as such, 
 having been left, as regards the habitation, in the 
 hands of a head labourer; but it still possesses the 
 marks of ancient respectability and even of grandeur. 
 It is approached from the high road by a long double 
 avenue of elms, which still stand in all their glory. 
 The road itself has become narrow, and the space 
 between the side row of trees is covered by soft turf, 
 up which those coming to the meet love to gallop, 
 trying the fresh metal of their horses. And the old 
 house itself is surrounded by a moat, dry indeed now 
 for the most part, but nevertheless an evident moat, 
 deep and well preserved, with a bridge over it which 
 Fancy tells us must once have been a drawbridge. It 
 is here, in front of the bridge, that the old hounds sit 
 upon their haunches, resting quietly round the horses 
 of the huntsmen, while the young dogs move about, 
 and would wander if the whips allowed them.— one 
 of the fairest sights to my eyes that this fair country 
 of ours can show. And here the sportsmen and ladies 
 congregate by degrees, men from a distance in dog- 
 earts generally arriving first, as being less able to 
 ealculate the time with accuracy. There is room here 
 too in the open space for carriages, and there is one 
 spot on which always stands old Lord Alston’s chariot 
 with the four posters; an ancient sportsman he, who 
 still comes to some few favourite meets; and though 
 Alston Court is but eight miles from the Grange, the 
 
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 Ans mate _., ang Tha ~ eer eA wee in sibe Not Ad, Ath Peet YF 
 
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 ’ i " weit 
 
 MONKTON GRANGE. 357 
 
 post-horses always look as though they had been made 
 to do their best, for his lordship likes to move fast 
 even in his old age. He is a tall thin man, bent much 
 with age, and apparently too weak for much walking; 
 he is dressed from head to foot in a sportsman’s garb, 
 with a broad stiffly starched coloured handkerchief tied 
 rigidly round his neck. One would say that old as he 
 is he has sacrificed in no way to comfort. It is with 
 difficulty that he gets into his saddle, his servant 
 holding his rein and stirrup and giving him perhaps 
 some other slight assistance; but when he is there, 
 there he will remain all day, and when his old blood 
 warms he will gallop along the road with as much hot 
 fervour as his grandson. An old friend he of Sir 
 
 -Peregrine’s. “And why is not your grandfather here 
 
 to-day?” he said on this occasion to young Orme. 
 “Tell him from me that if he fails us in this way, I 
 shall think he is getting old.’ Lord Alston was in 
 truth five years older than Sir Peregrine, but Sir 
 Peregrine at this time was thinking of other things. 
 And then a very tidy little modern carriage bustled 
 up the road, a brougham made for a pair of horses, 
 which was well known to all hunting men in these 
 parts. It was very unpretending in its colour and 
 harness; but no vehicle more appropriate to its purpose 
 ever carried two thorough-going sportsmen day after 
 day about the country. In this as it pulled up under 
 the head tree of the avenue were seated the two Miss 
 Tristrams. The two Miss Tristrams were well known 
 to the Hamworth Hunt — I will not merely say as 
 fearless riders, —- of most girls who hunt as much can 
 be said as that; but they were judicious horsewomen; 
 they knew when to ride hard, and when hard riding, 
 
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 858 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 as regarded any necessary for the hunt, would be ab- 
 solutely thrown away. They might be seen for half 
 the day moving about the roads as leisurely, or stand- 
 ing as quietly at the covert’s side as might the seniors 
 of the field. But when the time for riding did come, 
 
 when the hounds were really running — when other 
 young ladies had begun to go home — then the Miss 
 Tristrams were always there; — there or thereabouts, 
 
 as their admirers would warmly boast. 
 
 Nor did they commence their day’s work as did 
 other girls who came out on hunting mornings. With 
 most such it is clear to see that the object is pretty 
 much the same here as in the ballroom. ‘“Spectatum 
 veniunt; veniunt spectentur ut ipse,” as it is proper, 
 natural, and desirable that they should do. By that 
 word: “spectatum” I would wish to signify something 
 more than the mere use of the eyes. Perhaps an oc- 
 casional word dropped here and there into the ears of 
 a cavalier may be included in it; and the “spectentur” 
 also may include a word so received. But the Miss 
 Tristrams came for hunting. Perhaps there might be a 
 slight shade of affectation in the manner by which they 
 would appear to come for that and that only. They 
 would talk of nothing else, at any rate during the 
 earlier portion of the day, when many listeners were 
 by. ‘They were also well instructed as to the country 
 to be drawn, and usually had a word of import to say 
 to the huntsman. They were good-looking, fair-haired 
 girls, short in size, with bright gray eyes, and a short 
 decisive mode of speaking. It must not be imagined 
 that they were altogether indifferent to such matters as 
 are dear to the hearts of other girls. They were not 
 careless as to admiration, and if report spoke truth of 
 
MONKTON GRANGE. 359 
 
 them were willing enough to establish themselves in 
 the world; but all their doings of that kind had a 
 reference to their favourite amusement, and they would 
 as soon have thought of flirting with men who did 
 not hunt as some other girls would with men who did 
 not dance. 
 
 I do not know that this kind of life had been alto- 
 gether successful with them, or that their father had 
 been right to permit it. He himself had formerly been 
 a hunting man, but he had become fat and lazy, and 
 the thing had dropped away from him. Occasionally 
 he did come out with them, and when he did not do 
 so some other senior of the field would have them 
 nominally under charge; but practically they were as 
 independent when going across the country as the 
 young men who accompanied them. I have expressed 
 a doubt whether this life was successful with them, 
 and indeed such doubt was expressed by many of their 
 neighbours. It had been said of each of them for the 
 last three years that she was engaged, now to this man, 
 and then to that other; but neither this man nor that 
 other had yet made good the assertion, and now people 
 were beginning to say that no man was engaged to 
 either of them. Hunting young ladies are very popular 
 _in the hunting-field; I know no place in which girls 
 receive more worship and attention; but I~am not sure 
 but they may carry their enthusiasm too far for their 
 own interests, let their horsemanship be as perfect as 
 it may be. 
 
 The two girls on this occasion sat in their carriage 
 till the groom brought up their horses, and then it was 
 wonderful to see with what ease they placed them- 
 selves in their saddles. On such occasions they ad- 
 
360 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 mitted no aid from the gentlemen around them, but 
 each stepping for an instant on a servant’s hand, settled 
 herself in a moment on horseback. Nothing could be 
 more perfect than the whole thing, but the wonder was 
 that Mr. Tristram should have allowed it. 
 
 The party from Noningsby consisted of six or seven 
 on horseback, besides those in the carriage. Among 
 the former there were the two young ladies, Miss Fur- 
 nival and Miss Staveley, and our friends Felix Graham, 
 Augustus Staveley, and Peregrine Orme. Felix Graham 
 was not by custom a hunting man, as he possessed 
 neither time nor money for such a pursuit; but to-day 
 he was mounted on his friend Staveley’s second horse, 
 having expressed his determination to ride him as long 
 as they two, the man and the horse, could remain to- 
 gether. 
 
 ‘TI give you fair warning,” Felix had said, “if I 
 do not spare my own neck, you cannot expect me to 
 spare your horse’s legs.” 
 
 ‘You may do your worst,” Staveley had answered. 
 “If you give him his head, and let him have his own 
 way, he won’t come to grief, whatever you may do.” 
 
 On their road to Monkton Grange, which was but 
 three miles from Noningsby, Peregrine Orme had ridden 
 by the side of Miss Staveley, thinking more of her than 
 of the affairs of the hunt, prominent as they were 
 generally in his thoughts. How should he do it, and 
 when, and in what way should he commence the deed? 
 He had an idea that it might be better for him if he 
 could engender some closer intimacy between himself 
 and Madeline before he absolutely asked the fatal 
 question; but the closer intimacy did not seem to pro- 
 duce itself readily. He had, in truth, known Madeline 
 
MONKTON GRANGE. 361 
 
 Staveley for many years, almost since they were chil- 
 dren together; but lately, during these Christmas holi- 
 days especially, there had not been between them that 
 close conversational alliance which so often facilitates 
 such an overture as that which Peregrine was now 
 desirous of making. And, worse again, he had seen 
 that there was such close conversational alliance be-~ 
 tween Madeline and Felix Graham. He did not on 
 that account dislike the young barrister, or call him, 
 even within his own breast, a snob or an ass. He 
 knew well that he was neither the one nor the other; 
 but he knew as well that he could be no fit match for 
 Miss Staveley, and, to tell the truth, he did not suspect 
 that either Graham or Miss Staveley would think of 
 such a thing. It was not jealousy that tormented him, 
 so much as a diffidence in his own resources. He made 
 small attempts which did not succeed, and therefore he 
 determined that he would at once make a grand at- 
 tempt. He would create himself an opportunity before 
 he left Noningsby, and would do it even to-day on 
 horseback, if he could find sufficient opportunity. In 
 taking a determined step like that, he knew that he 
 would not lack the courage. 
 
 ‘Do you mean to ride to-day,” he said to Madeline, 
 as they were approaching the bottom of the Grange 
 avenue. Jor the last half-mile he had been thinking 
 what he would say to her, and thinking in vain; and 
 now, at the last moment, he could summon no words 
 to his assistance more potent for his purpose than 
 
 these. \ 
 
 “If you mean by riding, Mr. Orme, going across 
 the fields with you and the Miss Tristrams, certainly 
 
Weare NN eh ere 
 
 362 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 not. I should come to grief, as you call it, at the first 
 ditch.” 
 
 “And that is just what I shall do,” said Felix 
 Graham, who was at her other side. 
 
 “Then, if you take my advice, you'll remain with 
 us in the wood, and act as squire of dames. What. 
 on ‘earth would Marian do if aught but good was to 
 befall you?” 
 
 “Dear Marian! She gave me a special commission 
 to bring her the fox’s tail. Foxes’ tails are just like 
 ladies.” 
 
 “Thank you, Mr. Graham. I’ve heard you make 
 some pretty compliments, and that is about the pret- 
 tiest.” 
 
 ‘A faint heart will never win either the one or the 
 other, Miss Staveley.” 
 
 “Qh, ah, yes. That will do very well. Under 
 these circumstances I will accept the comparison.” 
 
 All of which very innocent conversation was over- 
 heard by Peregrine Orme, riding on the other side of 
 Miss Staveley’s horse.- And why not? Neither Graham 
 nor Miss Staveley had any objection. But how was it 
 that he could not join in and take his share in it? He 
 had made one little attempt at conversation, and that 
 having failed he remained perfectly silent till they 
 reached the large circle at the head of the avenue. 
 “It’s no use, this sort of thing,” he said to himself. “I 
 must do it at a blow, if I do it at all;” and then he 
 rode away to the master of the hounds. 
 
 As our party arrived at the open space the Miss 
 Tristrams were stepping out of their carriage, and they 
 came up to shake hands with Miss Staveley. 
 
MONKTON GRANGE. 363 
 
 “YT am so glad to see you,” said the eldest; ‘‘it is 
 s0 nice to have some ladies out besides ourselves.” 
 
 “Do keep up with us,” said the second. “It’s a 
 very open country about here, and anybody can ride 
 it.” And then Miss Furnival was introduced to them. 
 “Does your horse jump, Miss Furnival?” 
 
 “TI really do not know,” said Sophia; “but I 
 sincerely trust that if he does, he will refrain to-day.” 
 
 “Don’t say so,” said the eldest sportswoman. “If 
 youll only begin it will come as easy to you as going 
 along the road;” and then, not being able to spare 
 more of these idle moments, they both went off to 
 their horses, walking as though their habits were no 
 impediments to them, and in half a minute they were 
 seated. 
 
 “What is Harriet on to-day?” asked Staveley of a 
 constant member of the hunt. Now Harriet was the 
 eldest Miss Tristram. 
 
 ‘‘A little brown mare she got last week. That was 
 a terrible brush we had on Friday. You weren’t out, 
 I think. We killed in the open, just at the edge of 
 Rotherham Common. Harriet was one of the few that 
 was up, and I don’t think the chestnut horse will be 
 the better of it this season.” 
 
 ‘That was the horse she got from Griggs?” 
 
 “Yes; she gave a hundred and fifty for him; and 
 Pm told he was as nearly done on Friday as any 
 animal you ever put your eyes on. They say Harriet 
 cried when she got home.” Now the gentleman who 
 was talking about Harriet on this occasion was one 
 with whom she would no more have sat down to table 
 than with her own groom. 
 
 But though Harriet may have cried when she got 
 
| 864 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 home on that fatal Friday evening, she was full of the 
 triumph of the hunt on this morning. It is not often 
 that the hounds run into a fox and absolutely sur- 
 round and kill him on the open ground, and when this 
 is done after a severe run there are seldom many there 
 to see it. Ifa man can fairly take a fox’s brush on 
 such an occasion as that, let him do it; otherwise let 
 him leave it to the huntsman. On the occasion in 
 question it seems that Harriet Tristram might have 
 done so, and some one coming second to her had been 
 gallant enough to do it for her. 
 
 “Oh, my lord, you should have been out on Fri- 
 day,” she said to Lord Alston. ‘We had the prettiest 
 thing I ever saw.” 
 
 ‘““A great deal too pretty for me, my dear.” 
 
 “Oh, you who know the roads so well would cer- 
 tainly have been up. I suppose it was thirteen miles 
 from Cobbleton’s Bushes to Rotherham Common.” 
 
 ‘“‘Not much less, indeed,” said his lordship, unwill- 
 ing to diminish the lady’s triumph. Had a gentleman 
 made the boast his lordship would have demonstrated 
 that it was hardly more than eleven. 
 
 “T timed it accurately from the moment: he went 
 away, said the lady, ‘“‘and it was exactly fifty-seven 
 minutes. The first part of it was awfully fast. Then 
 we had a little check at Moseley Bottom. But for that, 
 nobody could have lived through it. I never shall 
 forget how deep it was coming up from there to Crin- 
 gleton. I saw two men get off to ease their horses up 
 the deep bit of plough; and I would have done so 
 too, only my horse would not have stood for me to 
 get up.” 
 
 “I hope he was none the worse for it,” said the 
 
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 MONKTON GRANGE. 365 
 
 sporting character who had been telling Staveley just 
 now she had cried when she got home that night. 
 
 “To tell the truth, I fear it has done him no good. 
 He would not feed, you know, that night at all.” 
 
 “And broke out into cold sweats,” said the gen- 
 tleman. 
 
 “Exactly,” said the lady, not quite liking it, but 
 still enduring with patience. 
 
 “Rather groggy on his pins the nexi morning?” 
 suggested her friend. 
 
 “Very groggy,” said Harriet, regarding the word 
 as one belonging to fair sporting phraseology. 
 
 “And inclined to go very much on the points of 
 his toes. I know all about it, Miss Tristram, as well 
 as though I'd seen him.” 
 
 ‘“'There’s nothing but rest for it, I suppose.” 
 
 “Rest and regular exercise — that’s the chief thing; 
 aud I should give him a mash as often as three times 
 a week. He'll be all right again in three or four 
 weeks, — that is if he’s sound, you know.” 
 
 “Oh, as sound as a bell,” said Miss Tristram. 
 
 ‘He'll never be the same horse on a road though,” 
 said the sporting gentleman, shaking his head and 
 whispering to Staveley. 
 
 And now the time had come at which they were to 
 move. ‘l'hey always met at eleven; and at ten minutes 
 past, to the moment, Jacob the huntsman would sum- 
 mons the old hounds from off their haunches. “I 
 believe we may be moving, Jacob,” said Mr. Williams, 
 the master. 
 
 ‘The time be up,” said Jacob, looking at a pon- 
 derous timekeeper that might with truth be called a 
 hunting-watch; and then they all moved slowly away 
 
NGL ok Negoek A PR EAD home RN ABP! II ee as ee a 
 
 366 - ORLEY FARM. 
 
 back from the Grange, down a farm-road which led to 
 Monkton Wood, distant from the old house perhaps a ~ 
 quarter of a mile. 
 
 ‘“May we go as far as the wood?” said Miss Fur- 
 nival to Augustus. ‘Without being made to ride over 
 hedges, I mean.” 
 
 “Oh, dear, yes; and ride about the wood half the 
 day. It will be an hour and a half before a fox will 
 break — even if he ever breaks.” 
 
 ‘Dear me! how tired you will be of us. Now do 
 say something pretty, Mr. Staveley.” 
 
 “It’s not my meticr. We shall be tired, not of you, 
 but of the thing. Galloping up and down the same 
 cuts in the wood for an hour and a half is not exciting; 
 nor does it improve the matter much if we stand still, 
 as one should do by rights.” 
 
 ‘That would be very slow.” 
 
 “You need not be afraid. They never do here. ~ 
 Everybody will be rushing about as though the very 
 world depended on their galloping.” 
 
 “Tm so glad; that’s just what I like.” 
 
 ‘Everybody except Lord Alston, Miss Tristram, 
 and the other old stagers. They will husband their 
 horses, and come out as fresh at two o’clock as though 
 they were only just out. There is nothing so valuable 
 as experience in hunting.” 
 
 ‘Do you think it nice seeing a young lady with so 
 much hunting knowledge?” 
 
 ‘‘Now you want me to talk slander, but I won’t do 
 it. I admire the Miss Tristrams exceedingly, and 
 especially Julia.” 
 
 ‘And which is Julia?” 
 
 “The youngest; that one riding by herself.” 
 
<a isan Fiat a iy Ae ; Svea, Whee 
 "MONKTON ‘GRANGE. 367 
 
 “And why don’t you go and express your admira- 
 tion?” 
 
 “Ah, me! why don’t we all express the admiration 
 that we feel, and pour sweet praises into the ears of 
 the lady that excites it? Because we are cowards, Miss 
 Furnival, and are afraid even of such a weak thing as 
 a woman.” 
 
 | ‘Dear me! I should hardly have thought that you 
 would suffer from such terror as that.” 
 
 ‘Because you don’t quite know me, Miss Fur- 
 nival.” 
 
 “And Miss Julia Tristram is the lady that has 
 excited it?” 
 
 “Tf it be not she, it is some other fair votary of 
 Diana at present riding into Monkton Wood.” 
 
 ‘““Ah, now you are giving me a riddle to guess, and 
 I never guess riddles. I won’t even try at it. But 
 they all seem to be stopping.” 
 
 “Yes, they are putting the hounds into covert. 
 Now if you want to show yourself a good sportsman, 
 look at your watch. You see that Julia Tristram has 
 got hers in her hand.” 
 
 “What's that for?” 
 
 ‘To time the hounds; to see how long they'll be 
 before they find. It’s very pretty work in a small 
 gorse, but in a great wood like this I don’t care much 
 for being so accurate. But for heaven’s sake don’t tell 
 Julia Tristram; I should not have a chance if she 
 thought I was so slack.” 
 
 And now the hounds were scattering themselves in 
 the wood, and the party rode up the centre roadway 
 towards a great circular opening in the middle of it. 
 Here it was the recognized practice of the horsemen to 
 
368 ORLEY FARM. 
 
 stand, and those who properly did their duty would 
 stand there; but very many lingered at the gate, know- 
 ing that there was but one other exit from the wood, 
 without overcoming the difficulty of a very intricate 
 and dangerous fence. 
 
 ‘There be a gap, baint there?” said one farmer to 
 another, as they were entering. 
 
 “Yes, there be a gap, and young Grubbles broke 
 his ’orse’s back a getting over of it last year,” said the 
 second farmer. 
 
 “Did he though?” said the first; and so they both 
 remained at the gate. 
 
 And others, a numerous body, including most of 
 the ladies, galloped up and down the cross ways, be- 
 cause the master of the hounds and the huntsman did 
 so. ‘“‘D— those fellows riding up and down after me 
 wherever I go,’ said the master. “I believe they 
 think I'm to be hunted.” This seemed to be said more 
 especially to Miss Tristram, who was always in the 
 master’s confidence; and I fear that the fellows alluded 
 to included Miss Furnival and Miss Staveley. 
 
 And then there came the sharp, eager sound of a 
 hound’s voice; a single, sharp, happy opening bark, 
 and Harriet Tristram was the first to declare that the 
 game was found. “Just five minutes and twenty se- 
 conds, my lord,” said Julia Tristram to Lord Alston. 
 ‘““That’s not bad in a large wood like this.” 
 
 ‘“Uncommonly good,” said his lordship. ‘““And when 
 are we to get out of it?” 
 
 “They'll be here for the next hour, I’m afraid,” 
 said the lady, not moving her horse from the place 
 where she stood, though many of the more impetuous 
 of the men were already rushing away to the gates. “I 
 
“MONKTON GRANGE. 869 
 
 have seen a fox go away from here without resting a 
 minute; but that was later in the season, at the end of 
 February. Foxes are away from home then.” All 
 which observations showed a wonderfully acute sport- 
 ing observation on the part of Miss Tristram. 
 
 And then the music of the dogs became fast and 
 frequent, as they drove the brute across and along 
 from one part of the large wood to another. Sure there 
 is no sound like it for fillmg a man’s heart with an 
 eager desire to be at work. What may be the trumpet 
 in battle I do not know, but I can imagine that it has 
 the same effect. And now a few of them were standing 
 on that wide circular piece of grass, when a sound the 
 most exciting of them all reached their ears. ‘He's 
 away!” shouted a whip from a corner of the wood. 
 The goodnatured beast, though as yet it was hardly 
 past Christmas time, had consented to bless at once so 
 many anxious sportsmen, and had left the back of the 
 covert with the full pack at his heels. 
 
 “There is no gate that way, Miss Tristram,” said 
 a gentleman. 
 
 ‘“'There’s a double ditch and- bank that will do as 
 well,” said she, and away she went directly after the 
 hounds, regardless altogether of the gates. Peregrine 
 Orme and Felix Graham, who were with her, followed 
 close upon her track. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Orley Farm, I. 24 
 
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