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 http://www.archive.org/details/momentofmadnesso01lean
 
 A MOMENT OF MADNESS.
 
 A MOMENT OF MADNESS. 
 
 AND OTHER STORIES. 
 
 BY 
 
 FLORENCE MARRYAT, 
 
 AUTHOR CF ' love's CONFLICT,' * FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS, 
 ETC., ETC 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: R V. WHITE & CO., 
 31 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C 
 
 1883. 
 
 {All Rights reserved.
 
 CHEAP EDITION OF 
 
 FLORENCE MARRYAT'S 
 
 POPULAR NOVELS. 
 
 Crown Sw, clof/i, 3^. 6d. 
 
 At all Booksellers in Town and Country, and at all Railway Bool<stalls. 
 MY SISTER THE ACTRESS. By Florence Marryat, 
 Author of ' A Broken Blossom,' ' Phyllida,' ' How They 
 loved Him/ etc., etc. 
 
 PHYLLIDA. By Florence Marryat, Author of 'My 
 Sister the Actress,' 'A Broken Blossom,' etc., etc., etc. 
 
 THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL. By Florence Marryat, 
 Author of 'Love's Conflict,' 'Phyllida,' 'A Broken 
 Blossom,' etc., etc., etc. 
 
 A BROKEN BLOSSOM. By Florence Marryat, 
 Author of ' Phyllida,' ' Facing the Footlights,' etc., etc. 
 
 F. V. White & Co., 31 Southampton Street, Strand. 
 
 COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
 
 8^3 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Ix offerlne a re-Issue of these Stories to 
 ^ the pubHc, I desire to express my sincere 
 "^ thanks to the Proprietors of ' Temple Bar/ 
 ' Belgravla,' ' The East AngHan HoHday 
 Annual,' 'Judy's Annual,' ' DIprose's An- 
 nual,' ' The Editor's Box,' and •' The 
 Bolton Evening News,' for their kindness 
 "jn giving me permission to reprint them. 
 
 i FLORENXE MARRYAT LEAN. 
 
 
 20 Regent's Park Terrace, N.W 
 May 1883.
 
 CONTENTS, 
 
 A MOMENT OF MADNESS — 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FORTHILL TERRACE, CAMDEN TOWN, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TRESHAM COURT, GLAMORGANSHIRE, 
 
 CAPTAIN NORTON'S DIARY, . 
 
 (in THREE CHAPTERS.) 
 
 OLD CONTRAIRY, 
 •SENT TO HIS DEATH !' 
 
 28 
 57 
 
 191 
 223 

 
 A MOMENT OF MADNESS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 FORTHILL TERRACE. CAMDEN TOWN. 
 
 T is the middle of July, but the 
 London season has not, as yet, 
 shown any symptoms of beings 
 on the wane, and the drawing- 
 room of the Honourable Mrs Carnaby- 
 Hicks is arranged for the reception of 
 visitors. Curtains of guipure lace, looped 
 with pale-blue ribbons, shroud every 
 window, purple irises and yellow jonquils 
 as displayed in art needlework, adorn 
 each chair and sofa ; fanciful little tables 
 of silk and velvet, laden with Sevres and 
 
 VOL. I. A
 
 2 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 Dresden china are placed in everybody's 
 way, and a powerful odour of hot-house 
 flowers pervades the apartment. A double 
 knock sounds at the door, and the Honour- 
 able Mrs Carnaby- Hicks starts from the 
 dose into which she has fallen, and seiz- 
 ing a novel, sits upright, and pretends that 
 she is deep in its contents. But she need 
 not have been so punctilious, for the foot- 
 man, throwing open the door, announces 
 her brother, Mr Tresham. Roland enters 
 the room, looking fagged, dusty, and out 
 of sorts, a complete contrast to the dainty 
 adornments of his sister's drawing-room. 
 
 'Well, Roland!' exclaims Mrs Carnaby- 
 Hicks, 'and what is your news? It is 
 an age since we have seen you ! I was 
 beginning to think you must have made 
 away with yourself.' 
 
 ' No such luck,' replies her brother, 
 moodily, ' though I believe it would be 
 the best thing that I could do.' 
 
 He is a handsome man of only thirty 
 years of age, but the look of care upon 
 his brow makes him appear older. His 
 dress is not exactly shabby, but it is the 
 dress of a needy gentleman, and did not
 
 A Moment of Madness. 3 
 
 issue from the tailor's hands this season, 
 nor even last. 
 
 ' How are you all at home ?' continues 
 the lady. 
 
 * Just the same as usual ; a medley of 
 dirt, ill-management, and unpunctuality 1 
 I dread to enter the house.' 
 
 * Ah ! Roland, it is too late to advise 
 you now, but that marriage was the worst 
 day's work you ever did. Not thirty till 
 September, and with a wife and six chil- 
 dren on your hands. It is a terrible 
 misfortune ! ' 
 
 ' And two hundred a-year on which to 
 support them,' laughs Mr Tresham, bit- 
 terly. ' Don't speak of it, Valeria, unless 
 you wish to drive me mad. And to add 
 to my troubles I have just received this 
 letter ; ' tossing it over to her. 
 
 * Who is it from ? ' 
 
 * Lady Tresham ! Her generosity seems 
 to be on a par with his ! You see how she 
 writes me word that Sir Ralph is in Swit- 
 zerland mountain-climbing with Handley 
 Harcourt, but that if he were at home she 
 fears he would be unlikely to comply with 
 my request.'
 
 4 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 * Did you ask Ralph for money then ? ' 
 
 * Not as a gift. I wrote to him for a 
 loan of fifty pounds, to carry on the war, 
 biit of course I should regard it as a debt. 
 The fact is, Valeria, I don't know where to 
 look for money ; my profession brings me 
 in nothing, and we cannot live on the 
 miserable pittance my father left me. It 
 is simply impossible ! ' 
 
 If Roland Tresham has entertained any 
 hope that, on hearing of his difficulty, his 
 rich sister will offer to lend or give him the 
 money, which would be a trifle out of her 
 pocket, he has reckoned without his host. 
 She likes Roland in her way, and is always 
 pleased to see him in her house, but the 
 woman and the children may starve for 
 aught she will do to help them. She con- 
 siders them only in the light of a burthen 
 and disgrace. 
 
 * I don't see why you shouldn't live on 
 two hundred a-year,' she answers shortly. 
 * Of course it is very little, but if your wife 
 were worth her salt she would make you 
 comfortable on it. But that is what comes 
 of marrying a beauty. They're seldom 
 good for anything else.'
 
 A Moment of Madness. 5 
 
 * There's not much beauty left about 
 JuHet now,' replies Roland Tresham, ' but 
 I don't think it is entirely her fault. The 
 children worry her so, she has no energy 
 left to do anything.' 
 
 * It's a miserable plight to be in,' sighs 
 the Honourable Mrs Carnaby-Hicks, 'and 
 I can see how it tells upon your health 
 and spirits. What do you propose to do .^^ ' 
 
 'Do ! I should like to hang myself. 
 Do you think there is any chance, Valeria, 
 of your husband getting me a foreign 
 appointment } I don't care where it is. 
 I would go out to the Fiji Islands, or Tim- 
 buctoo, or to the devil himself, to get away 
 from it all.' 
 
 ' And leave them at home .^ ' says Mrs 
 Carnaby-Hicks. 
 
 ' Yes ! Juliet should have the two hun- 
 dred, and I would keep myself. Perhaps 
 if she had only the children to look after, 
 she might get on better. And the happiest 
 thing for me would be, never to return ! ' 
 
 ' I will ask Mr Carnaby-Hicks about it,' 
 replies his sister. ' If it is to be done at 
 all, it must be before Parliament is pro- 
 rogued. But I wouldn't lose all hope with
 
 6 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 regard to Ralph on account of Lady Tres- 
 ham's letter. When he returns he can 
 hardly refuse to lend you such a trifling 
 sum as fifty pounds.' 
 
 It does not seem to occur to her that 
 she would miss the money as little as Sir 
 Ralph himself. 
 
 * I shall not ask him a second time,' 
 says Roland, * nor Lady Tresham either. 
 They may keep their money to themselves. 
 But how a father can justify to himself the 
 fact of leaving ten thousand a-year to one 
 son, and two hundred to the other, beats 
 me altogether ! ' 
 
 ' The money must go with the baronetcy,^ 
 remarks his sister coolly, * and your portion 
 was only intended to supplement your pro- 
 fessional income. You ought to have made 
 a competency by this time, Roland. You 
 would have done so, had you not hampered 
 yourself in such a reckless manner !' 
 
 At this moment the conversation is 
 interrupted by the entrance of a young 
 lady, dressed in the height of the reigning 
 fashion. 
 
 * My husband's niece, Miss Mabel 
 Moore,' says Mrs Carnaby- Hicks, and
 
 A Moment of Madness. 7 
 
 then extending a hand to the girl, she 
 draws her forward. * Mabel, dear, this 
 is my younger brother, of whom you have 
 heard me speak. Ring the bell and let 
 us have tea. Roland and I have had a 
 long conversation, and I feel quite fatigued.' 
 
 Roland Tresham stares at his new ac- 
 quaintance with unmitigated surprise. Miss 
 Moore is a tall, dark girl with a command- 
 ing figure, clad in a pale, cream-coloured 
 dress that fits it like a skin. Her rounded 
 arms, her well-developed bust and shapely 
 waist are as distinctly displayed as if the 
 material had been strained across them ; 
 and the uninitiated Roland gazes at her in 
 astonishment. 
 
 * Such a sweet girl,' whispers Mrs Car- 
 naby- Hicks to him, as Mabel quits her 
 side ; ' I love her as if she were my 
 daughter. As soon as the season is 
 over, Mr Carnaby- Hicks and I are going 
 to take her for a tour in Italy. And, by 
 the way, Roland, could you not manage 
 to accompany us ? A second gentleman 
 would be a great acquisition on the journey, 
 and you would be invaluable to Mabel and 
 me as a cicerone. Do come ! '
 
 ' 8 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 * You might as well talk of my going to 
 the moon, Valeria. I should enjoy it 
 above all things, but it is impossible. 
 Only fancy the delight though of change 
 of scene and air and freedom from all the 
 horrors of Camden Town. It would be like 
 a taste of Heaven to me ! ' 
 
 ' I am sure you could manage it if you 
 tried ! Come here, Mabel, and persuade 
 my brother to join us in our trip to 
 Italy.' 
 
 * Oh ! Mr Tresham, do come,' says 
 Mabel, throwing a glance at him from a 
 pair of dark, languishing eyes. * It will 
 double Aunt Valeria's pleasure to have 
 your company.' 
 
 Roland Tresham has not, as a rule, ad- 
 mired dark eyes in women nor command- 
 ing figures. His wife is very fair, and 
 slight and fragile in appearance, and when 
 he married her eight years before, he 
 thought her the loveliest creature God 
 ever made. But as Mabel Moore casts 
 her black-lashed eyes upon him, he feels 
 a very strong desire to join the travelling 
 party to Italy. 
 
 * You hold out powerful temptations to
 
 A Moment of Madness. 9 
 
 me, Miss Moore/ he answers, ' but It is too 
 important a matter to be settled in a 
 day. But if I can go, you may be sure I 
 will; 
 
 And then he falls to wondering whether 
 Mrs Carnaby-Hicks intends her offer to 
 be taken as an invitation, and means to 
 defray his expenses. For she must know 
 he has no money to pay them himself. 
 Meanwhile Miss Moore pours out his tea, 
 and hands it to him in a porcelain cup with 
 the most gracious and encouraging of 
 smiles. It is a strange contrast to the 
 man who knows what he will encounter 
 on reaching home, to be seated among all 
 the refinement of his sister's drawing-room, 
 sipping the most fragrant Pekoe from a 
 costly piece of china, whilst he is waited 
 on by a handsome woman clad in a cream- 
 coloured skin, every fold of the train of 
 which shakes out the essence of a subtle 
 perfume. He revels in it whilst it lasts, 
 though after a while he rises with a sudden 
 sigh of recollection, and says he must be 
 going home. 
 
 ' Don't forget to ask Hicks about the 
 appointment,' he whispers to his sister as
 
 lo A Moment of Madness, 
 
 he takes his leave. * Remember, I will 
 take anything and go anywhere just to get 
 away from this.' 
 
 ' Very good,' she answers, * and don't 
 you forget that we expect you to be one of 
 our party to Italy.' 
 
 * Yes ! indeed,' echoes Mabel with a 
 parting glance, ' I shall not enjoy my trip 
 at all now, unless Mr Tresham goes with 
 us!' 
 
 ' What a good-looking fellow ! ' she ex- 
 claims as soon as the door has closed 
 behind him. * Aunty ! why did you never 
 tell me what he was like ? ' 
 
 * My dear child, where was the use of 
 talking of him ? The unfortunate man is 
 married, and has no money. Had he been 
 rich and a bachelor, it would have been a 
 different thing ! ' 
 
 ' I don't know that,' says Miss Mabel, 
 
 * for my part I prefer married men to flirt 
 with ; they're so safe. Besides, it's such 
 fun making the wives jealous.' 
 
 ' It would take a great deal to make Mrs 
 Tresham jealous,' says the elder lady. 
 
 * They're past all that, my dear. So you 
 can flirt with Roland to your heart's con-
 
 A Moment of Madness. 1 1 
 
 tent, only don't go too far. Remember 
 Lord Ernest Freemantle ! ' 
 
 ' Bother Lord Ernest,' returns the 
 fashionable young lady in precisely the same 
 tone as she would have used the stronger 
 word had she been of the stronger sex. 
 
 Meanwhile the gentleman is going home 
 by train to Camden Town : a locality which 
 he has chosen, not on account of its con- 
 venience, but because he can rent a house 
 there for the modest sum of thirty pounds 
 a-year. His immediate neighbours are 
 bankers' clerks, milliners, and petty trades- 
 men from the West End, but the brother 
 of Sir Ralph Tresham of Tresham Court, 
 and the Honourable Mrs Carnaby- Hicks, 
 of 1 20 Blue Street, Mayfair, has no alterna- 
 tive but to reside amongst them. He has 
 chosen a profession in which he has sig- 
 nally failed, and has hampered himself 
 with a wife and six children, when his 
 private means are not sufficient to support 
 himself. He fancies he can hear his 
 children shouting even before he has 
 gained the little terrace in which they 
 reside. They are all so abominably strong 
 and healthy : their voices will reach to any
 
 12 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 distance. And as he comes in sight of the 
 familiar spot, his suspicions turn to cer- 
 tainties. Wilfrid and Bertie and Fred, 
 three sturdy rascals with faces surrounded 
 by aureoles of golden hair like angels' 
 crowns, but plastered with dirt like the 
 very lowest of human creatures, are hang- 
 ing on to the palings which enclose a patch 
 of chickweed and dandelions in front of 
 the house, and shouting offensive epithets 
 to every passer-by. 
 
 ' Can't you keep inside and behave your- 
 selves .'^ How often have I ordered you 
 not to hang about the garden in this way ? ' 
 exclaims Roland Tresham, as he cuffs the 
 little urchins right and left. The two young- 
 est rush for protection to their mother, 
 howling, whilst the eldest sobs out, — 
 
 * Mamma said we might play here.' 
 
 * Then your mother's as great a fool as 
 you are,' replies the father, angrily, as he 
 strides into the house. 
 
 Juliet Tresham is waiting to receive him, 
 with a deep frown upon her brow. Any 
 unprejudiced observer would see at a glance 
 that she is a lovely woman, but it is the 
 loveliness of beauty unadorned. Her luxu-
 
 A Moment of Madness. 1 3 
 
 riant golden hair is all pushed off her face, 
 and strained into a tight knot at the back 
 of her head. Her large blue eyes are dull 
 and languid ; her lips are colourless, and 
 her ill-fitting, home-made dress hangs awk- 
 wardly upon her figure. In her husband's 
 eyes, all her beauty and her grace have 
 faded long ago. He associates her with 
 nothing now, but weak lungs and spirits, 
 squalling children, badly-cooked dinners, 
 and an untidy home. It is scarcely to be 
 wondered at that she does not smile him a 
 welcome home. 
 
 * You might inquire w^hether the children 
 are in the right or wrong, before you hit 
 them,' she says sharply. ' I told them they 
 might play in the front garden.' 
 
 ' Then they must suffer for your folly, for 
 I won't have them hanging about the place 
 like a set of beggars' brats.' 
 
 * It's all very fine for you to talk, but 
 what am I to do with them cooped up in 
 the house, on a day like this ? If you had 
 the charge of them, you'd turn them out 
 anywhere, just to get rid of them.' 
 
 ' Why don't you let the girl look after 
 them ? '
 
 14 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 'The girl!' That's just how you men 
 talk ! As if one wretched girl of fourteen 
 had not enough to do to keep the house 
 clean, and cook the dinner, without taking 
 charge of half-a-dozen children ! ' 
 
 ' Oh ! well, don't bother me about it. 
 Am I to have any dinner to-day or not ? ' 
 
 * I suppose Ann will bring it up when it 
 is ready,' says his wife indifferently ; * you 
 can't expect to be waited on as if you were 
 the owner of Tresham Court' 
 
 * D — n you ! I wish you'd hold your 
 tongue ! ' he answers angrily. 
 
 He calls it his dinner, for the good 
 reason that it is the only dinner he ever 
 gets, but it is a wretched mockery of the 
 meal. 
 
 * What do you call this '^. ' he says, as he 
 examines the untempting-looking viands, 
 and views with disgust the evident traces 
 of black fingers on the edge of the dish. 
 * Take it away, and serve it me on a clean 
 plate. I may be obliged to swallow any 
 dog's meat you chose to put before me, but 
 I'll be hanged if I'll eat the smuts off your 
 servant's hands as well.' 
 
 Mrs Tresham, who is occupied at the
 
 A Moment of Madness. 1 5 
 
 other end of the table in cutting slices of 
 bread and salt butter for the tribe of little 
 cormorants by which she is surrounded, 
 just turns her head and calls through the 
 open door to the maid-of-all-work in the 
 kitchen. 
 
 * Ann, come and fetch away this dish ; 
 your master says it is dirty.' 
 
 * Do it yourself! ' roars her exasperated 
 husband. 'It is quite bad enough that 
 you are so lazy, you won't look after any 
 of my comforts in my absence, without 
 your refusing to set matters right now.' 
 
 His wife takes up the dish in silence, and 
 leaves the apartment, whereupon two of 
 the children, disappointed of their bread 
 and butter, begin to cry. Roland Tresham, 
 after threatening to turn them out of the 
 room if they do not hold their tongues, 
 leaves his seat and leans out of the open 
 window, disconsolately. What a position 
 it is in which to find his father's son ! 
 Outside, his neighbours are sitting in their 
 shirt sleeves, smoking clay pipes in their 
 strips of garden, or hanging over the rail- 
 ings talking with one another ; in the road 
 itinerant merchants are vending radishes,
 
 1 6 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 onions, and shellfish ; whilst a strong, warm 
 smell is wafted right under his nostrils from 
 the pork-pie shop round the corner. In- 
 side, the children are whimpering for the 
 return of their mother round a soiled table- 
 cloth which bears a piece of salt butter, 
 warm and melting, a jar of treacle with a 
 knife stuck in it, a stale loaf, a metal tea- 
 pot, and knives and forks which have been 
 but half-cleaned. A vision comes over 
 Roland of that art-decorated drawing-room 
 in Blue Street, with the porcelain tea- 
 service, the silken clad figure, and the 
 subtle perfume that pervaded the scene ; 
 and a great longing for all the delicacies 
 and refinements of life comes over him, 
 with a proportionate disgust for his sur- 
 roundings. When his wife returns with 
 the beefsteak, he pushes it from him. His 
 appetite has vanished with the delay. 
 
 ' I can't eat it,' he says impatiently. 
 * Take the filth away.' 
 
 * Well, it's the best I can do for you,' is 
 her reply. ' It's quite enough for a woman 
 to be nurse and housemaid, without turning 
 cook into the bargain.' 
 
 * It is a long time since I have expected
 
 A Moment of Madness. 1 7 
 
 you to do anything to please me, Juliet ; 
 however, stop the mouths of those brats ot 
 yours, and send them to bed. I want the 
 room to myself. I have work which must 
 be done this evening.' 
 
 She supplies the children's wants, and 
 hurries them from the room, whilst her 
 husband sits sulking and dreaming of Blue 
 Street. If his brother-in-law can only get 
 him a foreign appointment, how gladly he 
 will fly from this squalid home for ever. 
 He pictures a life by the shores of the 
 Mediterranean, In the forests of Brazil, on 
 the plains of India, or the Australian 
 colonies, and each and every one seems a 
 paradise compared with that which he leads 
 at present. 
 
 Mrs Tresham, putting her little ones to 
 rest, feels also that, except for them, she 
 would lay down her existence. She Is 
 utterly sick and wearied of her life. She is 
 almost cross with Wilfrid and Bertie and 
 Fred, because they will bolster one another, 
 instead of lying down in their cots and 
 going to sleep like pattern boys. For 
 Baby Roland Is whimpering for the breast, 
 and two-year-old May is fractious with the 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 1 8 A Mo7nent of Madness, 
 
 pain of cutting her double teeth. Lily, 
 her mother's help and companion, is the 
 only one that waits patiently until her turn 
 arrives to be undressed. But when the 
 rest are at last subdued, or satisfied, and 
 Juliet Tresham turns to attend to her 
 eldest dauo^hter, her tremblinor fino^ers have 
 busied themselves but for a few seconds 
 with strings and buttons, before her arms 
 are cast around the child, and she bursts 
 into a storm of tears. 
 
 * Mamma, why do you cry ? ' asks Lily 
 anxiously. 
 
 * Oh, Lily, Lily! It is not my fault — 
 it is not my fault.' 
 
 God help her, poor Juliet, it is not ! 
 Almost a girl in years, yet laden with cares 
 such as few wives in her position are ever 
 called upon to bear, she has sunk beneath 
 the weight of an overwhelming load. 
 Health and energy have failed her, and 
 her husband's patience has not proved 
 equal to the occasion, and so irritability 
 and discontent have crept in on the one 
 hand, and disgust and indifference on the 
 other. And yet they loved each other 
 once, oh ! so dearly, and believed from
 
 A Moment of Madness. 19 
 
 their hearts they would have died sooner 
 than give up their mutual affection. 
 
 But Mrs Tresham does not cry long. 
 She persuades herself that the man down- 
 stairs Is not worth crying for. 
 
 ' Get into bed, Lily, darling, or papa 
 will be coming up to see what we are 
 about.' 
 
 * I didn't kiss papa nor wish him good- 
 night,' says the child. 
 
 * No, no ! it doesn't signify. He doesn't 
 care for your kisses, nor for mine.' 
 
 She tucks her little girl into her bed 
 and descends to the sitting-room ag^aln, 
 feeling injured and hard of heart. Roland, 
 as she enters, glances at her with a look 
 of disgust. 
 
 ' Your hair Is half way down your back.* 
 She laughs slightly, and, pulling out the 
 fastenings of her hair, lets the rippling 
 mass fall over her shoulders. Roland used 
 to admire It so much in the days gone by, 
 and say It was the only gold he cared to 
 possess. Has she any hope that he will 
 recall his former feellnofs at the sio^ht of 
 her loosely falling locks ? If so, she is 
 mistaken, for he only remarks coldly, —
 
 20 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 * I mast beg you not to turn my room 
 into a dressing-room. Go and put your 
 hair up tidily. I hate to find it amongst 
 my papers.' 
 
 ' I believe you hate everything except 
 your own comfort,' she replies. ' You're 
 the most selfish man I ever came across.' 
 
 * Perhaps so ! But as long as this house 
 belongs to me, you'll be good enough to 
 keep your opinions to yourself. If I can't 
 have comfort when I come home, I will at 
 least have peace.' 
 
 * And much peace / get, day or night.' 
 
 * It is by your own mismanagement if 
 you do not.' 
 
 * How do you make that out ? Has 
 your want of money anything to do with 
 my mismanagement ? Have the children 
 anything to do with it ? You ought to be 
 ashamed of yourself.' 
 
 'Ought I?' he returns, biting his lip. 
 ' Then, perhaps, you'll be glad to hear that 
 I have applied for a foreign appointment 
 that will take me out to India, or the 
 Brazils, for the remainder of my life.' 
 
 * Oh, Roland ! ' she cries, catching her 
 breath ; * but not to leave us ? '
 
 A Moment of Madness. 2 1 
 
 * Certainly to leave you. That was the 
 sole object of my application. Aren't you 
 delighted to hear It ? We lead a cat-and- 
 dog life as things are at present, and the 
 sooner we are separated the better.' 
 
 ' But the children — and vie /' she gasps, 
 with a face of chalky whiteness. 
 
 ' Oh, don't be afraid ! you will be pro- 
 vided for.' 
 
 * But if you should be 111 ? ' suggests the 
 woman fearfully. 
 
 ' Then I shall die, perhaps, and so much 
 the better. You have not made my life 
 such a heaven to me that I shall lose 
 much by its resignation.' 
 
 Then she falls upon his neck, weeping. 
 
 ' Oh, Roland, Roland ! do not speak to 
 me like that.' 
 
 But he pushes her from him. He has 
 had no dinner, and that Is a trial that never 
 improves the masculine temper. 
 
 ' Don't make a fool of yourself! ' he says 
 roughly. 
 
 Juliet raises her head and dries her eyes. 
 She is a proud woman and a high-spirited 
 one, and never disposed to take a rebuff 
 meekly.
 
 22 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 * I am a fool,' she answers. * Any 
 woman would be a fool who wasted a 
 regret upon such an icicle as you are. I 
 hope to Heaven you may get your appoint- 
 ment and go out to the Brazils, and never 
 come back again ; for the less I see and 
 hear of you the better.' 
 
 ' Just what I said,' remarks her husband 
 indifferently. ' You are as sick of me as 
 I am of you, and it's of no use disguising 
 the truth from one another.' 
 
 ' There was a time when you thought 
 nothing too good to say of me,' she cries, 
 hysterically. 
 
 ' Was there ? Well, you can't expect 
 such things to last for ever, and you have 
 really made my life such a hell to me of 
 late that you can't be surprised if I look 
 forward to any change as a blessing.' 
 
 * Oh ! It has come to that, has it — 
 that you want to get rid of me ? Why 
 don't you put the finishing stroke to your 
 cruelty and say at once that you hate 
 me?' 
 
 ' I am afraid you are making me do 
 something very much like it.' 
 
 ' The truth is, you are tired of me,
 
 A Moment of Jlfadness. 23 
 
 Roland ! It is nursing your children and 
 trying out of our scanty income to provide 
 for your wants that has brought me down 
 to what I am, and since I have ceased to 
 please your eyes, I have wearied out your 
 fancy/ 
 
 ' Yes ! my dear,' he says, with provoking 
 nonchalance. ' You are quite right ; I am 
 very tired of you, and particularly at this 
 moment. Suppose you leave me to my 
 writing, and go to bed.' 
 
 Mrs Tresham rushes from the little 
 room and slams the door behind her. But 
 she does not go to bed. She takes a seat 
 amongst her sleeping children, and, resting 
 her head upon her hands, weeps for the 
 past which is slumbering like them, al- 
 though she thinks it dead. It is just nine 
 o'clock, and as the hour strikes from a 
 neighbouring church tower, she sees the 
 postman coming up the street. He enters 
 the parterre of chickweed and dandelions, 
 and gives a double knock at the front door, 
 whilst Mrs Tresham, sitting at her bed- 
 room window, wonders vaguely who the 
 letter can be from. But presently she 
 hears a shout from below — a mingled
 
 24 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 shout of surprise and horror and excite- 
 ment, and startled and curious she runs 
 downstairs to learn the cause. 
 
 Her husband's handsome face — flushed 
 and animated — turns towards her as she 
 opens the door. 
 
 * What is the matter ? ' she exclaims 
 hurriedly. 
 
 ' What is the matter ? ' he repeats. 
 * What Is not the matter .^ My God ! can 
 it possibly be true ? ' 
 
 He has leapt from his seat and passed 
 his fingers through his hair, which is all 
 on end. His eyes flame like living fire ; 
 his whole frame is trembling ; she thinks 
 for the moment that he has gone mad. 
 
 * Roland, you are frightening me terribly! 
 Have you had bad news ? ' 
 
 ' Bad news ! No. Glorious news ! At 
 least I suppose I ought not to call It so, 
 because he's my brother, but he has never 
 been like a brother to me. Juliet ! Only 
 fancy — Ralph Is dead, killed by a fall down 
 the mountain side.' 
 
 * Oh ! Poor Sir Ralph ! How terrible ! 
 But perhaps It is not true.' 
 
 ■ It is true. This letter is from Lady
 
 A MoJ7tent of Madness. 25 
 
 Tresham's nephew, Handley Harcourt, 
 who was with Ralph at the time of his 
 death. And they are bringing the body to 
 England. And — and — can't you under- 
 stand ? / am Sir Roland Tresham, of 
 Tresham Court — with ten thousand a-year 
 to keep it up on, and — Oh, my God ! — 
 my God ! I believe the news will drive 
 me mad.' 
 
 He casts himself face downwards on the 
 rickety couch in the corner of the room, 
 and sobs as if, without that relief, his heart 
 would burst with joy. Meanwhile his wife 
 stands motionless, almost unable to com- 
 prehend the sudden change in their condi- 
 tion, until her husband starts up again, 
 exclaiming, — 
 
 ' What a child I am. But it only proves 
 what I have suffered. To be free, once 
 and for ever, of all this struggling and 
 starvation — to see my poor children placed 
 in the position to which they were born — 
 It is too great a change to be believed In, 
 all at once. My boys shall enter the 
 army and navy — and my girls have every 
 advantage my wealth can procure them. 
 Oh, it is too much ! It has all happened
 
 26 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 so suddenly. I feel as if I should die 
 before I come into it. Sir Roland Tresham, 
 of Tresham Court ! Sir Roland Tresham, 
 of Tresham Court ! Merciful heavens, am 
 I awake or in a dream ? ' 
 
 He has never mentioned his wife whilst 
 enumerating the advantages his new for- 
 tune will bring him. He has never once 
 congratulated himself on the fact that she 
 will no longer be obliged to slave and work 
 and deny herself as she has been used to 
 do. All he thinks of are the children and 
 himself 
 
 ' When will you come into all this, 
 Roland ?' she asks. 
 
 ' I am it now ! I was the Baronet from 
 the moment of my poor brother's death.' 
 
 * And shall we go to Tresham Court 
 soon ? ' 
 
 * Directly the funeral is over. I shall 
 see the lawyers and Valeria the first thing 
 in the morning, and know all about it. 
 But I would rather you went upstairs 
 and left me alone. I must have time to 
 become accustomed to the idea of this 
 wonderful transformation scene. By to- 
 morrow morning I shall be all right.
 
 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 27 
 
 Good-night ! 
 
 Good-night ! 
 
 There will be 
 no more trouble about money now. And 
 Sir Wilfrid shall be at Eton before he 
 knows what he is about. By Jove ! How 
 marvellously things do come round.' 
 He nods her a careless farewell 
 excited sort of manner, and the new 
 Tresham creeps up to her bed and 
 
 creeps up 
 
 m an 
 Lady 
 takes 
 
 baby Roland in her arms, and sobs her- 
 self to sleep with his chubby face pressed 
 close against her bosom.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TRESHAM COURT, GLAMORGANSHIRE. 
 
 OW you will be able to take 
 that trip to Italy with us,' says 
 the Honourable Mrs Carnaby- 
 Hicks a few days later, as Sir 
 Roland and she sit in the artistic drawing- 
 room in Blue Street together. The funeral 
 of the late baronet is over — and the new 
 one is installed in his stead. Lady Tres- 
 ham and the children are already at the 
 Court, and Sir Roland has come up to 
 town to see his sister. ' You can come to 
 Italy with us,' repeats Mrs Carnaby- Hicks. 
 * You are sadly in need of rest and change, 
 and it will do you all the good in the world. 
 You will find our dear Mabel a most
 
 A Moment of Madness. 29 
 
 charming companion, and I am sure you 
 have earned the right to take a holiday ! ' 
 
 ' I should enjoy it above all things,' 
 replies Sir Roland, as he glances at Miss 
 Moore. * But do you think It would be 
 advisable. Shall I not be expected to 
 take up my residence at Tresharn Court, 
 at all events for a while '^. ' 
 
 * Not a bit of It ! I hope you are not 
 going to make yourself a slave to your 
 position. Besides, from what you tell me, 
 I should imagine It will be all the better 
 for Lady Tresham to get a little accus- 
 tomed to housekeeping before you rejoin 
 her. She must need practice.' 
 
 Sir Roland lifts his hands deprecatlngly. 
 
 * Heaven help my guests If she doesn't 
 improve ! But there seems to be an ex- 
 cellent staff of servants down there, and the 
 majority will remain with us. And it would 
 be so delightful to get away from it all. I 
 thirst to leave the remembrance of the 
 past entirely behind me — when do you 
 start, Valeria } ' 
 
 * The day after to-morrow ! ' 
 
 * That is sharp work. I shall hardly 
 have time to do my business here and run
 
 30 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 down to Tresham Court and back again in 
 a couple of days/ 
 
 * Why go down to the Court ? There 
 will only be a scene if you do. Write and 
 tell Lady Tresham of your intention/ 
 
 *Oh, Sir Roland, I shall never forgive 
 you if you cry off now/ interposes Mabel. 
 * You know it was a bargain that you 
 should go with us if you could. And 
 aunty means to take Venice on our way. 
 Fancy Venice and gondolas in this 
 heavenly weather! It will be too de- 
 licious.' 
 
 Gondolas and Mabel Moore win the 
 day, and Sir Roland agrees to write to 
 his wife instead of going down to Tresham 
 Court. 
 
 ' Now, you are quite, quite sure you 
 are not telling us a story,' sa3\s Miss 
 Moore, with a winning smile, 'because I 
 know If you go home that Lady Tresham 
 will not let you return to us again. You 
 promise only to write, don't you ? ' 
 
 * I pi^omise ! ' repeats Sir Roland, with 
 an uneasy twinge of conscience neverthe- 
 less. But he keeps his word, and a letter 
 by the next day's post informs Juliet that
 
 A Moment of Madness. 3 1 
 
 her husband is going to visit Italy with 
 his sister, and that she must manage 
 matters at Tresham Court as best she 
 can until his return. This intelligence 
 falls upon the wife like a sudden blow. 
 She feels very strange and awkward as 
 the mistress of this great rambling house, 
 with its retinue of servants, but she has 
 been seizing the opportunity of Sir Ro- 
 land's absence to try and become ac- 
 quainted with the vidnage of the kitchen 
 and the housekeeper's room, that she may 
 astonish him with her aptitude on his 
 return. And now he is going to leave 
 her to fight with all her new responsi- 
 bilities alone, whilst he is enjoying a trip 
 upon the Continent. Well, she will not 
 be so mean spirited a creature as to sit 
 down and weep for his absence. She 
 will show him that she can enjoy life as 
 well as himself when she has the means 
 to do so. Yet the tears chase themselves 
 rapidly down her cheeks as she thinks 
 thus to herself, for Lady Tresham has 
 two nurses now to look after her children, 
 and can afford to indulge her feelings with- 
 out spectators. It is a bright sunny morn-
 
 32 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 ing in the first week of August ; the grounds 
 of Tresham Court are filled with beautiful 
 flowers and leafy trees and singing birds, 
 and the pale-faced, weary woman takes 
 her husband's letter in her hand, and seats 
 herself beneath the shade of a cedar tree 
 on the smooth green lawn, and indulges 
 her sorrowful thoughts to their fullest 
 extent. 
 
 Presently she hears a soft voice calling 
 her by name. She looks up in surprise ; 
 beside her stands an elderly lady, dressed 
 in widow's weeds. 
 
 * Your servants said you were not at 
 home. Lady Tresham, but I caught a 
 glimpse of your dress through the trees, 
 and hoped you would not deem it a 
 liberty if I introduced myself to you as 
 the widow of your husband's brother.' 
 
 * Lady Tresham !' cries Juliet, springing 
 to her feet. * I am glad to see you, but I 
 am very untidy ; I did not expect any one 
 to call to-day. I did not even know that 
 you were in the county.' 
 
 * I have a house of my own about five 
 miles from here, but I only returned to 
 it yesterday. And so you are really Sir
 
 A Moment of Madness. 3 3 
 
 Roland's wife. Why, you are a mere 
 girl.' 
 
 * Indeed, you are mistaken. It is a long 
 time since I was a girl. I am twenty-six ! ' 
 
 ' And I am twenty years older than 
 yourself, so you see I have a right to 
 consider you a girl. But you have been 
 crying. Surely you have no trouble now. 
 I thought all your troubles lay in the want 
 of means.' 
 
 ' We were very, very poor,' says Juliet, 
 with proud simplicity, ' and I am hardly 
 accustomed to the use of money yet. But 
 I was crying — it is very foolish of me, I 
 know, but I cannot help it — because my 
 husband is going away.' 
 
 ' Going away ! and where ? ' 
 
 'To Italy, with his sister, Mrs Carnaby- 
 Hicks. He has been very worried and 
 upset lately. Lady Tresham, and he wants 
 change, and I know it will be best for him 
 — but — but — ' 
 
 * You feel the responsibility of being left 
 alone ; that is very natural. Yet, perhaps, 
 it will teach you self-dependence. And 
 for my own part, I am glad Sir Roland is 
 away just now. I want to make friends 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 34 -^ Moment of Madness. 
 
 with you, my dear ; to help you, if it is 
 in my power. I know your husband has 
 thought hard things of me, and, perhaps, 
 of poor Sir Ralph into the bargain ; but 
 in what we did we believed we were acting 
 for the best. Now, all that is over ; you 
 will neither of you ever want money again, 
 but you may need advice. And I should 
 like to begin by advising you. Why do 
 you not take this trip with your husband 1 
 You look pale and worn out. It would 
 do you good as well as him.' 
 
 ' He does not want me,' says Juliet, 
 sadly ; 'he is only going in order to get 
 away from me.' 
 
 ' That is hardly possible. You are a 
 wife of whom any man must be proud.' 
 
 ' I used to be told I was pretty,' replies 
 Lady Tresham, with a faint blush ; ' but 
 that was a long time ago.' 
 
 ' Rubbish, child ; you are in your prime. 
 And you have six children ; and I have 
 not even one. What a happy woman you 
 ought to be.' 
 
 But Lady Tresham does not answer. 
 The tears are rising thickly to her eyes, 
 and falling down her cheeks again.
 
 A Moment of Madness. 35 
 
 * I would give them all up — yes, every 
 one ! ' she cries, hysterically, ' to regain 
 their father's love. Oh, Lady Tresham, 
 what must you think of me for speaking 
 like this to an utter stranger ? ' 
 
 * Cease to look on me as a stranger, 
 then, dear child, and let us be friends. 
 Cannot I do anything to help you out of 
 this heavy trouble 1 ' 
 
 * Nothing ; nothing. It is incurable, and 
 I must bear it as best I can. He loved 
 me whilst I had the means to make myself 
 look pretty ; when I had a colour in my 
 cheeks, and a gloss upon my hair. But I 
 have lost all that, Lady Tresham. Days 
 and nights of sickness and privation have 
 robbed me of my beauty and his love. 
 And then my temper grew irritable, and 
 he sickened of his home and me ; and I 
 shall never know any happiness in this 
 world again.' 
 
 * If you have somewhat wearied your 
 husband's love in poverty, you must regain 
 it in prosperity,' says Sir Ralph's widow. 
 
 * Indeed, you do not know him, Lady 
 Tresham.' 
 
 ' I do not know Sir Roland, my dear,
 
 36 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 but I have known many men, and they are 
 all alike. The philosophy of few of them 
 will survive their personal discomfort. Sir 
 Roland will find things very different on 
 his return to England, and the old feelings 
 will have an opportunity of revival. Come, 
 my dear girl, you must not lose heart.' 
 
 ' But I am so ignorant how to order 
 things aright,' sighs Juliet, ' I have had so 
 little experience.' 
 
 ' I will be your teacher, if you will per- 
 mit me. Tresham Court always had the 
 credit of being well governed under my 
 reign. And first, I would make an im- 
 provement in your dress. Such a beauti- 
 ful figure was never meant to be concealed 
 under that clumsy thing.' 
 
 * I was obliged to get my mourning 
 ready made,' says Juliet, looking down at 
 her ill-fitting black robe. 
 
 * True ; but I must send my dressmaker 
 to you forthwith. And now let me see the 
 dear little ones. I love children all the 
 more that I have never been a mother.' 
 And so the ladies, already friends, drift 
 away into that most interesting of feminine 
 topics, the nursery, and great plans are
 
 A Moment of Madness. 37 
 
 laid for the benefit of Juliet's little family 
 before they separate again. On the same 
 day Sir Roland is making his final pre- 
 parations to join his sister's party, though 
 not without a few self-reproaches, which 
 he stifles by recalling the establishment at 
 Forthill Terrace, Camden Town. It is only 
 fair, he tells himself, that after so many 
 years of domestic misery he should use 
 his unexpected liberty by taking a little 
 change. And for the first few days the 
 change bids fair to fulfil its promise. The 
 Carnaby- Hicks proceed South leisurely, 
 taking the Rhine on their way, and Sir 
 Roland can conceive of no more delicious 
 sensation than floating down the River of 
 Romance on those balmy August evenings 
 by the side of Mabel Moore. That young 
 lady does not spare him in any way. From 
 the beginning she claims his attendance 
 for herself, and exercises all her fascina- 
 tion freely upon the unfortunate man, who 
 cannot help being attracted by the charms 
 of her person, and the meaning glances she 
 so liberally bestows upon him. 
 
 * What a pity that Juliet has not a more 
 commanding appearance,' he thinks to
 
 38 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 himself, as he watches Mabel's fine form 
 distinctly outlined in the moonlight. * Miss 
 Moore has twice her importance ; she 
 Ipoks as if she had been born to a title.' 
 And Mabel interrupts his reverie by a 
 heavy sigh. 
 
 * Why do you sigh, Miss Moore ? ' 
 
 * I was thinking how unequally this world 
 is balanced, Sir Roland. Everything goes 
 wrong, doesn't it ? ' 
 
 * I cannot quite agree with that senti- 
 ment ; not, at least, whilst you and I are 
 floating down the Rhine together.' 
 
 * But it won't last.' 
 
 * Not for ever, unfortunately' But let 
 us enjoy it whilst it does.' 
 
 ' I cannot thoroughly enjoy myself when 
 I know my pleasure must come to an end. 
 When I am most happy, I remember that in 
 a few weeks it will all be over, and we shall 
 be back in Blue Street, and you down at 
 Tresham Court with your wife and family.' 
 
 * Don't talk of it please,' says Sir Roland 
 with a shudder. 
 
 'Why?' asks Miss Moore innocently; 
 * don't you love little children ? ' 
 
 * Not particularly. Do you ? '
 
 A Moment of Madness. 39 
 
 * I don't care for most people's children, 
 but I should for yours.' 
 
 * You are very good to say so', replies 
 Sir Roland : but he knows they are tread- 
 ing on dangerous ground, and the subject 
 had better be dropped. As he lies in his 
 berth that night, and thinks over the 
 events of the day, he remembers how his 
 wife told him before their marriage that 
 she disliked children, and he had twitted 
 her with the fact on seeing her devotion to 
 their firstborn. And he recalls how she 
 had looked into his face with her large 
 blue eyes — so clear and lovely and loving 
 as they were in those days — and whispered, 
 * But this is yours, Roland.' There is 
 something like a tear in Sir Roland Tres- 
 ham's eye as he turns uneasily in his 
 berth, and thinks how those happy days 
 have faded ; but it is of Juliet, and not of 
 Mabel, he dreams as he falls asleep. The 
 Honourable Mrs Carnaby- Hicks sees the 
 flirtation going on between her niece and 
 her brother, but does not concern herself 
 in the matter. Miss Moore knows what 
 she is about, and is perfectly able to take 
 care of herself; indeed, Mrs Carnaby*
 
 40 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 Hicks thinks she can already discern 
 the instinct by which the young lady is 
 guided. But Sir Roland, who can only 
 interpret her words and glances by his 
 own lights, believes himself to be on the 
 verge of a precipice, and yet has not the 
 moral courage to fly from a temptation 
 that is so flattering to his vanity. Mabel's 
 chief weapon is melancholy. She pro- 
 fesses melancholy whenever it occurs to 
 her, until Sir Roland is forced to demand 
 the reason of her serious looks. 
 
 * How can you ask ? ' she says one 
 evening — the first of their arrival in Venice 
 — ' when you know that auntie has asked 
 Lord Ernest Freemantle to join our party 
 to-morrow ? ' 
 
 ' What difference will that make to us ? ' 
 
 * Why, will he not expect to be always 
 by my side, and break in upon the pleasant 
 tetes-a-tete we have had together ? ' 
 
 ' Have they been so very pleasant to 
 you then, Mabel .'^' 
 
 * Oh, Sir Roland, cannot you judge of 
 my feelings by your own '^. ' 
 
 ' If I did that — ' he commences fer- 
 vently, but there he stops. The vision of two
 
 A Moment of Madiiess. 4 i 
 
 blue eyes, dimmed with tears, rises before 
 him, and he stamps the temptation down. 
 
 'Whatever I may feel,' he says to him- 
 self afterwards, ' I will not allow my tongue 
 to turn traitor,' and so Miss Moore is 
 disappointed of her answer. 
 
 Letters came to him frequently from his 
 wife — long letters, in which she gives him 
 a full account of her friendship with Sir 
 Ralph's widow, but not a word of the way 
 in which she is managing the household. 
 
 ' I shouldn't think the presence of the 
 dowager will do much to enliven the 
 Court,' remarks Mrs Carnaby - Hicks 
 spitefully. 
 
 * She is not likely to teach my wife 
 extravagance,' laughs Sir Roland ; * but 
 Juliet and she seem to get on very well 
 together.' 
 
 ' Perhaps she is a style that suits Lady 
 Tresham,' says his sister. ' I have always 
 understood she was a dowdy and a screw.' 
 
 ' Oh, I don't mean to let my wife screw,' 
 replies the baronet uneasily. '' She has 
 had little enough pin-money hitherto, poor 
 girl, and she shall have a liberal allowance 
 now, if nothing else.'
 
 42 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 'Why do you call LadyTresham "poor"?* 
 whispers Mabel in his ear. * I should have 
 said she was the richest of women.' 
 
 ' Not quite that,' he answers, wilfully 
 misunderstanding her, * though she need 
 have no fear for the future. But she has 
 had barely enough for comfort until now.' 
 
 'She has always had you', says Miss 
 Moore, softly. 
 
 * Some ladies might consider that an 
 extra misfortune ! ^ 
 
 'Some might,' echoes the girl with a 
 heavy sigh, the meaning of which it is 
 impossible to misconstrue. Lord Ernest 
 Freemantle proves to be a simple, under- 
 sized little gentleman, who is very much 
 enamoured of Miss Mabel Moore, and 
 becomes proportionately jealous of Sir 
 Roland Tresham. And the latter, de- 
 lighted at the feeling he has provoked, 
 takes pleasure in exciting it to the last 
 degree, by a still closer attendance on the 
 young lady. One evening, when she has 
 refused to accompany Lord Ernest and 
 her aunt on a walking expedition through 
 the town. Sir Roland persuades her to 
 go on the water with him in a gondola.
 
 A Moment of Mad7iess. 4 3 
 
 Mabel assents with alacrity, and they are 
 soon floating together over the placid 
 surface of the canal, seated under the 
 canopy at one end of the boat, whilst the 
 gondoliers ply their oars to the music of 
 their own voices at the other. 
 
 * How I wish we could go floating on like 
 this Into eternity,' remarks Sir Roland, 
 presently. 
 
 ' It would be very easy,' replies Mabel 
 in a low voice. * It Is but to cast ourselves 
 over the side into those dark waters and 
 sink out of sight for ever. It would be 
 a happier fate — at least for me — than any 
 I have to look forward to.' 
 
 *You mustn't talk like that. You are 
 young, and have every prospect of a happy 
 life before you.' 
 
 * Indeed, I have not.' 
 
 * My dear Mabel, why those tears ? ' 
 exclaims Sir Roland, as the girl dashes 
 her hand across her eyes. * What have I 
 said to vex you ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing. But life is so hard, and — 
 and — disappointing.* 
 
 He passes his arm around her waist. 
 
 * Tell me what makes it so to you.'
 
 44 ^ Moment of Madness. 
 
 ' Oh, Roland,' she whispers, 'you know! 
 
 The tone, the words, are too much for 
 him. To hold a pretty woman in his arms 
 and hear her murmuring her love for him- 
 self would be perhaps too much for any 
 man. Anyway, it disperses all Sir Roland's 
 prudence. 
 
 'My darling' he says emphatically, 'why 
 cannot we end all this misery, and live for 
 each other from this time forward ? ' But 
 as he speaks, the gondoliers alter their 
 chant, and strike up a little Neapolitan 
 barcarolle. It is a simple plaintive air, 
 without much merit in itself, but the last 
 time Sir Roland heard it, it came from 
 Juliet's lips as she was hushing a fractious 
 child to rest. In a moment the past scene 
 rises before him. He can see his wife's 
 drooping figure, the sad look in her eyes ; 
 can hear the faltering tones of her weary 
 voice. He recalls, in fact, the mother of 
 his children, the woman who has borne, 
 however impatiently, the burden and heat 
 of the day with him ; and all the best part 
 of the man's nature rises up to condemn 
 his present faithless action. 
 
 ' God in heaven ! ' he exclaims aloud ;
 
 A Moment of Madness. 45 
 
 * what am I saying and doing? Mabel, 
 forgive me ! It was the madness of a 
 moment. It shall never he repeated.' 
 
 But he has said the words, and they are 
 not to be unsaid. Miss Moore enjoys the 
 situation. It appeals to her romantic pro- 
 clivities, and she clings to him tightly even 
 whilst she murmurs. 
 
 * Oh no ; you mustn't say such things to 
 me. It is very, very wrong. But, Roland, 
 to know you love me atones for everything. 
 I can die happy now.' 
 
 ' Indeed, I had no right to speak to you 
 in such a manner, but your tears made me 
 lose sight of prudence. Mabel, promise 
 me that you will forget what I said.' 
 
 ' Don't ask me that, it will be so sweet 
 to remember,' she says, still clinging to him. 
 He tries gently to disengage himself. 
 
 * Sit back on your seat, there's a good 
 girl. These fellows are looking at us. 
 Mabel, try and be calm. We must never 
 mention this subject again. It is too 
 painful.' 
 
 ' But why should we deny ourselves the 
 poor delights of memory, since it Is all that 
 is left ? '
 
 46 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 * We must stamp it out. It can lead to 
 no good for either of us ; and for you, 
 perhaps, to irreparable harm. I am not a 
 Trojan in virtue, Mabel ; you must not try 
 me too hard.' 
 
 ' But you will love me always, Roland, 
 will you not ? ' 
 
 What can he say '^. He knows already 
 that he does not love her at all. But he is 
 a man, and she is a woman, and he does as 
 many other men would do — he swears he 
 shall never cease to care for her. 
 
 * If I were free ! ' he murmurs ; * but you 
 see how it is, my darling. I am bound 
 hand and foot, and we never can be any- 
 thing more than we are to one another. I 
 must not quite forget my poor children.' 
 
 ' But we shall be friends always, shall 
 we not ? ' 
 
 ' The very best and closest of friends, 
 but we mustn't trust ourselves alone again. 
 You are too lovely, Mabel, and I — I am 
 too weak. I am sure you must see the 
 reason of what I say '^. ' 
 
 * Yes ; yes. But let us enjoy this one 
 last evening together. Don't go home just 
 yet. Remember it is for the last time.'
 
 A Moment of Madness. 47 
 
 He cannot but yield to her entreaty, but 
 when they reach the hotel he resolves that 
 it must never occur again. Mabel Moore 
 is not the woman to let him off easily. 
 She will make him remember his avowal 
 of that evening for ever afterwards, and 
 Sir Roland feels that his only safety lies in 
 flight. During the self-reproachful night 
 that follows, when the thought of his wife 
 and children rises up to make him acknow- 
 ledge that nothing in the whole world could 
 compensate him for the loss of that which 
 he has held so loosely, he makes a resolu- 
 tion to return to Tresham Court the very 
 next morning. Poor Juliet ! Now he 
 comes to think of it, he does not believe he 
 has given her one kiss of congratulation on 
 her newly-acquired dignity. They were 
 beginning to be very unhappy in the past, 
 he knows, but it seems hard now that he 
 should have visited the entire blame on the 
 head of the woman who had so much the 
 heavier portion of the load to bear. When 
 he rises the following morning his first act 
 is to seek the apartments of his sister, and 
 inform her of his determination to return to 
 England. He finds Mrs Carnaby-Hicks
 
 48 A Moment of Madness. 
 
 radiantly triumphant, and apparently quite 
 indifferent as to whether he remains with 
 them or not. 
 
 * My dear Roland, you must do just as 
 you think best, and indeed I have this 
 moment received news that renders it very 
 improbable that we shall be able to extend 
 our trip to Italy this year. Lord Ernest 
 Freemantle has proposed to our dear 
 Mabel. Mr Carnaby-Hicks is delighted, 
 and so am I. I have had hopes of such 
 an occurrence for a long time (for no one 
 could help seeing how Lord Ernest ad- 
 mired our dear girl), but your taking her 
 out in the gondola alone last evening 
 brought matters to a crisis. And indeed, 
 were it not for the issue, I should feel al- 
 most disposed to quarrel with you, Roland, 
 for being so careless of her reputation. It 
 mieht have turned matters just the other 
 way. You are too young and handsome to 
 play such freaks with an unmarried girl.' 
 
 * From what you say, then, I may con- 
 clude Miss Moore has accepted Lord 
 Ernest's offer.' 
 
 ' Why, of course ! What else should she 
 do ? And as he is anxious the marriage
 
 A Moment of Madness. 49 
 
 should take place as soon as possible, I 
 suppose we shall have to go home again.' 
 
 * Then, will you convey my warmest con- 
 gratulations to the bride-elect, and tell her 
 that I trust we shall meet again in England?' 
 
 * Won't you stop and see her yourself ? ' 
 
 * I think not — thanks ! I see there is a 
 midday train to Paris, which I can catch 
 if I lose no time. So I will wish you 
 good-bye at once, Valeria ! ' 
 
 ' Good-bye, my dear Roland ! We shall, 
 as you say, soon meet again, and I think 
 you are wise to return, for I am afraid all 
 our fun is over for this season ! ' 
 
 The midday train takes him to Paris, 
 and the next day he finds himself on his 
 road to Glamorganshire. The carriage in 
 which he travels is filled with men, all 
 strangers to him, but who converse freely 
 with one another. 
 
 * Have you seen the new owner of Tres- 
 ham Court, Conway ? ' asks one fellow of 
 his neighbour. 
 
 ' What, Sir Roland ? Not yet ! He is 
 abroad, so I am told, and won't be home 
 till Christmas ! ' 
 
 ' By George ! Well, if I were the owner 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 of Lady Tresham the country wouldn't see 
 me that didn't hold her ! ' 
 
 ' Is she so handsome then ?' 
 ' * She's better than handsome ! She's 
 one of the sweetest-looking women I ever 
 saw. I met her at General Carroll's last 
 week with the dowager.' 
 
 * Fair or dark } ' 
 
 * Fair as a lily, with glorious golden hair, 
 and great blue eyes as clear as spring 
 water. She's as graceful as a gazelle, too, 
 and got a voice like a thrush. She said 
 she was awfully out of practice, but she 
 sung better than anyone there.' 
 
 * I shall get my mother to take me over 
 to Tresham Court,' says a young dandy in 
 the corner ; ' a pretty woman is not to be 
 despised in Glamorganshire.' 
 
 * You won't get anything by that, my 
 boy,' says the first speaker. * Handley 
 Harcourt, the dowager's nephew, has 
 found her out already, and is there morn- 
 ing, noon, and night.' 
 
 Sir Roland is just about to proclaim that 
 the beautiful woman they speak of is his 
 wife, when the last sentence makes him 
 shrink back in his seat instead. He feels
 
 A Moment of Madness. 5 1 
 
 ashamed to acknowledge her now. What 
 if the scandal should be true ! But no, it 
 is impossible ! Juliet has been his wife 
 for eight long years, and faithful to him in 
 thought, word, and deed. He would answer 
 for her fidelity as for his own. His ow7i / 
 At that thought the hot blood courses 
 throu^rh Sir Roland's veins, and mantles 
 in his handsome face. He has not been 
 faithful to her — he acknowledges it with 
 shame — but he will atone as there is a 
 heaven above him. 
 
 * Gendemen,' he says suddenly, * the lady 
 you speak of is my wife, and had you all 
 been at Tresham Court during my absence, 
 ' morning, noon, and night,' it would not 
 have given me a moment's uneasiness.' 
 His confession is naturally followed by 
 apologies, introductions, hand-shaking, and 
 general invitations to the Court. Sir Ro- 
 land even assures the somewhat shy litde 
 dandy in the corner that he has his hearty 
 permission to flirt with Lady Tresham as 
 much as possible. And then they all light 
 up and try each other's cigars, and become 
 the fastest of friends in a very few minutes. 
 Yet as he leaves them at the station, where 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF /LLfNOfS
 
 52 . A Moment of Madness. 
 
 the carriage is in waiting to convey him 
 home, he cannot help wondering at the 
 enthusiasm his wife's looks have provoked 
 amongst them. She ttsed to be very pretty 
 in their first wedded days, before she grew 
 so careless of her personal appearance — 
 when she took pride in arraying her grace- 
 ful little form, and dressing her beautiful 
 hair, but slatternly clothes and unbecom- 
 ing coiffure are sufficient to conceal the 
 beauty of any woman. Well ! Sir Roland 
 supposes that such things can be altered, 
 but if he finds that Juliet's bad taste is ir- 
 reparable, he will be content with her as she 
 is. He has brought enough trouble on her 
 head already — the present shall never be 
 clouded by his reproaches nor complaints. 
 He is so eager to make atonement for the 
 past, that the ^^^ miles between the station 
 and Tresham Court appear like ten ; but they 
 are accomplished at last, and the carriage 
 rolls through the iron gates and up the 
 wooded drive. Half-way they come upon 
 a group of children escorted by their nurses 
 and a groom. Two beautiful boys in vel- 
 vet suits, with golden curls falling over 
 their Vandyke collars, are mounted on op
 
 A Moment of Maditess. 53 
 
 pony, whilst another animal carries a pair 
 of panniers, from which familiar little faces 
 and blue eyes gaze up expectantly to meet 
 his own. 
 
 * Can those be my children ? ' exclaims 
 Sir Roland to himself; and then he gives 
 the order to stop, and another minute sees 
 him in the midst of them. But what a 
 change ! He can scarcely believe they 
 are the same brats who, six weeks ago, 
 used to hang over the garden palings in 
 Camden Town, and put out their tongues 
 at the passers-by — Lily and May in their 
 white frocks and black ribbons, and little 
 Roland in his smart pelisse ; and the boys 
 looking such noble fellows in their jackets 
 and knickerbockers, with sunny hair, and 
 clean faces and hands — it seems like a 
 dream to the father as he kisses them all 
 round, and admires the ponies and the 
 panniers to their hearts' content. He 
 strides on to the house with his bosom 
 swelling with pride at the appearance of 
 his little ones, and is almost too pre-occu- 
 pied to notice that everything is perfectly 
 arranged within the Court and out. 
 
 A footman meets him at the door with
 
 54 ^ Moment of Madness, 
 
 the information that her ladyship awaits 
 him in the morning-room, and thither, still 
 in a dream. Sir Roland rapidly proceeds. 
 As he enters the apartment he starts back, 
 thunderstruck with amazement. A lady 
 stands upon the hearthrug — a woman deli- 
 cately fair, and very lovely, though still 
 too thin and pale, and with tears of ex- 
 pectation and suspense within her eyes. 
 
 She is robed in black velvet, fitting 
 closely to her graceful figure — at her throat 
 and wrists are falls of Venetian lace — and 
 her dainty feet are cased in silk stockings 
 and buckled shoes. Her golden hair cut 
 short upon her brow, is piled in innumer- 
 able little curls upon the top of her head, 
 which grow longer and longer until they 
 lay in a flossy mass upon her neck and 
 shoulders. For a moment. Sir Roland 
 gazes at this unlooked-for apparition in 
 utter silence. 
 
 ' Husband ! ' says Juliet shyly, * don't 
 you know me ? ' 
 
 ' My dearest !' he exclaims, rushing for- 
 ward and clasping her in his arms ; ' how 
 beautiful you have become.' 
 
 Then, with the touch of his arms and
 
 A Moment of Madness. 55 
 
 lips, all her womanhood asserts itself, and 
 she casts herself, sobbing, on his breast. 
 
 * Oh, Roland ! forgive me ! forgive me ! 
 Take me back and love me as you used 
 to do ! ' 
 
 ' What have I to forgive you, darling ? 
 
 ' All my ill-temper and impatience and 
 want of fortitude. I bore our lot so 
 badly — I did not deserve to have it 
 bettered — and now that prosperity has 
 come to us, I feel it will be worthless 
 without your love.' 
 
 * But you have my love, Juliet ! you 
 have never lost it. The ills and discom- 
 forts of poverty soured my nature, and 
 made me behave like a brute to you ; but 
 my heart has been yours through it all, 
 dearest wife, and I have never been more 
 convinced of the fact than during our 
 present separation.' 
 
 She looks up at him and smiles — oh ! 
 such a heavenly smile of renewed happi- 
 ness and hope. 
 
 * And, Roland, you are quite, quite sure 
 that you love me best of all the world ! 
 That there is no other woman dearer 
 to you than myself.'*'
 
 56 A Moment of Madness, 
 
 He has just one twinge as she puts the 
 question to him ; but men are used to 
 twinges, and he can answer honestly, — 
 
 * Not one, my love ! — not a single one ! 
 nor ever shall be. Take your husband's 
 word for it, and let us resolve from this 
 moment to banish the painful memory of 
 the Past, and live for each other only in 
 the Future/ 
 
 And so they have and do, and there is 
 only one thing that Lady Tresham cannot 
 understand, which is Sir Roland's rooted 
 aversion to Lady Ernest Freemantle. He 
 will not let his wife invite her down to 
 Tresham Court, although she has often 
 hinted she would like to visit them, and 
 all the excuse he can give for his conduct 
 is that he does not choose to cultivate the 
 lady's acquaintance. 
 
 So the matter rests, and as long as Sir 
 Roland does not renew it, there is no 
 need he should confess the little scene 
 that took place in the gondola on the 
 moonlighted Venice canal. 
 
 THE END.
 
 CAPTAIN NORTON^S DIARY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MUSHIN-BUNDA. 
 
 UNE 4//^, 18 — . — Thermometer 
 at 100 in the shade, and up to 
 heaven knows where In the sun ; 
 somewhere about boihng heat, I 
 should Imagine, if I may judge by the state 
 of my shirt sleeves. A cheerful climate in 
 which to ask a man to spend the best days 
 of his life, for the visionary prospect of sur- 
 viving twenty years' service and retiring 
 on half-pay. If it were not for Janle, I 
 could not stand it. Here we are, cooped 
 up in an old Dutch fort, with three miles 
 of desert plain between us and the sea ; 
 the very house we live in built on the
 
 58 Captain Norton! s Diary, 
 
 remains of a cemetery ; the ruined graves 
 of which stare us in the face every time 
 we look out of the drawing-room windows. 
 The consequence of which is, that Janie 
 would not stay in the house by herself after 
 dark for any earthly consideration ; and if 
 she cannot procure a female friend to dance 
 attendance on her fears, I am cut out of 
 my bachelor entertainments. Not that I 
 wish to complain ; far from it ; it would be 
 hard if I could not give up some pleasures 
 in exchange for such a wife as mine — but 
 I have found it awkward at times. Then 
 we have no society but such as the regiment 
 affords ; and as a married man I am, of 
 course, not so much at the mess as hereto- 
 fore. Altogether Mushin-Bunda is not 
 lively ; and my wife is the only creature 
 who makes it bearable to me. 
 
 I don't wonder that the whole canton- 
 ment voted me a lucky fellow when I 
 obtained the promise of her hand. The 
 first time I ever saw her at the house of 
 her married sister — the wife of Delville, of 
 our 44th, since ordered to Burmah — I 
 thought her the prettiest, most lovable little 
 woman I had ever seen ; and during the
 
 Captain Mortons Diary. 59 
 
 twelve months of our happy married Hfe, I 
 have had no reason to alter my opinion. 
 Janie is all that a man could possibly desire 
 in a wife ; and so I tell myself twenty times 
 a day. Never have I seen her face clouded 
 with passion or ill-humour : whatever I 
 propose to do is invariably the thing she 
 has just been wishing for ; she never dis- 
 sents from me either in opinion or desire ; 
 she never even meets me without the same 
 quiet smile, which has deservedly gained 
 her the credit of being such ' a very sweet 
 young woman.' She is a cushat-dove, 
 made to nestle into a man's affections and 
 to remain there ; for who with a heart 
 could bear to wound the feelings of one so 
 sensitive and pure ? I don't believe at 
 this moment, that in all the length and 
 breadth of India there exists a happier or 
 more contented fellow than myself ; and if 
 we only had a little more society, a little 
 company occasionally to turn our thoughts 
 from dwelling incessantly upon ourselves, 
 our life would leave nothing to be desired. 
 Not but what my Janie is the world to me ; 
 still, a woman is but a woman after all, and 
 the days are apt to become monotonous.
 
 6o Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 Oh, this horrid Mushin-Bunda ! could 
 anything reconcile me to a life-long ex- 
 patriation in a place like this ? The very 
 thought is desolation. 
 
 ytme 6tk. — Two days ago I was com- 
 plaining of the lack of company to be found 
 in Mushin-Bunda. This evening I feel 
 inclined to write myself down an ass, and 
 say that my foolishness has returned upon 
 my own pate, for we are likely to have 
 more company than we care for. I was 
 in the verandah this morning smoking and 
 grumbling, and as I turned from the con- 
 templation of the glaring compound to 
 where Janie sat in her white dress, bending 
 over some letters she had just received, I 
 decided she was the only cool thing within 
 my range of sight. The dogs were lying 
 panting on the gravel with their tongues 
 out. The constant motion of the flapping 
 punkah did not appear to do more than stir 
 the heat. Even the quiet easy-going tailor 
 sitting cross-legged at my feet, could not 
 proceed with his work unless he dipped 
 his black fingers every minute in a bowl of 
 water. Everything looked hot, horrible, 
 and sticky, except Janie herself. But
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 6i 
 
 there sat my cushat-dove — half burled in 
 the flounces of her musHn dress — a fair, 
 pkimp, placid little woman ; the effect of 
 heat on whom is only to make her look 
 more white and cool, with her sunny hair 
 drawn off her tranquil features, and her 
 calm blue eyes riveted on the open letter 
 which she held in her hand. None of 
 your passionate, raving, storming creatures 
 this, who nearly squeeze you to death one 
 moment, and stick a knife into you the 
 next ; but a proper sort of woman for 
 a wife and mother, or so I choose to 
 call her ; and I really couldn't take my 
 eyes off her moonlight beauty, until I was 
 roused from my reverie by hearing her 
 plaintive voice exclaiming, — 
 
 * Oh dear ! oh dear ! how very unfor- 
 tunate ! Whatever will the poor girl 
 do?' 
 
 * Of whom are you talking, my darling ? * 
 I asked, as I cast away the remains of my 
 cigar, and advanced towards her. 
 
 * Of my cousin Lionne, Robert dear ; 
 Margaret Anstruther, of whom I have so 
 often spoken to you. I told you some 
 time ago, didn't I, that in consequence of
 
 62 Captain Norton's Diary. 
 
 her mother's death she was coming out to 
 the care of our uncle, Colonel Anstruther, 
 at Madras ? ' 
 
 * Well, what of it ? Has she arrived ? * 
 *No; but this letter is from Uncle Henry, 
 
 and he is in such a dilemma. He ex- 
 pected Margaret to be with him four or 
 five mails ago ; but her guardians have 
 delayed and delayed to send her out ; and 
 now, just as he is ordered off to China 
 to join his regiment, he receives a letter 
 to say that she will arrive by the next 
 steamer.' 
 
 ' And he will have left Madras ? ' 
 
 * Yes ; and for six months at least. He 
 does not know what on earth to do about 
 it.' 
 
 And Janie, in an uncertain manner, 
 kept turning the sheet of paper over and 
 over in her hands. 
 
 * He must ask one of his lady friends 
 to receive Miss Anstruther,' I suggested. 
 
 * So he would, Robert, were it not for 
 so lone a time. But a six months* visit is 
 too much to expect from any stranger. If 
 Emma were only here. Uncle Henry would 
 have sent Margaret to her.'
 
 Captain Nor tons Diary. 63 
 
 ' It Is certainly very Inconvenient,' I 
 remarked carelessly. 
 
 * I suppose, Robert dear,' said Janle, In 
 a dubious and hesitating manner, — ' I sup- 
 pose we could not offer to take In Margaret 
 till Uncle Henry returns from China?' 
 
 I started. The Idea had not presented 
 itself to me before, and It was certainly 
 not a pleasant one. I hope I am not of 
 an Inhospitable turn of mind ; but the 
 prospect of having a perfect stranger lo- 
 cated beneath our roof for such a length 
 of time was anything but agreeable to me. 
 I remembered Janie's want of companion- 
 ship, and the many times I had had to 
 resign the society of my brother-officers on 
 her account, and felt resigned ; but the 
 next moment I thought of all my quiet 
 evenings with my loving little wife being 
 broken In upon ; of our cosy walks, and 
 talks, and drives being done away with, 
 and for six long months — and I daresay I 
 did look blank. Indeed, I must have done 
 so ; for Janie, who Is not, generally speak- 
 ing, what is termed quick of observation, 
 saw the change In my countenance and 
 commented upon It.
 
 $4 Captain Norton's Diary. 
 
 'You don't like the notion, Robert dear ? ' 
 she said, in a tone of disappointment. 
 
 * Well, Janie, I can't say I do ; but if it 
 must be, it must be. What does your 
 uncle say on the subject ? ' 
 
 ' He says it would be a great conveni- 
 ence, of course, and that he does not know 
 to whom else to apply, or he would not 
 trouble us. And Margaret and I were at 
 school too^ether, Robert : we were brouo^ht 
 up quite like sisters ; so it would seem 
 strange if she were to go to anyone else. 
 And it is only for six months ; and Uncle 
 Henry says that he does not expect us to 
 be put to any expense about it, for that 
 he—' 
 
 ' Oh, blow the expense ! ' I irreverently 
 interrupted. ' When does Colonel An- 
 struther leave Madras, Janie ?' 
 
 * Next week ; and Margaret is to arrive 
 the week after.' 
 
 * And what arrangements can he make 
 for her joining us at Mushin-Bunda 1 ' 
 
 * Mrs Grant, a friend of his, has offered 
 to receive Margaret on her arrival, and to 
 keep her until a steamer starts for here, 
 which will probably not be long first.'
 
 Captain Norton s Diary, 65 
 
 Very well. Write to your uncle, and 
 say that we shall be proud to give Miss 
 Anstruther house-room until such time as 
 he may be able to reclaim her.' 
 
 ' And you're not vexed about it, Robert 
 dear ? ' said Janie timidly. 
 
 I stooped and kissed her. 
 
 * Not a bit, darling,' I answered gaily. 
 'Half-a-dozen cousins could make no 
 difference to our love ; and as long as that 
 remains unaltered, I care for nothing else.' 
 Upon which my little wife brightened up 
 again, and prepared to write an answer 
 to her uncle's letter ; and I lit another 
 cigar, and resumed my old position in the 
 verandah. 
 
 I told Janie that the stranger's coming 
 could make no difference to me; but I feel 
 that I have not spoken the truth in saying 
 so, and I blame myself for thinking as 
 strongly as I do upon the subject. Surely 
 I am swayed by prejudice. 
 
 After all, supposing that Miss Anstruther 
 does remain with us during the whole of 
 her uncle's sojourn in China, where will be 
 the great misfortune of entertaining a young 
 lady for a few months ? and how could 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 66 Captain Nortoiis Diary, 
 
 we have done otherwise than offer to re- 
 ceive a friendless girl, arriving in the country 
 under such peculiar circumstances ? who 
 has also, by marriage, become a connection 
 of my own, and been reared in such in- 
 timate relations with my wife, as to be 
 looked on by Janie almost in the light of a 
 sister. It would have been quite im- 
 possible to act otherwise ; therefore I feel 
 I had better make a virtue of a necessity. 
 At the same time, try as I will, I cannot 
 bring myself to look on the anticipated 
 visit as a pleasure, although I am sure that 
 much of my prejudice arises from my wife's 
 innocent praises of her cousin, which prove 
 Miss Anstruther to be so opposite, in 
 appearance and disposition, to herself, that 
 I feel I shall never like the girl. Well, I 
 was wishing for more society in Mushin- 
 Bunda; and now I shall have it. Some 
 one to dance attendance on, and to mind 
 my p's and q's before, for the next six 
 months ; and if I haven't had enough of 
 society before the end of that time, it's a 
 pity. Warren says it's all nonsense ; that 
 he had a friend of his wife's once staying 
 in the house for several weeks, and that it
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 67 
 
 was great fun ; and that before Miss An- 
 struther has been with us half that time, I 
 shall look on her as a sister, and forget all 
 about my p's and q's. 
 
 I laugh at the idea, and pretend to agree 
 with him ; but it is of no use ; a presenti- 
 ment of annoyance for me seems to cling 
 to the name of Margaret Anstruther, until 
 I wish I had never even heard its sound. 
 However, as I said to my wife, what must 
 be, must be, and the best method of evad- 
 ing a worry is not to think about it. 
 Easier said than done ! 
 
 June i6tk. — If anything were necessary 
 to make me take a still farther dislike to 
 the idea of our expected guest, it would 
 be provided in the fact that Janie and I 
 have nearly come to words about her, for 
 the first time in our married life. 
 
 * Come, darling,' I said to her this even- 
 ing, when at last the fierce sun had sunk 
 below the horizon, and it was possible to 
 quit the house ; ' put on your hat, and let 
 us have a little stroll in the compound 
 together, we may not have many more 
 opportunities of walking alone.' 
 
 Our * compound,' as the ground sur-
 
 68 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 rounding an Indian bungalow is usually 
 called, is a large piece of uncultivated 
 land, sheltered by lanky cocoa-nut trees, 
 and carpeted with burnt-up turf from end 
 to end, whereof is cut a sandy track, which 
 we term our carriage-drive. 
 
 Janie was ready in a moment, and up and 
 down the track of sand we wandered, arm- 
 in-arm, inhaling eagerly the faint breath 
 of sea-air wafted to us from across the 
 plain which separates us from the ocean. 
 
 • * Oh, Robert dear ! ' said Janie, casting 
 up her pensive blue eyes to meet my own, 
 
 * I wish I had never written that letter to 
 Uncle Henry. I am more sure every day 
 that you don't like the notion of Lionne 
 staying with us.' 
 
 I can't think what put the letter or her 
 cousin into my wife's head at that particu- 
 lar moment ; for I have not alluded to the 
 subject for several days past. 
 
 * My dearest child,' I answered her, 
 
 * whether I like it or not is of little conse- 
 quence. There is no alternative ; there- 
 fore we must bear the infliction as best we 
 may. Thank heaven, it will not be for ever.' 
 
 * But you are not to look upon it as an in-
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 69 
 
 fliction, Robert,' said Janie, as she squeezed 
 my arm, ' because, directly you see Mar- 
 garet, you will like her.' 
 
 I shrugged my shoulders incredulously. 
 
 ^•But indeed you will,' continued my 
 little wife with, for her, a most unusual 
 display of energy. ' You don't know how 
 nice-looking she is ; tall and slight, with 
 large dark eyes and — ' 
 
 ' Yes, yes, I know,' I interrupted im- 
 patiently. ' Six feet high, and gaunt as a 
 cab-horse, with flaming black eyes and 
 hair, and a complexion like Spanish olives. 
 I know the sort of woman, Janie ; you've 
 described her to me often enough. The 
 less said about her beauty the better.' 
 
 ' But she's not a bit like that,' said dear 
 little Janie, almost ready to cry at my 
 description of her cousin. ' Lionne is very 
 graceful and exceedingly handsome ; every 
 one says so. Indeed, Robert dear, you 
 are quite mistaken.' 
 
 * She won't be handsome to me,' I an- 
 swered, appeasing her with a kiss, * since 
 she must be so different from yourself, 
 Janie. Nothing will go down with me, 
 darling, except it be golden hair and a
 
 70 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 marble skin ; and then they must be the 
 hair and the skin of but one woman in the 
 world/ And I looked into the face of my 
 cushat-dove until I made her blush and 
 laugh nervously with her tremulous happi- 
 ness. Dear little Janie ! God keep me 
 ever true to her ! — * Why do you call your 
 cousin '* Lionne," instead of by her proper 
 name ? * I asked, as soon as the billing and 
 cooing episode had somewhat subsided, 
 and we had leisure to revert to the subject 
 under discussion. * Margaret is pretty 
 enough, and the other has no connection 
 with it, let alone its signification rendering 
 it very unsuitable for a lady.' 
 
 At this question my wife reddened ; but, 
 after a little pressing, confessed it was a 
 nickname which had been bestowed on 
 Miss Anstruther at school. 
 
 * She is a dear, generous creature, Robert 
 dear,' she pleaded ; * but just a little hasty, 
 or at least she used to be ; but of course 
 she will have got over all that by this 
 time' (not so sure, thought I); 'and we 
 girls used to call her ' La Lionne ' just for 
 fun, you know, and somehow the name 
 stuck to her. Oh, you should have seen
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 71 
 
 her in a rage ! ' continued Janie, warming 
 beneath the recollection ; * her eyes used 
 to flash such glorious fire, and she didn't 
 seem to care what she did. Once, when I 
 offended her, she flew at me just like a 
 little cat, and bit me on the arm.' And 
 Janie laughed softly at the remembrance 
 which made my blood boil. 
 
 ' What a she-devil ! ' I exclaimed indig- 
 nantly, as I thought of the fair flesh, of 
 which I was so tender, lacerated by the 
 teeth of a gaunt school-girl with vicious 
 black eyes. ' I should like to have caught 
 her at it ! ' 
 
 Then Janie seemed to think she had 
 said too much, and tried to retract. 
 
 * Oh, but, Robert dear 1 ' she exclaimed, 
 ' she is very different now, you know ; 
 that all happened long ago ; and though 
 we still call her Lionne, it is seldom that 
 she ever gives way to her temper. I have 
 not seen her for some years ; but when 
 we last met we had not a word together 
 during the whole period of her stay.' 
 
 *And howlongmaythat have been, Janie .'^' 
 
 ' For three weeks ; and she was so pleas- 
 ant and kind, you can't think.'
 
 72 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 Three weeks ! I groaned in my spirit ; 
 and we are to endure six months of the 
 company of this lady who is called Lionne, 
 in compliment to the amiability of her 
 disposition, and bites and scratches like a 
 cat whenever she is offended. I began to 
 think of clothing myself and my wife in 
 mail armour during the period of her stay, 
 so that we might be invulnerable to her 
 attacks ; but a remark to that effect to 
 Janie seemed greatly to discompose her. 
 
 * It is not fair of you, Robert dear,* she 
 said, with knitted brows, * to take my con- 
 fidence in such a spirit. It is all nonsense 
 to suppose that Margaret will be like that 
 now ; she is a charming girl, who is uni- 
 versally admired.' 
 
 * I am delighted to hear it,' I replied 
 sarcastically. * I hope, however, that she 
 won't take a liking to me ; or that, if she 
 does, she will keep her charming teeth to 
 herself.' 
 
 * I daresay you won't be troubled with 
 her long,' exclaimed Janie, with a degree 
 of excitement which I foresaw would end 
 in tears. * Margaret attracts lovers where- 
 ever she goes, and we shall have her en-
 
 Captain Norton s Diary, "ji 
 
 gaged and married most likely before she 
 has been many weeks in Mushin-Bunda. 
 
 * Worse and worse,' I inadvertently re- 
 plied. * If I thought that was to be the 
 end of it, Janie, I should cut and run at 
 once.' 
 
 Visions of my brother officers lounging 
 about the drawing-room all day, and snarl- 
 ing at each other like rival curs — of a 
 wedding, and all the paraphernalia and 
 fuss attendant on it — made me give vent to 
 the horror which I felt in the anticipation. 
 
 ' Ah ! you didn't think it all so horrid a 
 year ago ! ' said my wife, melting into the 
 promised tears ; * but I suppose you have 
 forgotten that by this time, or wish, per- 
 haps, that it had never been.' 
 
 The conclusion struck me as unreason- 
 able ; but when women arrive at that stage 
 they are not in a fit state to be argued 
 with, and are best left alone. 
 
 ' It's very different when one plays first 
 fiddle in the case, dear child,' I answered 
 soothingly ; but Janie was no longer in a 
 humour to be soothed. 
 
 ' I don't believe you think so, Robert,' she 
 said ; ' and as for poor Lionne, I 'm sure — '
 
 74 Captain Norton's Diary. 
 
 ' Oh, for heaven's sake ! let's talk of 
 something else than poor Lionne ! ' I an- 
 swered hastily. * I'm sure we've had 
 enough of her for one evening ; and, for 
 my part, I'm getting quite sick of her 
 name.' 
 
 It was a foolish, unthinking speech to 
 make ; and Janle took It so thoroughly to 
 heart, that she walked away from my side 
 Into the house, and had cried herself sick 
 and 111 before I had the manliness to find 
 her out and ask her pardon for my rude- 
 ness, and promise to try and like her 
 cousin for her sake. I must be more care- 
 ful of Janle. She Is not strong enough to 
 endure much emotion ; and she loves me 
 so tenderly, that the least suspicion of 
 unklndness on my part upsets her. 
 
 Well, this Is the first shadow of a dis- 
 agreement that we have ever had ; may It 
 be the last ! That It has occurred on the 
 subject of Margaret Anstruther, is not 
 likely to Increase my predilection In favour 
 of that young lady. 
 
 June T jth. — I did not go to bed till late 
 last evening, for I was vexed at what had 
 taken place between myself and Janie, and
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 75 
 
 could not readily compose myself to sleep. 
 However, I did so at last, vowing to endure 
 all the cousins in creation fastened upon me 
 for all time, sooner than bring another need- 
 less tear into the tender eyes of my cushat- 
 dove ; and was wakened at gun-fire this 
 morning by the intelligence that the Ostrich 
 (the steamer by which we expected Miss 
 Anstruther to arrive) was telegraphed from 
 Coeranapoot, and would be off Mushin- 
 Bunda in the course of a few hours. 
 
 Owing to the agreeable peculiarities of 
 the place we live in, I was obliged at once 
 to rise from my bed, and prepare to ride 
 down to the fort, the currents here being of 
 such a nature that vessels cannot come 
 within a couple of miles of land ; and if 
 boats are not ready on their arrival to con- 
 vey the passengers on shore, they carry 
 them on without ceremony to the next port. 
 I wakened Janie with a dozen kisses, 
 begged and prayed of her to think no more 
 of what happened last night, assured her 
 that I intend to be all that is amiable, and 
 learn to like her cousin as much as she 
 does, and having thrown myself into my 
 clothes, departed full of good resolutions,
 
 "](> Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 leaving her childish face radiant with smiles, 
 and beaming In expectation of the coming 
 meeting. 
 
 As I turned my horse out of the com- 
 pound, I met a brother officer, Forster by 
 name, also mounted, and riding apparently 
 in the same direction. 
 
 * Where are you off to so early ? ' I 
 inquired. 
 
 ' I am going on board the Ostrich^ he 
 replied, * to try and get a sight of my friend 
 Dunn, who Is to cross to Burmah In her. 
 Will you come with me 1 ' 
 
 * It Is where I am bound for. I am on 
 my way to meet Miss Anstruther, my wife's 
 cousin.' 
 
 * Lucky dog ! ' said Forster. He is one 
 of those fellows who Imagine that no age, 
 position, or circumstances are powerful 
 enough to prevent a man admiring a pretty 
 woman. * If all I have heard about her 
 from Dunn is true, you are not likely to 
 have your house much to yourself whilst 
 Miss Anstruther is In It, Norton.' 
 
 * Well, I shall go out of it, then,' I an- 
 swered, not over pleased at the notion of 
 never being left in peace with Janie.
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. yj 
 
 * Dunn says she's beautiful. I didn't 
 know you expected her in the Ostrich. 
 He'll never believe now that I went on 
 board with the intention of seeing himself/ 
 
 ' He must have but a small opinion of 
 your friendship for him.' 
 
 ' Ah, yes, perhaps ; but this is not an 
 ordinary occasion. From all I hear, Nor- 
 ton, Miss Anstruther must be — you'll 
 excuse my saying so — a regular out-and- 
 outer.' 
 
 * Indeed! You know more about her 
 than I do. She has not been above a 
 week or ten days in Madras.' 
 
 ' I know ; but Dunn was introduced to 
 her in England, and quite excited to find 
 she had come out to this country. Will 
 she remain long with you ? ' 
 
 * Till Colonel Anstruther returns from 
 China,' I replied, with an inward sigh. 
 
 * Lucky fellow ! ' repeated Forster, with a 
 grin. ' Don't you wish he may lay his 
 venerable bones there ? ' 
 
 I did not feel equal to pursuing this 
 conversation in the strain which Forster 
 evidently expected of me, and so I tried to 
 turn it.
 
 78 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 ' The tide is very high to-day,' I re- 
 marked, as we rode into the fort, and came 
 in sight of the sea. 
 
 ' By Jove ! so it is ; and yesterday it 
 barely washed the landing-quay. What 
 a sell it would be, Norton, if some day 
 this sea, with its changeable tides, was to 
 take it into its head to overflow the fort 
 and flood the cantonment ! ' 
 
 ' How could it ? ' I exclaimed, hastily. 
 
 The idea is ridiculous, and as ridiculous 
 my feeling annoyed at it, for I have never 
 heard it mooted by any one before ; and 
 yet it is not a pleasant one ; for the plain 
 is so very level, and we have no protection 
 whatever from the encroachments of the 
 ocean. 
 
 ' Well, I don't know,' he answered ; ' but 
 I think I've read of such things. It would 
 be a regular washing for these poor devils 
 in the fort, though, v/ouldn't it ? ' 
 
 * Don't talk of anything so horrible ! ' I 
 answered. 
 
 And then we hailed a boat ; and dis- 
 mounting from our horses, gave them into 
 the charge of their native grooms, and 
 were soon dancing over the sunny waves.
 
 Captam Norton s Diary. 79 
 
 It was dancing with a vengeance ; for the 
 cross-currents are so various, that at one 
 moment we were driven a long way out 
 of our course, and the next shot back again 
 in the opposite direction with a rapidity 
 which threatened to upset the frail struc- 
 ture to which we had trusted ourselves. 
 Meanwhile the Ostrich steamed slowly 
 into sight, and took up her station at the 
 usual distance from land ; whilst we beat 
 about the harbour for more than an hour, 
 wondering if we should ever board her ; and 
 half afraid, more than once, that she would 
 depart again without our having accom- 
 plished it. But we were successful at last ; 
 and the first object which I saw on reach- 
 ing the deck was the figure of a girl, sitting 
 apart by herself in a distant and reserved 
 manner, which I immediately singled out 
 as that of Miss Anstruther, and the sequel 
 proved that I was right. 
 
 * Is Miss Anstruther on board?' was 
 the query which Forster put to his friend 
 Dunn, as they met at the head of the 
 gang^vay. 
 
 ' Yes, she is,' was the reply ; * but I can't 
 say I've seen much of her. She seems
 
 8o Captain Norton's Diary. 
 
 very different from what she was in Eng- 
 land last year. But I think she hates this 
 country, and — ' 
 
 * Dunn, this is my friend Captain Nor- 
 ton ; allow me to introduce you. Mrs Nor- 
 ton is Miss Anstruther's cousin, Dunn ; he 
 has come on board expressly to meet her.' 
 
 * Oh yes, of course ; very happy, I'm 
 sure,' said Mr Dunn ; and in consequence 
 no farther allusion was made to Miss 
 Anstruther's likes or dislikes. 
 
 Meanwhile I found the captain, and got 
 him to introduce me to the young lady. 
 It was a proud cold face which she turned 
 towards me as my name was mentioned 
 to her, and the hand she offered lay very 
 passive in my grasp ; but she said all that 
 was pleasant and polite, and intimated that 
 her luggage was ready to be put into the 
 boat, and she to follow me at any time, so 
 that there was no reason for delay ; and 
 after I had assured her how eagerly Janie 
 was on the look-out for her arrival, and 
 she had bidden adieu to the captain, we 
 prepared to return to shore. We were 
 obliged to have two boats on account of 
 the luggage ; and what was my surprise to
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 8 1 
 
 see Forster slip down after us into the 
 second, as though he were one of the 
 party. 
 
 * You have deserted the company of 
 your friend Dunn very quickly,' I remarked 
 to him. ' The Ostrich does not leave 
 for another hour. I thought you were 
 going to breakfast on board.' 
 
 * I thought of doing so,' he answered 
 carelessly (he had been talking of nothing 
 else on our way there) ; ' but perhaps it's 
 better not — might miss the boat, you see, 
 which would be awkward. Will you intro- 
 duce me to Miss Anstruther ?' 
 
 I went through the required formula ; 
 but after the customary acknowledgment of 
 it. Miss Anstruther took no further notice 
 of Mr Forster or myself, and the conversa- 
 tion, after several ineffectual attempts to 
 draw her into it, was kept up between us 
 alone. Meanwhile, I could not help stealing 
 an occasional glance to where my wife's 
 cousin sat, calm and silent, gazing on the 
 bright glancing waters, and answering the 
 occasional remarks directed to her with a 
 smile which was almost too faint to be 
 called so. Only once did I see the expres- 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 82 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 slon of her face change ; and that was when 
 the cross-current caught the boat and drove 
 It all slanting and edgeways, like a bird 
 across the bay, with a velocity which, for 
 the moment, considerably unsettled each of 
 us. She grew a little paler then, and I saw 
 her hand (rather a nice hand, by-the-bye) 
 grasp the seat which she occupied ; but 
 still she said nothing. 
 
 * Don't be frightened, Miss Anstruther,' 
 I interposed hastily ; * there is no real 
 danger. The native boatmen are so skilful 
 that it is very seldom a boat is upset here.' 
 
 * Thank you,' she murmured, in answer 
 to my information, and for a moment her 
 eyes met mine (she has fine eyes, certainly) ; 
 and the next time the boat was driven out 
 of her course I saw, by the unmoved ex- 
 pression of her face, that she remained at 
 ease. 
 
 I suppose it was very courageous, and 
 all that sort of thing ; but I don't think I 
 liked her any the better for it. A woman, 
 in my idea, is a creature to be protected, 
 and not to take care of herself. I remember 
 how Janie shrieked and screamed and 
 clung to me when I brought her on shore
 
 Captain Norton! s Diary, 83 
 
 in one of those very boats ; and I think I 
 should have Hked it better if Miss An- 
 struther had exhibited a little more fear. 
 However, everybody is not like my Janie. 
 When we landed at the fort, Forster, who 
 is our adjutant, was obliged to leave us, 
 and allow me to take my guest home in a 
 carriage ; but though she talked a little 
 more when we found ourselves alone, she 
 was anything but sociable ; and I was 
 thankful when we had turned into our own 
 compound, and I could tell her to look 
 out for Janie on the steps. There was my 
 little bird, of course ; all fluttering with 
 pleasure at the delight of meeting her 
 cousin again ; and as soon as Miss An- 
 struther had reached the porch she flew 
 into her arms, and her happiness found 
 vent in a burst of excited tears. I ex- 
 pected to see the stranger follow suit, 
 knowing that women often cry most when 
 they are most pleased ; but not a drop fell 
 from her eyes. She clasped my wife very 
 closely to her, it is true, and I saw her lip 
 and nostril twitching ; but she showed no 
 further signs of emotion, though Janie did 
 tell me that, after they had passed into the
 
 84 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 bedroom together, her cousin indulged In 
 what she technically termed ' a good cry.' 
 However, of this I knew nothing. The 
 two girls (Janle is but eighteen, and Miss 
 Anstruther a year older) remained closeted 
 together for more than an hour ; and when 
 they reappeared at the breakfast-table they 
 looked as fresh as their muslin dresses, 
 and as far from tears as the day was from 
 rain. 
 
 And now, what am I to say of Miss 
 Anstruther's personal appearance ? She 
 is certainly very different from what I 
 imagined — altogether different. I will ac- 
 knowledge so far ; and yet I don't know if 
 I am agreeably surprised in her or not. 
 She is tall and slight, though not at all 
 thin, with a lithe figure which reminds 
 me of a leopard or some such animal ; and 
 every time she moves I expect to see her 
 take a waving serpentine leap which shall 
 land her noiselessly on the opposite side 
 of the room ; which peculiarity brings so 
 forcibly to my mind her nickname of 
 * Llonne ' that I have very nearly called 
 her by It more than once to-day. Her 
 complexion Is pale and sallow (Janie calls
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 85 
 
 it ' creamy ' — so I suppose that is the right 
 name for it), and her eyes, which are 
 enormous (much too big, in my opinion ; 
 I disHke starthng eyes m animals or 
 women), are black, and very variable in 
 their expression. Her nose is straight, 
 and rather sharp ; and she has an absurdly 
 short upper lip, with a deep channel in the 
 centre of it — in fact, scarcely any upper 
 lip at all. But she has a pretty set of 
 teeth (I record this fact to show that I 
 am not permitting myself to be in the 
 least swayed by prejudice), and apparently 
 a large quantity of dark hair — at least 
 Janie tells me that when unbound it 
 reaches to her knees. 
 
 Still, although doubtless she can boast 
 of some good features, to call such a 
 woman beautiful is absurd ; and one has 
 only to see her stand side by side with my 
 rosebud wife to perceive the worse points 
 which she possesses. It brings out at 
 once, as I made Janie laugh by observing, 
 all the yellow that is in her. She is not 
 so plain, perhaps, as I expected ; but 
 ' beautiful ' is the last epithet I should 
 apply to Margaret Anstruther. No woman
 
 86 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 who IS not fair can possibly be pretty ; and 
 how any man can prefer a dark face is to 
 me inexplicable. 
 
 June \%th. — She certainly is a most 
 extraordinary girl, and even more dis- 
 agreeable than I thought her yesterday. 
 We really got on so well together the first 
 day ; she chatted so pleasantly during the 
 forenoon to Janie and myself, and sung to 
 us in the evening (she has not got a bad 
 voice by any means), that I began to think 
 I had made a mistake about her cold, re- 
 served manner, and that if her visit were 
 to last for six weeks instead of six months, 
 it might not prove such an affliction. And 
 so, wishing to make myself agreeable, I 
 told Janie this morning at breakfast that 
 she must be sure and order a very good 
 dinner, as I intended to ask some of my 
 brother officers to dine with us. I knew 
 that Forster and others were anxious to 
 make Miss Anstruther's acquaintance ; and 
 a bright thought struck me this morning, 
 that if I manage well we may get her en- 
 gaged and married, and out of the way 
 altogether in the course of a month. Of 
 course, it will be a great deal of bother;
 
 Captain Norton s Diary, ^j 
 
 but It will be much better to get it over in 
 that manner than to have it spun out for 
 several months, and to wind up perhaps 
 with a wedding after all. So I have deter- 
 mined to be very hospitable, and keep 
 open house for the next few weeks ; and 
 I sha'n't let Janie interfere with her cousin 
 in any way ; and we will see what that 
 will do. My wife opened her blue eyes 
 when I informed her of the impending 
 guests, and said no one had called on Miss 
 Anstruther yet. 
 
 * Of what consequence is that ? ' I said. 
 ' The whole regiment will call this morning, 
 and I know they will be dying for an in- 
 vitation afterwards ; ' and I nodded in a 
 knowing manner at Miss Anstruther, as 
 much as to say that I knew all about it. 
 
 * I hope you do not invite them on my ac- 
 count,* she saidj curtly, answering my look. 
 
 * I invite them on' their own,' Miss An- 
 struther. * You do not seem to know your 
 value. Young ladies are very scarce in 
 Mushin-Bunda ; you could not have come 
 to a better place, if yoU' want to have it 
 all your own way. I don't think you will 
 find a rival here.'
 
 88 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 ' A glorious thought to goad one on to 
 victory,' she said, sarcastically, and her 
 manner seemed to change from that mo- 
 ment. She became again reserved and 
 haughty ; and when I returned home from 
 my professional duties, Janie met me almost 
 in tears, with the intelligence that she was 
 sure dear Lionne was not well, for she had 
 scarcely spoken a word all day, and had 
 sat so silent during the visits of the officers 
 of the regiment that Janie had had all the 
 talking to do. 
 
 * Never mind ! ' I answered soothingly ; 
 ' she will be different after dinner. A glass 
 of champagne will thaw her reserve, and 
 draw her out of herself.' 
 
 * But I so much wished that they should 
 admire her,' said dear little Janie in a 
 despondent voice. 
 
 My predictions, however, with respect 
 to Miss Anstruther were not verified. She 
 looked very handsome this evening in a 
 sweeping white dress {' handsome ' is the 
 correct term of her style of beauty ; no 
 one could call her ' pretty,' like Janie for 
 instance, but she certainly looks handsome, 
 particularly by candle-light), but nothing
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 89 
 
 prevailed to make her sociable ; neither 
 my champagne nor my wife's coaxing- 
 could induce her to talk or sing as she 
 did last night. She spoke in mono- 
 syllables, and professed herself too tired 
 for any display ; and the five men whom 
 I had asked to dine with us sat alter- 
 nately talking to my wife, and staring at 
 her guest, until the time for their departure 
 had arrived. Janie sung us two or three 
 ballads in her sweet plaintive little voice, 
 but we had heard them before, of course, 
 and should have been glad of something 
 new. But all our pressing and entreaty 
 were in vain. Miss Anstruther said she 
 was too fatigued to sing; and declining 
 even to sit amongst the company, stood 
 by a window gazing out upon the night. 
 Presently, almost too vexed at her singular 
 behaviour to remember my politeness, I 
 approached her side, and said, perhaps 
 rather abruptly, — 
 
 ' Why won't you sing for us ? ' 
 ' Because I don't choose,' she answered, 
 fearlessly. 
 
 ' I thought so,' I said ; and turning 
 away I quitted her again, and took a
 
 90 Captain NortofUs Diary, 
 
 seat by Janie's side. But after a while 
 some fascination, for which I am unable 
 to account (but which has been felt at 
 times by all people who on earth do 
 dwell), made me feel that Miss Anstruther 
 was regarding me, and lifting my eyes, I 
 encountered the glance of hers fixed on 
 my face. She withdrew them quickly ; 
 but not before their gaze had made me 
 feel uncomfortable — a sensation which I 
 attribute to the fact of their colour, which 
 I have never liked, and believe I never 
 shall. 
 
 The rest of the evening passed dully 
 enough, and I am sure Janie was as re- 
 lieved as I was when our friends rose to 
 take their leave, and Miss Anstruther 
 disappeared in the privacy of her own 
 room. 
 
 'You can't say that Mademoiselle Lionne 
 has made herself very agreeable to-night,' 
 I exclaimed rather triumphantly, as Janie 
 and I found ourselves alone. 
 
 But Janie was hardly a subject to be 
 triumphed over, she was so very humble 
 and apologetic. 
 
 ' I can't think what is the matter with
 
 Captain Norton! s Diary. 9 1 
 
 her, Robert dear ; but I assure you she 
 is not sulky. Only this moment she put 
 her arms round my neck and kissed me — 
 oh, so nicely ! but I don't think she likes 
 dinner-parties. We won't give another.' 
 
 * Not like dinner-parties ! ' I exclaimed. 
 'No — nor men. She told me she 
 
 wouldn't sit in the drawing-room to-morrow 
 morning.' 
 
 * Not like dinner-parties or men ! ' I ex- 
 claimed, aghast at the intelligence. * And 
 how the deuce is she to get married, 
 then?' 
 
 * Perhaps she doesn't want to get mar- 
 ried,' said Janie demurely. 
 
 'Doesn't want to get married!' I growled. 
 'Don't tell me such nonsense! If she 
 doesn't want to get married, what is she 
 out here for ? ' 
 
 * Oh, hush ! Robert dear ; don't speak 
 so loud,' interposed my wife, as she laid 
 her little hand across my mouth. * Do 
 remember, her room Is the next one to 
 this.' 
 
 So the conference was stopped, and I 
 cut Into my dressing-room to write my 
 diary. But I never heard such nonsense,
 
 92 Captain Norton's Diary. 
 
 and I wouldn't believe it on the girl's 
 own oath. Not like men or dinner-parties, 
 forsooth ! It Is only a young lady's trick 
 to attract attention by appearing to decline 
 it. We shall never get rid of her at this 
 rate. 
 
 N.B. — Her eyes are not black. I was 
 mistaken. They are grey, and not such 
 a very dark grey either, except when she 
 is annoyed. It Is only In some lights 
 that they look black. They are fine eyes; 
 but more suited, I should think, to war 
 than love. 
 
 yune \gtk. — In some way or other I 
 have offended my lady, for she will hardly 
 speak to me ; and when I proposed to 
 drive her to hear the regimental band 
 play this evening (Janie not being well), 
 rejected my offer with a decision which 
 amounted to scorn. Yet she stayed by 
 Janle's sofa (so I was told afterwards) 
 during the whole term of my absence, 
 bathing her head with eau de Cologne, and 
 fanning her, and attending to all her wants 
 in the most womanly manner ; so I sup- 
 pose she has some good In her, after all. 
 But so have serpents and tigers, and other
 
 Captain N' or tons Diary. 93 
 
 beasts of prey. All I know is, that I'm 
 not going to be insulted by a girl in my 
 own house, and I shall let Miss Anstruther 
 feel this by keeping up a distance between 
 us, and treating her with the coldest re- 
 serve. Just when I had been forcing 
 myself to show her politeness, in spite of 
 all the repulsion I feel to her society, to 
 have my offer rudely rejected is more 
 than any man can stand. It makes my 
 blood boil to recall the tone in which she 
 told me she was * infinitely obliged,' but 
 thought, on the whole, she would rather 
 * remain at home.' She may remain at 
 home for ever for me now ; it will be a 
 long time before I offer to take her out 
 again. 
 
 yM7ie 2ist. — We have been at it now for 
 two days, bowing to each other when we 
 meet, and scarcely exchanging a word 
 except in the most formal manner. Janie 
 sees the change, of course, and is wretched 
 about it. She keeps turning her wistful 
 glances from one to the other, as if to entreat 
 us to make it up and be friends ; but when 
 she appeals to me in private, I tell her that 
 it is the fault of her cousin, who is the
 
 94 Captain Nortoris Diary. 
 
 one to make the first advances towards 
 reconciliation, as I have not the slightest 
 idea in what I have offended ; and when 
 she talks in her turn to Lionne, I believe 
 she hears pretty much the same argument. 
 I hope, however, for all our sakes, that 
 this kind of thing won't go on much longer; 
 for I know that it's deucedly disagreeable, 
 and that I've never felt at home since Miss 
 Anstruther came into the house. 
 
 June 2 2)d. — Colonel Anstruther has sent 
 up a fine Arab from Madras for the use 
 of his niece, and to-day it arrived under 
 the charge of its native groom, rather 
 foot-worn and travel-stained, but otherwise 
 in good condition. It is such a beautiful 
 creature, and my fancy for horses is so 
 strong, that I really couldn't help coming 
 a little out of my shell on its arrival, and 
 expressing my admiration of its various 
 points to its mistress. She also seemed 
 to forget herself in her pleasure in the 
 new acquisition ; but when I remarked 
 that she would now have some delightful 
 rides, and would find no lack of cavaliers 
 to accompany her in Mushin-Bunda, the 
 old expression re-gathered on her face,
 
 Captain Norton's Diary. 95 
 
 and she retreated to the house, and sat 
 for the greater part of the evening in her 
 own room. What an unpleasant woman ! 
 I would rather she bit me than treated 
 me like this, and suggested to Janie that 
 the alternative would be pleasant for a 
 change. But Janie wouldn't laugh ; she 
 is too really unhappy about the state of 
 things. 
 
 yune 2 5///. — Matters remained in statu 
 quo until to-day ; but the thaw has come 
 at last, and, as it should do, from the 
 female side. The horses were brought 
 round this morning, as usual, to eat their 
 * gram ' in front of the house ; and the 
 Arab, having enjoyed two days' rest and 
 a thorough grooming, looked in such good 
 condition, that Janie was eager in her 
 entreaties that her cousin should take her 
 first ride on him this evening, and form 
 an opinion of her new acquisition. Know- 
 ing that my attendance would be necessary 
 (I have never been able to persuade Janie 
 to become a horsewoman, she is far too 
 timid), I made an effort to be more agree- 
 able, and joined my persuasions to those 
 of my wife ; but Miss Anstruther would
 
 96 Captain Norton's Diary. 
 
 give no definite answer, and rather put 
 the question to one side than otherwise ; 
 so I thought no more about it. Going 
 towards the stables, however, in the after- 
 noon, I saw the Arab standing ready 
 saddled in his stall ; and hearing it was 
 by order of the ' missy,' concluded that 
 I had either misunderstood her reticence, 
 or she had changed her mind ; so, telling 
 the horsekeeper to get my animal also 
 ready, returned to the house to hear what 
 plans had been made in my absence. 
 There I found Miss Anstruther standing 
 by herself in the verandah, ready attired 
 for her ride, and looking better in her hat 
 and habit than I remember to have seen 
 her look before. 
 
 * Janie has a headache, Captain Norton, 
 and is lying down until dinner time. I 
 believe she is asleep,' she said, as she 
 observed the roving look I cast about in 
 search of my wife. 
 
 * Ah, poor little woman, it will be the 
 best thing for her,' I replied. * The horses 
 will be round directly, Miss Anstruther; 
 but I am sorry you did not make me 
 understand your intention of riding more
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 97 
 
 plainly ; It was quite by chance that I 
 returned home so early.' 
 
 At this she turned and regarded me 
 with serious surprise. 
 
 ' I had no intention of troubling you,' 
 she said quickly ; ' I can ride by myself.' 
 
 * By yourself, and on a strange animal, 
 Miss Anstruther ! It is quite out of the 
 question.' 
 
 * I have ridden all sorts of animals.' 
 
 ' Perhaps ; but not without an attendant. 
 What would the regiment think to see you 
 ridinor alone ? ' 
 
 ' I am sorry, I have mistaken the place,' 
 she said gravely. * I thought Mushin- 
 Bunda was so very quiet that one might 
 do anything here. I should not think of 
 troubling you to accompany me.' 
 
 And she turned towards the house as 
 though with the intention of giving up her 
 ride. But I placed myself upon the thres- 
 hold, and barred her entrance. 
 
 ' You have not been treating me fairly 
 for some days past, Miss Anstruther. 
 What have I done to offend you ? ' 
 
 * Nothing,' she answered in a low voice. 
 'Then don't add insult to your injury 
 
 VOL. I. c;
 
 gS Captain Nartons Diary. 
 
 by refusing my escort on this occasion. 
 You need take no more notice of me, 
 you know, than if I were your groom ; 
 and that will not be much alteration from 
 your usual behaviour.' 
 
 She held her head so low that I could 
 hardly see her face ; but she re-entered the 
 verandah as I spoke, and I concluded that 
 my terms were accepted. In another mo- 
 ment the horses were at the door. 
 
 ' Come,' I said, as gaily as I could, as 
 I held out my hand to aid her in descend- 
 ing the steps ; and as I took hers, I felt 
 that it was trembling. I put her on her 
 horse. Notwithstanding her height, she 
 is almost feather-weight ; and her elastic 
 figure sprang into the saddle, from the 
 impetus it received from me, as though 
 she had really been the animal to which 
 I am so fond of comparing her. So I 
 settled her in her seat, arranging her skirt 
 and stirrup-leather for her, and handing 
 her the reins, without once looking in her 
 face ; and then I mounted my own horse, 
 and we rode out of the compound side 
 by side. The silence that we maintained 
 was ominous. She did not speak a word,
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 99 
 
 and I could think of nothing to say, al- 
 though I felt that an explanation was about 
 to take place between us. I was glad, 
 therefore, when we came to a long strip 
 of green turf, and I could suggest that 
 she should try of what mettle her animal 
 was made ; a suggestion to which she 
 dumbly assented by breaking into a canter. 
 As we rode along together, I glanced at 
 her light figure, poised like a bird upon 
 the saddle, and saw that she rode well, 
 sitting home to her crupper, and handling 
 her reins as though she were accustomed 
 to them. 
 
 [N.B. — I have read and heard a good 
 deal about the want of grace in a woman's 
 seat on horseback, but, for my own part, 
 I never think a lady looks so well as 
 in that position, always provided that she 
 understands her business and has a figure 
 worth looking at. A handsome woman on 
 a handsome horse is a sight for royalty, 
 and I never know which to admire most, 
 the mortal or the equine.) 
 
 We cantered for a mile or more, and the 
 action of the Arab seemed very perfect. 
 I made an observation to this effect, when,
 
 ICX) Captain Norton's Diary, 
 
 having left the running horse-keepers far 
 behind us, we at last drew rein, and found 
 ourselves alone. But still my remark 
 received no answer, and I was determined 
 to make her speak. 
 
 *Am I intruding too much upon my 
 privileges. Miss Anstruther, in venturing 
 an opinion on the subject ? Even a groom 
 is sometimes permitted, you know, to pass 
 his judgment on the new acquisitions to 
 his mistress's stables.' 
 
 * Don't, Captain Norton ; oh, pray, 
 don't.' 
 
 The words were uttered so hurriedly 
 that I scarcely understood them ; but 
 when I looked into her face for an explana- 
 tion, I saw that she was crying. Now I 
 cannot bear to see a woman cry. They 
 may do anything they like with me — tease, 
 bully, even insult me — so long as they keep 
 their eyes dry ; but Miss Anstruther s 
 tears were falling fast upon the bosom of 
 her riding-habit. 
 
 I could not endure to think that she 
 might be annoyed with me and my 
 bantering ; perhaps unhappy at having to 
 live at Mushin-Bunda, for it is a very
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. loi 
 
 dull and uninteresting place ; and I said 
 the first thing which came into my head. 
 
 * My dear girl, what is the matter with 
 you ? ' 
 
 I suppose the question was stupid or 
 ill-timed, or perhaps I don't understand 
 the ways of women, for instead of doing 
 Miss Anstruther any good, it changed her 
 silent tears into such a storm of grief 
 that I was quite alarmed. I have often 
 seen Janie cry (indeed, my little woman 
 is rather fond of working her hydraulics 
 on very small occasions), and I have been 
 the unwilling witness at times to a good 
 many tears from various members of the 
 fair sex ; but never in all my life have I 
 seen such a tempest of passionate rain as 
 poured from Margaret Anstruther's eyes 
 this evening. She sobbed so violently 
 and with so little restraint, that I began to 
 be alarmed for the effect of her emotion, 
 both on her horse and herself, and begged 
 and entreated her to be calm, when all of 
 a sudden, to my astonishment, the storm 
 passed as quickly as it had arisen ; and, 
 except for her heaving bosom and sobbing 
 breath, she was herself again.
 
 I02 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 ' What must you think of me ? ' she in- 
 quired, turning her h'quid eyes, still swim- 
 ming in tears, upon my countenance. * I 
 must have seemed so rude, so ungrateful 
 to you both.' 
 
 * Think ! ' I stammered, remembering 
 all I have thouofht of her conduct durinof 
 the last few days ; I don't think anything, 
 Miss Anstruther ; only I am afraid you 
 cannot be happy with us or here. 
 
 ' Oh, it is not that ! ' she exclaimed 
 earnestly. ' Neither place nor people can 
 make any difference to me. Dear Janie 
 is everything that is kind ; and you — you 
 have been very patient with me — but 
 nothing can lift off the humiliation, the 
 degradation, that I feel in being here 
 at all.' 
 
 * Degradation ! ' I repeated, rather nettled 
 at the term. 
 
 * Yes, degradation ! ' she said emphati- 
 cally ; * else why am I in this country ? 
 what is my place in India ? I have an 
 uncle here, it is true ; but so have I uncles 
 in England. Why was Colonel Anstruther 
 chosen by my guardians as the one most 
 fitted to offer me a home ? Tell me that.'
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 1Q3 
 
 * He is rich, and a bachelor,' I com- 
 menced ; * and Hving alone, naturally — ' 
 
 ' It is not so,' she interrupted me ; ' and 
 you know it. Captain Norton. It is be- 
 cause he lives in a country where women 
 are scarce, and men have few opportunities 
 of choice ; where a girl may pick up a 
 husband who mieht remain for ever un- 
 married at home ; where we are looked at 
 on arrival much as thouQ^h we were articles 
 of sale, and often purchased for motives 
 unworthy the name of love or honour or 
 esteem. You cannot deny it, because it is 
 true, and I am wretched ; ' and with this 
 Lionne buried her burning face in her 
 hands. 
 
 ' But I can deny it ! ' I exclaimed ; ' for 
 if this is the case with some girls sent out 
 to this country, it is not with all. Look at 
 your cousin Janie ; surely you would never 
 speak of her in that strain.' 
 
 ' Janie came out to the care of her 
 sister, her nearest relation,' was the low 
 reply. 
 
 ' And you have come out to your re- 
 lations, Miss Anstruther ; to friends who 
 have but one wish, to see you happy and
 
 I04 Captain Mortons Diary. 
 
 comfortable, and who would never dream 
 of imputing such motives to an action 
 which — ' 
 
 ' Did you not dream of it ? ' she retorted 
 quickly, as she turned her glowing glance 
 upon me. 'What was the question that 
 you put to Janie the second evening of 
 my arrival. "If she doesn't want to get 
 married, what is she here for ? " I ought 
 not to have heard it, perhaps, but you 
 spoke so loudly that it was impossible 
 to avoid doing so. And do you think I 
 didn't feel it ? ' 
 
 She spoke so decidedly, and yet so mourn- 
 fully, her eyes flashed with such proud in- 
 dignant fire, whilst her figure seemed bowed 
 beneath the weight of her humiliation, that 
 I had nothing to say for myself; and having 
 attempted some stammering reply, which 
 ended very abruptly, found that she was 
 speaking again, though more to herself than 
 me, and felt myself constrained to be silent 
 and attend. 
 
 * I saw it from the first day I landed,' she 
 went on sadly. ' I perceived in Mrs Grant's 
 insinuations, and the remarks of her lady 
 friends, that I was supposed to have been
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 105 
 
 sent out to India with but one object — to 
 get a husband ; and it sickened me. But 
 when I came here,' she added in a lower 
 voice, * I hoped it would be different ; I 
 hoped that you and Janie, being so lately 
 married, would look on love and marriage 
 in a holier light — as something too far 
 removed from earthly calculations to be 
 made the subject of mere speculation or 
 convenience.' 
 
 'Oh, Miss Anstruther, forgive me ! ' I 
 exclaimed. 
 
 'It is I who should have said those 
 words, Captain Norton. You disap- 
 pointed me, and I have disappointed 
 you. You raised in me a demon of a 
 temper, which I should have been ashamed 
 to manifest, which I am now most heartily 
 ashamed even to recall. And yoj have 
 been very patient with me, very good and 
 very gentlemanly. Please forgive me, in 
 your turn.' 
 
 And she placed her hand firmly and 
 warmly into mine. 
 
 ' You are too kind,' I stammered, confused 
 beyond measure at this rapid change of 
 manner in my guest. ' I spoke thoughtlessly;
 
 io6 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 but I see that I misjudged you. Only tell 
 me now what you wish to be done, and I 
 will execute it to the letter.' 
 
 * I don't deserve that you should do any- 
 thing, Captain Norton, but hate me for a 
 rude and sulky wretch ; but I am so heartily 
 sorry to have annoyed you.' 
 
 ' Let us forget all that,' I responded, 
 earnestly ; ' the annoyance was mutual, and 
 I was the most to blame. Only tell me 
 what to do in future, Margaret — I may call 
 you Margaret, may I not, since we are 
 cousins ? — in order to make you happy, 
 and then I shall feel that I am quite 
 forgiven.' 
 
 ' Treat me as a human being,' she an- 
 swered, gaily, ' and not as an animal for 
 sale. Don't ask your brother officers to 
 the house on my account, nor thrust me 
 forward for their contemplation in any way. 
 Look on me as what I am : a creature who 
 may stand alone all her life, and be contented 
 so to stand ; to whom marriage is but a 
 chance in the future ; so great a chance 
 indeed, and so undesired a certainty, that 
 she does not even care to contemplate it 
 nearer ; to whom her friends, if they will
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 107 
 
 be her true and honest friends, are more 
 valuable than a score of admirers.' 
 
 * Whatever I have been, you shall have 
 a true and honest friend in me hencefor- 
 ward, Margaret.' 
 
 ' That's right ; so let us look upon our 
 difference as settled, and make Janie's heart 
 glad by the beaming faces we take back 
 with us. And now, let me hear your true 
 opinion of my uncle's present to me.' 
 
 We discoursed gaily on in different topics 
 till we reached home ; when Janie was 
 indeed made glad (as Margaret had pre- 
 dicted) by the cheerful conversation we 
 maintained at the dinner-tab^-, and the 
 little bit of confidence I reposed in her 
 when we found ourselves alone. She was 
 so delighted to think I should appreciate 
 her dear Lionne at her true value at last. 
 Not that I told Janie every word that had 
 passed between her cousin and myself; for, 
 added to its being unnecessary, I am not 
 sure that my little girl would understand 
 Miss Anstruther's feelings on the subject, 
 or properly respect her pride. She would 
 mention it again to her probably ; and in 
 her simplicity, wishing to be kind and in-
 
 io8 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 terested, try to sift her reasons to the 
 bottom, and perhaps annoy where she 
 desired to please. So I only said that our 
 quarrel was altogether done away with, 
 and would never be renewed ; and that, as 
 her cousin seemed to prefer a quiet life, 
 we would inaugurate no farther dinner- 
 parties on her account ; which would suit 
 us better, I concluded, and be more in 
 accordance with our usual style of living. 
 To all which my wife heartily agreed ; and 
 I feel more at charity with myself and 
 all mankind than I have done for some 
 time past. I shall keep my word with 
 Margaret Anstruther ; and extend no 
 farther encouragement to the bachelors 
 who may come lounging about my house. 
 It is a strange taste on her part ; but she 
 must be a girl in a thousand to dislike 
 admiration, and to look upon careless at- 
 tentions as an offence against the solemnity 
 of marriage. It is a solemn thing, when 
 you come to think, that if you make a 
 mistake upon the subject, you are in for 
 it, and nothing can pull you out again. 
 I wonder if Margaret has had an unre- 
 quited attachment ; I should not be in
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 109 
 
 the least surprised were I told so ; it 
 would be quite in accordance with the 
 grave, melancholy expression of her eyes, 
 and her dislike to society. I must try 
 and discover.
 
 CHAPTER I I. 
 
 ULY 20th, — Is it possible that I 
 can have let nearly a whole 
 month slip away without writing 
 a line in my diary ? I had no 
 idea of it till I saw the last date inscribed 
 here ; and the month itself seems to have 
 gone so swiftly, that had it not been for 
 this reminder, I should have imagined 
 it was not more than a week since I 
 recorded my experiences. I suppose it 
 is the monotony of the place which makes 
 the time go so fast. My poor little Janie 
 has not been well during this month : 
 the heat has been unusually trying, and 
 3he lies on her sofa half the day, suffering 
 from nervous headaches, and a general 
 disinclination to get up and do anything. 
 In this emergency her cousin has been 
 invaluable ; she is constantly by her side,
 
 Captain No7^ton s Diary. 1 1 1 
 
 reading to her, writing her letters, or 
 amusing her with quiet conversation ; in- 
 deed, I may say we share the duty, for, 
 of course, I Hke to wait on Janie ; and 
 the novels which Margaret brought out 
 from England with her are very entertain- 
 ing to listen to, and to me an entirely new 
 field of fancy, as I have scarcely ever 
 looked into a work of fiction in my life. 
 I imagined novels, particularly modern 
 ones, were such rubbish ; and so I sup- 
 pose they are. Yet, on a hot day, and 
 when there is nothing else to do, it is very 
 pleasant to sit still, fanning Janie and 
 listening to Margaret's mellow voice as 
 she reads them to us. We are engaged 
 upon the Newcomes at present. I pity 
 that poor devil Clive, with such a little 
 fool as Rosy for a wdfe, and especially 
 when he might have had a girl like Ethel 
 Newcome. I didn't care a pin about the 
 story at first, but I feel quite interested in 
 it now, and anxious to know if he gets rid 
 of Rosy by any means, so that he may 
 marry the other. I think it will be very 
 hard lines if he doesn't. Margaret laughs 
 at me, and says I am a bloodthirsty mon-
 
 T 1 2 Captain Mortons Diary, 
 
 ster, and that Clive should be made to 
 abide the consequences of his folly ; and 
 so, I suppose, by rights he should. 
 
 What a genial laugh she has, and how 
 pleasant it is to see her blush and smile ! 
 I can understand now what Janie means 
 by calling her complexion creamy ; it is 
 so smooth and equable, not easily flushed, 
 but at the same time not liable to become 
 florid and irritable-looking, which is so 
 often the case with fair skins. We have 
 certainly had some very quiet peaceful 
 days together. I have faithfully kept the 
 compact I made with her to be her friend, 
 and I think she appreciates my wish to give 
 her pleasure. We have had no parties 
 since she expressed a contrary desire, and 
 I have even told Forster — who is evidently 
 most absurdly spoony on her — that she 
 does not favour his suit — as I can see by 
 her manner towards him — and that he 
 really must not come to the house so often. 
 He says, ' Why not let him try his luck ? ' 
 but I am firm in making him understand 
 that trial would only end in disappoint- 
 ment for himself. He grumbles ; so do 
 several others ; but my wife's state of
 
 Captain Mortons Diary. 1 1 3 
 
 health is sufficient excuse for our not 
 entertaining at present. I told Margaret 
 of what I had said to Forster relative 
 to her not liking his attentions, and she 
 blushed so crimson that I stopped in alarm 
 to ask if I had done wrong ; but she as- 
 sured me to the contrary, and that she 
 does not like the man. I have not had 
 a good opportunity yet of probing her 
 concerning that former attachment of 
 which I am suspicious ; but I fancy I see 
 signs of it almost every^ day ; also that she 
 has somehow guessed at my intentions, 
 for I am sure she has avoided being alone 
 with me lately. Notwithstanding all which 
 we are very happy, and Lionne is very 
 different from what I expected her to be. 
 She has not been in a temper once since 
 we arrived at that mutual understandlnsf. 
 
 July 2ist. — Talk of the old gentleman, 
 they say, and he is sure to appear. I 
 hope I did not raise the slumbering demon 
 in Miss Anstruther's breast by my inno- 
 cent remark of last night ; but she has 
 certainly given us a peep of him since. 
 
 I was sitting in my own room this 
 afternoon, occupied with some official 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 1 1 4 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 papers, when I heard a confusion of 
 tongues in the compound, and Janie's 
 frightened voice, in tones of agitation, 
 entreating me to go to her assistance. I 
 ran, of course, to find that the cause of her 
 alarm was a loud altercation going on be- 
 tween Miss Anstruther and some natives 
 in the back verandah. 
 
 ' Oh, do go to them, Robert dear ! ' 
 Janie plaintively exclaimed ; ' Lionne is so 
 angry, and I can't think what for.' 
 
 I dashed upon the scene of action, and 
 took in the circumstances at a glance. In 
 the centre stood Lionne — a lionne indeed, 
 looking — I could not help observing it, 
 even whilst I blamed the exhibition — most 
 beautiful under the influence of her rage. 
 Her dark face glowing with passion, her 
 arm extended, though powerless to com- 
 mand attention, and her lips pouring forth 
 a torrent of generous indignant words, 
 alike uncomprehended and unheeded by 
 those around her. By her side stood two 
 or three servants, who stared at the lady's 
 vehemence without attempting to execute 
 her wishes ; whilst before her, in the com- 
 pound was a group of natives actively em-
 
 Captain Nortoji s Diary. 1 1 5 
 
 ployed in torturing a poor pariah dog by 
 methods too horrible to relate, and only 
 abating their cruelty to exchange significant 
 grins and glances with one another at 
 Lionne's impotent rage. But my appear- 
 ance amono^st them had the effect of an 
 electric shock upon the herd. 
 
 ' What is all this about ? ' I demanded 
 angrily of my servants. ' How dare you 
 let such a scene go on in my compound '^, ' 
 
 ' Oh, Robert ! Robert ! ' exclaimed 
 Lionne — it is the first time in her life that 
 she has called me by my Christian name — 
 ' stop them ; make them leave off such 
 horrid cruelty. I did not know you were 
 at home, or I would have sent for you 
 before.' 
 
 The natives had already shrunk back 
 and huddled together, whilst the unfortu- 
 nate victim of their experiments still lay 
 panting on the sand before us. 
 
 'Oh, look at it! look at it!' she cried 
 excitedly ; ' it is in agony ; it is dying ! 
 Oh, you wretches ! you inhuman, barbar- 
 ous savages ! ' with an expression and 
 emphasis which must have made even her 
 English phrases intelligible to the creatures
 
 1 1 6 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 she addressed ; * I should like to see every 
 one of you served in the same way. You 
 are not men, you are devils ! ' 
 
 ' Lionne,' I said firmly, as I laid my 
 hand on the excited girl's arm, ' this is no 
 place for you. Leave me to deal with 
 these men by myself.' 
 
 She shook off my grasp impatiently, as 
 though disdaining my control ; but I caught 
 her eye and chained it. 
 
 * Margaret ! ' 
 
 * But, Captain Norton — ' 
 
 * Go in to Janie — you have frightened 
 her enough already — and leave me by 
 myself. I will come to you by-and- 
 
 She saw I was in earnest, and with a 
 heightened colour turned from the verandah 
 and re-entered the house, where, after hav- 
 ing severely reprimanded my servants, 
 thrashed one or two of the natives, and 
 seen the tortured animal put out of its 
 misery, I followed her. She was seated 
 by Janie's couch, her hand clasped in that 
 of her cousin, her beautiful head drooped 
 and lowering. I saw that she was ashamed 
 of what had passed ; and so I made no
 
 Captain Norton s Diary, 1 1 7 
 
 reference to it, but asked my wife in an 
 indifferent tone on what she had decided 
 to do this evening. She had decided on 
 nothing — in fact, she wished to do nothing, 
 but to be left to He still in peace. So, after 
 a while, I proposed a stroll in the compound 
 to Miss Anstruther ; and she rose to her 
 feet and prepared to follow me. 
 
 I think I have already spoken of our 
 compound, which is full of graves. These 
 graves are very inconveniently situated for 
 a gentleman's pleasure-grounds ; or perhaps 
 it would be more correct to say that the 
 gentleman's pleasure-grounds are incon- 
 veniently situated for the graves, which 
 stretch up to the very windows of the 
 house, and by their inequality greatly impede 
 the facility of a stroll. We stumbled over 
 them, and made circuits round about them, 
 for some time in silence, until both that and 
 the exercise seemed to become oppressive ; 
 and by mutual consent, as it were, we sat 
 down together on a broad flat stone which 
 covers one of them ; and for a few mo- 
 ments neither of us spoke. Then I stole 
 a glance at Margaret's face, and saw that 
 it was still clouded and dow^ncast ; and I
 
 1 1 8 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 felt a strange longing to see it brighten up 
 again and smile upon me. 
 
 ' I am sorry you should have been wit- 
 ness to so painful and disgraceful a scene, 
 Miss Anstruther/ I ventured to remark. 
 
 * I am sorry you should have been wit- 
 ness to so painful and disgraceful a scene, 
 Captain Norton,' she echoed gloomily. 
 ' Mine was the worst exhibition of the two : 
 I see it now plainly. Oh, what a wretch 
 you must think me! What an undisci- 
 plined, passionate, unwomanly creature ! ' 
 and up went her hands as shelter to her 
 burning face. 
 
 * Please don't call yourself names ; I can't 
 subscribe to them. I think you only what 
 you are — a generous, warm-hearted girl, 
 indignant at the sight of wrong, only in- 
 clined to be a little too hot and hasty in 
 expressing your indignation. Never be 
 afraid of falling in my good opinion by 
 showing your true nature, Margaret' 
 
 ' But my nature is so bad, Captain Nor- 
 ton ; you cannot think how bad it is. My 
 temper is so violent ; and when it rises, I 
 remember nothing else, except that I am 
 angry and must show it.'
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 1 1 9 
 
 * If you never display it in a worse cause, 
 Margaret, than you did this afternoon, you 
 cannot go far wrong. It w^as a disgraceful 
 and disgusting act of cruelty.' 
 
 * Oh, was it not cruel,' she eagerly ex- 
 claimed, ' to torture one so utterly defence- 
 less and unarmed ? I could look on at 
 men, or dogs, or any creatures of equal 
 power, fighting with each other, and applaud 
 the victor ; but when it comes to one against 
 such fearful odds, one innocent creature 
 suffering because of its innocence, I cannot 
 bear it. Many such sights would kill me ; 
 I think that I should burst with rage.' 
 
 * And yet in this world, Margaret, it is 
 usually the defenceless and the innocent 
 who suffer.' 
 
 ' We who are strong should shield them,' 
 she answered, hastily. 
 
 I wonder w^hat made her link her nature 
 with mine in that word * we ? ' And yet I 
 feel that I am strong — as she is. The 
 tombstone on which we were sitting pro- 
 fesses to cover the remains of two lovers 
 who died within a few hours of each other. 
 I told her the story, as it has been related 
 to me by one of our officers, who has taken
 
 120 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 the trouble to decipher the old Dutch letters 
 upon the stone, and asked her if she believed 
 it possible that grief could have such an 
 effect as to kill within so short a space of 
 time. 
 
 * It seems unlikely,' she replied indif- 
 ferently ; ' but natures are so various. 
 If true, she must have loved him very 
 devotedly.' 
 
 ' And you are the last person to believe 
 in such affection,' I remarked. I thought 
 it would be a good occasion to find out if 
 she had ever had an unfortunate attach- 
 ment. 
 
 * What makes you think so ? ' she an- 
 swered quickly. 
 
 ' Because you have never tried it — have 
 you ? You have never been in love your- 
 self, Margaret ? ' 
 
 I spoke laughingly ; but I wish I had 
 not mentioned it. A scarlet flush mounted 
 to her very forehead as I said the words ; 
 and when I pulled her by the hand and 
 repeated my assertion, she burst into tears, 
 and ran from me to the house. What a 
 fool I was to touch on such a subject ! I 
 don't believe, all the same, that it is true.
 
 Captain Mortons Diary. 1 2 1 
 
 that she has ever been In love ; but I may 
 have wounded her sensitive pride by men- 
 tioning it, and cause her to be reserved 
 with me in future. Indeed, I am sure that 
 she behaved more distantly towards me 
 even during the remainder of the evening ; 
 and a little circumstance which happened 
 just before we went to bed confirms me in 
 this opinion. 
 
 Janie was quite brisk and lively com- 
 pared to what she has been lately, and 
 sung us several songs ; but Lionne ex- 
 cused herself from singing, and remained 
 in a corner with her face buried in a 
 book. 
 
 ' Make her come, Robert dear,' said 
 Janie playfully. ' Go and pull her out.' 
 
 ' Captain Norton knows better than to 
 attempt such a rudeness,' was the measured 
 reply, which fell rather as a wet blanket on 
 the other litde woman's mirth. 
 
 ' Why do you call him Captain Norton ? ' 
 she said, pouting. ' You called him Robert 
 this afternoon when you were in the ver- 
 andah, Lionne, because I heard you. Why 
 can't you do so always } ' 
 
 Miss Anstruther had disappeared still
 
 1 2 2 Captain Mortons Diary. 
 
 lower behind her book ; but to my wife's 
 demand she made no reply. 
 
 ' Why won't you call him Robert ? ' said 
 Janie, as she rose from the piano and took 
 possession of her cousin's book ; ' he al- 
 ways calls you Margaret.' 
 
 The face which she thus disclosed was 
 crimson, and the dark eyes swam in a 
 blurred mist which was half tears. So 
 painful indeed was the expression of the 
 whole countenance, that I turned away, and 
 could not contemplate it. 
 
 ' Because I can't, I really can't,' was the 
 reply at last extracted. 
 
 * And why not ? ' persisted Janie. 
 
 * It is not pleasant to me ; I do not wish 
 it,' said Miss Anstruther, until I felt my- 
 self constrained to interfere, and desire 
 Janie not to tease her cousin. 
 
 So she released the glowing face with an 
 expression of impatience at her obstinacy, 
 and Miss Anstruther made use of her 
 liberty by effecting an immediate disap- 
 pearance. This confirms me in my impres- 
 sion that I offended her in the compound 
 this evening, and that it will cause a differ- 
 ence in our future intercourse. I am very
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 123 
 
 much vexed about It : I had really begun 
 quite to like the girl. And I cannot dis- 
 miss from my mind the tone in which she 
 said the words, ' We who are strong should 
 shelter them.' Does she imagine that I 
 am not capable of acting a generous part ? 
 I should like to have some opportunity of 
 showing her what stuff I am made of. 
 
 July 2)Oth. — I have been very much vexed 
 to-day ; and though the circumstance ap- 
 pears trifling, it threatens to lead to serious 
 results. When we first arrived in Mushin- 
 Bunda — now some eight months ago — I, 
 in common with others of m.y regiment, 
 heard several absurd stories concerning 
 the houses supposed to be haunted in the 
 cantonment and its neighbourhood — 
 (natives always have a stock of such lies 
 on hand, with which to feed the imagina- 
 tion of any one fool enough to listen to 
 them) ; but of course I placed no credence 
 in their statements, which only excited a 
 smile from their stupidity. This well was 
 said to be the quarters of a devil, for which 
 cause no one would ever draw or use the 
 water from it ; and that clump of bamboos 
 to harbour another, which, issuing in the
 
 124 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 form of a boa-constrictor, attacked those 
 who were hardy enough to Hnger in the 
 compound after dark. With regard to our 
 own house, I heard that the spirits of the 
 dead who lay buried beneath our windows 
 had been seen to wander about at night 
 in their grave-clothes ; but of course I took 
 care that such rubbish should not reach 
 the ears of my wife ; equally of course I 
 forbade my servants chattering about it, 
 and never gave the subject another thought. 
 What was my surprise and vexation, there- 
 fore, when I returned home this afternoon, 
 to find my wife supported by her cousin 
 in a state of hysterical agitation, whilst 
 she listened to the garbled statements of 
 half-a-dozen natives, who all talked to- 
 gether, and interrupted one another, and 
 did everything they could to render their 
 relation as confused and unintelligible as 
 possible. My 'chokra' or * dressing-boy ' 
 was gesticulating in Hindustani ; the butler 
 was vociferating in broken English; and the 
 cook in his native tongue of Tamil ; whilst 
 the ' maty ' and tailor and ' cook - boy ' 
 tripped over each other in any words they 
 could first lay hold of Margaret was
 
 Captain Norton's Diary. 1 2 5 
 
 looking incredulous and a little scornful ; 
 Janie was all tears and flushed cheeks and 
 wide-open eyes ; and for the moment I 
 was struck speechless with astonishment 
 to think what could possibly have happened 
 during my absence. 
 
 •' What is all this about ? ' I exclaimed, 
 as I advanced to the centre of the group. 
 
 The servants fell back, conscious they 
 had no business there, and evidently some- 
 what doubtful of my reception of their 
 news. But Margaret gave a sigh of relief 
 at my appearance, and Janie flew to my 
 arms as to an ark of safety. 
 
 * These men have been frightening Janie 
 out of her wits,' said Margaret in a tone 
 of annoyance ; ' and all I could say was 
 insufficient to stop them.' 
 
 * What is it, my dear ? ' said I, addressing 
 my wife. ' What have they told you ? ' 
 
 ' Oh Robert, do take me away ! ' she 
 answered with a convulsive shudder. ' I 
 never shall be able to sleep in this house 
 again. They say they have seen it : a 
 dreadful thing all in white, walking about 
 the graves, and moaning to itself, and 
 wringing its hands. Oh, Robert dear, do
 
 126 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 let us go ! It will come into the house 
 next; I am sure it will. I shall die of 
 fright if you don't take me away at once.' 
 
 She clung to me like a terrified child, 
 and as I marked her burning face and felt 
 the feverish clasp of her hands, I could not 
 tell what injury these idiots might not have 
 done her by their folly. 
 
 ' What do you mean by this ? ' I in- 
 quired sternly, as I turned to the group 
 of natives. 
 
 Then they began to cringe and salaam 
 before me, as they attempted to repeat 
 the story which had so alarmed my wife. 
 But I would not permit them to do so, 
 but ordered them all out of the room, 
 and turned my attention towards soothing 
 Janie's fears. 
 
 ' You must not be a child, my dear 
 Janie/ I said, as I replaced her on the 
 sofa, and arranged her pillows for her. 
 ' These natives are always full of their 
 stupid ghost-stories ; but you know better 
 surely than to believe such folly. There 
 are no such things as ghosts, therefore how 
 could they have seen one ? ' 
 
 * Oh, but indeed — indeed, Robert, it is
 
 Captain No7'ton s Diai-y. 1 2 7 
 
 true ! ' she said with painful earnestness. 
 * They saw it themselves only last night, 
 and they say it is like a woman with long 
 hair down her back ; and when they tried 
 to touch it, it vanished away.' 
 
 At this I could not help laughing. 
 
 ' A pack of heroes!' I exclaimed. ' Why, 
 Janie, there is not one amongst them man 
 enough to inquire into such a mystery, 
 even if they saw it, which I don't believe. 
 I've a good mind to give them a hiding 
 all round to make their eyesight a little 
 clearer.' 
 
 ' But what should be their object in 
 repeating it .'^' inquired Janie fearfully. 
 
 •' If you will condescend to listen, my 
 dear, you will always find them ready to 
 talk. They are full to the brim with such 
 idle tales. You should refuse to hear 
 them, and send them about their business.' 
 
 ' Oh but, Robert, can't we go away from 
 this house ? I never could bear those 
 graves, and now I shall be more frightened 
 of them than ever.' 
 
 'Janie, I thought you were more of a 
 woman,' I said reproachfully. ' Where 
 could we go to ? You know that all the
 
 T28 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 houses in Mushin-Bunda are occupied ; 
 to which fact poor Janie assented with a 
 deep sigh. 
 
 * But, at all events, you won't go out 
 this evening, Robert, will you ? ' she con- 
 tinued imploringly. * I could not bear to 
 stay in the house alone with Margaret and 
 that awful thing.' 
 
 I was engaged to attend a public dinner 
 at our mess this evening, for a couple of 
 officers of the i8th are passing through 
 Mushin-Bunda on their way to England, 
 and we wished to show them a little civility. 
 I had been looking forward to the occasion 
 (one sees so few strangers in this place); 
 but I told my poor little timid wife that 
 I would give it up and remain at home 
 with her. However, Miss Anstruther 
 very kindly came to my assistance, and, 
 begging me to keep my engagement, 
 promised not to leave Janie for a single 
 moment till my return. Upon which, 
 although with much reluctance, the other 
 consented to my leaving her ; and as soon 
 as I could get away, I went after my 
 servants to learn what folly had induced 
 them to fly into the presence of their
 
 Captain Mortons Diary. 129 
 
 mistress with such a rumour. I found 
 them almost as frightened as herself, and, 
 oddly enough (for you can generally catch 
 a native tripping when you cross-examine 
 him), perfectly firm in adhering to their 
 first statement. Their story is, that as 
 three of them were returning to their 
 godowns (as they call the huts in the 
 compound) rather late last night, they saw 
 a tall figure dressed in white wandering 
 about the graves, and moving its hands 
 in a distressed manner ; and that, as they 
 cried out at the sight (for natives are 
 terribly superstitious and cowardly), they 
 wakened the other three, who ran out 
 just in time to see the figure vanish round 
 the house, and they were too much alarmed 
 to follow up the search. In relating the 
 story to me they dropped all mention of 
 having touched the supposed ghost, being 
 aware, I suppose, that I was not likely 
 to credit such an act of bravery on their 
 parts. I spoke to them all six, both to- 
 gether and individually ; and it is curious 
 that I could not make them contradict 
 themselves in the statement that they have 
 seen such an apparition. Of course it is 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 130 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 all nonsense. They saw something doubt- 
 less ; most likely Janle's * ayah ' in her 
 white cloth, out without leave ; but as for 
 a ghost ! — folly ! 
 
 I scolded them well all round for a pack 
 of Idiots, forbade their mentioning the 
 subject again, and threatened them with 
 the stick and stoppage of wages If they 
 were ever the means of carrying such 
 stories to their mistress's ears ; so I hope 
 we have heard the last of the ghost. 
 However, the fright has evidently done 
 Janle no good. When I returned home 
 from mess this evening, I found that she 
 had had another violent attack of hysterics, 
 and that her cousin had thought right to 
 send for our doctor, who happened to be 
 at his own house. He reports my wife 
 very nervous and feverish, and orders her 
 to be kept as quiet as possible. I would 
 give a thousand pounds this moment, if 
 I had them, sooner than this story had 
 reached her ears. She Is so sensitive and 
 timid, and her health is at present so deli- 
 cate, that I fear the shock may have some 
 ill effect upon her. 
 
 July list. — Janie better, but still feverish^
 
 Captain Mortons Diary, 1 3 1 
 
 Miss Anstruther watches over her Hke a 
 sister. After they had both retired to bed 
 to-night, I sat at the window for more than 
 a couple of hours, hoping to see something 
 which might account for the servants* story, 
 but nothing was visible. The bright moon 
 lit up the compound till it appeared almost 
 like day, and the air was so still that I 
 must have heard the slightest rustle ; but 
 I neither saw nor heard anything except 
 my own breathing and the smoke from 
 my cigar. What awful fools these niggers 
 must be to believe in ghosts at all ! 
 
 August 1st, — Janie was on her sofa 
 again to-day, and so cheerful, that I hope 
 she has already forgotten her alarm, and 
 that the remembrance may never be re- 
 vived. But what has come to Margaret 
 Anstruther ? She looked so careworn this 
 afternoon, so haggard and miserable, com- 
 pared to her usual appearance, that, after 
 asking her what was the matter, without 
 obtaining any satisfactory response, I 
 ventured to remark that I hoped the 
 ghost-story had not had any effect on her. 
 The start which she gave on hearing my 
 words, and the flush which mounted to her
 
 132 Captain Norton's Diary. 
 
 face, would almost have made me think 
 that inadvertently I had struck a right 
 chord, had not the supercilious smile with 
 which she repeated the word * effect ' 
 denied the expression of her countenance. 
 
 ' I thought it could not be the case,' I 
 said apologetically ; ' but you are really 
 looking so ill, Lionne. Will you not come 
 for a ride this evening ? ' 
 
 No ; she declined to ride or to walk ; 
 she only desired to remain by Janie's side 
 and minister to her comfort. So be it, 
 then. I suppose it is natural she should 
 prefer her cousin's company to mine, 
 though I am not aware that I have done 
 anything lately to make her shrink from 
 me as she appears to do. 
 
 August ^th. — The ghost has appeared 
 again — or rather Janie imagines she has 
 seen it, which is just as hurtful to her 
 health and spirits. She had seemed so 
 merry all to-day, and so far removed from 
 the fanciful fears engendered by the natives' 
 stupid story, that after she and her cousin 
 had retired to rest I took my cigar up to 
 the roof of the house, as the heat has been 
 most oppressive lately, and I longed for a
 
 Captain Mortons Diary. 133 
 
 breath of fresh air. Our house (Hke most 
 others in Mushin-Bunda) is built with a 
 flat roof, surrounded by a high parapet, 
 which roof is reached from the verandah 
 by a flight of steps so much resembhng a 
 ladder, that it is not often I can persuade 
 the ladies to mount it. But, for my own 
 part, I am constantly in the habit of taking 
 my book and pipe (not to say my glass of 
 brandy-and-water) to this elevated retreat, 
 and, when there, thinking on anything or 
 nothing, as the humour may take me. To- 
 night my thoughts were not very cheerful 
 ones ; for, without any especial reason, I 
 felt what is technically termed ' dummy.' 
 
 Perhaps it is the excessive heat, perhaps 
 the continued weakness of Janie, but some- 
 how life has not appeared quite so sunny 
 to me lately as it used to do. I feel so 
 weary by the time the day is at an end, 
 and so dissatisfied with the manner in 
 which I have spent it, and I seem to rise 
 each morning with some undefined hope 
 which is never realised. I suppose it is 
 the monotonous life we lead which breeds 
 discontented thoughts ; we so seldom 
 encounter anything to draw us out of
 
 134 Captain Mortons Diary. 
 
 ourselves and our own concerns. And 
 Margaret Anstruther's disinclination to 
 society has increased this disadvantage ; 
 for we three — Janie and she and I — have 
 been thrown completely on each other for 
 company during the last two months. 
 And yet they have not passed un- 
 pleasantly. It is strange that I, who so 
 much dreaded this interruption to the 
 quiet life which I led with my wife, should 
 be able to write those words and mean 
 them. 
 
 Yet I do mean them — though, at the 
 same time, I cannot believe that the 
 interruption has made me any happier, 
 for I don't think I ever felt so restless and 
 unsettled as I do at present. I keep on 
 fancying that something is going to happen 
 to me ; and start to remember that there 
 is nothing at all the matter, and that if I 
 have a cause for dissatisfaction, it must 
 rest with myself. It must be Janie's ill- 
 ness that affects me in this manner ; it is 
 so unnatural to see the poor little woman 
 always lying on the sofa, instead of running 
 about with her cousin and myself 
 
 I had been dreaming somewhat after
 
 Captain Nortofis Diary, 135 
 
 this fashion on the roof of the house to- 
 night, for how long or how short a time I 
 should have been quite unable to say, 
 when I was startled from my reverie by 
 hearing a most piercing scream in Janie's 
 voice and proceeding from Janie's bed- 
 room, which sounded so shrill and alarm- 
 ing, as it rung through the still night air, 
 that, though I rose at once to my feet, I 
 felt for the first moment so paralysed with 
 fear, that it was not until the cry had been 
 repeated that I ran down to her assistance. 
 I found her in a half-fainting state on the 
 sill of the bedroom window, which was 
 wide open ; but my appearance changed 
 her condition to one of hysterical w^eeping, 
 which, whilst it was more painful to wit- 
 ness, greatly relieved her. Meanwhile the 
 native servants, lying about the verandah 
 on their mats, were slumbering as heavily 
 as is their nature, and would not have 
 awakened of themselves had the cry been 
 twice as piercing, the alarm twice as 
 great. 
 
 * My darling ! ' I exclaimed, as I took 
 the shivering form of my wife (shivering 
 with fear, not cold) into my arms and
 
 1 36 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 pressed it to me, ' what can have startled 
 you ? Have you been dreaming ? ' 
 
 * Dreaming ! ' she repeated in a faint 
 whisper. * Oh no, Robert, I was not dream- 
 ing ; I was wide awake, and it passed 
 close to me.' 
 
 'It — it — what do you mean, Janie ? ' 
 though I had guessed at once her fancy. 
 
 ' The ghost, Robert! — the dreadful ghost! 
 Ah ' (with another convulsive shudder), 
 ' I shall never, never forget the sight ! ' 
 
 ' The ghost ! my dear girl, you have 
 really been dreaming. Where do you 
 fancy you saw it ? — in this room ? ' for I 
 had entered the room by the window by 
 this time, and still sat on the sill sup- 
 porting my wife in my arms. 
 
 ' I did not fancy', she replied, with an 
 earnestness which proved that she thought 
 she was right ; ^ it passed so close to me, 
 Robert, that I could have touched it with 
 my finger. Ah, why did we ever come to 
 this fearful place ! ' 
 
 I lifted her up and placed her on her 
 bed again, and then, without releasing my 
 hold of her trembling fingers, I sat down 
 beside her and entreated her to tell me
 
 Captain Norton s Diaiy. 137 
 
 all. ' Let me hear how you saw the ghost, 
 and where, Janie ; and perhaps I may be 
 able to account for the apparent mystery. 
 And first, why did you leave your bed at 
 all } What waked you 1 You were so 
 fast asleep when I left you.' 
 
 * I don't know what waked me,' she said 
 nervously ; ' perhaps the heat, for I felt so 
 restless that I could not sleep, and after a 
 good deal of tossing about, I got up and 
 walked to the window to cool myself, and 
 see if you were in the compound anywhere. 
 I was not thinking of the ghost, Robert, 
 indeed I was not ; but directly I reached 
 the window I saw it — ah, just as they told 
 me, wandering about the graves ! ' 
 
 * Janie dear, indeed you must be mis- 
 taken ; it was the moonlight shining on 
 the white lining of the silver bamboos, 
 or—' 
 
 ' Robert ! ' she exclaimed, starting up 
 in bed as she clutched me by my arm, ' I 
 tell you I saw it. It was no fancy, but a 
 tall woman dressed all in white walkinor in 
 and out of the graves.' 
 
 * You are sure it was a woman ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes ; oh yes ; because, when I
 
 138 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 screamed, it turned round and came close 
 by this window, and it had long hair 
 hanging right down its back. Oh, Robert, 
 I thought I should have died ! ' 
 
 ' My poor girl,' I answered, as I forced 
 her to lie down again, * I am not going to 
 have you frightened in this abominable 
 manner. This is some trick on the part of 
 the natives ; to what end I cannot imagine, 
 but they shall pay dearly for their little 
 game. Where did this woman go after 
 she had passed the window ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I can't tell, Robert ; I don't know ; 
 but I think it vanished round the house.' 
 
 ' Well then, if you will let me leave you, 
 Janie (I will call the ayah to come and sit 
 by your bedside), I will just look round 
 the compound, and see if I can find any 
 one loitering about.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't go after it, Robert ; pray 
 don't go ofter it ; it might hurt you.' 
 
 But I could not wait to silence any more 
 of Janie's fears ; had I stayed to reason 
 them all away, I should have been kept 
 prisoner till morning. I roused the ayah, 
 bid her stay with her mistress till I re- 
 turned, selected a thick stick from my
 
 Captain Nor tons Diary. 139 
 
 whip-stand, and proceeded on my voyage 
 of discovery. As I did so, I glanced at 
 my watch, and discovered to my amaze- 
 ment that it was past one. 
 
 What a time I must have been dreaming 
 on the house-top ! 
 
 I searched the compound and all the 
 accessible portions of the house thoroughly, 
 but I found and saw nothing. I wakened 
 all the slumbering occupants of the ' go- 
 downs,' to see if they had any strangers 
 amongst them, but only my own domestics 
 came yawningly to be inspected, and 
 certainly not one of them answers to the 
 description of the supposed ghost. As I 
 returned, I rapped at the closed Venetians 
 of Miss Anstruther's bedroom, and, to my 
 astonishment, her voice replied to me 
 immediately. 
 
 ' What ! are you awake, Margaret?' I de- 
 manded. ' Was it the noise disturbed you ?' 
 
 ' What noise ? ' she asked, as she came 
 near to the Venetians. 
 
 ' Janie's scream. She fancies that she 
 saw the ghost (which I hoped she had 
 almost forgotten), and that it passed close 
 under her windows.'
 
 140 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 ' Poor child ! ' in a voice of compassion. 
 * No, I did not hear, or I should have 
 gone to her ; but I have not been long 
 awake ; ' which, indeed, her voice seemed 
 to testify. 
 
 ' Why are you out of your bed ? ' 
 
 * I cannot sleep ; it is so hot,' she an- 
 swered with a deep sigh. 
 
 * And you have seen nothing ? ' 
 
 * Certainly not ; and have been sitting 
 at the window till within a minute ago. 
 I have only just closed the Venetians 
 because the moon is so bright. It must be 
 all Janie's fancy.' 
 
 ' Of course it is her fancy that she has 
 seen a ghost,' I answered ; ' but I am not 
 so sure about her having seen nothing at 
 all. However, I shall find out more about 
 it to-morrow ; meanwhile I must not keep 
 you up any longer. Good-night.' 
 
 * Shall I go to Janie ? ' she asked in the 
 same sleepy tone she had employed 
 before. 
 
 ^ No, thank you ; I am going to her 
 myself And with that I passed on to 
 resume my guardianship over poor Janie 
 and her terrors. But I am determined to
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 1 4 1 
 
 follow up this mystery until I am enabled 
 to dispel it ; for which reason I shall 
 watch, night after night, for the appear- 
 ance of the person who dares to act 
 * ghost' in my compound until I see him ; 
 for which reason also I shall keep my 
 watching a secret even from Janie and 
 Margaret. 
 
 Meanwhile I pooh-pooh the subject to 
 my wife, who easily takes her cue from 
 me, and will laugh at her own alarm by 
 this time to-morrow. 
 
 N.B. — She must rest with closed Vene- 
 tians until this mystery is unravelled ; 
 and I will steal out of bed after she is fast 
 asleep, and spend my nights upon the 
 housetop, which commands a view of every 
 part of the compound. And if I catch the 
 ghost, woe betide his bones ; for if I don't 
 make them rattle, it's a pity ! 
 
 Meanwhile, thinking over matters, it 
 seems strange to me that Margaret 
 Anstruther, sitting at her window, should 
 not have heard the scream which reached 
 me so easily upon the roof ; or that, at all 
 events, the conversation which subse- 
 quently I held with my wife should not
 
 142 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 have been patent to her, as her room is 
 next to ours. However, she appeared half 
 asleep, even whilst she spoke to me ; for 
 her voice was low and dreamy, and I could 
 hardly catch her words. I wonder what 
 prevents the girl sleeping ! The same 
 mania seems to have fallen upon all of us ; 
 for I don't feel myself as though I should 
 close my eyes to-night, and every now and 
 then, as I steal a glance from my writing- 
 table to the bed, I see Janie's blue orbs 
 wide open, and watching for the moment 
 when I shall rejoin her. So I lay down 
 my pen, and go to afford her the protection 
 of my presence. 
 
 Attgust 6tk. — I spend my nights now 
 like a sparrow, on the housetop, so am 
 obliged to write my diary in the daytime. 
 I watched from eleven last night to four 
 this morning ; but I saw nothing. The 
 air was so jolly and soft, that I had great 
 difficulty in keeping myself awake ; but 
 with tobacco I managed to do it. Janie 
 wondered that I was so sleepy after parade 
 this morning, and accused me of growing 
 abominably lazy and old. She has almost 
 recovered her fright again, I am happy to
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 143 
 
 say. Miss Anstruther, on the contrary, 
 looks worn and ill. I don't think this 
 climate can agree with her. I wish she 
 would consent to see the doctor who at- 
 tends Janie. 
 
 Atcgust jtk. — Was on the roof again all 
 last night. If, under the pursuit of know- 
 ledge, it were only allowable for me to fall 
 asleep, it would be much pleasanter than 
 remaining downstairs. Towards three 
 o'clock I thought I had caught the ghost ; 
 for I distinctly saw a ' tall figure, dressed 
 all in white,' hovering about the graves ; 
 but it proved to be only an early milkman, 
 going to recover his cows from their jungle 
 pasture-ground, who thought to make a 
 short-cut by passing through our com- 
 pound. This was provoking, after I had 
 taken the trouble to rush down after him, 
 stick in hand, fully prepared to administer 
 a wholesome castlgation. But this fact 
 tends still more to confirm me in my belief 
 that what Janie saw was a native wander- 
 ing about in the moonlight after his own 
 business. 
 
 All domestic servants, and a good many 
 other classes, habitually wear white cloth-
 
 144 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 ine ; and nothlnor would be easier, when 
 the imagination Is in a heated and unnatural 
 condition, than for one to mistake their ap- 
 pearance for that of a ghost. However, 
 I shall not yet give up my search for the 
 delinquent. 
 
 August <^th. — I have now watched four 
 nights without seeing anything, and I am 
 beginning to get rather tired of the joke. 
 If the ehost doesn't soon make his or her 
 appearance, I shall resume my lawful place 
 of rest, and wait patiently until it sees fit 
 to call upon me. 
 
 Auo-ttst loth. — At last I have seen the 
 so-called phantom ; and had it been a lost 
 spirit sent from the nethermost hell to in- 
 form me of my future fate, my hand could 
 hardly shake more than it does now, in 
 recallinof the recollection. But not for the 
 reason which made its appearance one of 
 terror to the native servants and to my 
 poor Janle. 
 
 My terror, my horror, and my shrinking 
 arise from a totally different cause, and 
 make me wonder, as I write, that I should 
 have heard what I heard last night, and 
 live to repeat it.
 
 Captain Nor tons Diary, 145 
 
 I wish I had not lived ; I wish that I 
 were dead ! ^ 
 
 I was on the roof, as usual, very tired, 
 rather dispirited, and more than half-dis- 
 posed to throw up the whole affair, and go 
 downstairs to bed. Where was the use, 1 
 argued with myself, of watching night after 
 night in that fashion for a ghost which 
 never came ? I was convinced that I was 
 troubling myself for a mere illusion — that 
 the phantom had never existed, except in 
 Janie's imagination, or that if a trick had 
 really been played upon my wife by some 
 of the servants, the rascals had discovered 
 that I was watching for them, and were 
 too wide awake to repeat it until I should 
 have given up pursuit. And then with my 
 eyes always fixed upon that part of the 
 compound where the old Dutch graves are 
 thickest, I lit a cigar, and watching the 
 thin wreath of smoke which curled from it 
 into the air, sighed to think how transitory 
 all happiness is in this world, and how 
 seldom one's earthly wishes, even when 
 realised, fulfil the promise of their attain- 
 ment ; until I sufficiently forgot myself, 
 and the purpose of my being on the house- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 146 Captam Norton s Diary. 
 
 top in the middle of the night, to permit 
 the soothing influence of tobacco, added to 
 a soft Heht breeze, which fanned me as 
 dehcately as though I had been a sleeping 
 infant to lull me off into a doze. How 
 long I slept I can hardly tell ; but I know 
 that I woke with a start and a shiver, and 
 that the first thing I did was to rub my 
 eyes, and quickly turn them in the direc- 
 tion of the tombstones and the graves. 
 What was that which I saw wandering up 
 and down that plot of ground, just as I 
 had been told it was wont to do ? Was it 
 hallucination or reality ? Had the impres- 
 sion with which I fell to sleep remained 
 upon the retina of my eye to delude my 
 waking fancy ? or was that which I gazed 
 upon a thing of flesh and blood ? I rub- 
 bed my eyes again, and shook myself, to 
 be assured that I was quite awake ; and 
 then I advanced to the parapet and leant 
 well over it. 
 
 Yes, it was no mistake. A female figure 
 (or a figure dressed up so as to look like a 
 female), clothed in white, with long dark 
 hair streaming down her back, was feeling 
 her way, rather than wandering up and
 
 Captain Nortori s Diary. 147 
 
 down, between the rows of graves, and, 
 with her hands stretched out before her, 
 seemed to be mutterinor or murmurine to 
 herself. I gave myself but time to be 
 assured that I did see it — that it zjas there ; 
 and then I grasped my stick and loaded 
 pistol, and prepared to descend and en- 
 counter it. 
 
 * Take heed, my fine fellow,' I said to 
 myself, as I carefully picked my way down 
 the flight of steps which led to the veran- 
 dah ; ' don't insult me, or attempt to 
 frighten me, as you value the brains in 
 your head, or a whole bone in your body. 
 I can bear as much as most men when I 
 am put to the test ; but I won't have my 
 wife frightened out of her wits for the 
 lives of all the nio-orers in the world.' 
 
 I slunk beneath the shadows cast by the 
 verandah, past the places where my serv- 
 ants lay asleep to that side of the house 
 where are situated the bedrooms of my 
 wife and Miss Anstruther, and was glad 
 to see that the Venetians of both windows 
 were closed, so that I trusted no alarm 
 might reach their ears. 
 
 And now, though I was close upon it,
 
 148 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 the figure seemed to take no notice of my 
 presence, but still walked cautiously up 
 and down between the rows of graves, 
 whilst It kept up a sort of moaning to 
 itself. It looked so strange and unearthly 
 as it thus wandered beneath the moon- 
 light, that I felt myself shiver as I gazed 
 at it, and yet my belief in the whole 
 business turning out a trick was strong 
 as ever. 
 
 So, after a pause, just sufficient to 
 permit the figure to get as far as possible 
 away from the vicinity of my wife's bed- 
 room windows, I sprang after it ; and just 
 as it had turned again towards the house, 
 we met face to face. What was my sur- 
 prise, my consternation, in the ghost which 
 had caused us such trouble and vexation 
 to encounter — Margaret Anstruther ! Yet 
 there she was, no clothing on but her light 
 night - dress ; with her unbound tresses 
 streaming over her shoulders, and her 
 bare feet pressing the turf as though it 
 pained them. 
 
 ' Good God ! ' I exclaimed, as I stag- 
 gered back at the sight of this earthly 
 apparition, far more alarming to me than
 
 Captain Norton s Diary, 149 
 
 if I had seen twenty ghosts ; ' Margaret 
 — Lionne — what are you doing here ? ' 
 
 At the sound of my voice she halted, 
 and turned her head slightly to one side, 
 as though to listen ; and then by the 
 moonlight I perceived to my horror that 
 her eyes were lifeless although open, and 
 that she was walking in her sleep. I had 
 never encountered such a sight before, and 
 for a moment I knew not what to do. 
 
 * Was that Robert } ' she murmured, 
 presently, in a low, husky voice utterly 
 unlike her own, and as though she were 
 addressing herself, or nobody. 
 
 * Yes, it is I,' I answered, trying to 
 control my agitation and my tones. ' Mar- 
 garet, why are you here ? why have you 
 left your bed ? ' 
 
 * Oh, Robert, Robert ! ' she exclaimed, 
 with an expression of anguish which I 
 shall never forget, * save me, save me ! ' 
 
 * From what am I to save you, Lionne ? ' 
 
 * From yourself — from yourself, and from 
 me — from my weakness and my folly. Oh, 
 don't let me fall ! don't let me fall ! ' 
 
 Although she still spoke dreamily, the 
 sightless orbs which she had turned upon
 
 1 50 Captain Mortons Diary. 
 
 me were contracted with pain, and I saw 
 that her whole frame was trembling, I 
 ventured to go close to her, and gently 
 take her hand. 
 
 * You shall not fall, dear Lionne,' I 
 whispered to her ; * trust to me. I will 
 lead you the right way.' 
 
 'Dear Lionne ! ' she repeated to herself, 
 'dear Lionne! he says to me, dear Lionne! ' 
 
 What was that quick fear which seized 
 me as I listened to her unconscious words ? 
 What that trembling which assailed my 
 limbs, and rendered me incapable of mov- 
 ing either backwards or forwards ? The 
 fear and trembling fell so suddenly upon 
 me, that I had hardly time to realise their 
 presence, until they had resolved them- 
 selves into a knowledge, fearful as a 
 thunderbolt from heaven, but certain as 
 that I live — or I must die ! 
 
 I love her — and she loves me ! We 
 have destroyed each other's happiness. 
 
 As this conviction smote me, I dropped 
 her cold fingers, and sinking down upon 
 the hillock beside which she stood, buried 
 my face in my hands. 
 
 Good heavens ! how was it that I had
 
 Captam Norton s Diary. 151 
 
 never anticipated this — never seen it com- 
 ing — never dreamt of such a contingency ? 
 — that I had spent day after day in her 
 company ; reading with her, singing with 
 her, riding with her, Hstening to her amus- 
 ing conversation, watching all her womanly 
 kindness to my wife (ah, my poor wife !), 
 contemplating her beauty from hour to 
 hour, and never once suspected that I 
 might grow to love her more than was 
 good or right ? And she, the girl whose 
 advent I had dreaded, whose manners I 
 had so disliked, whose beauty was to me 
 no beauty at all ! 
 
 Ah, Margaret, Margaret ! you may have 
 your revenge now if you will, in the assur- 
 ance that never, never more shall the re- 
 membrance of that fatal beauty be purged 
 from my existence. 
 
 All was now explained ; her worn 
 looks and dispirited appearance ; my 
 own restless and uneasy sensations ; 
 the guilty feeling had been growing 
 in us, surely though unconsciously, for 
 many long days past, and needed but 
 some such accident as the present to 
 warm it into life.
 
 152 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 Have I not reason to wish that I were 
 dead ? 
 
 I did not sit upon the hillock long ; 
 something was waiting to be done, and 
 that was not the time for thought. I could 
 not even stay to watch her as she again 
 commenced to pace beneath the moonlight, 
 with the evening breeze playing with her 
 flimsy raiment, and making it cling about 
 her graceful figure. I felt that she must 
 be coaxed to return into the house, and 
 that I was neither the right person nor in 
 a right state of mind to do it. 
 
 So I rose quickly, and explaining the 
 circumstances to Janie's ayah (an old wo- 
 man with more sense than the generality 
 of her tribe), directed her how to speak 
 soothingly to the young lady, and persuade 
 her to return to the house, where she need 
 be none the wiser for the untimely stroll 
 which she had taken ; and after a little 
 while I was relieved to see the white 
 hand in the grasp of the dark one, and 
 the two women, so unlike each other in 
 all outward appearance, pass into the house 
 together. 
 
 So now it is all over ; and the grey dawn
 
 Captain Mortons Diary. 153 
 
 is here ; and as it was not worth while for 
 me to turn in before going to parade, I sit 
 down to transcribe the particulars of this 
 adventure before I forget it. 
 
 Shall I ever forget it ? 
 
 I am aware that henceforward, and be- 
 fore the world, I must play a part ; but it 
 is useless to dissemble with my own heart. 
 This night has revealed to me what I had 
 rather have died than hear, but the truth 
 will make itself known. 
 
 I love her with my whole heart — pas- 
 sionately, fervently, devotedly, as I have 
 never loved before. What is to come of 
 it .'^ What is to become of her, of me, of 
 Janie } Are we all to be sacrificed } 
 
 As I write, there come into my mind 
 these sentences : one which fell from her 
 mouth (sweet mouth, that shall never be 
 mine 1 ), and one which proceeded from my 
 own : 
 
 * We who are strong should shield 
 them ; ' and, ' You shall not fall, trust to me 
 — I will lead you the right way.' 
 
 No, dear Janie, poor innocent child ! 
 and you, my beloved one, do not fear. I 
 will shield both the weak and the strong ;
 
 ■I 54 Captain Norton! s Diary. 
 
 you shall not suffer for my imprudence or 
 my guilt. 
 
 Yet how to comfort, how to cure, how to 
 make up to her for the misery I have en- 
 tailed on her dear head ? Oh, my God ! 
 the task will be a hard one !
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 UGUST wth, — I returned from 
 parade this morning tired, fever- 
 ish, and with a weight upon my 
 conscience as though I had com- 
 mitted an unpardonable crime. I felt as if 
 I dared not face my injured wiiV, still less 
 the woman who has usurped her place in 
 my affections, or rather who holds the place 
 in which the other should have reigned. 
 
 Yet I was not only obliged to encounter 
 both of them, but to go through all the 
 formalities of daily life, without which 
 perhaps the trial would have proved too 
 much for my endurance. 
 
 Janie was the first ; for since her illness 
 she has not risen to breakfast, and I have 
 been in the habit of carrying in her tray 
 for her. It was with a shaking hand that
 
 1 56 Captain No7'tons Diary. 
 
 I lifted it to-day ; and the poor child 
 noticed the difference in my demeanour, 
 and asked me tenderly if I were ill or 
 tired. I had not quite made up my mind, 
 before that, whether I should inform Janie 
 of her cousin's propensity for somnam- 
 bulism or not ; but as I met the trusting 
 glance of her blue eyes, I resolved to do 
 so, not only because it was a thing which 
 might occur again and frighten her as 
 before, but also that by confiding even so 
 far in my wife, I seemed voluntarily to 
 place a wider barrier between Lionne and 
 myself. Therefore I sat down on the bed, 
 and first binding her to secrecy, I related 
 to her how I had spent my late nights 
 upon the roof of the house, and by that 
 means arrived at a solution of the mystery 
 which had alarmed the native servants and 
 herself. 
 
 * Didn't I tell you that your ghost would 
 prove to be nothing ? ' I said, trying to 
 speak gaily, in conclusion. 
 
 * Oh, Robert dear,' was her reply, * do 
 you call poor Lionne walking in her sleep 
 nothing 1 I think it is horrible — almost 
 as bad as a real ghost ; and if I had been
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 157 
 
 you, I couldn't have gone near her for 
 worlds. I should have died of fright first.' 
 
 * But, Janie, you see that I am not a 
 silly little girl, ready to believe every idle 
 tale which is repeated to her. And you 
 must show yourself to be a wise woman 
 on this occasion, and be very careful that 
 the story does not reach your cousin's ears, 
 as the knowledge is likely to make her 
 worse instead of better. I shall give the 
 ayah orders to hold her tongue, and sleep 
 outside the door in future, so that Miss 
 Anstruther may not wander about again 
 unobserved.' 
 
 * And I mustn't tell Lionne, then, that 
 you caught her '^. ' said Janie, in a voice of 
 disappointment. 
 
 ' Certainly not,' I replied, decidedly ; 
 and I rose to leave her, only half-satisfied 
 that my wishes would be respected. Janie 
 would not disobey me knowingly for the 
 world — she has never attempted such a 
 thing ; but her little tongue goes so fast, 
 that she is apt to part with a secret before 
 she knows that it has left her keeping. 
 
 When I returned to the breakfast-room, 
 Lionne was already there, pale indeed and
 
 158 Captain Norton s Diary, 
 
 rather silent, as she has been for several 
 weeks past, but showing no signs that she 
 was aware of our nocturnal meeting. But 
 as I took her hand in mine, I felt the blood 
 rush up to my temples, and my morning 
 greeting must have been nearly unintel- 
 ligible to her. 
 
 Why did I behave so foolishly ? She 
 is in all respects the same woman whom 
 I met yesterday with an ordinary saluta- 
 tion^ — her manner even has not altered 
 towards me ; and yet the mere conscious- 
 ness that that of which I had been vaguely 
 dreaming is reality, was sufficient to make 
 me almost betray what I feel by the ex- 
 pression of my features. 
 
 Is this my boasted strength ? 
 
 We took a silent meal, and altogether 
 an unprofitable one. I had no appetite ; 
 Lionne only trifled with the eatables upon 
 her plate ; and I think we both felt re- 
 lieved when the ceremony was concluded. 
 
 I did not see her for the remainder of 
 the morning, for I made an excuse of 
 business, and took my tiffin at the mess. 
 When I returned home at five o'clock, 
 however, I found Janie earnestly persuad-
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 1=5"^ 
 
 ing her cousin to take a ride on horse- 
 back. 
 
 ' Do make her go, Robert dear/ she 
 exclaimed, as soon as I came upon the 
 scene of action. ' She has not ridden for 
 weeks past, and she does look so pale. I 
 am sure it will be good for her ; you know 
 it will, Robert,' with violent winks and 
 blinks which were sufficient in themselves 
 to make the uninitiated stop to inquire 
 their reason. 
 
 ' I daresay it will,' I answered, obliged 
 to say something. ' Won't you be per- 
 suaded ? ' addressinor Lionne. 
 
 She hesitated a little, but had no good 
 reason to advance for her hesitation ; and 
 after a little more pressing on Janie's part, 
 retired to put on her habit. 
 
 * I am so glad that she is going,' ex- 
 claimed my poor little caged bird, clapping 
 her hands at her success. ' Take great 
 care of her, Robert ; she is so kind to me.' 
 
 ' I will take care of her, Janie,' I an- 
 swered, earnestly, * and of you too. You 
 may trust me, my dear ; at least I hope so.' 
 
 ' Of course you take care of me^ sir,' she 
 replied, with a pretty pretension of pouting,
 
 i6o Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 * because I am your wife ; but I am not so 
 sure about my poor cousin.' 
 
 ' Be sure, then, Janie, if you can. I 
 shall try to do my duty by both of you.' 
 
 ' Who talked of duty ? ' cried my wife, 
 shrugging her shoulders. ' I never saw 
 any one grown so grave as you have, 
 Robert ; you never seem now to be able to 
 take a joke.' 
 
 I defended myself from this accusation 
 on the plea of having found several grey 
 hairs in my moustache last week ; and 
 before Janie had done laughing at the idea, 
 Miss Anstruther re-appeared, and I lifted 
 her on her horse as though she were an 
 ordinary friend to me, and my hands did 
 not tremble under the burden of the crea- 
 ture I loved best in the world. 
 
 We rode on in silence together for some 
 moments, and then I turned my horse's 
 head towards the sandy plain which I have 
 before mentioned as lying between us and 
 the ocean, and told her that I was about to 
 take her down to the beach, that she might 
 derive a little benefit from the sea-breeze. 
 
 ' Colonel Anstruther will not think that 
 we have been taking sufficient care of you,
 
 Captain iV or ton's Diary. i6i 
 
 Margaret, If we send you to him with 
 such pale cheeks as you have now. I 
 am afraid you find the hot weather very 
 trying.' 
 
 ' I never liked the hot weather, even In 
 England,' she answered vaguely, whilst the 
 rich blood mounted to her cheek beneath 
 the scrutinising glance which I had turned 
 towards her. 
 
 Our beach at Mushin-Bunda is hardly to 
 be called a beach : for it possesses scarcely 
 any shingles, but is composed of hillocki 
 of loose sand which never stay in one place. 
 two nights together, but are ever shifting 
 quarters, and are about as treacherous foot- 
 ing for an animal as one could desire. We 
 passed over these carefully, however, and 
 then we found ourselves upon the lower 
 sands, which are daily washed by the sea, 
 and rendered firm and level. Here we 
 halted ; for it was low tide, and the refresh- 
 ing salt breeze fanned our hot faces, whilst 
 the horses we rode stretched out their 
 necks, and dilated their nostrils as though 
 to drink in as much of it as they could. 
 
 Still we were very silent, and under the 
 knowledge which had come to me the night 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 1 62 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 before, the silence was even more oppres- 
 sive than usual. 
 
 ' This is delicious ! ' I exclaimed at last ; 
 * worth coming farther than three miles to 
 enjoy. This will do you good, Margaret.' 
 
 * Yes,' she sighed. ' What would one 
 not give for a little of it occasionally dur- 
 ing these hot nights ! ' 
 
 * You do not sleep well,' I said, struck 
 by a sudden impulse. 
 
 She coloured as I addressed her ; but 
 that is nothing new. 
 
 * I don't think I sleep badly,' she replied, 
 after a pause. ' I seldom lie awake for any 
 length of time, but — ' 
 
 ' But when you rise in the morning, you 
 feel unrefreshed and tired.' 
 
 'How do you know that } ' she de- 
 manded quickly. 
 
 * I guessed it, Margaret. I guess it from 
 your looks, your demeanour, your languor. 
 I know that you do not rest properly at 
 night, and that if you will not take season- 
 able advice you will be ill.' 
 
 ' I am not ill,' she answered in a low voice. 
 
 * But you will be, which, under present 
 circumstances, would greatly distress Janie.
 
 Captain Mortons Diary. 163 
 
 Will you not consent to see a doctor — if 
 not for your own sake, for ours ? ' 
 
 I thought that physical care might in 
 some measure relieve the mental disturb- 
 ance under which she labours, or, at all 
 events, prevent a repetition of her somnam- 
 bulistic tendencies by which her secret 
 may, some day, be made patent to the 
 world. I never imagined she would guess 
 my meaning ; but the next moment I saw 
 the mistake which I had made. 
 
 'What have I been doing?' she ex- 
 claimed, turning round with a rapidity for 
 which I was totally unprepared. ' What 
 have I been saying ? Tell me at once, 
 Captain Norton ; don't keep me in sus- 
 pense.' And her dark eyes blazed upon 
 me as though they would search into my 
 very heart. 
 
 I trembled beneath the look, and was 
 dumb. 
 
 ' Why do you think I cannot rest — that 
 I shall be ill 't ' she re-demanded almost 
 angrily ; and then reading the truth, I sup- 
 pose, in my confused demeanour, she added 
 in a lower voice, a voice almost of terror, 
 Have I been walking in Tuy sleep ? '
 
 1 64 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 The ice was broken, then ; and although 
 I still felt very uncomfortable in speakinor 
 to her of the circumstance, I did not see 
 any other course open to me than to tell 
 her briefly of my endeavour to find out the 
 reason of my wife's alarm, and the conse- 
 quences which had ensued from it. 
 
 * I had not wished to mention this to 
 you,' I said apologetically, * and only the 
 directness of your question should have 
 drawn it from me. However, as it is, I 
 daresay it is for the best ; for though the 
 occurrence is a common one, it is as well 
 to guard against its repetition.' 
 
 * What did I say ? ' was the only reply 
 which she made to my concluding observa- 
 tion. 
 
 I had so slurred over the fact of her 
 speaking at all that I hoped it had escaped 
 her notice ; but the tone in which she put 
 this question portended that she meant to 
 have it answered. 
 
 'What did I say to you, Captain Nor- 
 ton ? ' she repeated firmly. 
 
 I began to mumble something about the 
 words of sleep-walkers being always unintel- 
 ligible, but she brought me back to the point.
 
 Captain Norton s Diary, 165 
 
 ' You must have heard me ; in fact, I 
 can see by your face that you did hear. 
 What was it that I said ? ' 
 
 ' I was so sleepy, Margaret/ I com- 
 menced, but I felt my voice shaking 
 audibly, — ' so sleepy, and altogether so 
 confused, and my memory not being of 
 the best, that I — I — really I — ' 
 
 She gazed at me for a minute earnestly, 
 almost hungeringly — I could feel it, though 
 I did not see it — but I kept my eyes fixed 
 over the sea, and a dead silence ensued 
 between us. A dead silence, until it was 
 broken by the living sound of tears ; and I 
 turned to see her dear head bent to her 
 saddle-bow, and her slight figure shaken 
 with her grief. 
 
 * Margaret, dear Margaret ! ' I exclaimed, 
 forgetting everything but herself, ' it was 
 nothing — indeed it was nothing ; a few 
 words spoken at random, of which no one 
 in his senses would think twice, or be so 
 presumptuous as to understand as the inter- 
 pretation of your true feelings towards him.' 
 
 But in my anxiety and ardour I had 
 blurted out far more than I intended. 
 
 * Be silent ! ' she cried, as she lifted an
 
 1 66 Captain Noriotts Diary. 
 
 indignant burning face to mine — ' be silent, 
 Captain Norton ! if you do not wish to in- 
 sult me, or make me hate myself and you.' 
 And with that she dashed her hand im- 
 petuously across her eyes, and gathering 
 up her reins, turned her horse's head away 
 from the sea-beach and began to canter 
 towards home. I followed her, of course ; 
 but we did not exchange another word, 
 and she would not even condescend to 
 meet the imploring glance which, as I took 
 her from the saddle, I lifted towards her 
 face, mutely entreating for forgiveness. 
 
 She behaved much the same as usual 
 during the remainder of the evening ; only 
 that I saw she studiously avoided coming 
 in contact with myself What a fool I 
 was to say as much as I did ! I, who 
 almost registered a vow this morning that 
 nothing should tear the secret from my 
 lips. And now I have betrayed her to 
 herself I see she shuns me ; I know she 
 fears me ; I almost believe I have made 
 her hate me. Well, I have brought it on 
 myself, and I must bear it as best I may ; 
 it only proves how little we know when 
 we think — as I did this morning — that the
 
 Captain Nortoris Diary, 167 
 
 world cannot hold a greater misfortune for 
 us than the one we then endure. 
 
 Oh, Lionne, Lionne ! what is to be the 
 end of this ? 
 
 Atigitst \2th. — I was scarcely surprised 
 when Janie came to-day to tell me in a 
 broken voice that her cousin had just in- 
 formed her of her intention to leave Mushin- 
 Bunda as soon as possible, and that she 
 had already written to Mrs Grant to ask 
 if she could receive her at Madras until 
 her uncle's wishes with respect to her move- 
 ments should be made known. I was not 
 surprised, because I felt convinced that, 
 after what had passed between us yester- 
 day afternoon, her proud spirit would forbid 
 her remaining under the same roof with 
 me, if any alternative were open to her ; 
 at the same time I felt deeply hurt to 
 think that my imprudence should be the 
 means of driving her from the shelter of 
 it. Janie, on the other hand, innocent as 
 to the cause, had no reason to feel hurt, 
 except by the want of confidence reposed 
 in her ; but she was wonderfully astonished, 
 and disposed to resent my not being so as 
 an additional grievance.
 
 1 68 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 * Why, you don't seem in the least sur- 
 prised to hear it, Robert ! ' she complained. 
 * Has Margaret said anything about it to 
 you before ? ' 
 
 * The subject has never been broached 
 between us ; but Miss Anstruther has a 
 right, of course, to follow her own inclina- 
 tions, and we none to interfere with them.' 
 
 * No ; but what can be the reason ?' 
 
 * Did you not ask her, Janie ? ' 
 
 * Of course ; but she only says that she 
 does not feel so well here as she did at 
 Madras.' 
 
 ' I think that is quite sufficient to account 
 for her desiring a change. Strength soon 
 gives way in this country ; and I don't 
 think your cousin has been looking well or 
 strong lately. What we know of her sleep- 
 walking propensity is a proof of that.' 
 
 ' Then I mustn't persuade her to stop 
 with us, Robert ? ' continued Janie, plead- 
 ingly. 
 
 ' By no means, dear. Let her follow 
 the bent of her own wishes ; it will be best 
 for all of us.' 
 
 ' But Uncle Henry will be so surprised ; 
 and I am afraid he will be angry — and —
 
 Captain Norton s Diary, 169 
 
 and I had so hoped she was going to stay 
 with me, Robert ; and I feel so ill — and — 
 and — so nervous, and I can't bear that 
 Margaret should go away.' And here the 
 poor girl was quite overcome by the pro- 
 spect of her own weakness and her com- 
 panion's departure, and burst into a flood 
 of childish tears. 
 
 I felt very sorry for Janie. She has so 
 thoroughly enjoyed the society of her 
 cousin, and she is not in a condition to be 
 vexed and thwarted with impunity. And 
 then again I thought of Lionne travelling 
 all the way back to Madras by herself, to 
 accept a home from strangers, with nothing 
 but her present unhappiness and her future 
 uncertainty to bear her company ; and I 
 felt that neither of these should be the one 
 to suffer, and that if the circumstances 
 required a victim, it should be myself. I 
 did not particularly wish to leave my regi- 
 ment, nor my wife, nor any one else ; but 
 if it is impossible for us to continue on the 
 same footing with one another, I felt that 
 I should be the one to go. So I did not 
 hesitate ; but telling Janie to keep her 
 tears until she should be sure they were
 
 1 70 Captain Noriofts Diary. 
 
 required, went In search of Margaret An- 
 struther. 
 
 She was neither In the drawing-room 
 nor In the dining-room, but In a Httle ante- 
 chamber which It pleases my wife to call 
 her boudoir, but which Is the dullest and 
 most unfrequented apartment In the house. 
 There I found her, lying on the sofa, shad- 
 ing her eyes with her hand, but making no 
 attempt at work or reading. 
 
 * Margaret, may I speak to you ? * 
 
 I could not, because I had offended her, 
 go back to the more formal appellation of 
 * Miss Anstruther ;' It seemed so much as 
 though we had quarrelled. 
 
 * If it Is of anything I should care to 
 hear,' she said languidly. 
 
 * It is of something to which I much 
 desire you should listen,' I replied. * Janle 
 has just been telling me that you purpose 
 leaving us. Is that true ? ' 
 
 * It Is,' she answered curtly, but not 
 unkindly. 
 
 * I will not ask you for what reason,' I 
 went on to say, ' because your wishes are 
 your own, and shall be sacred ; but if your 
 decision is not irrevocable, think twice
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 171 
 
 before you Inflict such a disappointment 
 on poor Janie. You know how weak and 
 ill she is at present' 
 
 ' Captain Norton, I must go.' 
 
 'Must you? If I leave the house my- 
 self — if I leave the cantonment, and do 
 not return ? ' 
 
 * You are not in earnest ? ' she said, 
 raising her eyes to mine, too weary to be 
 called surprised. 
 
 ' I am. I have lonor Intended o^olnor to 
 Haldabad on a shooting excursion, which 
 may detain me for two or three months. 
 Inadvertently almost I have delayed it, 
 your visit and Janie's illness coming in the 
 way ; but now I am ready to start at twelve 
 hours' notice, if need be — indeed, I am 
 anxious to be gone.' 
 
 ' And what will Janle say to that, Cap- 
 tain Norton ?' she demanded In a lowered 
 voice. 
 
 * At this moment I believe that my ab- 
 sence will affect Janie less than your 
 departure would do. She is very much 
 attached to you, and she feels the comfort 
 of a woman's presence. Added to which, 
 Margaret, I am in a great measure respon-
 
 172 Captain Mortons Diary, 
 
 sible to your uncle for your proceedings, 
 and I shall not feel easy if you leave my 
 house for a stranger's without previously 
 asking his consent. He will imagine I 
 have proved unfaithful to my trust. Do 
 you wish others to think as badly of me as 
 I do of myself ? ' 
 
 As I uttered these words I dropped my 
 voice almost to a whisper, but she heard 
 them plainly. 
 
 * Oh, let me go ! let me go ! ' she ex- 
 claimed wildly. ' It will be better, far 
 better, for all of us. I cannot, indeed I 
 cannot, remain here ; the air of this place 
 stifles me.' 
 
 * I have made you despise me,' I said 
 despondently. 
 
 * No ; oh no ! ' and her dark eyes were 
 fixed upon me for a moment with an ex- 
 pression which I would have kept in them 
 for ever ; ' but — you know. Captain Norton, 
 that it is best — that, in fact, we must part' 
 
 ' I do know it,' I replied ; ' and there- 
 fore I am going. By this time to-mor- 
 row I hope to have made all necessary 
 preparations, and to be ready for a start. 
 Meanwhile you will stay here — I know
 
 Captain Nortoits Diary. i ^2) 
 
 you will, because I ask you — to comfort 
 and look after Janie until you receive your 
 uncle's consent to go to Madras. And 
 when it arrives, and you have left Mushin- 
 Bunda, I will return to it.' 
 
 * And we shall never, never meet again ! * 
 she said, in a voice so broken as to be 
 almost inarticulate. 
 
 I dared not answer her ; had I spoken, 
 I must have poured out all my heart. 
 
 * You have consented } ' were my next 
 words. 
 
 * Yes, since you think it best ; only I 
 am sorry to be the means of driving you 
 from home.' 
 
 * If you are — though you have no need 
 to be — will you give me one recompense, 
 Margaret ? ' 
 
 She lifted her eyes inquiringly ; speech 
 seemed almost lost to her. 
 
 * Say you forgive me for w^hat I told you 
 yesterday. I have sorely reproached my- 
 self since.' 
 
 She stretched out her hand, and met 
 mine in a grasp which, though firm, was 
 cold as that of death. 
 
 * Then we part friends 1 '
 
 1 74 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 It was again myself who spoke ; she 
 nodded her head in acquiescence, and I 
 felt my prudence evaporating, and rushed 
 from the apartment. 
 
 Written down, this interview seems 
 nothing ; but to those who feel as we do, 
 the misery of years may be compressed 
 into an hour ; and that small room, for 
 both of us, was worse than a torture- 
 chamber. 
 
 I have scarcely seen her since, except at 
 meals ; but, as I anticipated, my wife was 
 so delighted to learn that she should retain 
 her cousin's company, that she thought 
 next to nothing of my proposed shooting 
 excursion, except to beg that I would take 
 care of myself, and to wonder how I could 
 like going after those * horrid bears ' and 
 * awful tigers.' Indeed, on the whole, I 
 half suspect the little woman is rather 
 glad to get rid of me, and pleased at the 
 idea of having Margaret all to herself for 
 a few weeks ; for she has occasionally dis- 
 played the faintest touch of jealousy when 
 I have broken up their tete-a-tete confer- 
 ences. So I have sent them word down 
 to the Fort to lay my * dawk ' for me, and
 
 Captain Nor to7i s Diary. 175 
 
 I shall start as soon as to-morrow's sun 
 goes down. 
 
 I almost think we shall have a storm 
 first, which would pleasantly clear the air ; 
 for the sky has been indigo-colour all to- 
 day, and there is a strange heaviness over 
 everything as I write. 
 
 I have been packing my portmanteau 
 and cleaning my weapons, until I have 
 fairly tired myself out ; but were I to stop 
 to think, I could never summon courage 
 enough to go. The household is asleep, 
 and has been for hours ; and I am sadly 
 in want of rest ; for I can hardly keep my 
 eyes open or guide my pen upon the paper 
 — and yet I feel as though I should never 
 sleep again. 
 
 Bah ! I must be mad or dreaming. I 
 am only starting on an ordinary shooting 
 excursion, and I feel as though I were 
 going to my grave. 
 
 This is folly — monomania ; I shall be 
 
 thankful when the hour comes for me to 
 
 leave. 
 
 • ••••••• 
 
 Madras, October 20th. — It is more than 
 two months since I transcribed a line in
 
 1 76 Captain Nortotis Diary. 
 
 this written record of my inmost thoughts 
 — more than two months since that awful, 
 horrible, and most unexpected catastrophe 
 occurred, which I cannot now recall with- 
 out a shudder, and which, for a time, 
 seemed as if it must obliterate my reason 
 or my life. But I am spared (though I 
 cannot yet say, thank God that it is so) ; 
 and were it not that my soul seems to die 
 within me, and my energy to languish for 
 want of some one or thing to which I may 
 confide my sorrow, I should not have the 
 courage even now to write the story down. 
 But I must speak, even though it be but to 
 a silent confidant, for my spirit fails for 
 lack of sympathy ; and therefore I draw 
 out my old diary, and having read (shall I 
 be ashamed to say with tears ?) what I have 
 written in these foregoing pages, proceed 
 to bring the tale to a conclusion. 
 
 Let me try to collect my scattered 
 thoughts, so apt to wander when I ap- 
 proach this miserable subject, and carry 
 them back to the eventful moment when I 
 last left off-^to the night of the 12th of 
 August. 
 
 I had sat up, packing my wardrobe and
 
 Captain Nortoris Diary. ijy 
 
 writing my diary, until I had fairly tired 
 myself out, and then, having put away my 
 book and writing materials into the table- 
 drawer, I locked it, and lighting a cigar, 
 sat down to think ; of what, and in what 
 strain, I and these pages, to my misery, 
 best know. 
 
 I had no intention of permitting myself 
 to fall asleep ; but it is my custom to smoke 
 just before retiring to bed, and I should 
 have anticipated a broken rest without the 
 indulgence. At the same time my fatigue 
 was greater than I thought, and after a 
 little while drowsiness came over me, and 
 before I knew that sleep was coming, I 
 was in the land of dreams. 
 
 And such a land ! Thank heaven, for 
 those who are not destined in this world to 
 know substantial happiness, that dreams 
 remain to them. 
 
 I dreamt that I was with Margaret again 
 on the sea-shore ; not riding, but wandering 
 hand-in-hand ; not speaking coldly or with 
 averted faces, but eyes to eyes, and heart 
 to heart. I dreamt that I was watching 
 the damask blush which mantled on her 
 cheek, and listening to the low, mellow 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1 jS Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 sound of her rich voice, and that mingled 
 with my own reply came the hoarse murmur 
 of the ocean as it swelled and surged upon 
 the shore. 
 
 I dreamt that we were one ; one not in 
 the earthly acceptation of the word, but in 
 that fuller sense by which spirits are united 
 to each other, never more to part ; and that 
 as we strolled upon the beach together we 
 knew that neither death nor injury could 
 sever us again. And amidst it all I was 
 listening to the hoarse murmur of the 
 waves, which rolled up to our very feet, 
 and broke away, but to return with an 
 energy louder and more imperative than 
 before. I dreamt that as I stood thus, 
 enfolding my new-found treasure in my 
 arms, I started to find that the sky 
 was overcast, and that the tide had 
 surrounded us, and was behind as well 
 as before, and threatening to overwhelm 
 my darling. I dreamt that in my fear 
 and solicitude I drew her backwards, 
 trembling for her safety, and that as I 
 whispered words of love and reassurance, 
 I woke — to dream no more. 
 
 I woke, at the bidding of a loud and
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 1 79 
 
 terrified scream from the lips of my native 
 servants, and springing to my feet, became 
 first aware of a sensation of intense chill- 
 ness, and next, as my remaining senses 
 gradually returned to me, of a hoarse 
 murmur somewhere near me, which recalled 
 the memory of my dream. 
 
 The night was intensely dark ; there 
 seemed to be neither moon nor stars, and 
 for one moment I stood, uncertain which 
 way to move, and waiting to hear if the 
 cry had only been my fancy, or would be 
 repeated. Too soon it came again, this 
 time louder, more terrified, more piercing 
 than before ; and its burden words of fear- 
 ful import, too fearful to be at first believed. 
 
 * Master ! master!' it said in Hindustani; 
 
 * master, the sea is on us ! ' And before I 
 could scarcely realise the meaning of the 
 words, the natives who slept in the veran- 
 dah had rushed into, my presence, and were 
 immediately followed by a huge wave of 
 water, which, with the hollow roar to which 
 I had listened in my dreams, burst into the 
 unprotected sitting-rooms, and washed over 
 my feet. 
 
 ' Master ! ' cried the natives, as they
 
 1 80 Captain N'ortons Diary. 
 
 clambered upon tables and chairs, ' the sea 
 has burst its bounds ; the sea is coming on 
 us ; the whole cantonment will be under 
 water ! ' 
 
 ' Close the doors and windows ! ' I ex- 
 claimed loudly ; but no one stirred, and I 
 attempted to set them the example of doing 
 as I said, but it was too late. I perceived 
 a dark volume of water stealing stealthily 
 upon us from all sides, and even as I 
 advanced towards the verandah, a huge 
 wave dashed against me, washing me to 
 the middle, knocking me backwards on the 
 drawing-room table, and carrying away a 
 chair as it retreated. At the same moment, 
 a scream from the women's apartments told 
 me that the sea had reached that quarter ; 
 and with no thought but for the safety of 
 those dear to me, I dashed without cere- 
 mony into Miss Anstruther's room. I 
 found her pale and trembling, but just 
 awakened, sitting on the side of her bed 
 with her bare feet in a river of sea water. 
 
 * What is the matter ? ' she gasped as I 
 entered. 
 
 ' The sea has overflowed the canton- 
 ment,' I replied hastily, as I quickly lifted
 
 Captain Norton s Diary, i8i 
 
 her in my arms ; ' but trust to me, Llonne, 
 and I will take you to a place of safety.' 
 
 She shuddered but made no resistance, 
 until I had carried her to the dining- 
 room, now half full of water, and was 
 preparing to wade with her through the 
 verandah, and place her on the roof of 
 the house. 
 
 * But where is Janie ? ' she exclaimed, as 
 she looked with horror on the advancing 
 mass of water ; ' oh, where is Janie ? ' 
 
 At her question I nearly dropped my 
 burden ; for the moment I had entirely 
 forgotten my poor wife, whose screams 
 were patent from the adjoining room. 
 
 ' Go to her,' said Lionne, as she struggled 
 from my embrace, and slid down into the 
 cold waves, against the violence of w^hich 
 she could hardly support herself. ' Go at 
 once ! What were you thinking of? She 
 will drown, if you do not take care.' 
 
 * I am doing as much as I can,' I an- 
 swered hurriedly. ' Let me place you in 
 safety first, and then I will return for her. 
 I cannot carry two at once.' 
 
 ' And you would leave her to the last ? ' 
 she said indignantly ; ' she, in whom two
 
 1 82 Captain Norto7is Diary. 
 
 lives are wrapt in one ! Oh, Robert ! I 
 did not think it of you.' 
 
 ' But, my beloved — ' I commenced, in an 
 agony at her delay. 
 
 * Go ! ' she said authoritatively ; and I 
 left her to her fate, and went. 
 
 I found my poor little wife wet through 
 and screaming for help ; and lifting her in 
 my arms, I carried her, buffeting with the 
 water as I went, through the dining and 
 drawing-rooms to the outer verandah. 
 
 ' Hold fast — take the greatest care of 
 yourself,' I exclaimed in an agony of fear, 
 as I battled past the white-clad figure 
 which was clinging to the door-posts. ' I 
 will return, Lionne, as soon as ever I 
 can.' 
 
 * I am not afraid ; God will take care of 
 me,' was the calm reply ; and I strode 
 forwards into deeper and deeper water 
 with each step. When I reached the 
 verandah the struggle was severe, for there 
 the waves were highest and strongest ; but 
 although much impeded by Janie's terrified 
 clasp, I managed to wade with her to the 
 foot of the ladder, and as soon as I had 
 accomplished two or three steps of that,
 
 Captain Norton's Diary. 183 
 
 the rest was easy. I toiled with my help- 
 less burden up to the roof, despair lending 
 strength to my limbs ; and as soon as I 
 had reached it, I found myself in a goodly 
 company of natives, who, with a few un- 
 fortunate exceptions, had managed to gain 
 the top of the house as soon as the flood 
 had surprised them. Having delivered 
 Janie to the care of the ayah, I rushed 
 down again to the assistance of Lionne, 
 my heart throbbing as though it would 
 burst with the fear that my efforts might 
 be made too late. The water was now 
 higher than ever in the verandah, and I 
 began to be afraid that I should have to 
 swim back again. I dashed on as vigor- 
 ously and quickly as I could towards the 
 door, to the lintels of which I had left her 
 clinging. She was not there ! 
 
 The dark water was swaying and surging 
 through the deserted rooms ; the furniture 
 was floating about in the most dire con- 
 fusion ; trunks, portmanteaus, and other 
 trivial articles knocked up against me at 
 every turn before they drifted out to sea ; 
 but my beloved I saw nowhere. In an 
 agony I called upon her name, making the
 
 184 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 walls resound with my voice, caring nothing 
 who heard or listened to me. 
 
 ' Llonne, Llonne ! my dearest, my be- 
 loved ! where are you ? Speak to me.' 
 
 But no voice answered mine, no moan 
 or groan reached my ears ; and I waded 
 into the chamber which had been my 
 wife's. 
 
 Ah, what was that ? — that helpless mass 
 of white drapery clinging about delicately- 
 moulded limbs, which swayed about In one 
 corner, prevented by the wall — thank 
 gracious heaven ! — from floating out to 
 sea with chairs and tables, but being 
 knocked against that cruel wall with every 
 motion of the waves, until no apparent life 
 was left In it. 
 
 I took her senseless body in my arms, 
 thankful even in that condition to have it 
 there ; and lifting the dear white face above 
 the reach of the impetuous tide, laid my 
 cheek against her own, although I believed 
 that human warmth would never again 
 visit It. It was no time for words or even 
 thought. I pressed her to me as fondly as 
 though the waves had been our bridal bed ; 
 and resenting the despair which urged me
 
 Captain Norton s Diary. 1S5 
 
 to let the cruel water carry us both away 
 together then and there, battled with it 
 once more, and bore my treasure to the 
 place of safety. But it was with feelings 
 such as no words of mine can describe, that 
 I laid her beauteous form, cold, dripping, 
 on the bare bricks with which the roof is 
 paved. I had already stripped myself of 
 coat and waiscoatfor Janie ; and there was 
 nothing on which to lay the senseless 
 body of my darling but the wet cloths 
 which the natives could contribute, and 
 an old piece of carpet which was kept up 
 there. 
 
 Meanwhile the hoarse flood continued 
 to roll and murmur below, becoming 
 deeper and deeper with each surge of the 
 mass of waters ; and cries of distress were 
 heard from the surrounding houses ; and 
 the articles of furniture which floated past 
 us began to be mingled with a vision of 
 dead faces turned sightlessly towards the 
 moon, now beginning to struggle out from 
 behind the canopy of dark clouds which 
 had hitherto concealed her. And still I 
 bent above the face which had become so 
 unutterably dear to me, and prayed heaven
 
 1 86 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 to let her know me once more, if but for a 
 moment's time. 
 
 Meanwhile poor Janie, exhausted by the 
 fright she had undergone, and the grief 
 she felt at the condition of her cousin, had 
 fallen into a state which was half sleep and 
 half syncope, and lay reclining with her 
 head upon her ayah's lap. 
 
 And brother officers shouted to me from 
 the roofs of neighbouring houses, asking if 
 we were all safe — all well ; and I answered 
 that I hoped, I trusted so ; and prayed 
 heaven again to let her know me once more 
 before she died. 
 
 And God granted me my prayer. To- 
 wards morning she awoke to conscious- 
 ness. Just as the grey dawn commenced 
 to break, and that dreadful flood, which 
 continued for forty-eight hours to pervade 
 the devoted cantonment, began to show 
 symptoms of being at its height, she opened 
 her dark eyes and gazed at me. 
 
 * Where am I ? ' she said, faintly. 
 
 * Here, dearest,' I replied, all reserve 
 vanished in the face of death, — ' here in 
 my arms ; in the arms of him who loves 
 you better than his life.'
 
 Captain Nor 1 071 s Diary. 187 
 
 * It is not hard to die so,' she whispered ; 
 but as she spoke an expression of agony 
 passed over her countenance. 
 
 ' Are you in great pain, Lionne ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' she repHed with effort. 
 
 ' Where, dearest ? tell me.' 
 
 ' Everywhere — all over. I was knocked 
 down so often.' 
 
 ' Ah, my beloved ! and I not there to 
 help you.' 
 
 ' You were doing your duty, Robert ; 
 and it will soon be over now — all will be 
 over soon — all pain — all — ' 
 
 * Not mine,' I murmured in an agony. 
 ' Lionne, tell me — but once before we part 
 — say that you love me ! ' 
 
 ' My legacy,' she whispered, with a faint 
 smile. * Yes, Robert ; with all my heart — 
 as my life, better than my life.' 
 
 ' O God, spare her ! ' I cried aloud. 
 
 * O God, take me ! ' she said herself ; 
 * take me from misery and disappointment 
 to where there are no tears.' 
 
 * And how am I to live without you ? ' 
 I exclaimed. 
 
 Her dark eyes met mine reproach- 
 fully.
 
 i88 Captain Mortons Diary, 
 
 * Janle — your child,' she gasped. ' I — 
 I could have been — nothing.' 
 
 * You are all the world to me ! ' I ex- 
 claimed, passionately. 
 
 She lay quiet for a few moments, and 
 then she opened her eyes wide, and fixed 
 them upon mine. 
 
 ' Promise' she gasped — ' Janie — to love 
 — to love — to comfort — to — ' 
 
 She fell back in my arms, and for a few 
 minutes I watched with inexpressible pain 
 the convulsive working of her beautiful 
 features. 
 
 ' Better — so much better — that I should 
 go,' she whispered, after a long pause ; 
 and as she said the words she went. 
 
 It was the corpse of Margaret Anstruther, 
 and of all my earthly happiness, that I laid 
 down upon the sodden rags and piece of 
 carpet. 
 
 I have no heart to write down the details 
 of what followed. For two days that cruel 
 flood pervaded Mushin-Bunda before it 
 showed symptoms of subsiding ; and before 
 that time arrived, several hundred lives 
 (chiefly natives) had been sacrificed. We
 
 Captain Norto7i s Diary. 189 
 
 lost nearly all our furniture, though several 
 pieces were left stranded in the compound 
 when the waters retired ; amongst others, 
 the writing-table which held my diary. 
 
 But what avails it to speak of personal 
 loss at such a time as this ? My poor wife, 
 from the combined effects of cold, fatigue, 
 and terror, had a very serious illness, from 
 which at one time I almost feared she 
 might not recover ; and on her return to 
 health I brought her to Madras, from which 
 place I write. She is now herself again ; 
 and I am in good health and tolerable 
 spirits ; and — and Margaret sleeps alone 
 in a shady corner of the English burying- 
 ground at Mushin-Bunda. No, not alone ! 
 God is my witness that my heart sleeps 
 with her ! 
 
 Note added ten years later. 
 I have been looking over my old diaries 
 to-day, and burning most of them ; but 
 something within me seems to forbid that 
 I should destroy these few pages which re- 
 cord the history of my brief acquaintance- 
 ship with Margaret Anstruther. They are 
 the only remembrance I have left of her.
 
 190 Captain Norton s Diary. 
 
 Ten years have waxed and waned since 
 the dark night she died ; what have they 
 left me ? A wife whom I love and in whom 
 I trust ; who, I may safely say, I would 
 exchange for no woman living ; who has 
 brought me children, loving and docile as 
 herself, and very dear to me ; a happy 
 peaceful home (no longer in the East) ; a 
 moderate competence ; and a name which I 
 trust no man holds lighdy. 
 
 And to these many blessings I add con- 
 tentment, and wonder what more good on 
 this earth a mortal could expect. 
 
 On this earth none ; but whilst I ponder, 
 I thank God that this earth is not the end 
 of all things. 
 
 There was a time when I used to think 
 and say that all my happiness lay buried 
 in the grave of Lionne ; but I have lived 
 to learn and believe that at the Last Day 
 it shall rise again, with her to bloom, ten 
 thousand times renewed, in heaven ! 
 
 THE END.
 
 ^^^^^»^ 
 
 '■mmmm 
 
 OLD CONTRAIRY, 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 T was at the close of a sultry 
 day in June, that the passenger 
 vessel, ' Star of the North,' 
 coasted the island of Martinique 
 on her way to Barbadoes. The sea was 
 calm as a summer lake, and an ominous 
 stillness reigned in the surrounding atmo- 
 sphere that made the words of a song, 
 trolled out by a free, manly voice from the 
 forecastle, distinctly heard in every part of 
 the vessel, — 
 
 ' Wherever you be, by land or sea. 
 Why, set your heart at rest ; 
 For you may be sure, come kill or cure 
 Whatever is, is best ! ' 
 
 ' Don't believe it,' grumbled an old sea- 
 man, who was seated on a coil of rope
 
 192 Old Contrairy. 
 
 mending a sail. ' I wish I'd had the 
 ordering of my own life, any way. I'd 
 have soon seen if it was best for me to be 
 situated as I am at this here present ! ' 
 
 He was a fine old man, with rugged but 
 well-cut features and muscular limbs. He 
 had a clear blue eye, and silvery locks that 
 showed he had been a handsome fellow in 
 his day ; but something or other had put 
 him out of love with life, and his habitual 
 mood was one of discontent. A passenger, 
 who was pacing the quarterdeck, with a 
 thoughtful countenance, turned at the old 
 sailor's words and confronted the speaker. 
 
 * Don't you believe in a Providence 
 that overrules all our actions, Williams .^ ' 
 he demanded abruptly. 
 
 ' Oh yes, Mr Egerton, I believe in 
 Providence fast enough ; but when I see 
 want and misery and injustice on every 
 side of me, I cannot help thinking as our 
 actions might be ruled a little straighter 
 for us.' 
 
 * We are all apt to think the same, but 
 that is because we cannot see the end 
 of the beginning. Perhaps, too, you have 
 never prayed that Providence might ex- 
 tend its fostering care over you ? ' 
 
 ' You're mistaken, sir. No man ever 
 prayed more than I used to do. I was a
 
 Old Contrairy. 193 
 
 recr'iar conwarted Christian at one time: 
 and a morial example, but 'twarn't no 
 manner of use. No one never heard nor 
 answered my prayers, and so I left off 
 a saying 'em, and I don't see as my 
 troubles are a bit the wuss for it, neither. 
 Everybody seems to get much of a much- 
 ness in this world, let 'em wear out their 
 marrer bones or not.' 
 
 He re-applied himself to the patching of 
 his sail, and the young man who had 
 addressed him looked over the dark blue 
 waters and sighed. He, too, had prayed 
 for some weeks past that a certain blessing 
 on which he had set his heart mieht be 
 granted him, and his prayers had been 
 returned upon his hands, as it were, un- 
 answered. He was a very sad and dis- 
 appointed man that evening, but his faith 
 in Heaven was not one whit shaken by 
 the trouble that had overtaken him. 
 Even the clear, ringing laughter of Miss 
 Herbert, as she sat on the poop and 
 responded to the badinage and compliments 
 of the group of gentlemen by which she 
 was surrounded, although it made Eger- 
 ton's brave heart quiver with pain, had 
 not the power to cause it to despair. 
 
 ' Williams,' he said, after a pause, ' you 
 are altogether wrong. Prayer may not 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 194 ^^^ Contrairy. 
 
 be answered at once, nor in the manner 
 we anticipate, but it is always heard, and 
 what that song says is true, — '* Whatever 
 is, is best." It must be.' 
 
 But Williams still looked dubious. 
 
 ' It's all very well for them, sir, as is rich 
 and young, and got all their life before 
 'em, to think so. I dare say everything 
 do seem best to them ; but let 'em be 
 sick and sorry and old, and obliged to 
 work hard for their living, and I warrant 
 they'd sing to a different sort of tune.' 
 
 * Are you sick, Williams ? ' 
 
 ' Pretty middlin', sir. I've done a deal of 
 hard work in my time, and I has the rhoo- 
 matics that bad in my hands sometimes 
 as makes every stitch I put a trouble to me.' 
 
 ' Are you sorry ? ' 
 
 ' W^ell, I've had my share of that lot, 
 Mr Egerton ; but as Tve told you already, 
 'twas nothin' to nobody what I suffered 
 nor what I felt, and so I've larned to hold 
 my tongue upon the matter.' 
 
 Richard Egerton looked at the old 
 sailor's rugged face, down which time or 
 trouble had made many a furrow, and his 
 heart went out to this fellow-creature, who 
 had sorrowed perhaps as much as he was 
 doing himself, and had no outward allevia- 
 tion for the world's injustice.
 
 Old Cojitrairy. 195 
 
 ' Did you ever watch two people play a 
 game of chess, Williams ? ' he asked, 
 presently. 
 
 ' Do you mean them little figures as 
 they move about on a black-and-white 
 board, same as we use for draughts, sir ? ' 
 
 ' I do.' 
 
 ' Oh yes ! I've watched the passengers 
 playing that game many a time.' 
 
 ' Didn't it puzzle you at first to understand 
 why the players should sometimes allow 
 their men to be taken from them, or even 
 place them in positions of danger where they 
 could not possibly escape being captured .-' ' 
 
 • Yes, sir ! ' cried old Williams, bright- 
 ening up with intelligence. ' I remember 
 there was one gentleman that crossed with 
 us last year to Trinidad, and he used to 
 boast that there was no one on board could 
 beat him at that game. And no more 
 there was, and his play was always to let 
 the other sweep near half his men off the 
 board afore he'd begin in arnest at all. 
 Lord ! I've stood and w^atched 'em when I 
 was off duty, many and many a time, and 
 been as near as possible a-crying out to 
 him to take care ; but he had got the 
 game, sir, at his fingers' end, and always 
 came oft' victor, whoever sat down with him.' 
 
 'Just so. That gentleman's plan must
 
 ig6 Old Co7itr airy. 
 
 have seemed inexplicable to anyone who 
 was Ignorant of the rules of chess, but 
 those who knew them and watched them 
 to the end, would have understood that he 
 allowed his knights and pawns to be 
 taken only, that he might preserve his 
 queen and his castle, and win the game 
 for them all. Do you follow me ? ' 
 
 ' I think I can, sir, though I don't know 
 where the dickens you're a leading me to.' 
 
 ' Only to this point — that you must try 
 and think in the same way of the dealings 
 of Providence with men. We cannot tell 
 why one of us is rich and the other poor ; 
 why one has blessings in this life and the 
 other nothing but troubles. But God 
 does. We only see the effect ; He knows 
 the cause. He is the player of the game, 
 Williams, and does not allow one piece to 
 be taken captive by the enemy, except 
 with a view to final victory.' 
 
 ' Well, sir, that's all very clever argu- 
 mentation, but it don't convince me. It's 
 sorry work listenin' to reason for comfort. 
 He's swept away all my pieces, one arter 
 another — there's no question about that — 
 and left me alone in the world, and I can't 
 see the mercy of it nor the justice either,' 
 replied the old man in a discontented 
 tone.
 
 Old Contrairy. 197 
 
 ' But it Is not only to the sick and the 
 old and the poor that He deals out His 
 judgments,' continued Egerton sadl3\ 
 ' We all have our troubles, in whatever 
 position we may be placed.' 
 
 At this moment the man up on the fore- 
 castle shouted again at the top of his voice, 
 'Whatever is, is best.' 
 
 ' I wish that Ben's tongue was a little 
 shorter,' exclaimed Williams hastily. ' He's 
 always a bawlin' out them cheerful songs, 
 as makes a feller feel twice as downhearted 
 as he did afore.' 
 
 * 'Twould be all the same to you, '' Old 
 Contrairy," whatever he sung,' remarked 
 another sailor in passing ; ' for the song 
 ain't written yet as would give yott any 
 satisfaction to listen to.' 
 
 ' Well, I likes to hear sense, whatever it 
 be,' shouted " Old Contrairy " after him. 
 ' Look at that bank of clouds, rolling up 
 from leeward. We shall have a squall 
 before longr, as sure as I sits here. How- 
 ever, I suppose that fool Ben would go on 
 shoutin' ''Whatever is, is best," if the 
 '' Star of the North" was split into fifty 
 pieces, and he was just goin' under water 
 with his mouth choke full of weed.' 
 
 ' Heaven forbid !' exclaimed Egerton, as 
 he turned away to seek his cabin. His
 
 jgS Old Contrairy. 
 
 conversation with the old seaman had had 
 the effect of increasing his depression, and 
 he felt as if he could not trust himself to 
 argue with him any longer. He would 
 have much preferred on this sultry evening 
 to take up his usual quarters on the poop, 
 where the rest of the passengers were 
 assembled ; but he had not the courage to 
 go there. So the poor young fellow left 
 the deck, and, entering his cabin threw 
 himself down upon the sofa, which served 
 him for a bedstead, and abandoned himself 
 to the luxury of grief. He was altogether 
 too young and too good-looking to feel so 
 utterly bereft of hope. His bright brown 
 curls covered a brow w^hich was full of 
 intellect, and bore upon its broad expanse 
 the best sio-n of an honourable man — the 
 impress of frankness and truth. His deep 
 blue eyes, now so dull and troubled with 
 disappointment, were generally bright and 
 mirthful, and his athletic limbs, although 
 but the growth of four-and-twenty years, 
 gave promise of an unusual acquisition of 
 m.anly strength and power. 
 
 And Richard Egerton had other heritages 
 besides those of youth and beauty. He 
 was the possessor, as the old seaman had 
 intimated, of wealth and influence. He 
 had been adopted in his infancy by a rich,
 
 Old Contrairy. 199 
 
 relation, who had lately died, leaving him the 
 whole of his fortune and his laree estates 
 in Barbadoes, on the condition that he 
 assumed the name of Egerton, instead of 
 that which had been his by birth. But 
 what did all these advantaofes avail the 
 poor lad to-day ? — this day which had 
 dawned so full of hope, and was now about 
 to set upon the heaviest heart he had ever 
 carried in his bosom. And pretty Amy 
 Herbert, whose laughter still reached his 
 ear at times, even where he lay, was the 
 cause of all this trouble. They were not 
 entirely new acquaintances. He had met 
 her in England some months before, and 
 had taken his passage to Barbadoes by the 
 " Star of the North " only because he heard 
 that she was going to travel in it to join 
 her father, who was a civilian of some 
 repute in Trinidad. He had admired her 
 from the first moment of their acquaintance, 
 and the weeks they had spent on board 
 had ripened his admiration into love, and 
 made him hope, as he had had every reason 
 to do, that she- was not indifferent to himself. 
 He believed that his position as owner of 
 considerable property in the West Indies 
 would have ensured a favourable reception 
 at the hands of her father, and had ap- 
 proached the subject of marriage with her.
 
 200 Old Co7itrairy. 
 
 if not with the certainty of being met half- 
 way, at least with a modest hope that she 
 could not think him presumptuous. And 
 Amy Herbert had refused his offer — point- 
 blank and without hesitation — unequivo- 
 cally and decidedly refused it. It had 
 fallen upon him as an unmitigated blow. 
 How lovely she had looked that morning 
 when he found her sitting in her basket- 
 chair in a corner of the poop, shading her 
 sweet, soft eyes from the glaring light with 
 a rose-lined parasol. How confidently he 
 had believed that he should see the long 
 lashes lowered over those beautiful eyes, 
 and the maiden flush of combined shyness 
 and pleasure mount to that delicate cheek, 
 as he poured forth his tale of love to her. 
 
 Others had watched the young couple 
 sitting so close together on the poop that 
 morning, and guessed what was going on. 
 Others had seen Richard Egerton bending 
 lower and lower over his pretty fellow- 
 passenger, and gazing into her eyes as 
 though he w^ould read her very soul, as 
 he whispered his hopes to her. The poor 
 young fellow had been very modest over 
 it, but he had made so sure that Amy 
 Herbert's looks and actions could not have 
 deceived him, that he had almost thanked 
 her beforehand for the answer he expected
 
 Old Cont7'airy. 201 
 
 to receive. And she had Hstened to his 
 proposal with well-feigned surprise, and 
 rejected it with ill-advised haste. She had 
 thought in her silly, girlish inexperience 
 that it was more correct and womanly to 
 appear horrified at the first idea of mar- 
 riage, and she had been almost as despair- 
 ing as himself as she saw Richard Egerton 
 take her at her word and turn away with- 
 out a second appeal, to hide his wounded 
 pride below. She was deeply repenting 
 her abrupt dismissal of him as she flirted 
 on the poop with Captain Barrington, who 
 was returning from leave to join his regi- 
 ment in Barbadoes. But how was poor 
 Egerton to know that, as he cast himself 
 dejectedly upon his narrow berth and lay, 
 face downwards, with his eyes pressed upon 
 the pillow, lest the hot tears that scorched 
 them should overflow and betray his weak- 
 ness ? The sound of her voice tortured 
 him. He believed that she must be in 
 earnest in showing a preference for Captain 
 Barrington, and he was not yet strong 
 enough to watch her fair face smiling on 
 another man. So he delivered himself 
 over to melancholy, and tried hard to 
 believe that he would not have things 
 other than they were. 
 
 'Whatever is, is best,' he kept on re-
 
 202 Old Contrairy. 
 
 peating inwardly. ' It will not do for me 
 to preach a lesson to another man that I 
 am unable to apply to myself. Besides, 
 it is true. I know it to be so. My whole 
 existence has proved it hitherto.' 
 
 Yet the smiling, sunlit pastures and cane 
 fields, to which he was taking his way, 
 and which had seemed so beautiful in 
 prospect when he had hoped to secure fair 
 Amy Herbert to reign over them as mis- 
 tress, appeared to afford him but dull 
 anticipation now. 
 
 * How shall I ever get through the 
 work ? ' he thought, ' and my heavy heart 
 and sluggish spirit will lay me open to the 
 worst influences of the country. But I 
 will not despair. My wants and my weak- 
 ness are not unknown, and a way will be 
 found for me even out of this '* Slough of 
 Despond."' 
 
 He was suddenly roused from his love- 
 sick reverie by the sound of a low moaning, 
 which seemed to pervade the surrounding 
 atmosphere. Starting up on his couch, 
 Egerton now perceived through the port- 
 hole that the sky had become dark, and 
 the noise of the captain of the vessel 
 shouting his orders through a speaking- 
 trumpet, and the sailors rushing about to 
 execute them, made him aware that some-
 
 Old Contrairy. 203 
 
 thing was wrong. He was not the man 
 to keep out of the way of danger. Brave 
 as a Hon and intrepid as an eagle, Richard 
 Egerton, from a boy, had ever been the 
 foremost in any emergency or danger. 
 Now, as the warning sounds reached his 
 ear, he rushed at once on deck. He 
 remembered * Old Contrairy's ' prophecy of 
 a squall, and his first thoughts were for 
 the comfort and safety of Miss Herbert. 
 But as he issued from the passengers' 
 saloon a fearful sight awaited him. One 
 of those sudden hurricanes, for which the 
 West Indies are famous, and which will 
 sometimes swamp the stoutest vessel in 
 the course of a few seconds, had arisen, 
 and the whole ship's company was in con- 
 fusion. As Egerton sprang upon deck he 
 could distinctly see what appeared to be 
 a black wall of water advancing steadily to 
 meet the unfortunate ' Star of the North.' 
 With the exception of the noise consequent 
 on attempting to furl the sails in time to 
 receive the shock of the approaching storm, 
 there was but little tumult upon deck, for 
 everyone seemed paralysed with terror. 
 
 At the first alarm, Miss Herbert, with 
 the remainder of the passengers from the 
 poop, had attempted to go below, but, 
 having reached the quarter-deck, was
 
 204 O^^ Contrairy. 
 
 crouching at the foot of the companion- 
 ladder, too terrified by the violence of the 
 tornado to proceed further. As for Eger- 
 ton, he had to hold on fast to the bulwarks 
 to prevent himself being washed over- 
 board. His head was bare, and as he 
 stood there, with the wind blowing his 
 curls about in the wildest disorder, and his 
 handsome face knit with anxiety and pain, 
 Amy Herbert looked up and saw him, and 
 registered a vow, in the midst of her alarm, 
 that if they ever came safely out of that 
 fearful storm she w^ould humble her pride 
 before him and confess that she had 
 been in the wTone. The moaninor of the 
 tempest increased to a stunning roar, and 
 then the huge wall of water broke upon the 
 ' Star of the North' wath a violence to 
 which no thunder can bear comparison. 
 
 All hands were aMiast, and the men 
 were dashed about the deck hither and 
 thither as the wind caueht the vessel on 
 her broadside. The awful noise of the 
 hurricane rendered all communication by 
 speech impossible, but the captain, by set- 
 ting the example, stimulated his men to 
 cut aw^ay the masts in order to right the 
 ship, which had been thrown almost on 
 her beam-ends. 
 
 In a moment Egerton perceived the
 
 Old Contrairy. 205 
 
 danger to which Amy Herbert would be 
 exposed by the fall of the crashing timber. 
 She was crouching in the most exposed 
 part of the quarter-deck, her lovely eyes 
 raised upwards, full of the wildest fear. 
 
 * There ! there ! Go there ! ' he ex- 
 claimed frantically, though his voice had 
 no power to reach her, as he pointed to a 
 more sheltered position under the com- 
 panion-ladder. ' Get under there, for 
 Heaven's sake ! ' 
 
 She saw the warninor aesture of his 
 hand, the agony depicted in his face, and 
 understood the meaning of them, just as 
 the huge mast bowed itself towards the 
 sea. Egerton continued his efforts to 
 make her see the necessity of moving, and 
 she was just about to take advantage of 
 the hint, when Captain Barrington crawled 
 on all fours into the place himself. The 
 little man was not too brave by nature, 
 and fear had driven all thoughts of chivalry 
 out of his head. For the moment the girl 
 did not see who had forestalled her in- 
 tention ; she only perceived that she had 
 lost her chance of safety, and waited the 
 event in trembling anxiety. Down came 
 the topmast with a crashing shock that 
 threatened to sink the vessel. Yet Amy 
 Herbert was sheltered from possible injury,
 
 2o6 Old Contrairy. 
 
 for, with a mighty effort, Richard Egerton 
 had quitted his stronghold and flung his 
 body upon the deck before her. For one 
 moment he was conscious — happily con- 
 scious — that she was safe, and he had 
 saved her ; the next, he had fainted from 
 a blow on the head and the pain of a large 
 splinter of wood that had been broken from 
 the fallinof mast and driven with violence 
 into his arm. He did not hear the scream 
 with which Amy Herbert viewed the 
 accident, nor see the agonised face which 
 bent above his prostrate form. He heard, 
 and saw, and knew nothing, until he 
 opened his eyes in his own cabin and 
 perceived, with the dazed wonder of re- 
 turning consciousness, that the old sailor, 
 Williams, and the ship's doctor, Mr French, 
 were bending over him. 
 
 * You'll do now,' remarked the doctor as 
 he held a cordial to his lips. 
 
 * Is she safe ? ' was all Richard Egerton 
 said in reply, as he looked at his splintered 
 arm. They thought he meant the ' Star 
 of the North.' 
 
 ' Oh yes, she's safe enough now, sir/ 
 replied the old seaman ; ' but we've had an 
 awful time of it, and no mistake. We've 
 lost our top-gallant mast, and our spars
 
 Old Co7itrairy. 207 
 
 and hen-coops have been washed over- 
 board, and one of the boats got adrift in 
 the squall, and the poor *' Star " is stript of 
 half her toggery.' 
 
 ' But are any of the passengers injured ? ' 
 
 ' No one but yourself, sir ; but two of 
 our best men went over with the mast, and 
 Ralph White has broke his leg, and there'll 
 be a tidy little bill for some one to pay 
 when we gets into port again.' 
 
 ' And that reminds me, Williams, that 
 I must go and look after poor White,' said 
 the doctor. ' I think I may leave my 
 patient in your care now. All you have 
 got to do is to see that he lies there till I 
 come back again.' 
 
 ' I'll look after the gentleman, doctor, 
 never you fear,' replied the old seaman as 
 Mr French left the cabin. 
 
 ' It was an awful hurricane, Williams,' 
 remarked Egerton, with a sigh of remem- 
 brance, as he turned uneasily upon his 
 pillow. 
 
 ' You may well say that, sir ; and it's 
 just a miracle as we're still afloat.' 
 
 ' How little we thought, as we talked 
 together on deck an hour or two ago, that 
 death was so close at hand for some of us.' 
 
 ' Ay, indeed, and with that smiling, 
 burning, treacherous blue sky above us.
 
 2o8 Old Contrairy. 
 
 You have seen some of the dangers now, 
 sir. I suppose you ain't going, in the face 
 of this storm, to hold to Bill's song, that 
 " Whatever is, is best." ' 
 
 ' Yes, I am, Williams,' replied the young 
 man firmly. 
 
 ' What ! with our tight litde ship knocked 
 to pieces in this fashion, and your arm 
 broken in two places ? ' 
 
 ' Just so, Williams. Heaven sent both 
 the storm and the accident. They must 
 be for the best.' 
 
 'Well, I'm blowed!' exclaimed the old 
 sailor in sheer amazement. The announce- 
 ment seemed to have taken all the wind 
 out of his sails, and he sat staring at the 
 wounded man as if he had charge of a 
 lunatic. 
 
 ' How comes it that you are attending 
 on me ? ' asked Egerton, as Williams 
 handed him a glass of water. 
 
 ' Well, sir, I seem to have took a fancy 
 to your way of talking ; so when they 
 wanted some one here to help the doctor 
 with your arm I offered to come, that's all' 
 
 ' It was very good of you. You told 
 me this morning that you had had troubles, 
 and prayer had never availed to get you 
 out them. Do you mind telling me what 
 those troubles are ? '
 
 Old Contrairy. 209 
 
 * Not a bit, sir, if I sha'n't tire you ; but 
 it is a long story. I had a sweetheart 
 when I was a young chap — most young 
 chaps have, you know, sir — I daresay 
 you've had one yourself before now — and 
 I had a school-mate, too, by name — 
 well ! we'll call him Robert — and we both 
 loved the girl dearly ; but he got her, sir, 
 and I had to go to the wall.' 
 
 * That was very unlucky for you.' 
 
 ' Well, it was unfortunate, though he 
 courted her above-board, and all was fair 
 enough at the time. But the worst of it 
 was that he turned out a regular bad 'un, 
 and ill-treated his wife shamefully arter he'd 
 married her. When I came home from 
 sea, it used to make my blood reg'lar boil 
 to hear poor Lottie tell how he'd beaten 
 and kicked and starved her, for he'd taken 
 to drink, you see, sir, and all his love had 
 gone like a flash of lightning.' 
 
 ' Was he a sailor too ? ' 
 
 * Yes, sir, and once, when I come off a 
 long voyage to China and Australy, and 
 round home by San Francisco, I heard 
 that Lottie w^as a widder and in great 
 distress, without hardly a bit of money. 
 Well, I looked her up pretty sharp, as you 
 may guess, and I found it was all true.' 
 
 ' And then you married her.' 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 2 to Old Contrairy. 
 
 ' No, I didn't sir. IVe never been 
 married. I don't deny I asked her, but 
 she wouldn't have me, nor no one. She 
 said it was too late, and she was dyin', 
 which sure enough she was. But she had 
 a child, sir — little Dickey — such a dear 
 little chap, with blue eyes — ^just like her 
 own — and pretty yeller curls ; and when 
 she died she left him on my hands, and 
 lor', how fond I was of that little creetur ! 
 He took his poor mammy's place in my 
 heart altogether.' 
 
 The old sailor stopped here, and drew 
 his hand across his eyes. 
 
 ' Did he die too, Williams ? ' inquired 
 Egerton. 
 
 * Not as I knows of, sir. He may be 
 dead or livin'. It's all the same to me 
 now. That was the time I used to pray, 
 Mr Egerton, night and day, that the little 
 feller I was so proud on might grow up a 
 good man and a good son to me and a 
 comfort to my old age, and when I lost 
 him I chucked up religion altogether.' 
 
 * How did you lose him ? ' 
 
 * In the crudest of ways, sir. He had 
 grow'd up beside me five years, and I had 
 done everythink for him ; and when he'd 
 put his two little arms round my neck and 
 kiss me, and look so like his poor mother
 
 Old Contrairy. 2 1 1 
 
 — who was the only sweetheart I ever had, 
 Mr Egerton — I used to thank the Lord, 
 with tears in my eyes, for His goodness to 
 me. But it was all a delusion, sir.' 
 
 ' Tell me the end of it.' 
 
 ' The end of it was that, when my pretty 
 Dickey was a smart little feller of about 
 ten years old, I got him a place as ship- 
 boy aboard the ' Lady Bird,' and we sailed 
 for the Brazils together, as proud and 'appy 
 as the days was long. And I was a teachin' 
 the boy everythink, Mr Egerton, and he 
 was gettin' that 'cute and handy — when, in 
 an evil moment, that man whom we all 
 thought dead and buried, turned up again 
 somewhere down by Rio Janeiro, and 
 claimed his boy of me.' 
 
 * What ! the father ? ' 
 
 * Yes, sir. Of course he had the right 
 to do it, and that's what the skipper tried 
 to make me understand ; but it broke my 
 heart entirely. He thought he'd make 
 money out of the lad's wages, and so he 
 took him away from me, who was just like 
 a father to him ; and his screams, as we 
 parted, have never left my ears since. And 
 when I heard afterwards that the brute ill- 
 treated Dickey, just as he'd done his poor 
 mammy, I nearly went mad. The men 
 calls me sulky, and " Old Contrairy," and
 
 212 Old Con tra try. 
 
 sich like names ; but many s the time when 
 they think me cross, I'm only dreaming 
 over that time ag'in and cursin' them as 
 brought me to sich a pitch. I shall never 
 see my pretty Dickey ag'in, sir, till I meets 
 'im up above ; and I shall owe Robert 
 Hudson a grudge to the day of my death 
 for robbin' me of him in that there cruel 
 manner.' 
 
 ' Who did you say ? ' cried Egerton, 
 starting up in his berth. 
 
 ' Please to lie down, sir ? The doctor 
 will be arter me if I lets you knock about 
 in that manner. The name slipped out 
 unawares, for 'taint of no use raking it up 
 ag'in. It has nothin' to do with my story.' 
 
 * But, pray, tell it me again '^. ' 
 
 * It was Robert Hudson, sir.' 
 
 * But Robert Hudson was the name of 
 my father ! ' 
 
 ' Yoitr father, sir ! But, beggin' your 
 pardon, how can that be, when you're 
 called Egerton ? ' 
 
 * I know I am ; but I took the name 
 from a relation who left me his money on 
 condition that I did so. My real name is 
 Richard Hudson, and I was brought up to 
 the sea and adopted by my mother's cousin, 
 Henry Egerton, because my father treated 
 me so brutally. He was had up by the
 
 Old C out r airy. 2 1 3 
 
 police for thrashing me till I fainted, and 
 then the magistrates gave me over to the 
 
 guardianship of Mr Egerton ; and, 
 
 Williams, can it possibly be ? ' 
 
 * Sir, sir ! don't keep me in suspense. 
 What was the maiden name of your 
 mother ?' 
 
 * Charlotte Erskine, and she was born 
 in Essex.' 
 
 ' At Pinfold ? ' 
 
 * That is the place. My grandfather 
 had the " Peartree Farm " there, and she 
 is buried in Kensal Green Cemetery. Mr 
 Egerton used often to take me to see her 
 grave.' 
 
 ' Oh, sir ! this is very, very wonderful ! 
 Is it possible you can be my little Dickey?' 
 
 * It is quite true that I am the son of 
 Robert and Charlotte Hudson, and that if 
 I had not changed my name, we should 
 have recognised each other before now. 
 Do not think I have forgotten you, Wil- 
 liams } I cannot rem.ember the face of my 
 sailor friend ; but I have never forgotten 
 all his kindness to me. But surely I used 
 to call you " Caleb " in those days, and 
 have always thought of you by that name 
 since.' 
 
 * True, enough, sir, that's me — Caleb 
 Williams, and I can hear your sweet little
 
 214 Old Contrairy. 
 
 voice a-callin' Caleb from the top of the 
 house to the bottom now ; you was never 
 long out of my arms, Mr Egerton. Day 
 and night you was on this bosom, as you 
 may say, and my heart's been as empty as 
 a dried gourd since I lost sight of you. 
 And so you're my own boy — leastways, 
 what I used to call my own — and I've 
 been a nussin' you again as I used to nurse 
 you in the olden times. Oh, bless the Lord 
 for all His mercies ! ' cried the old seaman, 
 as he fairly broke down, and sobbed with 
 his face in his hands. 
 
 They. talked for a long time over the 
 'past ; Richard Egerton being scarcely less 
 affected than old Williams, as, one by one, 
 little incidents and reminiscences came to 
 light to confirm their several identities, 
 and make him see still more clearly how 
 much he owed to the old man who sat 
 beside him. 
 
 * And now, Caleb,' he said, when the 
 evening shadows had deepened into dusk, 
 * this will be your last voyage. I cannot 
 let you work any more. You know that I 
 have riches, and you must share them.' 
 
 ' Oh, sir, you are too good ! ' 
 
 ' Don't call me " sir" again, please. Call 
 me Richard, Caleb, or " Dickey," or any-
 
 Old C out r airy, 2 1 5 
 
 thing that pleases your fancy ; but the man 
 who acted as a father to me when I had 
 worse than none, shall never address me 
 as though I were his superior. What was 
 it you prayed for me to become, Caleb, in 
 those days when I used to sit on your knee 
 with my little hands clasped about your 
 neck ? ' 
 
 ' A good man and a good son, my dear, 
 dear boy,' quavered the old seaman. 
 
 ' Well, I will try, at all events, to fulfil 
 the last clause. My cousin Egerton, who 
 was a rich tradesman, has left me all his 
 property. I have land and houses in Bar- 
 badoes, and I intend to settle there ; at 
 least, for the next few years. You must 
 come and live with me. You will find 
 plenty of work on the estate to employ 
 your time, if you wish to work ; and if you 
 wish to rest, you shall be idle. My father 
 has been dead in reality for many years 
 past, so that we shall be left alone and in 
 peace this time to end our days together.' 
 
 ' And there is no one else, my dear boy? ' 
 inquired Williams anxiously. 
 
 * How do you mean ?' 
 
 ' You are not married, nor likely to be ?' 
 
 * I am not married, nor likely to be. 
 There is no one else,' repeated Richard 
 Egerton, with a bitter sigh.
 
 2 1 6 Old Contratry. 
 
 ' Don't sigh like that, sir/ 
 
 * Dickey, please, Caleb.' 
 
 * Dickey, then — my little Dickey, as I 
 loved so hearty. To think I should have 
 found you again arter all these years — 
 grow'd to such a fine man, too — and in 
 that awful storm! It beats everythink I 
 ever heard of.' 
 
 ' Whatever is, is best,' replied Egerton. 
 
 * You won't grumble again, will you, Caleb, 
 because the answer to your prayer may be 
 delayed a little ? ' 
 
 * Don't mention it, my boy. I feels 
 ashamed even to remember it.' 
 
 ' You see that even the hurricane has 
 borne its good fruit as well as its evil. 
 Without it we might never have been made 
 known to each other.' 
 
 ' It's bin a marciful interposition of 
 Providence from beginning to end,' 
 said old Williams, wiping his eyes. 
 
 * But I should like to see you a bit 
 more cheerful, Dickey. There has been 
 a sad look in your face the last four 
 days, which I couldn't help noticin', and 
 now that I knows you to be who you 
 are, I sha'n't rest satisfied till you smiles in 
 the old way again.' 
 
 Egerton was just about to answer him, 
 when a gentle knock sounded on the cabin
 
 Old Contrairy. 217 
 
 door, which stood ajar in consequence of 
 the heat. 
 
 ' Who's that ? ' demanded the old sailor 
 gruffly. 
 
 * It is only I,' responded a soft, trembling 
 voice, which Egerton at once recognised as 
 that of Amy Herbert. ' I came to inquire 
 how Mr Egerton is getting^on, and if I can 
 do anything for him.' 
 
 ' No, miss, thank ye, you can't do 
 nothin' ; he's a-goin' on very nicely, and 
 I'm here,' responded Williams. 
 
 ' May I speak to him for a minute ? ' 
 
 ' Oh yes,' said Richard eagerly, raising 
 himself to a sitting position. 
 
 The young lady pushed open the cabin 
 door and stood on the threshold, blushing 
 like a rose. She looked very beautiful, 
 although her eyes were swollen with cry- 
 ing, and her dress and hair were in 
 disorder. 
 
 * I felt I could not sleep until I had 
 thanked you for what you did for me, Mr 
 Egerton,' she uttered tearfully. ' You en- 
 dangered your own life to save mine, who 
 have done nothing to deserve such a 
 sacrifice on your part.' 
 
 'Ay, that he did!' interrupted Williams. 
 
 ' It is nothing — nothing,' said Egerton 
 
 faintly, for the sight of her had upset all
 
 2 1 8 Old Contrairy, 
 
 his courage. * You could not help it. It 
 is not your fault if — if — ' 
 
 'If — what?' demanded Amy Herbert. 
 
 He turned his eyes towards her, and a 
 new hope ran through his veins like a 
 reviving cordial. ' Caleb, my dear old 
 friend,' he exclaimed tenderly, ' leave me 
 for five minutes to myself.' 
 
 * What ! all alone with the lady ? ' re- 
 turned Caleb, regarding Miss Herbert as 
 though she were a dangerous animal. 
 
 * Yes, for one moment only. I have 
 something to say for her ear alone. 
 
 He had sprung off the berth in his 
 excitement, and was about to quit the 
 cabin. 
 
 ' Don't go out, then, my dear boy, for 
 mercy's sake,' said Williams, * for you've 
 lost a deal of blood, and are weaker than 
 you think for. Will you promise me ? ' 
 
 * I do promise, if you will only go.' 
 The old man shambled out of the cabin 
 
 as he spoke, and the two were left alone. 
 
 ' I want so much to tell you,' said 
 Egerton, speaking with some difficulty, 
 • what I had not the courage to say this 
 morning, that I know it is not your fault. 
 The blame rests entirely on me. It was 
 my presumption — my madness, if you will 
 — that led me on to speak to you as I did,
 
 Old Conh'airy, 2 1 9 
 
 and I acquit you of all blame. I know 
 you feel for my disappointment now — and 
 I thought it would make you easier to hear 
 this — that is all.' 
 
 ' Oh, if I could only make you under- 
 stand ! ' she sobbed. 
 
 ' Pray don't distress yourself. I do un- 
 derstand it all. How can you help it if 
 you find it impossible to love me ? ' 
 
 ' But I do not — I mean, I can — that is 
 to say, I did not mean — ' stammered the 
 girl, colouring scarlet at the admission she 
 had been betrayed into making. 
 
 'Am I to understand that you did not 
 mean what you said this morning ? ' ex- 
 claimed the young man as he grasped her 
 hand. ' Amy, you have given me fresh 
 life. Oh, do not take it back again ! Say 
 if you love me ! ' 
 
 Her maidenly bashfulness struggled for 
 a moment with her probity, but the latter 
 conquered. 
 
 'Yes, I do love you! It was my 
 egregious vanity and love of conquest that 
 made me trifle with your feelings this 
 morning. I have been very miserable 
 ever since. I have hoped you would 
 speak to me again, and when I saw you 
 risk your life for my sake, I wished that I 
 might have died for you instead.'
 
 2 20 Old Contr airy, 
 
 ' O Amy, Amy ! Your words are open- 
 ing heaven to me. Darling, is it possible 
 that you will be my wife ? ' 
 
 * If you can forgive my heartless rejec- 
 tion of you, Richard. If you can believe 
 that I am true in saying that I hated each 
 word even as I uttered it. If you still 
 think me worthy of being your life-com- 
 panion, I will give you a very different 
 answer now.' 
 
 ' You have made me the very happiest 
 man on earth,' he cried exultantly, as he 
 folded her in his arms. 
 
 ' Lor', sir ! — I mean my boy, Dickey — 
 you mus'n't be a-goin' on like this ! ' ex- 
 claimed old Caleb, appearing on the scene 
 when least expected. ' The doctor's par- 
 ticular orders was that you were to keep 
 quiet and not bounce about.' 
 
 ' Caleb, my dear friend, I will be as quiet 
 as your heart can wish now, for mine is at 
 rest. Don't stare so. Come here, and sit 
 down again, whilst I explain to this young 
 lady all that you have been to me, and tell 
 you all that I trust she will very soon be 
 to me.' 
 
 * Oh, we're to have a missus arter all, 
 then ! ' cried the old sailor meaningly. 
 * Why, I thought you told me just now, my 
 boy, that you warn't a-goin' to be spliced ! '
 
 Old Co lit r airy. 221 
 
 * Ah, Caleb, the storm has sent me a wife 
 as it brought you a son. Had it not been 
 for that awful hurricane, and the peril in 
 which it placed this precious life, I am not 
 quite sure if we should ever have been so 
 happy as we are this evening. Never 
 mind my wounded arm and the gash upon 
 my cheek ; Miss Herbert says she shall 
 like it all the better for a scar. The wound 
 in my heart is healed, Caleb, and life looks 
 very fair for us all henceforward. And yet 
 you could not believe " Old Contrairy," ' 
 he added playfully, that 'Whatever is, is 
 best.' 
 
 THE END.
 
 'SENT TO HIS DEATH!' 
 
 CAME down to breakfast one 
 morning last autumn, and found 
 a letter on the table from my 
 old friend Bessie Maclean. 
 Bessie and I were girls at school to- 
 gether, and continued our intimacy after 
 we left, until we married and went to dif- 
 ferent parts of the country. Marriage is 
 a terrible breaker up of old ties ; not only 
 by reason of the separation which generally 
 ensues, but because of the new duties it 
 entails. We had both married the men of 
 our hearts, however, and in comfortable 
 circumstances ; and so far all was well. 
 But little by little our correspondence, 
 which at first had been so voluminous and 
 detailed, became scanty and irregular.
 
 224 * ^^'^^ ^0 His Death ! ' 
 
 Bessie had half - a - dozen children to 
 occupy her time and attention ; and I — I 
 had my dear husband to fill up the measure 
 of my life, and felt myself a wicked and 
 ungrateful woman if I even wished for 
 more. 
 
 But — there is always a ' but ' in the 
 happiest worldly existence, is there not ? 
 — Dick and I had no children ; and the 
 disappointment had sometimes caused me 
 to shed bitter tears. In secret though ; I 
 had never told my husband one-half I felt 
 upon the subject. 
 
 Of course he twitted me with it some- 
 times in a playful manner, which showed 
 that the fact did not sink very deep into 
 his heart, whatever it did in mine. Yet 
 I had thought occasionally that he looked 
 more thoughtful than usual when children 
 were in the room : and the idea made me 
 thoughtful too. Especially I had noticed 
 it when we paid our first visit to Bessie in 
 her new house ; for I must tell you that a 
 few months before my story commences, 
 Tom Maclean had bought a large farm in 
 the vicinity of the town where the gaol 
 stands, of which my husband is the governor. 
 Of course, after so long a separation, 
 Bessie and I were delighted to find we had 
 become near neighbours again ; and as
 
 • Sent to His Death / ' 225 
 
 soon as ever the Macleans were settled, 
 they invited us both over to Poplar Farm, 
 to stand sponsors to the latest arrival — a 
 little boy whom they called Richard, after 
 my Dick, God bless him ! Poplar Farm 
 was ten or twelve miles from Chesterwick, 
 however, so I had not seen my friends 
 more than five or six times since the 
 christening day ; and the visits I had paid 
 them had not quite realised the expecta- 
 tions I had formed of meeting Bessie 
 again. 
 
 I suppose it was my vile envious nature, 
 or perhaps the quiet life I have led with 
 Dick has made me selfish ; but it seemed 
 to me as though all the time my old school- 
 fellow spent with me was devoted, not to 
 our friendship, or reminiscences of our 
 girlish days, but to talking about her 
 children and telling me of their accomplish- 
 ments or complaints, or consulting me as 
 to their dresses or amusements. Of course 
 I was pleased at first to be introduced to 
 her fine brood of boys and girls ; but I 
 could hardly be expected to feel as much 
 interest in them as their mother did, and I 
 was sorely disappointed to find she had 
 lost so much of hers in me. She did not 
 seem to care to hear anything about my 
 husband, or how we loved each other in 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 2 26 ' Sent to His Death I ' 
 
 our happy, peaceful home ; nor did she 
 even talk much about Tom, with her affec- 
 tion for whom I could have sympathised 
 better than with any other. But he ap- 
 peared to be almost forgotten or overlooked 
 in her maternal care for the little ones ; 
 and she was more anxious that Lily's new 
 hat should become her, or Charley's medi- 
 cine be swallowed without a fit of obstinacy, 
 than that Mr Maclean should appreciate 
 his dinner, or have his evening hours un- 
 disturbed for settling his accounts. I have 
 observed the same thing — oh ! scores of 
 times — amongst my married female ac- 
 quaintances ; and the fact has done more 
 to reconcile me to the want of a family than 
 any other. 
 
 Not that I believe that the charge of a 
 hundred children could ever make me for- 
 get my darling's wants — but there, this is 
 not a love story, so I must try and keep 
 my Dick's name out of it as much as 
 possible. 
 
 I had receiv^ed several letters from Bessie 
 during the last month, which had rather 
 surprised me, as she had grown very lazy 
 at correspondence, as I have said before, 
 and naturally, taking up her residence at 
 Poplar Farm had not made her write 
 oftener, excepting when she required the
 
 * Sent to His Death / ' 227 
 
 benefit of my experience with regard to 
 the advantages of her new home. Her two 
 last letters, however, had been written in a 
 very unaccountable strain ; and if I had not 
 known she was comfortably and happily 
 situated, I should have imagined it was 
 just the reverse. 
 
 'Another letter from Bessie!' I ex- 
 claimed, as I broke the seal. ' What on 
 earth can she want now ? I suppose sh^: 
 has found out somebody sells whiter flour 
 than Watkins, or better tea than Amyott ? 
 I almost believe, Dick, she regrets having 
 left Lincolnshire.' 
 
 ' I don't know why she should,' replied 
 Dick, as he commenced a raid upon the 
 breakfast-table ; ' for, according to Mac- 
 lean's account, they lived in a perfect 
 swamp there. But why can't the woman 
 look after her own flour and tea ? Why is 
 she to worry you about everything in this 
 fashion ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I suppose she thinks, as I have 
 no children, I cannot possibly have any- 
 thing to do,' I said, laughing ; ' for I heard 
 her remark, with regard to Mrs Anderson, 
 who is in the same plight as myself, that ir 
 must be quite a charity to give her any 
 employment ! ' 
 
 ' Like her impudence,' growled Dick- (I
 
 2 28 ' Sent to His Death ! ' 
 
 don't think Bessie Is a favourite with my 
 husband ; perhaps I talked too much about 
 her beforehand), — ' I should let her know- 
 to the contrary if I were you, Dolly. I 
 believe, with all her fuss and bustle, that 
 you do twice her work in half the time/ 
 
 * Ah ! I have only one baby to look after, 
 you see, though he's a big one,' I said, as 
 I gave his head a squeeze with my disen- 
 gaged hand ; ' but goodness me, Dick, this 
 letter is worse than the last even. Bessie 
 seems really in low spirits now. She 
 says that Mr Maclean's business will take 
 him away from home for a few nights next 
 week, and she wants me to go over and 
 spend them wuth her in — yes, she actually 
 calls Poplar Farm — 'this gloomy ram- 
 shackle old place.' 
 
 ' It's old enough,' said Dick, * and all 
 the better for it ; but it's not " ramshackle." 
 Better walls and roof were never built 
 than those of Poplar Farm. It stands as 
 steady as the gaol.' 
 
 ' But about my going to her, Dick — can 
 you spare me ? ' 
 
 ' Can I spare you ! ' repeated my hus- 
 band in that tone of voice that, after ten 
 years' marriage, has still the power to 
 make my heart beat faster. ' Of course I 
 can ! I could spare you for good and all,
 
 ' Sent to His Death / ' 229 
 
 If someone would only be obliging enough 
 to take you off my hands ; but there's no 
 such luck in store for me. Only mind the 
 days don't stretch themselves Into weeks, 
 sweetheart ! ' 
 
 'Into weeks!' I replied, indignantly. 
 ' Have I ever stayed weeks away from 
 you yet, Dick ? I'm not even sure that I 
 shall go at all' 
 
 ' Yes ! you'd better go, Dolly ; Bessie 
 Maclean is selfish and egotistical, and 
 somewhat of a fool ; but I daresay she's 
 nervous at the Idea of remaining in that 
 Isolated home by herself, particularly as it 
 is all so strange to her. And you don't 
 know what fear is, old woman ! ' 
 
 ' I wish she could overhear the character 
 you give her,' I answered, laughingly. 
 But Dick was right. I am not a nervous 
 woman, and If I had been, he would have 
 cured me of It long before. Living In a 
 gaol, and having, of my own free will, 
 constant access to the prisoners, had 
 effectually dispersed any ladylike unrea- 
 sonable fears I may once have thought 
 womanly and becoming, and made me 
 ashamed of starting at shadows. So, hav- 
 ing sent an affirmative answer to my 
 friend's appeal, I set out for Poplar Farm, 
 when the time came, with as much con-
 
 230 ' Sent to His Death ! ' 
 
 fidence In my powers of protection as 
 though I had been of the sterner sex. 
 
 Dick drove me over In the curricle. 
 
 It was a bright November morning: 
 one of those days when the air is crisp 
 and exhilarating without being in the least 
 degree cold ; a day on which one feels 
 younger, and more hopeful and capable of 
 ofood — on which one's sorrows seem too 
 paltry for consideration, and one's happi- 
 ness far more than one deserves. I ex- 
 perienced this sensation In the fullest 
 sense, as I crept as close as I could to 
 my husband's side, and smuggled one hand 
 beneath his arm. 
 
 * Holloa ! ' cried Dick ; ' why, what's 
 this ? Repenting of your promise already, 
 eh ? Oh ! you spoony woman, I'm 
 ashamed of you ! ' 
 
 I was repenting It, but I did not tell 
 him so. It is good for people who love 
 very much to part sometimes, if only to 
 teach them how great a blessing they 
 possess in each other's affection. 
 
 As we drove up the long-neglected 
 drive of Poplar Farm, I could not help 
 thinking that Bessie was right in con- 
 sidering It gloomy. The sun had disap- 
 peared again behind an autumn cloud. 
 The trees had shed most of their leaves,
 
 ' Se7it to His Death / ' 231 
 
 which lay in sodden heaps along the paths, 
 and a chilly wind had commenced to blow. 
 I drew my cloak closer against my should- 
 ers, and told Dick what I thought. 
 
 'Nonsense, Dolly!' he replied. 'The 
 place is well enough ; and when Maclean 
 has had time to put it in order, will be 
 one of the prettiest farms in the county. 
 I only wish I had the money to buy such 
 another. But naturally it does not look 
 its best when the trees are bare.' 
 
 ' Stop ! ' I cried, suddenly ; ' there's the 
 baby. Let me get down and kiss him. 
 That must be the new nurse carrying him, 
 Dick. But what a lugubrious looking 
 young person she is ! ' 
 
 My husband had good-naturedly drawn 
 up by this time, and I had scrambled 
 down to meet my little godson, who was 
 about three months old. But as soon as 
 I had pulled aside the veil that covered 
 his face, I started with surprise. 
 
 ' Oh ! how he has gone off ! ' I exclaimed. 
 
 The baby, who had been so fat and 
 dimpled and red-faced last time I saw him, 
 was now drawn and white and thin. The 
 change was apparent so that even Dick 
 could see it from the box-seat. 
 
 ' Whew ! ' he whistled ; ' why, what's the 
 matter with the little chap — is he ill .'* '
 
 232 ' Sent to His Death ! ' 
 
 'Oh no! he's not 111. He is perfectly well. 
 You don't think he looks ill, madam ? ' said 
 the girl who was carrying him, anxiously. 
 
 ' I don't think I ever saw a child so 
 changed in my life,' I answered, in my 
 blunt fashion. ' Are you the wet-nurse 
 Mrs Maclean told me she had engaged 
 for him ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, madam,' she said, in a very low 
 voice. 
 
 I raised my e.^^s, and examined her 
 then for the first time thoroughly ; and I 
 could not help observing what a remark- 
 able-looking girl she was. She had the 
 very palest and clearest of complexions — 
 so colourless that it looked like the finest 
 white wax, and her skin was of the tex- 
 ture of satin. Her large, clear, grey eyes, 
 which shone with a limpid light, like 
 agates with water running over them, had 
 a startled look, which might almost have 
 been mistaken for fear, and her delicately 
 cut mouth drooped in the most pathetic 
 manner. To add to the mournfulness of 
 her appearance, her hair was almost com- 
 pletely hidden beneath her cap, and her 
 dress was the deepest widow's mourning. 
 I made a few indifferent remarks about 
 the child, kissed it, and jumped up to my 
 seat again. The nurse was not the per-
 
 ' Se7tt to His Death /' 233 
 
 son I felt to whom to speak on the subject 
 of the baby's appearance. She made a 
 deep reverence as the carriage moved off, 
 and .1 saw she was a very superior sort of 
 young woman ; but of what account was 
 that, where httle Dick's health, and per- 
 haps his life, was concerned ? 
 
 ' Bessie's a greater fool than I took her 
 for,' I exclaimed, indignantly, as we drove 
 on towards the house. 
 
 'What's in the wind^^w ?' said Dick. 
 
 * Fancy, choosing a wet-nurse for a 
 baby all crape and bombazine and tears. 
 Why, that girl looks as if she cried night 
 and day. 1 knew Bessie had been weak 
 enough to be persuaded by the doctor to 
 give up nursing baby herself, but she 
 mieht have exercised a little discretion in 
 the choice of a substitute. The child is 
 half the size he was last month.' 
 
 ' What a lot we know about babies ! ' 
 said Dick, in his chaffing way. 
 
 * I should hope I know more than half 
 the mothers I meet,' I continued, with 
 some warmth. * I should be ashamed to 
 be as ignorant as Bessie herself, for in- 
 stance, though she has had six children,' 
 I added, with a little droop in my voice. 
 
 ' My own Dolly ! ' said Dick, fondly ; 
 and when he says those words in that
 
 2 34 * S^^^ io His Death I ' 
 
 voice, I don't care for anything else in all 
 the wide, wide world. He wouldn't stay 
 — even to dismount from his box, for we 
 knew Mr Maclean had already left the 
 house, and he thought our chatter would 
 get on better without him, added to which 
 he had duties demanding him at home. 
 So I gave him one long, long kiss, and 
 let him go ; and as soon as he was out 
 of sight, turned into the door of Poplar 
 Farm. 
 
 Bessie was in the dining-room, where 
 the dinner was already spread, surrounded 
 by her batch of self-willed unruly children. 
 As she came forward to meet me, I saw 
 that she looked tired and worn out, and 
 that her dress was untidy and neglected. 
 
 * It is so good of you to come, Dolly,' 
 was her greeting, * for I am so worried I 
 don't know what I should have done with- 
 out you.' 
 
 ' I am very glad to be of use, Bessie ; 
 but what worries you — the baby ? ' 
 
 ' Dear me ! no. It is something quite 
 different. Why should baby worry me } 
 He has his wet-nurse, and she takes him 
 completely off my hands.' 
 
 ' He is so pulled down,' I said unhesi- 
 tatingly, for I took an interest in my little 
 godson. ' I met him just now in the drive,
 
 * Sent to His Death / ' 235 
 
 and hardly recognised the child. Are you 
 satisfied his nurse does him justice ? ' 
 
 * Oh, perfectly so. She is a most estim- 
 able young woman, so quiet and ladylike 
 ia her way of speaking. Did you notice 
 her eyes ? such a remarkable colour ; and 
 her hands are as white as yours or mine.' 
 
 * But the baby does not appear to be 
 thriving. He can't inherit her eyes or her 
 hands, you know, and if he could, I don't 
 see that they would be much use to him. 
 What's her name ? Where did you find 
 her ? ' 
 
 ' She's a Mrs Graham ; and she was 
 recommended to me from the Lvinor-in 
 Hospital at Chesterwick. I'm sorry you 
 don't think baby looks well. Perhaps the 
 change has pulled him down a little, though 
 I really can't see it myself.' 
 
 I daresay she did not. Bessie is that 
 sort of woman that never will see anything 
 until it has actually occurred. If her 
 children died, she would make as great a 
 fuss over them — perhaps more — than mo- 
 thers who have guarded theirs from their 
 infancy upwards ; yet she will let them eat 
 improper food, and get damp feet, and 
 remain out in the burning sun without any 
 covering to their heads ; and if you remon- 
 strate with her, her invariable excuse is,
 
 236 * Sent to His Death ! * 
 
 that they have always done so before and 
 got no harm. As if the fact of a wrong 
 being permitted should make it a right ; 
 or because we have fallen from the top of 
 a house once without injury, we may cast 
 ourselves thence headlong each day with- 
 out impunity. 
 
 I really never did think, w^hen Bessie 
 and I were girls together, that she would 
 turn out such a ninny. 
 
 • What has worried you then, since it is 
 not the baby ? ' I demanded presently. 
 
 * Hush ! I can't tell you before the 
 children. It's an awful business, and I 
 wouldn't have them hear of it for worlds. 
 Will you lay your bonnet aside, and have 
 dinner with us as you are ? or I'm afraid it 
 may get cold. Lily — Charley — Tommy, 
 lay down these toys, and come to the table 
 at once. Put Bessie up on her high chair ; 
 and somebody go and call Annie. Ah ! 
 Dolly, my dear, how well you have kept 
 your figure ! What would I not give to 
 be as slim and neat as you are.' 
 
 And although, of course, I would not 
 compare one advantage with the other, 
 yet I must say that the pleasures of having 
 a family would possess a great drawback to 
 me, if I were compelled at the same time 
 to become as rotund and untidy in appear-
 
 * Sent to His Death !' 237 
 
 ance as poor Bessie is at present. And I 
 believe the chief thing Tom Maclean fell 
 in love with was her pretty rounded little 
 figure. Alas ! alas ! 
 
 But I am keeping the early dinner wait- 
 ing. As soon as it was despatched, with 
 the usual accompaniments of cutting up 
 the children's meat, wiping their mouths, 
 and preventing their throwing the tumblers 
 at each other's heads, Mrs Maclean rose 
 and offered to show me to my bedroom. 
 It was next to her own, and communicated 
 with it by a door. 
 
 ' This dear old place !' I exclaimed as I 
 entered it ; ' you are making it very pretty, 
 Bessie. Aren't you glad that you have 
 come into such a handsome property, in- 
 stead of having been stuck down in a mo- 
 dern villa, with the plaster on the walls 
 only half-dry ? ' 
 
 But Bessie did not appear to appreciate 
 my congratulations. 
 
 ' Dolly,' she said, as she sunk down into 
 a chair, ' I would change Poplar Farm for 
 the poorest little villa that was ever built.' 
 
 ' My dear girl, what do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Mean / That the house is haunted, 
 Dolly—' 
 
 I confess it ; I could not help it : I burst 
 into the loudest and rudest laugh imaginable.
 
 238 ' Sent to His Death !' 
 
 Poplar Farm haunted ! What an ab- 
 surdly unreasonable idea ! Why, the last 
 tenants had only just moved out in time 
 to let the Macleans come in, and the house 
 had been freshly papered and painted from 
 basement to attic. There was not a nook 
 nor a corner for a ghost to hide in. 
 
 I could not help laughing ; and what is 
 worse, I could not stop laughing, until my 
 friend was offended. 
 
 ' You may laugh as much as you like,' 
 she said at last ; ' but I have told you 
 nothing but the truth. Do you mean to 
 say that you consider such a thing impos- 
 sible ? ' 
 
 ' No ! I won't go as far as that ; but I 
 think it is very uncommon, and very un- 
 likely to occur to — to — to — ' 
 
 Here I was obliged to halt, for the only 
 words I could think of were, ' to anyone so 
 material as yourself ; ' and I couldn't quite 
 say that. For though I do not deny the 
 possibility of apparitions, I believe that the 
 person who is capable of perceiving them 
 must be composed of more mind than 
 matter, and there is nothing spiritual nor 
 aesthetic about poor Bessie. 
 
 * What is the ghost like, and who has 
 seen it?' I demanded, as soon as I could 
 command my countenance.
 
 ' Sent to His Death / ' 239 
 
 'Several of the servants and myself,' 
 replied Bessie ; ' and Tom might have seen 
 it, too, if he were not so lazy. But one 
 night when the noises were close to our 
 door, he refused to rouse himself even to 
 listen to them, and told me to go — Well, 
 dear, I really can't repeat what he said ; 
 but husbands do not always use the politest 
 language when out of temper, you know ! ' 
 
 ' Noises ! Then the ghost has been 
 heard as well as seen ? ' 
 
 * Oh yes ! and such mournful noises, 
 too. Such weeping and wailing, enough 
 to break one's heart. The first time I 
 saw it, Dolly, I thought I should have 
 died of fright.' 
 
 ' Tell me all about it.' 
 
 ' I had been sitting up late one Saturday 
 night mending the children's socks for 
 Sunday, and Tom had been in bed for a 
 good two hours. Everybody was in bed 
 but myself, and I thought, as I carried my 
 single candle up the dark staircase, how 
 silent and ghastly everything appeared. 
 As I turned into the corridor, I heard a 
 gasping sound like a stifled sob. At first 
 I could hardly believe my ears ; but when 
 it was repeated, my heart seemed to stand 
 still. I was hesitating whether to go back 
 or forward, and trembling in every limb,
 
 240 * Sent to His Death ! * 
 
 when IT — this dreadful thing — crossed 
 me. It sprung up, I don't know from 
 where, in the darkness, and just looked at 
 me once and rushed away. I nearly sunk 
 to the ground, as you may well imagine. 
 I had only just time to get inside my own 
 door, when I tumbled right across the bed, 
 and Tom had to get up and pick up the 
 candlestick, and help undress me ; and 
 really, by the way he went on about it, 
 you'd have thought it was all my fault.' 
 
 * What was it like ? that is the main 
 thing, Bessie.' 
 
 ' My dear, you don't suppose I looked 
 at it more than I was absolutely obliged, 
 I know IT was dressed all in white, with 
 snow-white hair hanging over its face, and 
 fearful staring eyes. It's a perfect wonder 
 to me I stand alive here now.' 
 
 ' And it has been seen since then ? ' 
 ' Oh, several times, and we hear it every 
 night as regularly as possible about two 
 o'clock in the morning. The cook has 
 seen it — so has the housemaid ; and not a 
 servant amongst them would fetch a glass 
 of water from downstairs after ten o'clock, 
 if we were all dying for want of it.' 
 
 * A pleasant state of affairs,' I ejaculated ; 
 ' and will you take no steps to investigate 
 the mystery, and dissolve the household 
 fears ? '
 
 * Se7it to His Death / ' 241 
 
 ' What steps could I take ? ' 
 
 * Sit up for the apparition, and speak to 
 it ; and if it won't answer, take hold of it 
 and see if it is flesh and blood or air/ 
 
 * My dear Dolly, I would rather die.' 
 
 ' Well, I hope youll wake me up when 
 the sounds begin to-night,' I answered, 
 ' for I am curious to hear them.' 
 
 But I didn't tell Bessie that I would be 
 the one to 'bell the cat;' for, thouorh I 
 have little fear, I have no foolhardiness ; 
 and if her ghost turned out to be a real 
 one, I had no wish to interfere with it. 
 
 In the evening, as much with a view of 
 pointing out the baby's condition to Bessie 
 as for any other reason, I asked her to 
 accompany me to the nursery, and see him 
 put to bed. I found that he slept in a 
 room alone with his wet-nurse, who was 
 enorao^ed in bathino^ the little creature as 
 we entered. Mrs Graham looked very 
 pretty and delicate as she bent over the 
 bath, attending to the child ; but I observed 
 that she never once smiled at nor played 
 with him, as nurses usually do with infants 
 during the process of washing. Little 
 Dick was certainly very attenuated and 
 languid, and even his mother seemed to 
 observe it when pointed out to her. Mrs 
 Graham listened to our conversation with 
 VOL. I. o
 
 242 * Se7it to His Death /* 
 
 rather an anxious expression on hei coun- 
 tenance, and I thought by drawing her out 
 we might gain some clue to the baby's ill 
 health. 
 
 ' Is your own child strong and vigorous ?' 
 I asked her. 
 
 ' My own child is dead, madam,' she 
 replied. 
 
 ' It was your first, I presume ? You 
 appear very young.' 
 
 ' It was my first. I was twenty last 
 birthday.' 
 
 She seemed unwilling to be more com- 
 municative, and I did not like to enter 
 directly on the subject of her husband's 
 death. Poor child ! she might have loved 
 him as I did Dick. So, as Bessie had 
 sauntered into the general nursery and left 
 us alone together, I ventured to sound her 
 on another matter, which I thought might 
 be having a secret effect upon her. 
 
 ' Have you seen anything of this appari- 
 tion the servants speak of, Mrs Graham ?' 
 
 ' No, madam,' she replied, quietly. 
 
 ' It is very foolish of people to be fright- 
 ened of they really don't know what ; but 
 no one seems to have been brave enough 
 to try and find out the reason of the my- 
 sterious noises heard at nicrht here. You 
 have heard them, perhaps ? '
 
 * Sent to His Death / ' 243 
 
 * No, madam/ she said again, without 
 further comment. 
 
 ' Would it alarm you to see or hear it ? ' I 
 had forced her nowto saysomething in reply. 
 
 * I think not,' she answered, ' I think if 
 spirits can come back from the dead, they 
 must do so only in sympathy with those 
 they have left behind ; and, if that is pos- 
 sible, and I thought this one came for me, 
 I should only be too thankful to have a 
 glimpse of its face, or to hear the sound of 
 its voice. I think those people who have 
 so much fear of spirits can never have 
 known what it is to lose any one they 
 would lay down their lives to follow wher- 
 ever it micrht lead them.' 
 
 <_> 
 
 She spoke in a low, mornful cadence 
 that touched my heart. Poor girl ! she 
 was thinking of her husband and her own 
 desolate condition. I felt for and sympa- 
 thised with her, and before I left the nursery 
 I took her thin hand and pressed it. She 
 looked surprised, but I had only to say, 
 ' I love my own husband as my life/ to see 
 the tears run into her eyes, and to know 
 she understood me. Still she was by no 
 means a proper person to perform the part 
 of a mother towards little Dick, and I re- 
 solved before I left Poplar Farm to try and 
 persuade Bessie to change her.
 
 244 * "^^^^^ ^^ -^^^ Death ! ' 
 
 The rest of the day passed rather mono- 
 tonously. I worked at one of Dick's 
 shirts, and wondered how I ever could 
 have thought Bessie such a charming com- 
 panion, whilst she alternatively indulged 
 and scolded her very impleasant young 
 family. At last they were all despatched 
 to bed, and as soon as decency would per- 
 mit, I yawned and said I should like to 
 follow their example. So we were all 
 packed away by ten o'clock, my last act 
 having been to pay a visit to Mrs Graham's 
 room, where I had left her fast asleep with 
 my little godson tucked in snugly on her 
 arm. Bessie lay awake for some time 
 talking of the celebrated ghost, but I was 
 too sleepy to be a good listener, and am 
 afraid I dropped off in the midst of her 
 recital. When I waked again, it was by 
 dint of feeling her shake my arm. 
 
 ' Dolly ! Dolly !' she was exclaiming, in 
 a low, hurried voice. ' Listen ! there is the 
 sound, and close against the door.' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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 AN INNOCENT SINNER. By Mabel Collins, 
 
 Author of " Too Eed a Dawn," " In the Flower of 
 
 Her Youth," &c. In picture boards, 2s. ; post free, 
 
 2s. 4d. 
 
 " Miss Collins, who writes with correctness and vigour, has chosen 
 in 'An Innocent Sinner' to rely for interest on an entirely new com- 
 bination of circumstances. This ... is elaborated with some skill." 
 
 AthencBum. 
 
 "Thinkers, who are not too wise in their own conceit, will give the 
 book a much higher place in their esteem than is usually accorded to 
 a work of fiction. . . . The book is one that ought to be both read and 
 studied." — Whitehall Revieio. 
 
 "Decidedly remarkable, and very well worth reading." — Morning 
 Post. 
 
 " Of peculiar originality and power . . . For her freedom from ex- 
 travagance in dealing with a topic which makes extravagance an 
 almost irresistible temptation, Miss Collins must be especially com- 
 mended." — Qlobe. 
 
 " Must certainly be acquitted of any tendency to the conventional 
 or commonplace — the besetting sin of the novelists of the day. . . . 
 The situation is, no doubt, a delicate one, but we do not thiuk the 
 author's treatment of it can be fairly objected to on the score of pro- 
 priety or good taste." — Graphic. 
 
 '' There are both prettiness and ingenuity in the novel wliich 
 Miss Mabel Collins, the clever daughter of a gifted father, has 
 written — 'An Innocent Sinner.* There is a grace and a power, as well 
 as a strangeness, about the book which will secure for it many 
 readers." — World. 
 
 P. V. White & Co., 31, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 p. V. WHITE & Co.'s Popidar Novels. 9 
 
 POPULAR 2s. NOVELS. 
 
 HOW HE WON HER. By Mrs. Eiloart, Author 
 of " The Dean's Wife," " My Lady Clare," " Some of 
 Our Girls," &c., &c. 
 
 In picture boards, 2s. ; post free, 2s. 4d. 
 
 A FATAL PASSION. By Mrs. Alexander 
 Fraser, Author of "A Professional Beauty," 
 " Guardian and Lover," (fee, &c. 
 
 In picture boards, 2s. ; post free, 2s. 4d. 
 
 SINK OP SAYIM. By Mrs. Houstoux, Author of 
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 In picture boards, 2s. ; post free, 2s. 4d. 
 
 EYPE OF BLENDON. By Axxie Thomas 
 
 (Mrs. Pender Cudlip), Author of " Friends and 
 Lovers," " AUerton Towers," &c., <fec. 
 
 In picture boards, 2s. ; post free, 2s. 4d. 
 
 GUARDIAN AND LOVER. By Mrs. Alexander 
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 fessional Beauty," <fec., &c. 
 
 In picture boards, 2s. ; post free, 2s. 4d. 
 
 P. V. White & Co., 31, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 10 F. V. WHITE & Co.'s Popular Novels. 
 
 POPULAR 2s. NOVELS. 
 
 THREE FAIR DAUGHTERS. By Laurence 
 
 Brooke, Author of " The Queen of Two Worlds," &c. 
 In picture boards, 2s. ; post free, 2s. 4d. 
 
 " This is a novel which shows real literary skill and no small 
 acquaintance with his craft in its author." — Spectator. 
 
 " Mr. Brooke has told well what he had to tell, and has produced 
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 * Three Fair Daughters' is a pretty and a prettily-written tale." 
 
 AthencBttm. 
 
 " A vein of pleasant humour and lively fancy runs through this story 
 from beginning to end." — Queen. 
 
 " Laurence Brooke is a brilliant writer." — Court Journal. 
 
 " There is not a dull page in the whole three volumes." — Scotsman. 
 
 " In furnishing light, pleasant reading and drawing lively pictures 
 of modern society, Mr. Brooke has few rivals." — Morning Post. 
 
 SWEETHEART AND WIFE. By Lady Con- 
 stance Howard, Author of " Mollie Darling," &c. 
 In picture boards, 2s. ; post free, 2s. 4d. 
 
 " The story from first to last is attractive, and cannot fail to com- 
 mand wide favour. . . . There is, indeed, throughout the whole of the 
 story a most unusual power, not only of language but of imagination, 
 and the tender pathos, which is introduced in no laboured fashion, 
 adds a charm which it is difficult to describe, but impossible for the 
 reader not to appreciate." — Whitehall Eevieic. 
 
 " There is a genuine flavour of the old-fashioned romance in it which 
 is too frequently lacking in what may be termed the latter-day novel." 
 
 Court Circular. 
 
 P. V. White & Co., 31, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 F. V. WHITE & Co.'s PopulaT Novels. 11 
 
 POPULAR NEW NOVELS AT ALL THE 
 LIBRARIES. 
 
 ONLY A VILLAGE MAIDEN. By Lady Con- 
 stance Howard, Author of " Sweetheart and 
 Wife," " Mollie Darling," &c. 2 vols. 
 
 POPPY. By Mrs. Beresford (Flora Hayter), 
 Author of "All Among the Barley," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 A MOMENT OF MADNESS. By Florence 
 Marryat, Author of "The Root of all Evil," 
 " Phjllida," " A Broken Blossom," " My Sister the 
 Actress," " Facing the Footlights," &c., &c. 3 vols. 
 
 LOVE AND ITS COUNTERFEIT. By Alice 
 Bernard. 3 vols. 
 
 VICTOR OR VICTIM? By John Saunders, 
 Author of "Abel Drake's Wife," <S:c. 1 vol. 
 
 WAS IT WORTH THE COST ? By Mrs. Eiloart, 
 Author of " My Lady Clare," " The Dean's Wife," 
 &c. 3 vols. 
 
 F. V.White & Co., 31, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 12 F. V. WHITE & Co.'s Popular Novels. 
 
 POPULAR NEW NOVELS AT ALL THE 
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 MONCRIEFFE'S SECOND WIFE, By Lolo, 
 
 Author of "A Cruel Secret," "Was Hers the 
 Fault?" &c. 3 vols. 
 
 "... There are many who will he delighted with * Moncrieffe's 
 Second Wife.' " — Public Opinion. 
 
 MISS STANDISH. By Miss A. Bewicke, Author 
 of " Onwards, but Whither ?" &c. 3 vols. 
 
 AN APEIL DAY. By Philippa Prittie Jephson, 
 
 Author of " Lord Farleigh," &c. 2 vols. 
 
 "... This graceful story." — Aihenceum. 
 
 " The story in itself is very real, full of true pathos, and not devoid 
 of power. ... It is graceful and charming from first to last," 
 
 Morning Post. 
 "... It is altogether a pleasant story, pleasantly told, and worth 
 spending an idle half-hour over." — Whitehall Review. 
 
 "... It is charmingly and freshly told, the language is easy and 
 refined . . . there is a natural and pictorial grace about the book." 
 
 St. Stephen's Review. 
 "... The book is never dull. . . . The tone of the story is whole- 
 some, unafiected, and pleasant throughout,*' — John Bull. 
 
 "... This novel will be found attractive, and full of romance." 
 
 Public Opinion. 
 
 FRANK AYRTON. By Mrs. J. M. M. Hewett. 
 
 1 vol. 
 
 p. V. White & Co., 31, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 p. V. WHITE & Co/s Popular Novels. 13 
 
 POPULAR NEW NOVELS AT ALL THE 
 LIBRARIES. 
 
 IN THE FLOWER OF HER YOUTH. By 
 Mabel Collins, Author of " Too Eed a Dawn," 
 " An Innocent Sinner," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " Miss Collios's ably-written story is likely to be well received." 
 
 Ath€nceu7n. 
 
 " Miss Collins is acquiring more strength and facility as she con- 
 tinues in authorship. The tale before us has some weU-conceived situa- 
 tions." — Academy. 
 
 " Miss Collins has evidently thrown her whole heart into her work, 
 for many passages are full of eloquence aud fire. The pathetic scenes 
 are composed with a power of detail that in many cases will thrill the 
 reader. Engrossing as are the first and second volumes, the third far 
 
 excels either Miss Collins is the author of several stories of 
 
 fiction, for whi<h she has obtained the ffood opinion of her admirers, 
 but * In the Flower of Her Youth' far excels her former efforts." — 
 Public Opinion. 
 
 "Miss Collins may certainly be congratulated on having maintained, 
 so far as the story itself is concerned, the originality of style which 
 distinguishes her previous books." — Jo7in Bull. 
 
 *' Brough, however, is sketched with so much fidelity that the 
 portrait will certainly be recognised by those who remember the 
 brilliant, genial, and jovial original who, not so many years ago, used 
 to shoulder his way along Fleet-street and the Strand, and was once, 
 
 by the way, a familiar figure in the streets of Nottingham The 
 
 description of Siena is charming — a complete picture without dry 
 detailed literaluess, and replete with poetic feeling. ' In the Flower 
 of Her Youth' is in almost all respects an able, and in many respects a 
 powerful, book." — Nottingham Daily Guardian. 
 
 ON DAXGEROUS GROUND. By Miss Edith 
 
 Stewart Drewky. 3 vols. 
 
 P. V. White & Co., 31, Southamptoii Street, Strand.
 
 14 P. V. WHITE & Co.'s Popular Novels. 
 
 POPULAR NEW NOVELS AT ALL THE 
 LIBRARIES. 
 
 SECOND EDITION OF 
 
 A PEERESS OF 1882. By Mrs. Alexander 
 Fraser, Author of " Guardian and Lover," " A Pro- 
 fessional Beauty," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " A wide popularity may safely be anticipated." — Morning Post. 
 "■ Those who delight in love stories have a feast in store in these 
 three volumes." —J/oc?er/i Society. 
 
 THIRD EDITION OF 
 
 FACING THE FOOTLIGHTS. By Florence 
 
 Marryat, Author of " My Sister the Actress," " A 
 Broken Blossom," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 " * Facing the Footlights,' as its name indicates, is highly melodra- 
 matic." — AthencBum. 
 
 "... Is at once an entertaining and well-written romance. . . . 
 The characters are admirably drawn. . . . We must congratulate the 
 authoress on the production of a really excellent novel." 
 
 Court Circular. 
 "... The story is interesting and well worked out.'* 
 
 ibt. Jameses Oazette. 
 
 FRIENDS AND LOVERS. By Annie Thomas 
 (Mrs. Pender Cudlip), Author of "Denis Donne," 
 " Allei-ton Towers," &c., &c. 3 vols. 
 
 "The incidents of the story become most interesting from the charm 
 of the writer's style." — Queen. 
 
 "... Will be welcomed by the large circle of Mrs. Cudlip's admirers. 
 It is certainly in all respects equal to its now numerous predecessors, 
 and in many points supeiior to many.'" — Graphic. 
 
 " Mrs. Pender Cudlip's tale has great variety of scene and incident. 
 . . . None of the usual materials tor the makiug of a good novil are 
 absent in * Friends and Lovers,' and the author has shown much skill 
 in weaving a more than usually complicated plot. This, united to the 
 writer's style, always full of movement and brightness, will insure a 
 large circle of readers for her latest work." — Morning Post. 
 
 F. V. White & Co., 31, Southampton Stieet, Strand.
 
 p. V. WHITE & Co.'s New Publications. 15 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 OUR TOUR IN SOUTHERN INDIA. By Mrs. 
 
 J. C. Murray Aynsley, Author of " Our Visit to 
 Hindostan," &c. 1 vol., demy 8vo, cloth, 10s. 6d. 
 
 UNCLE ANTONY'S NOTE BOOK. By Mary 
 
 Caumoxt. Crown 8vo. Cloth, 2s. 6d. Post free, 
 2s. 9d. 
 
 " Miss Caumont has produced a volume of charming little stories 
 for children, full of genuine pathos and dealing with subjects and 
 incidents such as young readers can appreciate." — Scotsman. 
 
 "This little volume of tales for young folks is well written. . . . We 
 can heartily recommend 'Uncle Antony's Note Book" for the amuse- 
 ment it affords and the sound moral it conveys." — Court Journal. 
 
 UNCLE GRUMPY, and other Plays for Juvenile 
 Actors and Actresses. By R. St. John Corbet. 
 Crown 8vo. Cloth, 2s. Post free, 2s. 3d. 
 
 " A pleasant little work, which will be a valuable acquisition to boys 
 and girls in holiday time. The plays are bright and humorous, and, 
 as set forth on the title-page, may be easily learned, esLbilj acted, and 
 easily mounted." — Liverpool Daily Post. 
 
 " As a book of parlour theatricals it is admirably suited to its pur- 
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 HOUSEHOLD CHEMISTRY FOR THE NON- 
 CHEMICAL. By A. J. Shilton, F.C.S. Crown 8vo. 
 Limp cloth, 28. Post free, 2s. M. 
 
 THE LIFE AND ADVENTURES OF FRED. 
 G. BURNABY, Col. Commanding the Royal Horse 
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 A REVIEW OF THE BELT TRIAL. With List 
 of Witnesses Examined, and a Sketch of the Life of 
 Mr. Belt, &c., &c. Price Is. Post free. Is. 2d. 
 
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 16 F V. WHITE & Co.'s Popular Novels. 
 
 NEW NOVELS IN THE PRESS. 
 
 A FAS HIONABLE MARRIAGE. By Mrs. Alex- 
 ander Frasee, Author of '* A Peeress of 1882," "A 
 Fatal Passion," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 UNDER THE LASH. By Mrs. Houstoun, 
 
 Author of " Lost in the Crowd," " Recommended to 
 
 Mercy," &c. 2 vols. 
 
 THROUGH THE STAGE-DOOR. By Harriett 
 Jay, Author of " My Connaught Cousins," " Two 
 Men and a Maid," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 UNDER THE BAN. By Charles Gibbon, 
 
 Author of " Auld Robin Gray," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 HIS DEAREST WISH. By Mrs. Hibbert Ware, 
 
 Author of " The King of Bath," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 ONLY AN ACTRESS. By Edith Stewart 
 
 Dkewry, Author of " On Dangerous Ground," &c. 
 3 vols. 
 
 F. V. White & Co., 31, Southampton Street, Strand. 
 
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