LI B RARY OF THE UNIVERSITY Of ILLINOIS A GOLDEN HEART. |l MM. TOM HOOD. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. L LONDON : TINSLEY , BROTHERS, 18 CATHERINE ST., STRAND. 1867. {AU rights reserved.) WYMAN AND SONS, PEINTEES, GREAT QUEEN STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, LONDON, W.C. O vsi -/ i >3 ^0 t^e p-emorg of MY DEAR DEAD FRIEND, PAUL GRAY, INSCRIBE THIS BOOK. -^ T. HOOD. 4 1^ I 4 PREFACE In submitting these pages to tlie public I am desirous of saying a few words to anticipate a possible objection to tbe manner in wbich the hero of my story is described as discovering his gun. I felt it would have been absurd in me to intro- duce any pseudo-scientific theories, or to pretend to explain the principles of the invention. But I felt I should not be very wrong in making the story of the discovery an instance of the myste- rious way in which Nature has anticipated the researches of Science. In her vast storehouse the principal of the Archimedean screw was at work long ere we groped our way to it. The bone of the first bird contained the secret of our tubular bridges : the strength of material in a hollow circular VI PREFACE. form. Tlie power of tlie pulley was anticipated by fclie trocUearis muscle of the eye ; three forms of the lever are concealed in the anatomy of the human frame. I do not think that James Trefusis^s secret, " hidden in a flower/^ is too wild an invention when are considered. I may add_, that the novel first appeared in a provincial paper, under a title which has been abandoned partly because it did not suit the story, and partly because I found that a novel with a similar title had already appeared. T. H. CONTENTS OF VOL. I, PAGE CHAPTER I. MY HERO IN A WHEELBARROW AND IN LOVE ... 1 CHAPTER 11. THE STORY OF AN INVENTION AND A DISCOVERY 23 CHAPTER III. CARLYON, CORMACK, AND CO 42 CHAPTER IV. TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE 59 CHAPTER Y. ON THE BORDERS OF BOHEMIA 72 CHAPTER VI. MR. ORR, M.P., AND FAMILY 90 CHAPTER VII. THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN 108 CHAPTER VIII. VISITATION OF GOD 120 Vm CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER IX. THE BARON OF LACQUOIGNE 144 CHAPTER X. "please to remember" 160 CHAPTER XT. PA.REWELL TO POLVREEAN 174 CHAPTER XII. LAUNCHED IN LONDON 190 CHAPTER XIII. THE BURTAL OF MARIAN CARLYON THE BIRTH OF MARIAN CARLYLE .. 205 CHAPTER XIY. HIDDEN IN A FLOWER 221 CHAPTER XY. Alice's escapade and its results 238 CHAPTER XVI. AN AFTERNOON IN A PUBLIC OFFICE 257 CHAPTER XVII. A MEETING IN THE PARK 274 CHAPTER I. MY HERO IN A WHEELBAEEOW AND IN LOVE. POLYREHAN stood at the loveliest point in tlie lovely valley of the Rella, a beautiful stream that hurries along, now flashing white and silver over broad slabs and boulders, now seemingly sleeping in dark deep pools, while on either side rise the hills, their sides clothed with fir plantation and oak coppice, climbing at times with abrupt steepness from the water's edge, but now and then falling back to leave little amphitheatres of luxuriant greensward, or beds of osier and sallows. The house was situated in the elbow of a sharp angle made by the stream, so that it looked along two lovely valleys. A natural platform on the 2 MY HEEO IN A WHEELBARROW — liill-side gave ample space for tlie buildings and for a tolerably large bit of garden, art- fully enlarged by terraces cut in front to the very verge of a slieer descent to tlie river. At the back of the house the road swept round the side of the hill, to a little hollow in which nestled the village of Merrimeet, snugly sheltered from the winds that came sweeping across the wide moors, which stretched away behind and above it to the North Coast, against whose precipitous rocky walls the long rollers of the vast Atlantic dashed ceaselessly in vain. Polvrehan was a snug little estate, with a delicious old house, long-roofed, low- ceilinged, with quaint gables, and mossy thatch, with great black beams and brown wainscoting, with carved chimneys and massive balustrades. It had been in the possession of the Carlyons from time im- memorial, for although not a distinguished family theirs was an old one. The remote and almost insular position of Cornwall had — until late years when the railway, that great civiliser, but also great destroyer of romance, took possession of it — preserved many institutions that have else- wnere Derished. One relic of old feudalism AND IN LOVE. 3 it retained in a class of '' squireens," wlio by virtue of being '' The Somethings of Tre, Pol, or Pen Something," held a right divine to do nothing but idle, and tope, and run into debt and dissipation. They had just enough money to live upon at ease, and no more edu- cation, as a rule, than the farmers with whom they associated with a semi-condescension. The Carlyon estates were extensive estates for a family of the "squireen" class, but the acres that sounded so well in a descrip- tion of the property, consisted for the most part of moorland, which produced little besides snipes, curlews, granite posts for the gates, and scanty feed for a few cows and ''the squire's" hunter. For though there was not much hunting to be had, " the squire " was always addicted to the sport, and would ride miles to a meet, with a pasty and brandy flask in his pocket. The history of the Carlyons repeats itself. The eldest son was always brought up as '' the young squire," was petted, and courted, and grew up on the model of his father. The younger sons were sent into the world early to shift for themselves, and sometimes so far overcame the disadvantagfes of their birth and breeding as to turn out B 2 4 MY HERO IN A WHEELBAKEOW hard-working and respectable men. The young squire, meanwhile, coming to man's estate — and his father's property — would generally marry, and, as a rule, marry some buxom daughter of a neighbouring farmer — a wholesome robust country girl, who, though she assumed the airs of " squire's lady," could no more conceal thereby her real extraction than she could poison the healthy blood she infused into the family. But no long succession of Blowsalinda mothers could avert from the race the ultimate curse entailed on it by idleness, drunkenness, and dissipation. At the time when my story begins the last Carlyon of the elder branch died a childless, half-witted, old man, at barely eight-and- twenty. George Carlyon, the next heir, thus came into the property somewhat unexpectedly, for there had been several claimants between his cousin and himself, but they had dropped off unnoticed, so little were their chances of succession regarded. George had been educated for an engineer, and had, though it must be owned rather by natural aptitude than by application, shown considerable promise, and bade fair tolKse AND IN LOVE. high in his profession — when, suddenly, what his friends called ''his good luck" befell him, and he was called on to relinquish industry and betake himself to idleness. The Carlyon blood was strong in him, and he was by no means averse to ease and indolence, and therefore took very kindly at first to the life of a squire. But George Carlyon was town-bred, and he had none of the resources which the country-born idler could have found to drive off the blue devils. He didn't hunt, or shoot, or fish, and he knew nothing of the management of a farm. He tried marriage, but with no great success. The wife he selected was too noble a woman for him. "Why she married him is not easy to say. But then the wisest and best women commit one folly in their lives, and, as a rule, that folly is their marriage; so that Mrs. Carlyon was no exception to the general rule. When her children were born — two girls — she devoted her whole life to them, and found in their society some recompense for the misery she suffered with her husband. What that misery was I am about to tell you. Finding that his marriage rather decreased 6 MY HEEO IN A WHEELBARROW than added to liis comfort, George Carlyon cast about for some pursuit that would occupy without engrossing his time. Further west in the country he found that mines were springing up in all directions, and it occurred to him that by establishing an engine foundry he might find as much employment as he wanted — and what was more, make a considerable sum of money. With this yiew he invested all the capital he had — and, in addition, all he could raise on the estate of Polvrehan — in this scheme. The speculation was a very good one indeed, and fully justified such a step, for in a very few years it had realised more than enough to clear ofi* all encumbrances. Unluckily, George Carlyon did not employ his profits for any such wise purpose — indeed, would have raised further money on Polvrehan, if he could have mortgaged what was still free ; but who would have lent him anything on that rugged, uncultivated moorland ? At first he had a little store of accumulated activity to bestow on his undertaking, and superintended the works himself. Under the master's eye all went well and pros- perously, and before long the fame of " Car- lyon and Co." had spread far and wide in the AND IN LOVE. 7 county. Every new mine tliat was opened was supplied by Carlyon and Co. with engines ; and when a fr^esli sliaft was sunk in any of the old mines, it was Carlyon and Co. that set up the additional engine. Now it is the custom in Cornwall, whenever an engine is set to work for the first time, to call together shareholders and all concerned, besides a great many who are not concerned, and give a feast of some sort, with cham- pagne flowing at the high table, and plen- teous spirits and water at the lower boards. As a matter of course, the Engineer is one of the invited, and a place among the guests most honoured was always reserved for '' Muster Carlyon," around whom the gene- rous, hosj)itable Cornishmen rallied in force, for, as they said, " he be one of we, though he were addicated to Lunnon." There was a might}^ clanship always among these Western folk. As the foundry grew to be firmly esta- blished, and as George's stock of energy began to run low, he ceased to take any great immediate interest in the management, going over to the foundry at intervals, and inspecting it very cursorily. But he never missed any of the festivities that were con- 8 MY HERO IN A WHEELBARROW nected with it. No engine was ever set to work that George Carlyon did not see the first stroke of; and at the feast which fol- lowed he was ever one of the latest, as well as the liveliest sitters. The old Carljon blood was beginning to work. As he used to ride away from these meetings helter skelter over the moors, the country folk would look after him and say he was '' one of the old sort " — " A Carlyon, and no mistake ! " — and feel a sort of rough pride in him ; for when he first took to the foundry work some of his neighbours began to look on him as a lost man, and shake their heads, saying he was the first Carlyon of Polvrehan who had gone into business. Poor Mrs. Carlyon saw her husband growing day by day more hopelessly a prey to evil habits — sinking lower and lower to the level of his associates. But she had never held sufficient influence over him to be able to exert it now with any effect. Her interference only caused a wider estrangement, and made the home more desolate. She therefore gave up the task as a bad one, and devoted all her energies to keep her children in igno- rance of their father's fault. She did not live long to do even that. AND IN LOVE. 9 I am, however, somevtrliat anticipating. Mj story really begins about three years after Greorge's marriage, when the foundry had not been long established, and just after the birth of his second child. George Carlyon was leaning on the gate of Polvrehan, smoking a cigar in the cool of the evening, when Peter Ro skilly, an old man who acted as a sort of bailiff for George, passed by with his barrow. ''What's the bundle you've got in your barrow, Ro skilly ? " " 'Tis a chiel, sir, as I've 'dopted — my sister's chiel, sir, what's left a widder." ''What sex, Peter?" " Well, the father of 'un was dissentin', I reckon, but " " That's a curious sex, anyhow ! I mean is it a boy or a girl ? " " Oh, be sure, sir — ax yer pardon ! 'Tis a boy ; and a main fine lad ur is too for's age." " How old is he then ? " " Well, about of a three, I reckon, sir. Ur was born the same year as you broft yer good lady home, for I mind I was up here to work when my missus come and says as Polly had gotten a baby." 10 MT HEEO IN A WHEEL BAEEOW " But you've cliildren of your own, Peter." '' Ees, sure, sir. Both of 'em 'arnin', too,' so we can spare a bit an' sup for the poor thing. I reckon I'm hke the old hen, sir, I'm bound to scrat all day long, whether 'tis for one chick or a dozen." '' Well, Peter, you're a brave chap, and as soon as the lad can run of errands or do anything of that kind I'll give him work down to foundry." *' Thank' ee sir, I'll make bold to remind yer honour of that when the lad's fitten for work." . " So do, Peter." " I will, sir. Good night to 'ee ! " ''Good night, Peter." This promise of Mr. Carlyon's was not forgotten, either by Peter Poskilly or his wife, and they dinned it into the lad's ears from morning until night. No wonder, therefore, that as soon as he was trusted to run about by himself he spent most of his time at the foundry, where the men treated him kindly, and where he picked up a taste for mechanics and some insight into the work for which he was destined. He was a sharp shrewd lad, with a grave thoughtful face — and the workmen, to whom of course he AND IN LOVE. 11 confided tlie story of Mr. Carlyon's promise, all agreed tliat James Trefusis was born to be a great engineer, and would reflect credit on tlie foundry. Mr. Carlyon's promise was not forgotten. As soon as the lad was old enough he was found employment at the works, and he rose as he grew older from one post to another, until he became, as a young man, the chief clerk and right-hand of the manager. By that time the foundry was fully established, and was a most prosperous concern. George Carlyon himself, it is true, seldom took any active share in the management, but he had a thoroughly competent, and, what was more, a thoroughly honest man for a mana- ger, and the business was carried on quite as well as it was when he himself had person- ally superintended it. It was carried on far better than it would have been if he had attempted to conduct it now, for the efiects of dissipation were already observable in him — in his features as in his habits. He w^as always giving parties now — in- deed, he kept open house, as all the loafers round about Polvrehan for miles knew w^ell ; and they did not fail to avail themselves of the knowledge, you may be sure. In this 12 MY HERO IN A WHEELBARROW way the profits of his business were frittered away, and although he was a rich man, and had credit for greater wealth than he pos- sessed, George Carlyon's estate remained encumbered still. His wife had been dead some four years now. She only lived long enough to see her two girls ripen into womanhood, and then she passed away, scarcely regretted by her husband, but bitterly lamented and woefully missed by her daughters. Fortunately for them Mrs. Carlyon, for several years before her death — as soon, in fact, as her husband began to extend such lavish and injudicious hospitality to all comers, gave up one end of the house entirely to him and his boon com- panions, retiring with the girls to the portion of the house furthest from the entrance, in order to keep them as much as possible from any contact with those who, as she told them, came on business, and whom their father was bound to entertain, but was not obliged to introduce to his family. James Trefusis had always been a great favourite with Mrs. Carlyon, and never came over from the foundry to report progress to George without being asked to go and see her, and tell her how he was getting on. AND IN LOVE. 13 She used to lend him books and papers, and gave him excellent advice about his reading and studies — for James Trefusis found out very early that he should not get on as he wished to do without education — and having established that fact, at once set sturdily to work to make up for lost time. Self-educa- tion, however, is no easy task, and the best intentions and desires may only lead to waste of time without some kindly directing, such as Mrs. Carlyon was able to give him. Peter Ro skilly, the kind uncle who had been a father to James, was an infirm old man now, and it was the lad's turn to sup- port him. He did so without a murmur, though Peter had two sons of his own, who would not raise a finger to help the poor old fellow. Peter had served George Carlyon long and faithfully, and he should have done something to guard his old servant against want in his declining days ; but though he spoke of Peter with maudlin affection, and pressed drink upon him on every occasion, George never pensioned him, and so James had to support him out of his own wages, which were fair enough for a young single man, but not too much for him and Peter. But James never murmured, and bore the 14 MY HEEO IX A WHEELBARROW — • burden nobly, though, as old Peter used to say, '' Eh, lad, a youngster like to thee should be maintainin' a wife and childer, not an old chap like me." I have no doubt there were several pretty pfirls in Merrimeet who were of the same opinion as Peter. But they never got kiss or compliment from James Trefusis, though he was civil enough to all, old and young, and no one was ever heard to accuse him of being '' set-up along of his favour wi' squire, and squire's good lady." When the squire's good lady was carried to her last resting-place in the little church- yard of Merrimeet, James was one of the bearers. There was no one who mourned for her more deeply, for she had been a kind friend and benefactress to him. A few weeks before her death he had met her in her wheel- chair, in which she was dragged about the lanes, having become too weak to walk aboufc. She bade him good-bye, as she said, for the last time probably, and en- treated him to look after his master's interests, and those of her two girls, as far as lay in his power. *' Now I'm going, James, there'll be no one to look after the girls, for your master is AND IN LOVE. 15 otherwise engaged. And I know he cannot find time to attend to business even as he should ; but as long as you are at the foundry, I know you'll not see him wronged or cheated." James quite understood all that she would have said to him, and promised to attend faithfully to her wishes. " Good bye, James ! God bless you." He stooped down over her hand and touched it with his lips — and that was the last time he saw her. He had always been on the most friendly terms with the two girls. When Alice made a tiny rockery in her garden on the lower terrace, who but James Trefusis could contrive a miniature cascade over it by bringing down a thread of water from the pond at the back of the house ? It was he, too, who found the rarest ferns and heaths from the Moor to stock the rockery with. When Marian had a pair of doves given her, who but James Trefusis could build an aviary in a sheltered corner against the wall ? It was he, too, who caught the wood- pigeons and the thrush and the blackbird to stock the aviary with. These are only two instances out of many in which, as 16 MY HEEO IN A WHEELBAREOW children, the two girls found a firm ally and sympathising friend in James. When they grew older, and the rockery, and the aviary, and all other toys were laid aside for the maidenly pursuits, which their mother encouraged them to adopt, they still had recourse to James for aid. Did Marian want some embroidery cotton, or Alice wish to have some Berlin wool matched — off they went to James, and begged him to do the little commission for them the next time he had occasion to go to the market town, about five miles off. And James always obligingly found that he had most urgent occasion to go there the very next day, and brought the required articles to Polvrehan in the evening. " Oh, James, how kind of you," would be the exclamation ; '' but you are sure you didn't go on purpose ? " " Oh, no. Miss Marian," or ''Miss Alice," the answer would be. "I had to go there for the foundry," or " to fetch some tools I required," or some other harmless fib of the kind. Was there nothing more than gratitude to his benefactor in this attention to the wants and wishes of that benefactor's children ? AND IN LOVE. 17 Who knows ? Suppose, in order to find out, we follow James, as he is returning along the banks of the Rella from some errand of this description. He saunters easily along, for the evening is closing in, and it is pleasant to stroll by the brookside when the rosy sunset streams down the valley, dashing the oaks and firs with crimson, and sprinkling rubies into every water-break and rapid of the Rella. It is a very still evening, and as he sits down, by-and-by, on a gate, there is hardly a sound to break the silence. He is so deep in a reverie that he is motionless as a statue — so motionless that by-and-by a shining brown otter creeps out of the water a few yards from his feet, and glides away sinuously among the ferns and undergrowth, with a big silvery trout in its cruel snakelike jaws ; so motionless that that living jewel, the king-fisher, comes presently to his ac- customed fishing-perch, and poises there — as motionless as James — over his own radiant reflection in the stream ; so mo- tionless that the swifts come darting to and fro within easy reach, and make lanes through the mist of gnats that pipe and dance perpetually round him. I. G 18 MY HERO IN A WHEELBAEROW The hum' of insect Hfe, the occasional sharp quick note of one of the birds, and the faint purling of a distant fall, are the only sounds. The leaves barely whisper as they move to the breathing of the soft wind that comes at sunset through the woods and sings lullaby to the flowers ; for the daisies are closed now, and the buttercups, and the delicate pink almond scented bindweed has furled its fairy trumpets and gone to sleep for the night. Overhead the sky has deepened to a violet, in which one star is twinkling into sight. A belated rook glides over the valley, and far away, showing against the last faint gold of sunset, a hawk quivers on outspread pinions over its uncon- scious quarry. The light dies down in heaven, and more stars peep out. Bats flit about, and far off up the valley there is the low cry of an owl. Here and there in the bushes the pure pale blue lamp of the glow-worm gleams out. The rubies have disappeared from the stream now, but wherever a star hangs in the sky above it, there dances a slender thread of diamonds on its bosom. And in the dis- tance a faint mist was rising from the Kella, AND IN LOVE. 19 and stole away like a gliost among the darkling stems of the fir trees. But while all these lovely phenomena of nature's working were passing in front of him, James Trefusis sat as still as a statue, and quite as blind to what was going on before him. His eyes, to tell the truth, were fixed upon the far- off future. He was dreaming a day- dream. Shall we summon that vision from the ivory gate ? He was picturing himself as a wealthy man. A short time since he had perfected an in- vention which he believed was to make his fortune. It was a new loom, and a very ingenious piece of mechanism too. James had not contented himself with merely studying the steam-engine. He had ex- tended his labours to every branch of me- chanics, and as far as his opportunities allowed him had read up every kind of manu- facture. This new loom, he dreamed, had only to be seen to be adopted immediately — it was so simple and so certain in its working. And then would come prosperity — and position ! "What had come to this young man, so contented hitherto to live humbly, and share c 2 20 MY HEEO IN A WHEELBAREOW — his fortunes with Ms aged and infirm uncle in this quiet corner of the world ? What had inspired him with these ambitious longings for money and distinction ? As he rouses himself from his reverie, and springs down from the gate, he murmurs to himself : '' And then I need not be ashamed to tell her I love her ! " Yes ! Love is the father of ambition very often, indeed — though, of a truth, the son not seldom lives long enough to thrust out the father altogether. James is in love, and hence all these wild dreams of his ; and from the wildness of those dreams we can argue that the object of his love is some one whose place in this world is a little above his. Who can she be ? He is bringing — as I told you when we first found him sitting on the gate here— a little parcel for one of the young ladies at Polvrehan, from the market town. It may be embroidery cotton or Berlin wool, or twenty other feminine necessaries. It is a little paper parcel, and it is directed to '' Miss Marian Carlyon." As James walks away from the gate where he has been sitting he takes that little parcel from his pocket, and kisses it where the AND IN LOVE. 21 name is written. It is a very foolish action, is it not ? But then, my dear reader, if you have ever been in love — and if you haven't I decline to have anything to say to you — you have done things quite as foolish twenty times in your life, or else you do not really know the pleasant pains of this tender pas- sion. I don't think we can any of us come into court with a very good grace to laugh at poor James Trefusis, as he reverently lifts the little packet to his lips. At rare intervals only is it his good fortune to touch her hand ; and what exquisite happiness that is to him. He only dares to make love to her by proxy. He worships the flowers she tends — the in- animate objects she touches — the ground she treads. And with all this love in his heart, which is for ever struggling with him as if it were a demon in possession, which is ever urging him to fling himself at her feet and declare himself, he has, poor Spartan, to wrap himself in a cloak of cold and distant respect. ISTo wonder that here, under the darkling sky, in the dusky woods, with no witnesses but the stars and the stream, which seems to have a tone of pity for him in its voice, he 22 MY HEEO IN A WHEELBAREOW. raises tlie packet to his lips, as a weary pil- grim raises some lioly relic, and murmurs over it the name of the sweet saint so far above him, to whom his passionate soul would fain climb. (23 ) CHAPTER 11. THE STORY OF AN II^VENTION AND A DISCOVEEY. MARIAN" CARLYO:Nr was sitting in a low beehive chair, under tlie verandali in front of tlie breakfast -room window at Pol- vrelian. She was employed in some of the thousand artifices with cotton and needles which go by the name of fancy Avork among ladies, but which to all men, who are not pet curates, appear to be only elaborated idleness. Alice was sitting at the piano, running her pretty white fingers over the keys, and bursting out every now and then into little snatches of song, like a happy bird that warbles for very delight that the sky is so blue, and the leaves so green, and the sun so golden and warm. The birds were singing now, for there had just passed a bounteous shower, and the greensward was twinkling with a myriad 24 THE STOEY OF AN INVENTION diamonds, and every leaf and twig was hung with sparkling drops. Rella, swollen by numerous threadlike tributaries, that sprang into being at every shower, was bubbling and whirling with extra vigour, *its clear stream clouded by the turbulent freshets, to the huge satisfaction of its multitudinous trout, which were all on the feed. Sheep were bleating, and cows were lowing on the fat, plashy meadows beside the Eella, sheltered by the wooded hills that embosomed them. Ahce, after wandering over a number of old airs, at last struck on one belonging to a simple old ballad she had learnt from her mother. Presently she began to sing it in a low sweet voice. There was a weaver's daughter once In Stratford town did dwell, And she was so surpassing sweet That all folks loved her well. And though she worked in silks so gay, Yet homespun was her wear; But satin-clad might envy her Because she was so fair. She wore no shoon upon her feet As through the streets she paced ; And her yellow hair, like golden rings, Fell down unto her waist. AND A DISCOVERY. 25 The King his son rode through the street Where this fair maiden dwelt : At sight of her the heart did leap Beneath his jewelled belt. " Come down ! come down, thou lovely maid, Come down and be my bride ; For I have seen no face so fair In all this country-side." " Oh, if I come down, thou noble youth, Wilt thou by Mary swear That thou wilt not ungentle prove, And leave me to despair 1 " In Stratford Town, that very day. The wedding it was seen ; And ne'er was known in any land So good and fair a queen." The air was one of tliose plaintive airs, like '' Barbara Allen," for instance, wliicli are so satisfying to the sense that when they are finished we do not want to hear anything else. Any other tune would jar on the sensibility they had excited. Alice felt this influence — closed the piano, and walked to the window. The effect of the most exquisite music is to create a feeling of melancholy. Is it because we hear the music mounting up and dying away so far above us, and know that the longing to rise on its wings is so hopeless a 26 THE STORY OF AN INVENTION— longing? It was to sliake off this almost painful depression that Alice, seating herself beside Marian, spoke as she did. " When will my king's son come riding by, I wonder, Marian ?" Marian looked at her fondly, and smoothed her hair. •* Her yellow hair, like golden rings, Fell down unto her waist — But you have not taken to walking barefoot, yet, Alice." '' Do you think he would come if I did ?" " Because, if so, you would become a pil- grim to Love's shrine ? I think your head is getting turned with the romances you read, Alice ; and you think of nothing but fairy princes and other fabulous creatures." '' Heigho ! What is one to do in this out- of-the-way place, Marian? One never sees any company — at least, no one but farmers and mine agents." " Fie, Alice dear ! Don't you remember what poor mamma used to say ? That this quiet retired Polvrehan of ours was a happier place than the busy bustling world ? " Alice pouted, having no answer to make. She was the spoilt child, and always had AND A DISCOVERY. 27 been — and for the usual reason, that she was the prettiest. She was slightly made, with a fair com- plexion — milk and roses — and her hair was the real golden hair — not yellow and not red, but that indescribable colour that painters love, and poets sigh about. Her eyes were large blue dreamy ones, her mouth well cut, and her head gracefully ''placed on her shoulders. There was nothing peculiarly characteristic about her face — it was cast in a common mould of prettiness — one sees many such pretty girls — and yet one can never see too many of them. Marian Carlyon was not pretty in this sense of the word, but she was far from plain, at least hers was not a plain face in the sense of being '' ordinary." I don't think it boasted of a single classical feature. Her eyes were perhaps the best part of her face, for they were dark and lustrous. Her mouth in repose would not attract attention, but when she spoke or smiled there was a very sweet expression about it. There was perhaps a suspicion of firmness and deter- mination about it which made it so unat- tractive in repose. She could boast of no profusion of hair like her sister. Two plain 28 THE STOEY OF AN INVENTION bands, so brown as to be almost black, were drawn back over a forehead too broad per- haps to be in accordance with most people's notions of beauty. The great charm of Marian's face lay in expression. Alice's face pleased by force of mere colour and contour. Two sisters were seldom less alike than these two. Marian, the elder, was like her mother, while Alice, as her father would say proudly, was a true Carlyon. When the spoilt beauty began to pout, her sister drew her towards her and kissed her. Alice was an affectionate girl, and the little cloud vanished at once. " I wonder if there is any truth in that story of the weaver's daughter, Marian." " I should think not." " Oh ! why not ? I don't see why he should not have fallen in love with her, though she was poor." '' I don't argue from the possibilities." "From what, then?" '' Well, I don't remember that Goldsmith makes any mention of such an incident in the history of our kings and queens. Do you ? " " 'No, I don't — but then it might not have been a king of England." '' I don't see what the son of any other AND A DISCOVERY. 29 king should have to do riding through Strat- ford town." " Well, I don't know — there are so many Stratfords — and this might be one some- where on the sea coast." "I'm afraid, Alice, there is no Stratford on the sea coast." '' What a tease you are, Marian. Why don't you let me have my poor queen and noble king ? They never harmed you ! " '' My child, you have such implicit faith in all that you read in your romances and fairy legends that it is necessary to bring them sometimes to the test of truth, even though if'destroys some pretty allusions." " But don't you think it possible that a king's son could love a poor girl ? Why, now I think of it, there is king Cophetua. I suppose he is an historical personage ? " " I'm not so sure of that, Alice." " But even supposing he is not, don't you think that a real king might love a beggar maid ? " '' A real king ! Ah, but all real kings are not crowned, Alice. And some real kings go about in beggar's rags." *' Why there, I protest, you have been reading some of my romances on the slj." 30 THE STOEY OF AN INVENTION — ''No— not I." " Well, tlien, where did you find that ' real king' of yours in shabby clothes ? " " I don't know exactly. Perhaps I have dreamt of him ! " " I wish you would tell me some of your dreams, then, for they must be quite as good as my romances, as you call them." There was a little pause after this, for Marian did not answer. She was picturing the ''real king" to herself, perhaps. I wonder if the portrait disclosed any traits that resembled James Trefusis. There was nothing peculiarly regal about his appearance. He was a broad-shouldered, honest, open- faced Englishman only, and yet I fancy there was a good deal about the ideal king that would have recalled James to us, could we have seen the fancy-picture. "A penny for your thoughts, Marian," said Alice, after a brief silence. " I was trying to think of any well-vouched incident like your weaver's daughter ; but I can't." " Oh, can't you ? Well, then, I can give you one something like it. There was the Lord of Burleigh — 'Burleigh House, by Stamford Town.' What do you say to the AND A DISCOYEET. 31 authenticity of tliat ? He wasn't a king, to be sure, and slie was not a beggar-maid ; but they were in very different ranks in Hfe, and they were married and lived happily." " I think you've forgotten the end of the story, Alice dear, — * But a trouble weighed upon her, And perplexed her, night and morn, "With the burthen of a honour Unto which she was not born.' — And did not she at length die, and was she not buried ' in the dress that she was wed in, that her spirit might have rest ? ' I'm afraid, Alice, you've quoted a bad case for the romantic side of the argument." " Then a woman ought not to marry a man who is her superior in rank, you think, Marian?" " You appeal to me as if I were a judge, you silly child. I only form my opinion as well as I can." " And that opinion is " '' That opinion is, Alice, darling, that love cannot exist in inequality." ''But why, Marian?" '' Because I don't think that love and doubt can exist together, and where there is in- equality there must be doubt." 32 THE STOEY OF AN INYENTION — *'I don't understand you." "I mean, dear — to take the instance of that dear old ballad of mamma's — that at times the queen must have been haunted with a doubt whether her husband's fair name had not suffered for his stooping to lift her to the throne at his side." " But what matter if he really loved her ? He would know that he stooped for a jewel worthy of the crown, and that his fair name could not fairly suffer." " And do you think he had no doubts — no suspicions ? " asked Marian. She had become interested in this argument, and she rose from her chair and walked up and down under the verandah. '' What doubts and suspicions, dear ? " asked Alice, coming to her sister's side. They wound their arms round each oth^r, and began to pace to and fro side by side, passing beyond the verandah and extending their walk along the path which ran in front of the house. *' I fancy him at times suffering terribly as he looked at his beautiful queen, and won- dering if all that perfection was really his. He must have asked his heart at times whether it were not possible that what was given him AND A DISCOVEET. 33 for love was nothing more than grati- tude." " Poor king ! I think he is more to be pitied than the queen ; don't you, Marian ?" " Women, I beheve, suffer more intensely in this way than men." There was a brief pause again, and the sisters took two or three turns up and down the garden. Marian was thinking of her mother's sufferings, with which she was better acquainted than her younger sister. "I wonder, Marian," said Alice at last, " why they never reverse the old story." '' How do you mean, child ? " "Why, make the queen marry a weaver, or the princess fall in love with a beggar. I never remember anything of the sort." " It would not tell well, would it ? There is something in the idea that is humiliating to the man whom you want to make your hero." '^ Yes ; I suppose that must be it. It did not seem quite right, and yet I could not explain it." " To come down from your beloved land of Romance to plain matter of fact — one doesn't think much harm of a woman who marries a rich man, even if he is a little older than she is — women are so dependent, I. D 34 THE STOEY OF AN INVENTCON But how dreadful it is to hear of a man marrying for money ! " "It's very common thougli, isn't it, Marian ? " '' I fear it is. What can a woman think of the man who marries her for such a mercenary reason ? " " The wretch ! " This was all very natural talk for two girls secluded from the world very much ; but it was a conversation that had considerable influence on their future. How often do seeming trifles swell into importance in this life ? Don't you remember the whole string of awful circumstances in the "Arabian Nights " — all of which arose simply from the throwing away of a date stone, whereby the son of a powerful Jinn lost the use of his eye ? " I remember poor mamma used to say," said Marian, as they took another turn up the path, "that it was quite bad enough when a woman could not love her husband, but that it was a shocking thing indeed when she could not respect him even. Could she respect a man who had married her for money ? " " Oh, dear no — I should think not ! " AND A DLSCOVEM. 85 " No, Alice dear, depend upon it, though a woman is often obliged to owe position to her husband, the reverse is inadmissible. A man, if he really loves a woman, can never consent to owe his position to her." As Marian uttered these words they reached the end of the walk, which led up to a door in the wall, opening into the plantation. Marian's eyes had been bent on the ground, and she had not noticed that the door was open now, and that James Trefusis was standing there. James had been away in London for several weeks. Mr. Carlyon had seen the model of his loom, and was so pleased with it that he had advanced him enough money to take him to town, in order that he might submit his design to some practised engineer, and see what he could make of it. What the result of that visit was we shall learn shortly. Alice was the first to see him. '' What ! back so soon, James ? I thought we should not see you yet. Papa said you would be gone a long time. YouVe been terribly missed. My Brigand has been at a complete standstill for want of the blue D 2 36 THE STORr OF AN INVENTION grounding for tlie sky and — but how ill you look ! " " London don't suit me, Miss Alice," and he added, almost fiercely, " nor I it ! Is the master in, do you know, miss ? " This last question was addressed to Marian. She only bowed her head. James Trefusis passed on towards the house. The two girls went in-doors at once. It seemed as if a sudden gloom had fallen on the day. Marian felt sure that James had heard what she said. What matter ? you ask. I answer — Much ! Although she knew nothing of his love, she was conscious to herself of a desire to stand high in his opinion, and she had allowed him to over- hear words of hers, which, without any knowledge of the conversation which led to them, he could not but think dictated by pride and exclusiveness. I can hardly explain exactly what she felt and feared. She could see only too clearly that he was pained at what she had said. Perhaps, with- out knowing his love, she, who admired him almost unconsciously, felt she had closed the door against herself There was nothino- strans^e in the admira- o o tion of such a girl as Marian, for a man hke AND A DISCOVERY. 37 James Trefusis. Compared with the fuddling squireens and uneducated young farmers, who were the only men she had to compare him with, his character " stuck fiery off indeed." And in her presence he had always this further advantage, that, like all true sons of giants, he was gentle before the woman he loved, and was a child, with all his strength, while she was near. James Trefusis found Mr. Carlyon sitting in liis own sanctum, discussing a bottle of sherry with the doctor. George Carlyon' s health was giving way a little now, and the doctor, an ignorant country practitioner, frequently dropped in to see him, and never refused a glass of wine. Nevertheless, the doctor Avas not so ignorant that he did not know how Carlyon was injuring himself by this very same habit of drinking with every one who came to see him. Dr. Joins had practised among the squireens and miners long enough to know the effects of such habits. A very different man was George Carlyon now from the man who saw little James Trefusis first in old Peter Roskilly's barrow. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin yellow and dull, and he had a tremulous under lip, and a hand that made the bottle tinkle 38 THE STOEY OF AN INVENTION against the glass as lie poured out the wine. But he was as merry, and kindly, and hearty as ever. When James came in he shook him by the hand warmly, told him " to sit down — he hadn't expected him back yet, but he was right glad to see him again. What had he done in London ? " " No thing," said James shortly, sinking into a chair. " Nothing ! How's that ? Didn't Briant help you ! or were you idling away your time ? Lads will be lads in London." '' Nay ! I never idled my time, and no one could be kinder than Mr. Briant. I showed him the model, and he looked at it, and said it was clever, and asked me what looms I'd seen. I told him none. Where had I learnt about them ? So I told him out of books, and mentioned the books. And then he shook his head, and said, '' My good fellow, you've been wasting time sadly. Those books are all old and gone by. Your in- vention is not a new one. It was found out eight years ago by — by — there I forget the name he told me ; but he said 'twas in use everywhere, and I was a day behind the fair.'^ AND A DISCOVEEY. 39 " By Jove, liow provoking ! " said George Carlyon, ^' and what did you do then ? " '' Why, I np fist and smashed the model, and came right away here." '' And a good thing too, Trefusis," broke in the doctor, " for, I'm sorry to say, your uncle's very bad, and not likely to last long. I'm glad you're back, for he's been asking for you over and over again." '' Ills don't come singly, it seems," said James, with a bitterness that the others, who were ignorant of the scene in the garden just now, were at a loss to account for. "You mustn't take this failure so to heart, James," said Carlyon. "You must set to work to invent something that hasn't been done before. Is it about the advance you're troubled ? Kay, I'd be ashamed to reckon that, for I ought to have known enough of my old trade to have saved you that expense. We're quits there, my lad; we're quits there." " Thank you, sir, heartily. I'll hope to pay you back, though, some day ; for if Uncle Peter dies I'll be off to London for good, and try to make sure I'm not going over old ground. I'll keep up with the times then, and maybe do something to be proud of. I'll try, at any rate." 40 THE STORY OF AN INVENTION This resolve surprised George Carlyon. Perhaps it surprised James himself almost as much. It was, in truth, formed almost at the moment he spoke it, and never would have been conceived but for that unfortunate passage in the garden a few minutes before. Those words of Marian's had wounded the poor fellow deeply, and as he blundered away with the dart still rankling in his heart, the first instinct was the instinct of the wounded beast, to get out of sight and hearing, and lie down. In the short time he had spent in London, James had learnt there was no solitude like the solitude of a stranger in a great city, and he longed to bury himself in the busy crowds that would not notice his scars or heed his agony. He went home and shut himself up. His uncle's dangerous state was sufiicient excuse lor his doing so. And in this manner, for two days he brooded over his bitter dis- appointment, watching by the sick bed, and tending with that almost womanly care, of which a strong man is capable, the last mo- ments of one who had been a second father to him. On the third day, when the evening closed in, James drew the sheet up over Peter AND A DISCOVERY. 41 Roskillj's face, and then lie was alone in the cottao^e. At the end of the week they bnried the old maij, and on the night of the fnneral James took leave of his friends and set ont for London. It was midnight when he set out to walk across the moors to the north road, where he could catch the morning mail. He deter- mined to go up the valley of the Rella — for reasons into which we need hardly inquire. Standing in the valley under Polvrehan, he saw the moonbeams gleaming on the panes of a little white-curtained window, and he knew that the woman he loved was asleep there. '' Good night. Good-bye. God guard you ! " he murmured, as he set out along the banks of the Rella, but ever and anon, as he threaded the windings of the valley, he looked back and saw the moonlight sleeping on the walls of Polvrehan, and again and again he called on Heaven to bless her for whom his life had become dark ! (42) CHAPTER III. CARLTON, COEMACE:, AND CO. '' l\/r^ dears, I expect Captain Cormack _-tX to dine witli us to-day," said Mr. Carlj^on, joining liis daughters on tlie lawn in front of Polvrelian. The girls were a little surprised, for generally their father did not introduce his business acquaintances to them, much less ask them to dine. Mr. Carlyon noticed their wonder, and explained his reasons. " He is a very agreeable person, exceed- ingly well-informed, and we are likely to see a great deal of him now, for I meditate taking him as a partner." " Have we ever seen him, papa ? " asked Marian, anxious to learn more of one whose society they were likely to have so much of. '^ ~No, Min, he was introduced to me at the Wheal Tolmar dinner, a week or so ago." CAELYON, CORMACK, AND CO. 43 " Is lie a mine-captain, papa, or a real captain ? " asked Alice. A not unnecessary question, by tlie way, for Cornwall being almost entirely maritime and mining, there is no lack of captains of every description. " Oho ; Miss Alice is looking out for a captain of dragoons, ' with his long sword, saddle, bridle,' eh ? What a pity he isn't a real soldier ! He has served in the Spanish army, I believe ; but I suppose that is not enough." " In the Spanish army, papa ? He is an Englishman," said Marian. " Yes, he is, my dear. He was connected with some mine in Portugal, but entered the army of Don Carlos. Since his return to England he has been rather a wanderer, he tells me, but I believe he is engaged in some way on a mine down west." '' He is a sort of soldier, then, papa. Is he good-looking? " inquired Alice. '' I declare she is quite ready to fall in love with him already. Oh, you forward puss" — and he pinched her cheek — "He is, I think, rather nice-looking." '' And young? " ''Well, I can't say about that. He might be two and twenty, and he might be forty." 44 CAELYON, COEMAOK, AND CO. "I'm all curiosity to see liim ! " said Alice. '' Does lie know anything about engines, papa ? " enquired Marian. " Humph ! I can hardly say — ^but he's a sort of universal genius, and a very enter- prising and shrewd fellow. You see, I want some one who will take the active manage- ment now. James Trefusis was a great help to me, and now he's gone, I'm obliged to go to the foundry oftener than I can afford time." It is not easy to say how George Carlyon's time was so much occupied that he could not attend to his business. The real truth was, he was inventing excuses. Cormack had taken his fancy greatly at the dinner where he met him, and, seeing the im- pression he created, had not failed to use every effort to establish himself in Mr. Carlyon's favour. Henry Cormack was a man excellently calculated to get on in the world. His was one of those cold hard natures which inevit- ably succeed simply because they can hold on their course unswayed by pity or liking. He was a finely-built man, but rather slim, and he had the white face, the pale CAHLYON, CORMAOK, AND CO. 45 reddish hair, the keen grey eye, and aquiline nose which were so many signs of his temperament and disposition. He wore a moustache, on the strength of his Spanish service, and that moustache served to hide a mouth which was coarse and wide and ogreish. He was excellent company — though he never smiled. He could laugh when it was necessary, crack jokes, rather bitter ones at times — and be a very jolly companion indeed. But a close observer would have seen that the moment the laugh died out his face instantly became sternly stolid — that the jest Avas s^Doken with a tone of contempt — and that the jolly companionship was only the clever assumption of a part. He could drink deep, but was never affected by what he took, which indicates, I fanc}^, that he was not really rollicking, but merely soaking. There was no excitement of the spirits to reinforce the excitement of the stimulant. It is bad enough when a man drinks deep and gets drunk ; but it is worse when he drinks deep and does not get drunk. The former injures himself — the latter is dan- gerous to others. When Henry Cor mack was a young man 46 CARLYON, COKMACK, AND CO. he had obtained an appointment as clerk to a mine in Portugah How he got it I do not know, for he was one of those men who do not seem to have fathers and mothers — probably because they cut themselves adrift early from such relations as are likely to become burdens at some future period. For some time he went on capitally, winning golden opinions, but at last suspicion of questionable practices on his part was aroused. There was no exposure, but Cor- mack withdrew — with a hole in his reputa- tion, and a lesson which he never forgot — a lesson on the necessity of caution, and a profound respect for the maxim, " Don't be found out." Cast adrift from the mine, he was glad to enter the Carlist ranks, in which he served with credit, for he had nerve and personal courage, which, however — thanks to his cal- culating coolness — never running him into needless danger, was never overtaxed. On his return to England, he lived the usual hand-to-mouth shiftless life of a London adventurer ; but naturally gravi- tating towards mines, eventually got em- ployment on a Cornish speculation, got up by Londoners, and having once inserted his CAELTON, COEMACKj AND 00. 47 foot into tlie business in this way, soon contrived to make room for liis body. At the time when George Carlyon made his acquaintance, he was in full feather, having effected some lucky investments in shares that made him rich and respectable. Such was the man whom careless George Carlyon was about to trust implicitly with his business. There is one thing to be said for Carlyon — had Cormack been only honest, he possessed every other quality required for the position in which he was to be placed. It was only that one thing that he needed, and of course its absence was not suspected. Still no one perhaps but George Carlyon would have taken a man for so responsible a post, on no more evidence of his honesty than the fact that he was jolly fellow to meet at a mine -dinner. Cormack had heard of George Carlyon often. His character was pretty well known throughout the county. Here, thought the adventurer, was just the pigeon to pluck — just the man to make use of and fleece. To his great delight he found Carlyon not only take a great fancy to him, but ask him over to his house, and propose — after a conversa- tion as to steam engines, adroitly started by 48 CAELYON, COEMACK, AND CO. Cormack — to take liim into partnership. Tliis the wily scliemer felt was a safer game than the chances of mining. If he still wished to gamble — and he had the love of gambling latent within him — he might get Carlyon to speculate — or speculate with the money of the firm, and so gamble in safety. At the appointed hour, and with most businesslike punctuality. Captain Cormack presented himself at Polvrehan. During dinner he made himself exceedingly agree- able, and entirely won Alice's good opinion. In the evening they had music, and he sang some Spanish ballads with good taste and a fair voice, and he taught Alice to play the Bolero and Cachuca, and when she had learnt to play them, showed her how they were danced. He did not succeed quite so well in getting into Marian's good graces. Marian was a serious and high-principled girl, and there were many careless things he said which, she felt, were flippant and irreverent — although the others did not notice them. It was the tone of his mind which dis- pleased her. She told Alice of her objec- tions, and got laughed at for her pains. "You don't expect a young man — and C AH LYON, CORMAOK, AND CO. 49 I'm sure lie's young, dear — to be as solemn as a parson. You'll have to marry a bisliop I'm sure, Marian, or you'll never find any one pious enough for you." " I don't like people to be cynical and irreverent, Alice, but I don't want every one to be serious as a bisliop. There are bounds, however, and once or twice Captain Cormack expressed sentiments I do not approve of, and spoke slightingly of feelings and things which should be treated with respect." " Doesn't he sing nicely, though ? " "With great taste, and a thorough know- ledge of music. But do you think that will cover a multitude of sins, like charity." " There, now, don't go back to his faults again, Marian, or I shall be obliged to confess that sometimes I didn't like what he said. So kiss me for that confession, and good night ! " The next day Captain Cormack was over again, and the next, and the next. Each time he paid a visit of respect to the young- ladies, and then retired with papa, and was closeted with him for the rest of the day. The discussion of the terms of partnership, and a host of details connected with it, were I. K 50 CARLYON, CORMACK, AND CO. ample excuse for these long consultations. But there was surely no necessity for the quantity of sherry drunk by these two con- fabulators ! Captain Cormack came away from these interviews as cool, collected, and steady as possible, but George Carlyon was generally so — " tired " he called it, that he lay on the sofa in his sanctum all the evening, and slept, breathing stentorously. He didn't get down to breakfast, either, any of these mornings. At last the terms were agreed upon and the sum named. Cormack paid j)^!'^ in money and part in shares in a mine called Wheal Tolvading, situated in the western part of the country. At first George Car- lyon seemed disinclined to take the shares. " I never dabbled in mines yet, and I don't want to burn my fingers," he said. *' My dear sir, if you have not speculated in mines it is high time you began to do so. As a Cornishman, you will get every advan- tage, for I've observed that, though the miners will rob Londoners without scruple, they are tolerably honest to a brother Cor- nishman. There are fortunes and fortunes to be made at this G:ame." CAELTON, COEMACK, AND CO. 51 " And lost ! " said Carlyon. '^ Yes ; but only by persons wlio have no experience or advice to go by." ''Well, I have no experience ! " " But, my dear sir, I have, and you can have my advice. This partnership of ours ■will swallow up my small capital for a while, or I should continue to speculate. But you shall have all the advantage of my experience and skill. You shall double your money in no time. And it's no bother at all ! " '' I don't like beginning." '' Begin with these shares I offer. They are worth the price I place them at, at this very moment. You can turn them into cash on the spot, almost. But in a week's time they will be worth double. Take my word for it, they will be worth double, Mr. Car- lyon." ''Well ! I'll become speculator in my old age, and take the shares." " You shall have the very best and soundest advice as to their disposal." George Carlyon accordingly kept the shares, and, as Cormack predicted, in a week's time they had risen to double the value at which they had been estimated. The next week they rose a little more. " Now," said Cor- E 2 52 OARLYON, CORMACK, AND 00. mack, '' Sell every one of tliem ! " George Carlyon was not quite prepared to do so, but eventually acted on tlie advice, and had the satisfaction, in a few days, of seeing " Wheal Tolvadings " quoted at a figure much below what he had taken them from Cor mack at. The latter did not fail to call his attention to the fact, and also to the very large profit he had made by the transaction. Carlyon acknowledged that he owed his good fortune to Cormack, and determined in future to be entirely guided by his advice. With great caution the schemer led his victim on. Speculation after speculation in the share market was adventured, and it seemed as if good fortune was fated to follow his indication. Cormack pointed out an investment to Carlyon. In a few days it became the rage. He recommended him to sell out. It was as quickly down in the market. Some of this was luck ; much was the result of informa- tion which Cormack purchased — at a heavy price it is true, but cheaply, considering what he got by it. For to the old craving for excitement by drink George Carlyon was adding the craving (CARLTON, COEMACK, AND CO. 53 for excitement by gambling. Presently lie was not content to limit liis speculations to the investments Cormack pointed out. He began to speculate quietly on his own judg- ment, and as a rule he lost. But he could afford to do so, for the money he was making under Cormack' s auspices was more than enough to pay. Cormack, in the mean- time, was perfectly well-informed of all these private ventures, but he pretended to know nothing. He spent his time chiefly in learn- ing the management of the foundry. He prevailed on Carlyon to exert himself for a few days, and put him into the best way of superintending and seeing that all was done well and expeditiously. In a short time he had become virtually the proprietor. George Carlyon, busied with his new and exciting pursuit, never went near the works. By-and-by Cormack, as his partner began to speculate more widely and wildly, found means to get the business still more into his own hands. What Carlyon wanted was ready money for his speculations. Cormack let him use the profits of the firm, taking as security — merely for form's sake, he explained to the other — a further quarter share in the busi- 54 CARLYON, CORMACK, AND CO, ness in excliange for the loan. By degrees lie allowed tlie gambler to run alone, and play Ills own game. The result was still heavier losses, and the demand for more money. Bit by bit he obtained a lien on the whole foundry, and even on the estate of Polvrehan, including the house. Then, like a wise man, he purchased, very quietly, the mortgages which already existed on the pro- perty. In short, he held the whole in his own hand. This, however, all took time, and on several occasions, when some lucky stroke rehabilitated Carlyon for a while, the poor gambler would be seized with remorse, and clear off some of the encumbrances, only to plunge once again into speculation and in« volve himself afresh. Cormack had more than once been asked by Carlyon to accept of the moorland, to which I referred in the first chapter, as secu- rity ; but he always contrived to decline it, without apparently doing so on account of its being really of no value. The day came, however, when he offered to buy it. Captain Cormact was a bit of a sportsman. He could throw a %, as-Rella's trout could bear witness ; and he could kill a snipe on CARLYOX, COEMACK, AKD CO. 55 the wing, as tlie moors above Merrimeet could testify. Of course lie had free right of shooting and fishing all over the estate, and he exercised it. He was strolling, gun in hand, on the moors close by one of the back-bones of granite rocks — upheaved by some mighty convulsion of earth how many centuries ago I — when he encountered a poor fellow known in the village as ''Mazed Martin" — a half- witted creature who lived on charity. By the merest chance in the world Cormack, in a moment of good nature, had flung the unhappy wretch half-a-crown, and so secured his eternal gratitude. The village story was that "Mazed Martin" had been a wealthy tradesman in Truro, but had lost his all in mining. He spent the chief part of his time in wandering over the moors, " prospecting" for ore. When he met Cormack he was trying the divining rod — a superstitious implement which is still believed in in the west country, and forms, no doubt, a capital tool for cunning to employ against credulity. In language barely half intelligible for the gibberish he interspersed with it. Mazed Martin began to assure the Captain that he 56 CAELYON, CORMACK, AND CO. had discovered a lode, and begged him to keep the secret. The Captain was to ad- vance the money to begin working, and he and Martin were to share the profits. Cormack only laughed at the poor crea- ture. He could use the divinino- rod himself, and knew the trick. But while he was laughing a sudden thought occurred to him. These moors had not been tried for ore. They might be rich in metal. The general character of the place resembled that of one of the richest mining districts in the county. He began to examine the rocks more closely, and before long discovered certain indica- tions which, to his practised eye, denoted that there was ore in the neighbourhood, although it was, of course, quite a matter of uncertainty as to whether it was present in sufficient quantities to make mining a profit- able undertaking. He devoted the next two or three days to a close and careful survey — of course, carry- ing his gun to make pretence of shooting. When he returned to Polvrehan without even a single snipe, you may be sure he was bantered by Alice. But he had found some- thing more valuable than snipes on the moor ! He had established the fact that the OARLYON, CORMACK, AND CO. 57 district, if not a really rich mineral district, showed indications in sufficient plenty to induce speculative miners to try it, if it were once brought under their notice. " I must get hold of these moors, some- how," he said to himself, as he turned towards Polvrehan. "Why didn't I think of this before, when he wanted to raise money on them ? It doesn't matter, though ; he's pretty certain to try it again, for the beggar must be in want of ready cash before long. I wonder what he lost in Carnseuth Consols ? A pretty penny, I'll lay. And then "Wheal Matilda and South Polmeddan, and Menabay must have let him in for some- thing heavy. Is it not odd ? When I started him in this line, I showed him exactly how to do things profitably, — when to buy and when to sell, — yet he makes these confounded blunders. Never mind ! There must be fools in the world, or how are we honest men to live ? And I hope he'll be fool enough to sell me the moors, and then I'll see if I can't find more fools to work the mines there, and pay me a pretty penny for leave and royalty. Providence is very kind to put so many fools in the world to support clever fellows. It's exactly like what that old whaling captain, 58 CAELYON, COEMACK, AND CO. Jolinson, of Newcastle, used to tell roe about tlie Nortliern seas being all filled with little creatures tlie sailors call ''whale's food." Master whale has only to open his jaws, and his dinner runs into his mouth. Upon my word, Providence is a wonderful thing after all ! " So musing — in quite a reverential mood you will perceive — Henry Cormack strolled into Polvrehan, in the cool of the evening, and joined the two girls on the lawn, Mr. Carlyon being in his study still, taking his after-dinner nap. Henry Cormack had made no progress in Marian's good graces by this time, nor was Alice better pleased with him than at first — perhaps hardly as much. ( 59 CHAPTER lY. TEOUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. FEW of tlie people who knew George Carlyon were aware of liis difficulties. He had never had the character of being a speculator in mines, and the extent to which he had indulged his lately-acquired taste for that sort of gambling was not suspected. It was known that he had held shares in several very unlucky ventures, but it was supposed that he had been induced, from business motives, to encourage the new adventures, and it was argued that money lost in this way was merely a necessary outlay for the benefit of the foundry. Every one said, '' Oh, Carlyon can afford to throw away a good deal of money — look what a fortune he is making at the Works ! " It was quite true that the firm of Carlyon, Cormack, and Co. had been doing a roaring trade, and that enormous profits were flowing 60 TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. in. But people did not know that those profits bad been anticipated by the senior partner, and, in reality, belonged to the junior in consideration of former advances. In the meantime the position which Cor- mack had at first maintained towards Carlyon was greatly altered. The junior partner began to assert himself, and resolutely put a check upon Carylon's inroads on their com- mon property. It would have been a kind action in any one else. In the man who had first awaked the gambling spirit, it was merely selfishness. George Carlyon fi:'etted and fumed, but did not dare to quarrel with Cormack, so he sought refuge from his disappointment in drinking. Alas ! what a wreck he had become now^ — mentally as well as physically ! He no longer exercised the most common prudence in his speculations, but rushed headlong into those which his former experience should have told him were not trustworthy. Cormack, on the other hand, as soon as he entered into partnership with him, had aban- doned mining altogether. He never bought a share now, feeling that his present invest- ment was a far safer one ; he did not care to speculate when he was removed from the TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. 61 close connection and relationship lie had formerly held with the men who knew the real value and workings of the share market. At last there came a time when Carlyon was reduced to the verge of bankruptcy. The nearness of the danger, suddenly revealed to him by the collapse of some bubble scheme in which he had embarked a great deal of money, sobered and steadied him for a time. What was he to do ? He could not ask Cormack to allow him to appropriate the profits of the business any longer ; they w^ere already doubly pledged to the junior partner. He could raise no more money on Polvrehan; it was mortgaged beyond its value now. There was but one chance left. He strode to the window of the room, whence he could see the moorland stretching away northward, and, shaking his clenched fist at, cursed it for its barrenness. But it was the only thing he had to part with now, and he determined to try yet once again to prevail on Cormack to lend him money on those unprofitable acres. When next the captain came over he was summoned into Mr. Carlyon' s sanctum, and there, with tears in his eyes almost, the broken gambler entreated the young man to g^rant him this favour. 62 TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. '' Lend you money on gorse and granite, Oarlyon ? Yon can liardly expect it, surely. You remember that you have for some years past been draining the business of its very life-blood. Where am I to get the money to begin with ? " '' Oh, you have enough. I know you have. You are rich — rich ! You are coining money over yonder — you must be. Come, only a trifle — a few hundreds. If you don't I'm a ruined man." '' I'll tell you what I'll do, Carlyon— I'll buy the cursed unprofitable waste from you." Carlyon paused. '' I don't like to part with the Polvrehan property, altogether, Cormack" — '' Oh, I don't want it. I should think you ought to know me better than to suppose I'm such an ass to wish to waste my money on that barren moor. It was only suggested for your convenience. Say no more about it." '' But I want the money." " But I dorit want the land; and you don't like to sell it if I did." *' I don't like ; but then one must do things one doesn't like sometimes, Cor- mack ! " TEOUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. 63 *' Pray don't do violence to your feelings. I'd much rather not have the moor. I was going to do one of those things one doesn't like, in buying it to oblige you. Of course the obvious plan is for neither of us to hurt our feelings, and let there be an end of the matter." " Don't be so hurried with me, Cormack, there's a good fellow. You're such a deuce of a man of business. Give me time — give me time." '' I'll give you as much time as you like. Time is money ; but I suppose any amount of it will not make up the loan you require." " No ; I wish it could, Cormack ; but don't joke about it — there's a good fellow — because, upon my soul, it is a serious matter. If I can't get this money I'm a bankrupt — a ruined, broken-down bank- rupt ! " "I'm very sorry, indeed ! But how can I help you ? " '' By lending me the money on those acres yonder. You might just as well lend it as pay it." Cormack was not quite prepared for this thrust. Of late he had found his partner so 64 TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. intellectually enfeebled tliat he had spoken unguardedly. But he was not a man to be caught tripping. " Well, if you must have my reasons — the money I should pay you for the land is money I have laid aside for the purchase of some ground near the works, on which to build cottages for the men, and so bring them close to their work and under my own supervision and power. The moor is further off than I should choose, if I were to select, but if I could oblige you by doing so, I would take it, and make it do." "A capital idea I But you can build on the moor just the same, and make it a specu- lation of the firm." " ISTo, Mr. Carlyon. A joint speculation on ground belonging solely to you would be open to serious trouble and complication.^ I prefer to carry out the idea myself, for I am crochetty in the matter of building cottages for such purposes, and you might not enter into my views." '' Well, I suppose you must have it." " No ; there's no must in the case at all. Lee's farm is much handier for my purpose, and I believe he is willing to sell." '' Oh ! I didn't mean that the ' must ' was TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. 65 yours so mucli as mine. I must have money. Do you object to one thing ? " " What is it ? " " Do you mind keeping the purchase a secret ? I don't want people to know I'm parting with the family property. When I'm dead and gone — and that will be soon — it won't matter." " I have no objection to that. And now what will you sell for ? " The bargain was settled that evening, and the acres of moorland became the property of Henry Cormack, who gave what was really a fair price for them, as far as appear- ance went, but which was very far below the value of them if, as he conjectured, they abounded in mineral wealth. He congra- tulated himself on his purchase. What avail were the few poor hundreds to George Carlyon ? If he could only make a lucky stroke with them, he thought. He exercised the greatest prudence and judg- ment in investing them, and for once his ventures were successful. He doubled his capital in a very short time, and then risked it all once more. If that were fortunate, he made a solemn vow never to gamble in mines again. I. p 66 TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. > Poor Carlyon, what were liis vows worth ? Marian and Alice were of course kept in ignorance of tlieir father's doings. They had seen that of late he had been very much depressed, and remarked with delight that he at last appeared to recover his spirits and become himself once more. Marian was shrewd and observant, and she had noticed a change in her father — a feverish restlessness, and occasional fits of despondency — ever since his acquaintance with Cormack, and she did not hesitate to attribute them to the captain, though she did not know in what way he was connected with them. Alice was less keen-sighted than her sis- ter, but she had by degrees come to look on Cormack with something little short of aver- sion. But she was a good-tempered little thing, and not having any reason for her dislike, was angry with herself for feeling it, and took great pains to conceal it from the captain; who, on his side, flattered himself that he had made a considerable impression on her. He was a vain man, and vain of a success which he thought always attended him in his dealings with women. He was easily TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. 67 attracted by a pretty face, but there were no depths in his nature to be stirred by real love. Only transient passions, earthy and unrefined by nobility of soul, swayed him. He looked upon woman as an object to chase for amusement, to make love to for pleasure, and to fling away for weariness. At his first arrival at Polvrehan he had half de- termined to woo — and when he said " woo," he meant "win" — Alice for his wife. But when the first transient impression her pretty face and sweet disposition produced on him passed away, he began to see that such a step would be an error. He would encumber himself with a wife — a possession which, with his opinion of women and virtue, was only a source of anxiety and trouble — without obtaining any compensating conside- ration; for she was the younger child, and the property would naturally go for the most part to Marian. And the idea of chaining himself for life to that plain, sensible, quiet, good little woman was an act of suicide which he never contemplated for a moment. Nevertheless, although he entirely aban- doned the idea of seriously seeking Alice in marriage, he did not think it bad sport to pay her attention, and beguile the time in F 2 68 TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. flirting with lier. There was no female society in the neighbourhood, and though he despised women, he Hked women's society. One afternoon, as he was sitting with the girls and trying over a Spanish ballad he had written out the notes of for Alice, he was summoned to Mr. Carlyon's study. He found poor George Carlyon in a terrible state of agitation. '' What's wrong now, Carlyon ? " " Oh, everything — everything, my dear fellow. Upon my soul, I don't know what to do. And I am very ill too, and can't collect my thoughts — and by Jove I'm going mad with it." " Come, come, be calm." " Confound you, and your ' be calms ; ' and your stony face. There, there; I beg pardon, but I am half out of my senses." '' What has gone wrong ? " *' Here, sit down and have a glass of wine. Won't you ? What, not to keep me company ?" Cormack shook his head. "What shall I do? what shall I do?" broke out Carlyon again ; " I'm a ruined man. I haven't a penny in the world." *'WhatI been speculating unluckily again?" TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. 69 "Worse than ever — worse than ever a thousand times over." He began to walk up and down the room wildly, but watching Cormack out of the corner of his eye — for he had a favour to ask of him. " What am I to do for money ? " he asked at last. Cormack did not answer. He sat with his elbows on his knees and his face bent down, so as to be in the shade. ** What am I to do for money? " repeated Carlyon. Still no answer. This was too much for George Carlyon' s patience. **Do you hear me say, Cormack, that I haven't a penny in the world ? " Cormack nodded. "And you don't offer to help me ! " " What can I do ? " *' Advance me some money on my share in the business." " But, my dear Carlyon, you seem to forget that I have let you have money of the firm's already to a greater amount than your share is worth in the market." " But surely you are not going to serve 70 TROUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. me in this way wlien I'm in such difficulties ? This is an act of friendship, not a business speculation." "The best sort of friendship, in my opinion, Carlyon, is a strict and honest business dealing. I can't let you have any money. I have none, in fact." This last was added to soften the refusal. '' Have none ! Come, I know better than that, you hard-fisted, cool-headed beggar." " I repeat I have none to lend you ! " " And yet I tell you that without this help I am utterly ruined." ''I regret it. But I can do nothing more." Upon this poor George Carlyon burst into a fit of half drunken rage, passed from that into a state of maudlin grief, and finally leaning his head on the table sobbed pitifully like a weary child. Cormack tried to prevail on him to conquer his weakness, but the attempt only roused him to another paroxysm of fury. In these alternate fits of rage and misery, he at length worked himself into a state most pitiable to see. Even Cormack was touched by it. At least we must suppose so, for he took from his pocket a phial of dark-brown fluid. TEOUBLE AND AN ANODYNE. 71 " Look here, Carlyon, you've been over- doing it a little. Take some of tliis, it will soothe you and send you to sleep." '' Opium ! " " Yes ; I learned its value when I was laid up with ague in Spain. I always carry a little stock. You lie down quietly for a bit and take a dose. Be careful though ! Don't take more than one of the doses marked on the bottle. Two of them would kill you. And to-morrow we'll talk matters over." " You'll lend me the money, won't you?" asked Carlyon, wheedlingly, as he took the bottle. " No ! It is impossible. We must see how you can extricate yourself with the least exposure." Poor Carlyon knew what that meant, and his heart sank within him. '' Mind what you do with that bottle now, Carlyon. Two of those doses would kill you, remember. Be careful, there's a good fellow. Remember, two of them would be fatal. Good night." And with that Captain Cormack returned to the parlour, and, sitting down at the piano, sang the Spanish ballad for Alice, and played much exquisite music. (72) CHAPTEE Y. ON THE BOEDEES OF BOHEMIA. WHEN James Trefusis came to London lie Yths very nearly becoming a cast- away. A broad black stream of shiftless, careless, aimless, hopeless vagabondism crawls through that city toward the ocean of Oblivion, like another Thames seeking the sea ; and into it this poor fellow was almost on the point of plunging. It seemed to him, when he quitted the western valley, that he left his life there, and was a living corpse only. He had nothing to look forward to, and he longed for rest, or, at all events, forgetfulness : and watch- ing those who were drifting down the dark current, he envied them, and longed to follow their example. He spent his days gloomily, and at night plunged into the gaiety of reckless company, carousing on the banks of the stream to ON THE BORDEUS OF BOHEMIA. 73 which he was approaching nearer and nearer every hour. The black river I speak of touches at one point the border-land of the pleasant plains of Bohemia. Inhabitants of that country only too often wander down to its shores, launch their crazy craft, cut the moorings, go adrift, and are lost. James Trefusis had by some impulse, some instinctive tendency, found his way to the borders of Bohemia soon after his arrival in town. He was speedily a naturalised citizen, and adopted the habits of the land. The particular province in which he settled — for Bohemia is a large state, and much sub- divided — was inhabited chiefly by dreamers — men of science, who had not time to develop properly the splendid theories they had conceived — inventors, who lacked the capital to commence a work that was to turn mud into gold — authors, who had not where- withal to buy pens and ink to begin the books which were to regenerate mankind. In this out-lying district — as elsewhere in the vast kingdom of Bohemia — there was a large consumption of tobacco, with a considerable flow of spirits (animal and alcoholic), and an unlimited supply of beer. 74 ON THE B0RDP:ES of BOHEMIA. Besides these, tliere existed mucli warm friendship, loyal fellowship, and a close brotherhood. Nowhere out of Bohemia could you find as sterling metal, I fancy. "With all their differences and squabbles, the inhabitants were true to each other and their national cause. The people of this unsophisticated land did not stab one another in the back. They had practically a common purse, and consequently no jealousy about getting work for each other; and they kept a perpetual love-feast of content and bread and cheese. James Trefusis was able to get engineering work, for he had letters of recommendation sufficiently strong to ensure that ; but he did not care to labour now that he had lost the object for which he had toiled so willingly for the last years of his life. So he con- tented himself with periodical fits of energy, by which he got a little stock of money, and then he went back to his Bohemian haunts, and lived on it. He was foolish enough to think that he could find a refuge from memory in the glass, and for a time threat- ened to take after the model of his old patron. He had several special cronies in Bohemia, ON THE BORDEES OF BOHEMIA. 75 who frequented a quiet tavern in a bye-street near Long Acre. There was the craz}^ painter, Charhe Crawhall, who made such charming water- colour drawings, when his hand was steady enough, but who was letting his genius waste while he talked about a delusion of his that I am afraid my reader will be tempted to smile at, as James did when he first found out w^hat it was. Crawhall had asked James to come home with him one day to his chambers — an attic in a queer out-of-the- way inn, near Holborn. It was the home of genius, nevertheless. Out of the faded sprawling wall-paper, Charlie had in idly- industrious moments created, with a few touches of the pencil, all sorts of quaint figures. Here, a half-efiaced convolvulus was fashioned into a ballet sylph ; there, a geranium blossom was turned into a strange bird ; in another jDlace, a green leaf was con- verted into an animal or a fish. It was a perfect gallery of odd conceits. Scraps of paper, covered with unfinished sketches, for which dealers were dunning Charlie, lay about the floor. A few relics from his studio — long since abandoned — littered the room. A battered morion was appropriated to the 76 ON THE BORDEES OF BOHEMIA. uses of a tobacco jar ; a plaster head of Apollo was adorned with a red fez ; and an ancient sword did duty for a poker. A dozen long clays, blackened by much use, were placed in an old Venetian goblet ; and odds and ends of fine China were devoted to all sorts of unworthy purposes — to hold lucifers, cigar-lights, cigarette papers, and bills that were never to be paid. Under the window stood an instrument not unlike a piano. James asked Charlie if he could play. *'Yes. Sit down and watch," was the answer; and James did sit down, and Charlie, placing himself in front of the instrument, opened it, and touched the keys. No sound came from them; but at the back, as the artist's fingers wandered over the notes, rose discs of coloured glass — sometimes singly, sometimes together, or gradually passing in front of one another. " Why, what on earth is that, Charhe ? " " Hush 1 Don't interrupt. Look ! there's a lovely harmony ; and then you see it dies away in a warm gray, just touched with the purple." " What is the meaning of this ? " ON THE BOEDERS OP BOHEMIA. 77 '^ He asks what the meaning is ! Bless the man, have you no eye for music ? This is my great invention, Jim, and I mean to make my fortune with it — only I can't find the right man to undertake to bring it out properly." " Bring what out ? " '' Why, this musical instrument. Don't you feel the music? Look here!" He turned to the notes again, and began to touch them. The sun was pouring in through the window ; and as the transparent discs rose and sank in the frame above the piano, they glowed with indescribable warmth and beauty. Now some pure tint would be shown — tender purple, or rich amber — and then some other hue would mingle with it, giving place to yet another ; the colours now full and splendid — now sombre and grand — now soft and delicate. "Now watch," said Charlie, growing excited as he bent over the instrument, and, at a touch of the noiseless keys, summoned up fresh combinations. '' Now watch. See if you can find out the tune. But no ! You're not used to it yet. You must cul- tivate your eye. I'll explain it to you. It's 78 ON THE BOEDEES OF BOHEMIA. a piece 1 call ' Spring.' You see it opens with a subdued blue ; with a little tremulous gray — that's a difficult note, that gray — and then comes a little twinkle of soft yellow sunlight, followed by exquisitely tender greens — you see, charming variations, those greens — and then for the flowers, violets, and may, and buttercups. Look ! is not that delicious ? There are harmonies, old fellow 1 And then more sunlight ; and now the rosy hues, for coming summer, and on to a subdued sombre purple for the close of day, with a delicate twinkhng of silver light for the stars. There's a piece for you ! You couldn't express one-half of that in music : this is the real sort of harmony. How do your eyes feel ? " " A little dazzled with looking at the sun- light." '*Ah, you've an uncultivated eye as yet. To me the harmony of colours is the most exquisite delight. Whenever I am stuck up in a picture I come here and play it, and you can't think what stunning thoughts I get." " This is a queer thought, at any rate ! " " Not a bit of it. It is only appreciating music by another sense. The vibrations of UN THE BORDEES OF BOHEMIA. 79 colour and tlie vibrations of sound are exactly the same, it's my belief, Jim. Why, I often see the colours of the different notes when people play ; and I'm sure that music and colour are the same thing, only we call it by different names, according to the manner in which we are conscious of it. The feeling produced by a well-harmonised picture is identical with that produced by a well-har- monised piece of music. All painters are, in fact, musicians." "Well, it's very odd; but I have noticed that most artists have some skill in music. It's very curious." " No, it isn't, a bit. But I suppose you're like the rest of them. I've spent half my life in making that instrument, more than half my money in taking it about to different people — music-sellers and all sorts of people — trying to get them to do the thing on a large scale. Bat it's all no use — the fools don't see it. I suppose, when I'm dead and buried somebody will crib the notion, and make his fortune. There ; light a pipe, Jim ; and there's the wliisky in that flask under the blunderbuss. I keep it there because the laundress daren't touch it while the firearm mounts guard over it.'* 80 ON THE BORDERS OF BOHEMIA. Another of James Trefasis's cronies was Dr. Long ; nobody quite knew where lie had obtained the degree, but he was certainly a very clever fellow. His vision was the sup- posed discovery of an instrument which was to supersede the operation of trephining, and cure fracture of the skull in some very simple and speedy manner. A third crony was Harry Ryder, who used to spout passages from his great epic, " Cromwell " — a poem of many thousand lines, which had never been written down, and of which the metre was an extraordinary novelty. A fourth was a German, Groeller, a musician, who was always about to finish his opera, which was to surpass Don Giovanni and Der Freischutz. A fifth was a Dane, Kiste, who had travelled extensively, and had penetrated into the interior of Australia, crossed Central Africa, and wintered in the vicinity of the North Pole. There were others who frequented the little tavern, but who were not such special cronies of James's. There were notably the two Latrowes, a pair of brothers, who passed themselves off as Bohemians, in order to plunder the aborigenes more conveniently. But as the Bohemians, having little to lose, ON THE BORDERS OF BOHEMIA. 81 were a little sensitive in the matter of being robbed, the Latrowes had adopted a very cunning plan whereby the family partnership throve. Mark Latrowe used to be always warning people against his brother Jack, recommending them not to have anything to do with him. Jack was always starting some speculation or other which was to bring affluence to Bohemia, and Mark would join him, and the Bohemians, finding that he who had warned them against any dealings with Jack was willing to join, thought the plan must be an honest one. It always ended in Jack's robbing everybody, his own brother included. Whereupon Mark would make complaint, and the others, seeing that Jack had not spared his own kin, gave the matter up as a bad job, and put up with their loss, and then Jack and Mark divided proj&ts. The schemes were various ; — some- times it was a new literary organ, sometimes a scientific paper, sometimes a picture gallery, sometimes the carrying out of a new invention belonging to a Bohemian, and not wanting any very large capital for its promotion. I have here hastily sketched these few characters to realise to you in some degree I. G 82 ON THE BOEDERS OF BOHEMIA. tlie position in which James Trefusis was placed. It was a trying one for a young man who had just lost his hold of the future, whose past had been a dream, and whose present was a dull dead gloom, without a glimmer of hope. In a society which never took heed for the morrow, which indulged its tastes and avoided all labour, except when driven to it by want, James Trefusis was drawing nearer and nearer to the brink of the black river. A couple of years of this life told upon him. His mind stagnated, and his spirit became enfeebled by inaction. By sudden outbursts of energy he contrived to earn plenty of money, and was, in fact, one of the wealthiest men in this portion of the Bohemian frontier — perhaps because also he declined to have any dealings with the Latrowes, who accordingly abused and Hbelled him whenever they had a chance. His health began to suffer, too, not so much from any excesses — though I fear at this time he kept later hours and drank and smoked more than was good for him — as from want of exercise and whole- some air. "Jim, you're looking ill. You'd better ON THE BOEDERS OF BOHEMIA. 83 get Long to give you a set-up," said Charlie Crawhall one evening. '' Let him trephine you," said Ryder. ''Well, youngster, what's wrong?" said the Doctor, leading James to the window. '' Egad, you want change — ^no, not small change, Ryder ; I knew you'd say so. You must get away for a bit, Jim, and keep quiet. Can you row ? " '' Oh, yes ; I'm a very good oar." " That's right — it's a cheaper and better exercise than riding, I think. Well, you must go oiT somewhere along the river for a bit, and take lots of exercise." " Go to Thames Ditton, Jim," said Charlie. '' Or Hampton," said Kiste. '' Better go down to Gravesend — some- where seaward" — said Ryder. "You're right, poet," said Long. ''Either there or Greenwich — or better still. Black- wall. Lodgings are cheap, and the Park jolly." " But I don't feel ill, and I don't want to be exiled." " Come, none of your nonsense," said Long, "you must go, or you'll be laid up with a liver or a bilious fever, or something of that sort. You will, upon my word." G 2 84 ON THE BOEDERS OF BOHEMIA. '' 0, if he won't go, we'll cut him," said Charlie. It ended in James determining to take a week or so out of town. He pitched on Greenwich, and he and Charlie Crawhall went down and spent a jolly day, pretending to look for lodgings. Finally they pitched upon a place near Woolwich, where James got a room at a small cottage not far from the T-iver, on very reasonable terms. At first he was very lonely in his new abode, and began to brood over his old grief, so that his trip from town was likely to do him little good. But it happened one day as he was returning from a row on the river that he struck up acquaintance by some simple act of common civility with an old gentleman lodging at a cottage not far from his modest abode. This old gentleman was a retired artillery oflB.cer, who on leaving the army settled down in the place where he was cut adrift. He was a clever old fellow, and had loved his trade, so that now, when he had nothing else to occupy his time, he employed himself in studying the science of gunnery, and had been experimenting on the construction of cannon. ON THE BORDERS OF BOHEMIA. 85 In this pursuit James and lie met on ground interesting to both. They worked away- together; planning new modes of rifling, and new shapes for shot and shell. To have seen them engaged in discharging their model cannon, you would have been inclined to agree with Harry Eyder, who, coming down one fine afternoon to see how James was, found him, as he afterwards described it, " playing ' Corporal Trim ' to some old boy's ' Uncle Toby,' and with practicable cannon." But in spite of all their efforts they did not hit upon any successful improve- ment, though, as is often the case, they blundered upon one or two rather curious discoveries. When James's time for returning to London came — which was when the lowness of his purse warned him — as plainly as the old Border dish of a pair of spurs spoke of " boot and saddle " — that he must turn to and earn some more money — he left his lodgings with great reluctance, and the old gentleman was wretched at the prospect of losing him. However, James promised to run down and see his friend and fellow-labourer every Sunday — and kept his promise. The old 86 ON THE BOEDEES OF BOHEMIA. oflB.cer's neighbours used to be rather horri- fied at the pair, for they used to blaze away with their batteries in a way that made the pious jump as they dozed over their devout reading of an evening. '' We shall make our fortunes yet, Tre- fusis," the Captain used to say. " We are such a happy combination of qualities. You see, thanks to my experience in the Second Brigade, I know what is wanted to be done, and you know how to do it. If we could only perfect that rifle and conical ball scheme ! " " Well, when we do, and you're made a •General of Artillery, Captain, you must pop me into a snug berth as Inspector of Gun Factories, or something of that «ort." "Why, my dear Trefusis, you must be dreaming ! I was not thinking of our making a fortune in that way. We may do so by selling the article, but as for getting it appre- ciated by Government, you don't know what an impossibility that is. When I am dead, and you are an old gray-headed man, they may see the merits of our invention, and then they'll crib all the best points, and hardly say ' thank you ' for 'em." ox THE BORDEES OF BOHEMIA. 87 " That's not a clieerful prospect." " It's tlie right one," said the Captain ; and I'm inclined to think the Captain was right. But this conversation, after all, was reckon- ing on unhatched chicks. James and the Captain had to invent their gun yet. When they had done that, it would be time enough to consider the difficulty of drawing the attention of the Government officials to it. Up to this time, at all events, they had made no important step towards the desired invention. Still they worked on patiently. This employment did James good in every way. He spent a good deal of his time with the old officer, and very little in Bohemia. What is more, he began to outgrow the bitter poignancy of his disappointment, and the difficulties which surrounded the task he was desirous of achievino: stimulated him to persevere. He was one of those men who are encouraged by opposition. The more stubborn the secret, the more energetic were his efforts to master it. So James Trefusis was led away by the gray-headed, simple soldier, with his toy 88 ON THE BORDERS OF BOHEMIA. cannons — away from the Bohemian border, towards which, however, he still cast at times a regretful glance, and to which he sometimes returned for a brief visit. But he was an emigrant from that land of lotus -eating and beer-drinking and pipe-smoking now, and so, I am glad to think, was in less risk of sinking into that black river, which, sweeping by the lower shores of Bohemia, carries off, alas ! so many stragglers to the ocean of Oblivion. It is only fair to James to say that he did not pass out of the region to settle down in the land of real life without many regrets. Charlie Crawhall and his colour-harmonicon, Dr. Long and his surgical instrument, Harry Ryder and his epic, Groeller and his violin, and Kiste with his views on the negro ques- tion, were all fondly remembered long after, when James Trefusis was an entire exile from the wild land, and Bohemia knew him no more. Pleasant, dear, kindly old Bohemia, does not every man who leaves you regret you, and do not all your sons think kindly of one another, and cling together and battle side by side ? It must be a grand country which produces such sons, and a rare climate which ON THE BORDERS OP EOHEMIA. 89 SO fosters tlie virtues of friendship and fidelity. As Harry Ryder used to sing : — " Here's the glass of Bohemia ! Brim full you may pour it— The lips that will touch it are honest and brave ; They are only good wishes, by true hearts breathed o'er it In fellowship loyal, that trouble the wave. Then a fig for the prudish, the cold, the ab- stemious ! Whatever the liquor — come fill, fill it up ; For rne there's no glass like this glass of Bohemia's, It suflTers no poison to lurk in the cup." (90) CHAPTEE VI. MR. OEE, M.P., AND FAMILY. MR. OUR, M.P. for Brybemhall, was one of tlie wealthiest bankers in wealthy Lombard Street. He had the reputation at least of being preposterously rich. His money must have been a positive burden to him, in spite of his having contested and won the borough of Brybemhall. Brybemhall is a pleasant little town, with two evenly- balanced political parties in it, and a large body of shifting and uncertain voters, locally known as the '' bloaters and floaters," who sometimes voted on one side and sometimes on the other for reasons which I know no more about than the Man in the Moon — indeed, very much less about them than that mysterious lunatic. For whenever a new writ was issued for Brybemhall, the Man in the Moon came down — not too soon, but in very. good time — and asked certain- questions — not 91 about the way to Norwicli — and made certain arrangements mutually agreeable to candidate and constituents. It was lie wbo '^ squared " the borough for Mr. Orr, who entered the House as a regular true-blue supporter of Church and Crown. Mr. Orr was a Conservative, most probably because it was so eminently respectable, im- plying that he had had ancestors and inherited traditions to cling to. Now, in sober truth, his ancestors were mere fortunate nobodies who made money in mysterious ways during the French war. It may appear odd, but it is nevertheless true, that their obscurity did not prevent his discovering their portraits in the IDOSsession of an enterprising dealer, resident in Soho, who must clearly have bought them — when the Orr estates (in Ayr, we will say) went to the hammer — with a prophetic eye to the future fortunes of the race. In reality, Mr. Orr had no political opinions. He could not give you his sentiments on any Parliamentary question until he had read his paper of a morning. He got out of bed a bi- furcated receptacle for other people's opinions. He rose from his breakfast table a full-fledged senator. Considering this, his choice of a party was eminently creditable to him. 92 MR. OEE, M.P., AND FAMILY. Had lie selected the other side lie might have made his principles profitable, instead of their being expensive luxuries. Perhaps, after all, this choice of party to a man of his plethoric riches was a wholesome species of gold -letting. He even went so far as to be part proprietor of a true blue daily paper, which was a dead loss every day. And as for those subscriptions towards the secret service fund for which his club was noted, few men gave more handsomely than Mr. Orr. I am inclined to think that the realisation of all his political aim and ambition con- sisted in the tagging of two labials to his name, the privilege of talking of ''Russell" and "Disraeli" on familiar terms, and the pleasure of seeing his name in the division lists of the Times. It was an expensive taste, but the wealthiest banker in wealthy Lombard Street could afford to indulge it. Mr. Orr was a married man, and the father of a family. His wife was a fat vulgar woman, who, unlike her husband, had been unable to accommodate herself readily to the society into which she rose with the rising fortunes of the bank. But society did not appear to discover any fail- MK. OEE, M.P., AND FAMILY. 93 ings in her. In tlie eyes of the world a doll would be a **dear, good, clever creature" if it were only dressed in tissue of gold. There were three children. The eldest was a girl, who had been christened Honoria, in affectionate remembrance of a fictitious ancestress in blue satin and a broad-leaved hat, who smiled with a feebly surprised air, as if startled at her relations with this family, from a massive gold frame over the sideboard in the dining room. If family portraits converse — and one certainly hears of '' speaking likenesses" — how strange must have been the colloquies held in that dining room ! The long-haired cavalier in the breast-plate, with a very hot siege going on in the background, must have wondered what he had in common with the divine whose locks were cropped short, and who had one finger slipped between the pages of what should, from all appearance, have been a pamphlet condemnatory of Charles Stuart, " falsely styled king." As for the stout gentleman, with a three-cornered hat and a good round stomach, who resided in the immediate neighbourhood of two pillars and a very red curtain, he must have been at a loss to trace his relationship to the tall pale 94 MR. ORE, M.P., AND FAMILY. lady in white satin, who was pretending to pet a parrot, and whose feet must have been very cold in such thin slippers, on a floor of black and white marble lozenges. These, however, were the ancestors whom Miss Honoria Orr and her brother and sister were brought to reverence and regard. Honoria did not reflect the charms of the beautiful women in the family pictures. She was a tall, pale, delicate girl, who was afflicted with weak eyes and timidity. Be- tween her and the other two children there was a very considerable difference in age. For ten years after Honoria' s birth Mr. Orr was under the painful impression that he would have to leave his wealth to an heiress. But the fates decided otherwise. To his vast delight, after that lapse of time, Mrs. Orr presented him with a son, and in the following year with a second daughter ; after which feat she appeared to consider that she had done the state sufficient service. Unfortunately the son and heir was a delicate boy, and showed but little promise. Great accordingly was the anguish of Mr. Orr's soul. Of what avail was it that every day of his life he rolled into the city from his mansion ME. ORE, M.P., AND FAMILY. 95 in Grosvenor Place, in a yellow chariot, with two spanking horses and a couple of grand footmen ? What comfort could he draw from the coat of arms emblazoned on the yellow panels; — or, on a bend gules three bezants ; crest, a bezant, winged gules ; motto, " Ore rotundo " ? What did it matter that men on 'Change bowed down to him as a sort of Eothschild of British manufacture, and that foreign Princes and Grand Dukes borrowed money of him, presenting him with rings and snuff boxes, rough with diamonds, in acknowledgment of his lending them thousands at goodness knows what per cent. ? What did it benefit him that he rode home at night to such a table and such wines as would respectively ruin the digestion and goutify the joints of a man with a constitution of iron ? What, in short, is a canary -coloured chariot, or a resplendent coat -armour, or a thriving business, or clear turtle-soup, or thirty-four port worth to Mr. Orr, if he cannot purchase health and brains for his only son ? If you find out the cleverest physician in the world, and, instead of his guinea, give him that bank note for a million, which is 96 MR. ORE, M.P., AND PAMILT. framed and glazed in Threadneedle Street (and a pretty picture it makes too), and ■which a foreign prince, on having it shown him, was about to pocket as a deUcate cadeau from the directors ; — that cleverest physician cannot do more for 3'ou than he would for the twenty-one shillings — ay, or for nothing, for the poor creature who crawls to his gratis consultation. The cleverest physician in the world could no more infuse healthy vitality unto that stunted child of Mr. Orr's than he could raise him from the dead, even though half the business in Lombard Street were offered as a reward for his skill. Nor could the wisest and most patient teacher in the world prevent the learning and morals which he poured into that lad's one ear from coming out of the other, because there was nothing between to intercept the lessons. What can become of such a lad ? "What does become of such lads ? A debased youth, a loose life, a bankruptcy of health and wealth, and things even dearer — the decrepitude of old age at thirty, and the workhouse or lunatic asylum, or, in mercy, the grave soon after. No wonder that Mr. Orr was so sad and Mil. (Hill, M.P., AND FAMILY. 97 staid a man that people in the Stranger's Gallery at the House, tliouglit he must be a very wise man, and mistook him for some Parliamentary star. To think he had toiled and moiled and worn his life out, till his forehead was seamed with wrinkles and his hair sprinkled with gray, to accumulate wealth for this poor idiot child. It was enough to make a man sad and grave. But perhaps it was not this alone that threw a dark shadow over the prosperous banker's face. It is fair to suppose that a large business like his was a cause of anxiety. Mr. Orr was a very pious person, too, and pious persons as a rule are the reverse of cheerful. Mr. and Mrs. Orr " sat under " the Reverend Ichabod Inwards, at a fashionable chapel in the neighbourhood of Grosvenor Place, and went every Sunday regularly to be edified. And if the perpetual parading of punishment to come is edifying, they were very fortunate. For the Reverend Ichabod Inwards was a sort of spiritual bull-fighter, and treated a sinner as a torrero treats the animal out of whom he is to get amusement for the assembled multitude. He plunged darts into his side, and waved flags before I. H 98 MR. OER, M.P., AND FAMILY. his eyes, and drove the poor wretch to mad- ness with a plentiful display of fireworks and a strong smell of brimstone. It was a very noble sight to see Mr. and Mrs. Orr drop down the middle aisle, like proud galleys with silken sails, and with a tender, in the shape of a canary-covered footman, bearing their devotional books. When they declared very loudly that they were miserable sinners, it went to one's heart to think how condescending it was of them to meet poor creatures, who had not a banking account, on their own ground. One felt them to be so very difierent from the stock sinner whom Mr. Inwards was to pro- duce in the pulpit presently, and put to wholesome torture. He would as soon have thought of standing on his head on the pulpit cushion as of serving up Mr. Orr with Ibrimstone trimmings. The collections at the chapel fattened extensively on the os- tentatiously extensive charities of the banker. Mr. Orr was a splendid donor. He did cha- rities as other men invest in the Stocks. His cheques were measured by the extent to which donations were advertised : given, the circulation of the list of subscribers, and it was a very simple sum in Proportion to MB. ORE, M.P., AND FAMILY. 99 discover tlie magnitude of Mr. Orr's dona- tion. He was a great and good man, a pious and generous Cliristian. Virtue is its own reward, however, and it is comforting to tliink that his conduct was not unproductive of profit. In whom could the widow and the fatherless repose confi- dence (in the shape of their little all of worldly wealth) if not in this open-handed friend of the distressed? In whom could respectable people trust if not in this re- s^Dectable chapel-goer ? If Mr. Orr ever struck a balance between his pietj and his profits, he must have found the latter heavily indebted to the former. And, as I observed before, it is a comfort to think so ! I have said Mr. Orr was a careful specu- lator in his charities. He was a shrewd calculator in every relation of life. He never threw a sovereign away. He never ex- pended money without a fair expectation of a return. Why should he ? In every sphere of life the circulating me- dium of that sphere is a thing to be taken care of. You and I, reader of mine, should think little of a handful of shells. But a H 2 iOO ME. ORE, M.P., AND FAMILY. native of India or Africa would think twice ere lie flung away a cowry. It is current coin, and lie is as careful of it as we are of pence and shillings. In Mr. Orr's province pence and shillings are comparative cowries : the sovereign was his standard of value, and he dealt very tenderly with money even of that low denomination. He was — to confess ' the truth — mean ! But then when a man has coined his youth and manhood, his health and hopes, into yellow metallic discs, you can hardly be surprised if he sets store by them. How much of the worship of Mammon has mingled with the form of devotion just over at Mr. Ichabod Inward' s chapel ? The gen- tlemen have all read the names of the makers in the crowns of their hats twice, and the ladies, rising, give one final sweeping survey of the bonnets, and pew-doors begin to bang, as the organ, after a premonitory wheeze and whistle, launches forth the voluntary. The Rev. I. Inwards has emers^ed from the velvet cushion into which he plunged as if about to take a refreshing header after the warmth of his own description of torments to come, and is gazing around blandly, but asking himself secretly whether he can have MR. ORR, M.P., AND TAMIL f. 101 done anything to offend tlie Plumperanns, whose pew has been vacant now for three consecutive Sunday. The canary-coloured footman has collected the elegantly-bound volumes from the Orr pew. Mrs. and Miss Orr, shaking out reefs of silk and muslin, are being towed out of chapel in the wake of papa, who holds a very spotless beaver above the heads of the de- parting congregation, and bows in a furtive manner to acquaintances who catch his eye — as if it were wrong to be a friend to any one in church. Yery much in the same order they walk home, witli the yellow footman behind, car- rying the books. One cannot help feeling how self-denying it is of persons, who keep a footman, to go to Divine worship at all. Why could not the menial who carries the books do that duty for them ? Such hu- mility is positively affecting, and I feel in- clined to take off my hat to Mr. Orr, as the crossing-sweeper does — and gets nothing for his civility, there being no one in sight to be 0^ spectator of charity except the footman aforesaid, who is not to be deceived by ap- pearances, in the face of his closely-pared wages, and narrowly- watched perquisites. 102 ME. OEE, M.P., AND FAMILY. When the procession reaches Grosvenor Place, the yellow one thunders portentously at the door, which is flung open, and the Orr family enters, conscious of having done a duty, which might have been avoided, in a very proper and instructive manner. Lunch is announced presently — a formal and chilling meal gone through, in the pre- sence and under the superintendence of two canary- coloured footmen and a butler, who looks like an evangelical minister with an inflamed nose. It is one of the great privi- leges of wealth to have your wine adminis- tered to you in doses, as if it were medicine, by a solemn person who has the power of making you drink what he likes, and to have your soups and side dishes handed to you with a delicate garnishing of hair powder — a luxury for which you have to pay some- thing handsome annually to the Chancellor of the Exchequer. After lunch there is an adjournment to the drawing-room, where Mrs. Orr receives a few callers. She does this under a sort of lacit protest, which she makes quite appre- ciable to her visitors. She would not think of seeing any one on Sundays if it were not that oil other days Mr. Orr is engaged in ME. OEE, M.P., AND FAMILY. 103 tlie city at tlie usual calling time, and she must, therefore, consent to sacrifice some of her scruples. But by way of a corrective, the clrawino^-room table is cleared of the handsomely bound secular volumes, which adorn it in the week, and in their place Mr. Inward' s collections of sermons, ponderous tracts, and works of controversial theology, are strewn upon the velvet pile, with other ''good" books — so good that apparently a very little of them goes a long way, for few of them are cut. In one of the pauses between two calls, when the last visitor has been removed in a state of collapse by the canary-coloured, and before a fresh one is ready to be served up, a conversation takes places between papa and mamma, Honoria being seated at the piano, from which she is extorting a very agonised sacred melody. "My dear," says Mrs. Orr, sitting on the sofa, watching her husband, who, with his elbows on his knees, is bending forward over the fire, breaking with the poker the little gaseous bubbles that exude from the fusing coal, "My dear, it is time we either sent Algernon to school, or got a teacher for him." 104 ME. OER, M.P., AND FAMILY. '' Humpli ! I suppose he is getting old enougli. What do you propose ? " '' Well, if it would not be too expensive, I think Eton or some such school sounds best, my dear." " The public schools are expensive — they would be, at least, if he is to hold the posi- tion I should like him to do. Besides he's delicate, and there is a good deal of fagging and bullying at these places. A private tutor, and then when he gets older and stronger either Oxford or Cambridge — Ox- ford, if possible, it's so much more gentle- manly." " Could the tutor teach Alicia too, my dear ? It would be a saving, and she must begin to learn soon." '' It will be better, perhaps, to engage a governess ; they are cheaper, and he doesn't want much managing. He'd be quite tract- able enough for a woman to teach." '' Yes, and she might be useful to me in other ways, my dear. Honoria's coming out now, and she might be very useful altering dresses for her." '' Yery well then, you'd better look about for one." MR. OER, M.P., AND FAMILY. 105 " What ought one to give her, my dear ? " " Not much. I shouldn't offer much. If you want one that would be generally useful, you must offer a low salary, or you'll get hold of some stuck-up miss that won't do anything. Those who are glad to work cheap will be ready to do more for the money." '' There, I never should have thought of that!" "I know it's the case. I remember my mother gave Jane's governess fifty pounds a year, and she gave notice because she was told to hem some tablecloths, or something of the sort ; and we got another for half the money, who was as useful as a lady's maid to Jane." " Shall I advertise, dear, or go to look for one ? I suppose you can get them at the registration places, the same as other ser- vants ? " " No, I fancy not. But you can write and ask Jane ; she has engaged one for her children." " Ah, to be sure ; I had forgotten that, my dear. She will be able to tell me every- thing about wages and all." 106 MR. ORE, M.P., AND FAMILY. At this moment there came a knock at the front door, whereupon Miss Orr fluttered timorously away from the piano, Mrs. Orr snatched up a volume of the Reverend Ichabod Inward' s Sermons, and opened on one touching ''Our duty towards our neigh- bours," while Mr. Orr plunged into a small pamphlet by Scarifier, on the '' Revision of the Liturgy;" so that presently, when the canary- coloured announced "Mr. Twodhill" that amiable and nervous young gentleman felt that he was ushered into the presence of all that was lovely and pious and pa- triotic. On the Monday following this cheerful Sunday, Mrs. Orr despatched a note to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Bully an, touching the right means of procuring a governess for Algernon and Alicia. In the course of a few days, Mrs. Bully an replied at length — a whole sheet of pink note-paper, crossed. The result of this correspondence was that before long there appeared in the supplement of the Times, but a few paragraphs removed from the '' wanteds," referring to cooks, housemaids, and laundresses, the following advertisement : — ME. OEU, M.P., AND FAMILY. 107 RESIDENT GOVERNESS.— AVANTED, in a Gentleman's Family, a lady, not over 30 year.s of age, as GOVERNESS, to take the entire charge of two young Children, and instruct them in English, French, and Music. She must be a member of the Church of England, cut out and make children's clothes, and wash and dress them. Salary £30, and all found. — Apply, etc. etc. I tliink I can see some of my readers smile at this, and set it down as an exaggeration. I can assure tliem it is nothing of tlie sort. With a few slight alterations, which the state of the present copyright law renders neces- sary, in order to avoid difficulties, that ad- vertisement is a mere repetition of one which I have seen in the Times. You have only to look at the Governess column of the supple- ment and you will learn that I am not in the shghtest degree overcharging the picture. There are, you will there discover, many rich and respectable people who are content to trust the future and the hereafter, the cha- racters and the morals of their children to a person whose wages they fix at a mere shade above what they give a housemaid, and a good deal below what they give a cook. ( 108 ) CHAPTER YII. THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. THE morning broke gray and cliill over Polvrehan. After the quencliing of the stars, came no rosy light to kiss the hill- tops. A pale dawn, like the ghost of day- light, stole upward ; and the purple of night mingling with it, an ashen sky was all that resulted as evidence of morn. Rella caught the infection, and instead of bustling by blue and bubble-beaded, shuddered along a leaden-coloured stream. And the winds that swept down the valley were weird half- hushed breezes, in which the trees seemed to wave their arms mournfully, and croon like the '' keeners " at an Irish funeral. But though it was a dull day that broke thus over Polvrehan, it could exert no de- pressing influence on the life which abounded all about there. The kingfisher went flash- ing over the stream to his favourite perch ; THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. 109 the rabbits were leaping over the fern ; and the rooks flapped slowly a-field overhead. Up burst the starlings from the osiers, and hurtled away over the hills. The lark sprang from his lowdy nest in the furrow, and mounted — up — up — up — as if he were trying to see where the sun was, that he was so late. And if Life went on all the same in the little valley. Death was equally busy. Down flashed the kingfisher from his perch — a gleam — a struggle — and the jewelled bird was back again on his naked branch over- hanging the w^ater, with a fine fat trout in his strong beak. There was a rustle in the fern, and a lithe stoat, springing like a snake upon a passing rabbit, brought him to the ground. In vain poor bunny struggled and shrieked ; the sharp cruel muzzle was buried in his neck, and his murderer would never quit his hold till he had drained the last drop of his life-blood. The rooks with outspread pinions settled on the furrows in the ploughed land, and then there was much mourning in the families of grubs and worms. The star- lings, whirring ofl" to the pastures, took their share in the destruction of the insect world. The lark, having finished his matins, and 110 THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. despairing of seeing tlie sun, was down hunting for food for his young. Meanw^hile man — the greatest destroyer of all — was to be shortly a-field. The poacher was creeping along under the hedge-side; the gamekeeper was brushing through the dewy meadows ; and Hodge, the ploughboy, with his rusty fire-arm, was sallying forth to blaze away at any furred or feathered thing he met. Life, you see, busy everywhere — and Death in Life. The household at Polvrehan is astir. The blinds are drawn up one after another, as if the house, awakening, were slowly opening its eyes to watch the misty cold morning, as it breaks. Presently there comes a knock at Marian's bed-room door. '' Come in. What is it?" for it is early, she thinks, to be roused. "It's me, my dear," says Nancy Vian, good old soul, the housekeeper at Polvrehan — and when I say housekeeper I mean gene- ral servant — a Caleb Balderstone in petti- coats. "What's the matter, Nancy?" " My dear, the master's bed's never been TBE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. Ill slept in all niglit, and lie's locked np tlie study. I reckon lie's poorly, dear." Marian siglied, for slie knew wliat tliat meant. Of late slie had listened and waited once or twice for tliat stumbling uncertain step on the stair, and listened in vain, till she dropped off asleep from sheer weariness. On these occasions he had generally been out at some festive gathering, and Nancy had waited up for him. Poor old Nancy was nurse to this poor fellow, who was drinking himself into a second childhood. She used to see him safe to bed on these occasions, and take away the light. But for such care that quiet valley might have been lit up some night with the ruddy glare of the burning house of Polvrehan. But sometimes latterly he had come back in such a state that Nancy had consented to leave him, as he wished, to sleep on the sofa in the study. He had sense enough left to know he could not get upstairs without making a noise that would wake the girls ; and as he always believed himself sufficiently cunning to have concealed his failing entirely from them, he was very scrupulous about disturbing them in this way. As he had not been out anywhere on the 112 THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. night before tliis particular morning, Nancy had not thought of seeing to his retirement to bed, and only found out, on rising in the morning, that he was still downstairs. Even that would not have disturbed her; but when she found the study door locked, and failed to obtain admission by knocking, as loud as she dared for fear of disturbing the house and attracting attention, she grew a little fidgety, and went off at once to take counsel with Marian. 'Til slip on my things, Nancy, and be down with you in a minute. He was not out anywhere last night." " No, my dear ; I thoft he was in bed as sound as churches when I went to bed, and I was terrible tired and rheumatic a bit, and glad enough to get between the sheets." With a vague terror that she could not shake off, Marian got up and dressed hur- riedly. The silence of the house when Nancy went away to see that her kettle boiled — she knew what Carlyon would want as soon as he waked — was very awful to the poor girl. The clock in the passage had never ticked off the steps of Time towards Eternity so loudly before. What was this stifling sensation she experienced, as if the THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. 113 house were a corpse and slie buried alive with it ? A fever seemed coursing through her veins, and made her hands tremble so that she could scarcely fasten her dress. She dashed some cold w^ater — how cool, how deliciously refreshing ! — over her face, and then flinging up the window looked the cold dull day in the face. Compared with the terrible stillness of the house, the dawn seemed positively sunny and joyous. There was health in the breeze that blew upon her burning forehead. She hastened down stairs, and knocked at the study door — once, twice, quietly. Then becoming nervous, and perhaps to break the terrible spell of silence, she knocked louder — and louder yet. No answer ; not a sound ; not even a breath to be heard in that locked chamber. The terrible truth for which the instinct of horror that smote her in her own room had been trying to prepare her, came upon her now vividly, and past all power of denial. She turned from the door. For a moment she and Nancy stood face to face. And in the young girl's eyes the old woman read the terrible truth. 114 THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DxVWN. " God help us, not that, I trust, in his mercy ! " Marian shook her head mournfully, and smote her two hands together as if in a sudden spasm of pain. What was to be done ? They stood pon- dering for a minute or two. They knew the worst, it seemed to them, and of that knowledge came that peculiar calmness and clear sight which, in the immediate and inevitable presence of danger and distress, seem to come to us as a mercy direct from Heaven. The same idea occurred to both at once, and each divined the other's thought. ''Yes! follow me," said Marian, and she hastened out at the window opening on the lawn, and passed round to the front of the house. The lawn was already alive with the feathered pensioners who came daily for the crumbs from the breakfast table. They startled away from their benefactress as she came hurriedly out. She did not notice them, or hear Rella's prattling, or heed the lovely beds of blossom already wooed by constant bees who were not to be frightened from their courtship by a dull day. As she passed round the corner of the THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. 115 house, Jock, tlie housedog, jumped at a bound to tlie end of his chain, and choked himself off-hand with dehght, at what he considered a visit in his special honour. But he got neither look nor caress. The swing of his tail was checked fitfully — his ears drooped — and after standing a minute the very picture of forlorn fidelity, he slank back to his barrel of straw, dragging his chain mournfully clinking after him. And now the old woman and Marian have reached the front windows — the windows of that closed study — ^ which reach almost to the ground. They are not hasped. In this quiet valley they never thought of barricading their houses ; Jock was sufficient guard against tramps and thieves, who were mere provincials — against casual tramps, not pro- fessional and scientific house-breakers, who have a large capital invested in the finished implements of their business, and who even have a balance at their bankers' at times. The windows were not hasped. The shutters were not barred, they were only pushed to ; one pair were a little apart — just a chink — through which the dayhght was doubtless streaming in. To what did that finger of dawn point? I 2 116 THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. The windows were not liasped. The shutters were not barred. Just now Marian was beating at that locked door as though she wished to force her way into the room. She would have done so, perhaps, had she possessed the strength. But the lock and the hinges were stout, and it would have needed a strong man to break open that door. But now, where she stood in front of the house, the windows, I repeat yet again, were not hasped and the shutters were not barred. Still she hesitated. When the terrible truth was shut up within the bolted door she burned to penetrate its mystery and know all. Now, when at the touch of a hand the window would open and the shutters fall back and show her all she but now desired to know, she was struck motionless. Nancy Yian raised the sash. The damps of morning made it cling to the sill for a moment, and when it rose it gave a subdued shriek that made Marian's blood curdle. Another brief breathing space of delay — they listened to learn whether they had disturbed Carlyon. There was no necessity for their doing so. Marian, with a nervous, hurried gesture. THE UNFOLDIXG OF A DULL DAWN. 117 puslied back the shutters. The pencil of light in the darkened room widened out, and the day shone in. The two women stept into the room, and stole to the sofa on which George Carlyon was asleep. He was sleeping very soundly indeed ; so soundly, that the clamour at the door could not rouse him ; so soundly, that the shriek of the raised sash could not disturb him ; so soundly, that no earthly sound shall ever again wake him. This Nancy learns the first. Instinctively she tays her hand on that of George Carlyon, and the hand she touches is marble. '' Aw, my dear, my dear," she sobs, as she turns round and catches Marian in her arms, "Aw, my dear, he have a-gone — he have a-gone. Aw, my dear, what shall us do ? God rest him, poor dear, for he have a-suffered, I know, and God help his poor childer ! " And then Nancy, loosing her hold of Marian, who stood motionless — stupified by the certainty of what she had dreaded — slid down beside her, kneeling by the sofa, and praying and weeping from a heart fall to bursting. 118 THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. By-and-bj Marian began to recoyer herself a little. Then she too fell on her knees beside her father's corpse and kissed the clay- cold forehead. And at that touch the fountain of tears was unsealed, and the grief which had been so speechless until then found an utterance in half-choked sobs and broken lamentings. So these two women knelt by the body, and in the meantime JSTature, which seems so heartless but is so tenderly thoughtful — for why should your sorrow or mine, your death or mine, blot the beauty of the universe for the rest of mankind ? — tenderly thoughtful ]N"ature worked out all her won- derful phenomena of daybreak. A step crushing on the gravel recalls J^ancy to the consciousness of her duties. She creeps noiselessly to the window and sees Martin, the lad who looks after the pony. Him she despatches at once to Mr. Cormack. It is useless to send for the doctor she knows : — it is not the first death she has seen, and she is perfectly aware that nothing can restore warmth to that icy hand she touched a little while since. As she returns to where Marian is kneel- ing, she catches sight of something on the THE UXFOLDIXG UF A DULL DAWN. 119 table wliicli sur]orises her into an excla- mation. Marian looks up, and following the direction of the old woman's eyes, she too sees something on the table that makes her turn cold. On the table is an empt}^ brandy bottle, a decanter with some sherry in it, and a wine glass. But the dregs of liquid in that glass are not the dregs of either sherry or brandy. A few drops of brown strange- smelling fluid have collected in the bottom. Two laro^e brown spots have fallen on the papers that lie on the table, and, as an artist would say, lead the eye to the place where lies an empty phial. And the label on that phial is '' Laudanum," and beneath that label is another, on which is printed in large, black, impressive letters the word POISOJST. The anodyne which Henry Cormack gave his friend and partner on the evening before this fatal dull dawn — . this gray sorrowful daybreak of which Marian now, at last, seems to learn the meaning — has brought to the ruined gambler the only real anodyne — Death. " I — I — did not know that he took this,^' whispers Marian to the old woman. '' No, my dear, nor he deduct. I never 120 THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. knowed him take it before, and I've a- knowed all as lie ever took, poor dear." " Then"— But Marian had not the heart, the courage, to put into words the awful, the overwhelm- ing conclusion which was thus forced upon her. Nancy understood the thought, and felt that, shocking though it was, it was the only solution of the mystery. Hitherto she had touched the corpse reverently ; dead George Carlyon was " the master " still, fondly as she regarded him. The loyal old domestic had wept and prayed by the body, had even clasped the cold hand, but this was no more than a servant might do. But now, when she discovered this truth, which made his daughter shrink and cower before it, it seemed to her that the dead man had need of friendship and sym- pathy. His misfortune — this last dark, .terrible deed, at which I will only hint — seemed to have brought him to a level, at which even her love might be a comfort and solace. She bent over, and kissed him on the cheek, murmuring — "My poor dear, you'm not accountable for't. 'Twas sorrow and drink brought you THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. 121 to it, wlien ye didn't scarce know what you was doing. My poor dear, God forgive you and us all." Marian took tlie poor old woman — the kindly, faithful, affectionate old creature, who had nursed her on her knee, and rocked her to sleep so often — by both hands, and kissed her on the lips ; and then once more the whole extent of her bereavement, and the appalling circumstances surrounding her father's death, came upon her, just as the widening dawn poured into that mournful chamber, and she fell on the old woman's neck and sobbed most piteously — heart- rendingly. What is this song that rings through the house ? What sweet, clear voice is this that reaches this scene of sorrow and anguish ? Tripping down the stairs, with one white hand on the balustrades, dressed in a soft muslin that flutters like wings about her as she descends the sombre staircase, w4th her golden hair catching every faintest notion of sunlight that is afloat on such a dull mornmg — here comes bonnie Alice from her quiet little bedroom, where she has been dreaming of her fairy prince, while her sister has been waking to such horror below. 122 THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. What is tlie song she sings, as she glides down the old staircase ? "Ay ojuelos verdes, Ay los mis ojuelos, Ay hagan Jos cielos Que de mi te acuerdes ! " It is the Spanish ballad which Captain Cor- mack was teaching her last night — the ballad which he taught her with such haj)py good humour after he had left her father with two things staring him in the face — ■ two things for which her father was chiefly indebted to him — ruin and poison. For Henry Cormack had just as much brought bankruptcy on his friend and partner, as he had placed in his hands in the little phial the tempting anodyne, which was so powerful to set grief and distress and perplexity to sleep for ever. How discordantly that sweet voice "smote on the ears of the two women in the pre- sence of the dead ! Marian glided from the room — met Alice at the foot of the stairs, and before the as- tonished girl could ask the meaning of her disturbed looks, placed her finger on her lips, and hushed the song. Then she led her into the pretty little parlour, opening on the lawn, THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. 123 Tvliere they liad spent so many liappy liours, and then and there she told her what had happened. What could Alice do but weep for the fond father who had so petted and caressed her ! She was wrung by a very agony of grief, which her delicate and yield- ing nature could not resist. Hysterical and fainting fits followed each other in rapid succession, and the poor girl was carried up-stairs, and put to bed, scarcely less insensible than George Carlyon himself, lying there on the sofa in the study, with the sun, now at last escaped from the im- prisoning clouds, coming round to look in at the windows in front. As the sun streams in through those windows presently, the figure of a man intercepts the rays suddenly, and its long- shadow flung across the floor seems to creep like a deadly serpent towards the couch where the body lies. It is Henry Cor mack. The first thing he does is to pour some wine into the glass with the brown sediment, rinse it out, and fling away the contents on the gravel outside the window. He wipes the glass carefully on his coat-tail, pours a little more sherry into it, and then takes up 124 THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. the pMal and puts it into his pocket. Then he leans over the body of his late partner, and a smile of contempt and triumph passes over his cold, cunning face. '' I've been harder pushed than you, and yet I never was such a fool as this," he murmurs to himself; '' I wonder he had pluck enough left in him even to do this act of cowardice." Then he turns away — leaves the room by the window he came in by, and enters the house in the regular manner, and asks to see Marian. The interview is a long one. He soon elicits from her that she and Nancy had seen the phial, and drawn the one inevitable conclusion. He then advises her to keep her suspicions a secret, and tells her what he has done to remove all trace of the wretched deed. For this forethought and prompti- tude I need hardly say she is deeply grateful. She is the more grateful because it is an action she would never have suspected him capable of. The next step is to send for Dr. Johns, in his twofold capacity of physician and coroner of the district. He comes in the course of the afternoon, and is very much shocked, THE UNFOLDING OF A DULL DAWN. 125 but for the sake of liis professional reputa- tion says that lie always feared this, and had warned Carlyon frequently. Then he makes arrangements for holding the' inquest, which he promises to contrive so as to spare the girls all the pain he can. In considera- tion of which he expects — and gets — a glass of hot gin and water from Nancy, who knows his weakness and the strength he admires. ( 126) CHAPTBE, VIII. " VISITATION OP GOD." " "1 rARN'lSr, Muster Rosewarne." M"". Quite well, I thank' ee. How be yeu?" ''Not much, to brag o'. And how be Muster Lusky ? " '' Oh, bra' aye, thank' ee." " Tur'ble sudden, this here, warn't it now?" " Ees sure. Out like a snuff. How's yer turmuts lookin ? " " Yairish. What are you for ? " '' Well, I waen't take any thin 'till after verdick, I thank' ee." " Haw ! haw ! That's a good 'un ! Did'ee hear 'un, Garge ? I was axin mun what he was for — meaning sudden death or nat'ral causes, and he thoft I was axin of 'un to take a crem o' liquor." VISITATION OF GOD. 127 " Haw ! haw ! haAV ! That's a good 'un anyhow ! " '' How's Messis Rimdle then ? " "Aw, her's com'ftable enough, I reckon." *' Es't a boy or a gal ? " '' Oh, tes a boy this time. And how be your good lady, Mester Chynow'th ? " '' Whoy, her's a down to Truro along wi' her friends for a cha'ange loike. You'm best coom and see a chap now he's a bagelor, I'm thinkin." " Oh, here com'th Doctor Johns at la'ast. I reckon we'll soon get un auver now." '' Who's voreman ? " '' Muster Lusky, in coose." " Ees sure. Muster Lusky he be vore- man." '* I reckon you chaps is most of 'ee for sudden death, eh?" asks Mr. Lusky of his brother Jurymen, to whom my readers are indebted for the above very edifying conver- sation. '' From what I can hear 'tis most like that, Muster Lusky," says Mr. Eosewarne. '' "Well, I'm agen it then," says Mr. Chy- noweth, " we've been having a many of them lately, and I'm for cha'ange. We shall have yon young feller as write them articles in the 128 VISITATION OF GOD. Gazette sayin' as we can't find newt else to say." '* Well, I reckon, ns need'n mind a poor lialf-starved chap like yon, a poor critter as AYrites for the papers, Mr. Chynow'th." '' Maybe yen don't go to ma' ark' t zo often as I do, or yen wadn't like for to be made Yun of down to Bell tap." '' There's a bra'ave deal in what yeu'm both a-sayin' of," says Mr. Lnsky, inter- rupting in the interests of peace. " Let's see if we ca'ant fix on summut new to plaze Muster Chynow'th then, Muster Lusky." '' I baint for trjin' new verdiks," inter- poses another Juryman, " we had a inques' down to Bodmin a while since, and that there chap he made a pretty face and laughed at us vine, I can tell ye. And what vor ? Why, on'y becos we axed Muster Gilbert, the Coroner, for to append to a verdic of ' Found drowned in a gravel-pit ' the explanation ' there being water in the place.' I'm agen any thin' new." " What's the other regular verdicks. Mus- ter Lusky ? you ought for to know, for you hev sat on more bodies nor most people." " Why there's ' Accidental death,' and VISITATION OF GOD. 129 * Justifiable homi'-some'ut '; and, let me see, why, ' Nat'ral causes,' and ' Fellow de- ceased,' and — and — there now, I'm certain sure there's another, but I ca'ant reca'al 'un. Oh ! * Visitation of God,' that's it ; and I'm thinking it's the very one as we'm a-looking for." " Ay, that liur be ! " is the general chorus. '' Mind ye, he's a clever chap is Muster Lusky," the jurymen whisper to each other. By this time the coroner, having had an interview with the girls, enters the kitchen where the jurymen are assembled, and leads them into the study to view the body. This ceremony over, the coroner and jury return to the kitchen, and the inquiry is opened in due form. Dr. Johns summonses Nancy Yian, who gives her evidence with tolerable firmness. The coroner explains to the jury that Miss Marian Carlyon can add nothing of any importance to the servant's testimony, and says that, although he will call her at once, if the Jury require it, he hopes they will think fit to spare her the very trying ordeal. The Jury, after a brief consultation, consent — not without reluctance, it must be ad- .1. K 130 VISITATION OF GOD. mitted — to waive the attendance of Miss Carlyon. *' Then, gentlemen, the only further evi- dence I have to place before you is medical evidence. As I wsls the late Mr. Carlyon's physician" — Johns is not a physician, but before using the term he has looked round the room to see that none of his brother practitioners are present — '^ I am the only person in a position to tell you with any degree of certainty what his health and habit of body was." Thereupon the doctor gives a description of George Carlyon's constitution, and the failing, which had, as the doctor hinted, led to his death, with a great deal of professional slang and lots of hard words, at which the Jury wagged their heads sagely, and said, '' Ah, what a 'stonishin' clever chap yon doctor be, to be sure." As his not very lucid explanation of the dead man's symptoms left the jury in a fog, of which they did not feel inclined to admit the existence, there was a slight pause. " If there is any explanation, gentlemen, which I can afford, I shall be most happy to do so," says the coroner. '^ Well, then, ax mun ! " says one juryman VISITATION OF GOD. 131 to liis neighbour, who has been carrying on a whispered controversy with him for the last minute or so. His neighbour thus ex- horted, looks at Johns, grins all across his face, and says, " Look'ee here, then, Muster Coroner, can 'ee tell I what's the defference atween ' nat'ral causes ' and ' vesitation of God.' I should loike to know before we beofin decidin' on the merits of the ca'ase." "Well," says the doctor, leaning back in his chair, and gazing at the ceiling in order to collect his soaring thoughts. '^ Well, the difference is this. You see, if anybody dies and you are called to hold an inquest, and there is no particular reason why he should not have died, why that is ' natural causes.' But if anybody dies, and it appears to you on the inquest that there is no reason in parti- cular why he should die, that is ' visitation of God.' Do you understand my explanation ?" '* Aw, yes ! " answers the querist. But he does not understand it nevertheless, and small blame to him, for if ever there were an instance of distinction vnthout a difference it was the doctor's explanation of the two verdicts. ''Then Tm thinkin', gen'l'men," says Mr. K 2 1;32 VISITATION OF GOD. Lusky, glancing rou-: 1 the table, *' after the evidence as we have a-heard we ca'ant do no better than say what we settled afore the inquest, eh ? " The other jurymen nod assent. '" Well, coroner, we gives it ' Visitation o' Grod' then, and I don't think as there's anything as we can add" — and he glances once more round the table. " Mightn't us say as we hope as precau- tions ull be taken for to guard against the sa'am in futur ; we used always to put that on in minin' accidents down west — and this here was quite as onexpected?" asks a farmer at the further end of the table, a recent arrival in the neighbourhood. But his suggestion is promptly negatived, and Dr. Johns receives the verdict,s and then pays the jurymen for their attendance. Whereupon they adjourn to the '' Cock and Spurs," at Merrimeet, where they promptly expend the small remuneration in glasses of gin and water, or cider. The doctor has an interview with Marian., before he leaves the house, and tells her what the inquest has resulted in. Then he mounts his pony, and goes off to see a patient in the neighbourhood, who is not in VISITATION OF GOD. 133 ill-liealth, but is very ^ id to see tlie doctor, and stand him some grog while he tells him all about Carlyon. In the evening the Coroner returns home in a very comfortable mood, and proceeds to make up his books — no very easy task under the circumstances, for he has to shut one eye in order to get a fair sight of the figures. First of all, he charges for a visit to the patient he called on, as I have just stated. Then he charges mileage, in his capacity as coroner, from his house to Polvrehan and back. Then he charges a guinea for medical evidence. He wishes he could charge two for a 2^of