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 JUGS 
 
 f JUL 2 ^ 
 
 JUL 2 
 NOV 2 
 
 L161-O-1096
 
 BIEDS OF PREY 
 
 % 3obd 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 "LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET" 
 
 ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON 
 WAED, LOCK, AND TYLER 
 
 WAEWICK HOUSE, PATERNOSTER ROW 
 
 1867 
 
 [All rights reserved]
 
 New Novel, by the Author of " Lady Audley's Secret," &c. 
 Fourth Edition, in Three Vols., now ready, 
 
 RUPERT GODWIN 
 
 • Incident follows incident with truly surprising rapidity, rich- 
 , and effect. . . . The interest never flags." — Morning Post. 
 
 The new Novel, reprinted from " Belgravia 
 In Two Vols., at all Libraries, 
 
 CIRCE 
 
 BY BABINGTON WHITE. 
 
 London : Ward, Lock, and Tyler, Paternoster Row. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 EOESOST AND SOK, GREAT XOKTHEKN PRIKTISG WORKS, 
 rAJICRAS ROAD, X.W.
 
 O" 
 
 ^ 
 
 'h 
 
 r 
 
 IS 
 
 4 
 
 ^^5 
 
 V. / 
 
 
 CHAELES KEADE, D.C.L. 
 
 AUTHOR OP "IT IS NEVER TOO LATE TO MEND," ETC. 
 
 
 THE WRITEE'S SINCEEE ESTEEM FOR HIS GENIUS.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 — M^K^- 
 
 FATAL FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 I. The House ix Bloomsbury 
 II. Philip Sheldon heads the " Lancet" . 
 
 III. Mr. and Mrs. Hallidat .... 
 
 IV. A PERPLEXING ILLNESS .... 
 
 V. The Letter from the " Alliance" Office 
 VI. Mr. Burkham's Uncertainties 
 
 13 
 
 43 
 
 72 
 
 82 
 96 
 
 THE TWO MACAIEES. 
 
 I. A golden Temple 123 
 
 II. The EASY Descent 139 
 
 in. "Heart BARE, Heart HUNGRY, VERY POOR' . 178 
 
 §ook tlje ^^xx'ii. 
 HEAPING UP EICHES. 
 
 I. A fortunate :Marriage 215 
 
 II. Charlotte 235 
 
 III. George Sheldon's Prospects .... 274 
 
 IV. Diana finds a new Home 287 
 
 V. At the Lawn 306
 
 FATAL FRIENDSHIP.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE HOUSE IN BLOOMSBURY. 
 
 There are some lioiises whereof the outward 
 aspect is sealed with the seal of respectability — 
 houses which inspire confidence in the minds of 
 the most sceptical of butchers and bakers — houses 
 at whose area-gates the tradesman delivers his 
 goods undoubtingly, and from whose spotless 
 door-steps the vagabond children of the neigh- 
 bourhood recoil as from a slu'ine too sacred for 
 their gambols. 
 
 Such a house made its presence obvious, some 
 years ago, in one of the smaller streets of that 
 Avest-centi'al region which lies between Holborn 
 and St. Pancras Church. It is perhaps the 
 nature of ultra-respectability to be disagreeably 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 Z BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 conspicuous. The unsullied brightness of No. 14 
 Fitzgeorge-street wns a standing reproach to 
 every other house in the dingy thoroughfare. 
 That one spot of cleanliness made the surrounding 
 dirt cruelly palpable. The muslin curtains in the 
 parlour windows of No. 15 would not have ap- 
 peared of such a smoky yellow if the curtains of 
 No. 14 had not been of such a pharisaical white- 
 ness. Mrs. Magson, at No. 13, was a humble 
 letter of lodgings, always more or less in arrear 
 with the demands of quarter-day ; and it seemed 
 a hard thing that her door-steps, Avhereon were 
 expended much labour and hearthstone — not to 
 mention house - flannel, which was in itself no 
 unimportant item in the annual expenses — should 
 be always thrown in the shade by the surpassing 
 purity of the steps before No. 14. 
 
 Not satisfied with being the very pink and 
 pattern of respectability, the objectionable house 
 even aspired to a kind of prettiness. It was as 
 bright, and pleasant, and rural of as2:)ect as any 
 house within earshot of the roar and rattle of 
 Holborn can be. There were flowers in the
 
 THE HOUSE IN BLOOMSBURY. 6 
 
 windows ; gaudy scarlet geraniums, which seemed 
 to enjoy an immunity from all the ills to which 
 geraniums are subject, so impossible was it to 
 discover a faded leaf amongst their greenness, or 
 the presence of blight amidst their wealth of 
 blossom. There were birdcages within the sha- 
 dow of the muslin curtains, and the colouring of 
 the newly-pointed brickwork was agreeably re- 
 lieved by the vivid green of Venetian blinds. 
 The freshly-varnished street-door bore a brass- 
 plate, on which to look was to be dazzled; and 
 the effect produced by this combination of white 
 door-step, scarlet geranium, green blind, and 
 brass-plate was obtrusively brilliant. 
 
 Those Avho had been so privileged as to behold the 
 interior of the house in Fitzgeorge-street brought 
 away with them a sense of admiration that was 
 the next thing to envy. The pink and pattern of 
 propriety within, as it was the pink and pattern of 
 propriety without, it excited in every breast alike 
 a wondering awe, as of a habitation tenanted by 
 some mysterious being, infinitely superior to the 
 common order of householders.
 
 4 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 The inscription on the brass-plate informed 
 tlie neighbourhood that No. 14 was occupied by 
 Mr. Sheldon, surgeon-dentist; and the dwellers 
 in Fitzgeorge-street amused themselves in their 
 leisure hours by speculative discussions upon the 
 character and pursuits, belongings and surround- 
 ings of this gentleman. 
 
 Of course he was eminently respectable. On 
 that question no Fitzgeorgian had ever hazarded 
 a doubt. A householder with such a door-step 
 and such muslin curtains could not be other than 
 the most correct of mankind ; for, if there is any 
 external evidence by which a dissolute life or an 
 ill-regulated mind will infallibly betray itself, that 
 evidence is to be found in the yellowness and 
 limpness of muslin window-curtains. The eyes 
 are the windows of the soul, says the poet ; but 
 if a man's eyes are not open to your inspection, 
 the windows of his house will help you to discover 
 his character as an individual, and his solidity as 
 a citizen. At least such was the opinion cherished 
 in Fitzgeorge-street, Russell-square. 
 
 The person and habits of Mr. Sheldon were in
 
 THE HOUSE IN BLOOMSBURY. O 
 
 perfect harmony with the aspect of the house. 
 Tlie unsuUied snow of the door-step reproduced 
 itself in the unsullied snow of his shirt-front ; the 
 brilliancy of the brass-plate Avas reflected in the 
 glittering brightness of his gold-studs ; the varnish 
 on the door was equalled by the lustrous surface 
 of his black-satin waistco at ; the careful pointing 
 of the brickwork was in a manner imitated by y 
 the perfect order of his polished finger-nails and 
 the irreproachable neatness of his hair and 
 whiskers. 
 
 No dentist or medical practitioner of any de- 
 nomination had inhabited the house in Fitzgeorge- 
 street before the coming of Philip Sheldon. The 
 house had been unoccuj^ied for upwards of a year, 
 and was in the last stage of shabbiness and decay, 
 when the bills disappeared all at once from the 
 windows, and busy painters and bricklayers set their 
 ladders against the dingy brickwork. Mr. Sheldon 
 took the house on a long lease, and spent two or 
 three hundred pounds in the embellishment of it. 
 Upon the completion of all repairs and decora- 
 tions, two great wagon-loads of furniture, dis-
 
 6 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 tlngiiislied by that old-fasliioiicd clumsiness which 
 is eminently suggestive of res2:)ectability, arrived 
 from the Euston-square Terminus, v^hile a yomig 
 man of meditative aspect might have been seen on 
 his knees, now in one empty chamber, anon in 
 another, performing some species of indoor sur- 
 veying, with a three-foot rule, a loose little oblong 
 memorandum-book, and the merest stump of a 
 square lead-pencil. This was an emissary from 
 the carpet warehouse ; and before nightfall it was 
 
 / known to more than one inhabitant of Fitzgeorge- 
 street that the stranger was going to lay down 
 new carpets. The new-comer was evidently of an 
 active and energetic temperament, for within 
 three days of his arrival the brass-plate on his 
 street-door announced his profession, while a neat 
 little glass-case, on a level with the eye of the 
 passing pedestrian, exhibited specimens of his skill 
 in mechanical dentistry, and afforded instruction 
 
 ^ and amusement to the boys of the neighbour- 
 hood, who criticised the glistening white teeth 
 and impossibly red gums, displayed behind the 
 plate-glass, with a like vigour and freedom of
 
 THE HOUSE IN BLOOMSBURY. 7 
 
 lano;uao:e. Nor did Mr. Sheldon's announcement 
 of liis profession confine itself to tlie brass-plate 
 and tlie glass-case. A sliabby-genteel young man 
 pervaded the neighbourhood for some days after 
 the surgeon-dentist's advent, knocking a post- 
 man's knock, which only lacked the galvanic 
 sharpness of the professional touch, and deliver- 
 ing neatly-printed circulars to the effect that Mr. 
 Sheldon, surgeon-dentist, of 14 Fitzgeorge-street, 
 had invented some novel method of adjusting 
 false teeth, incomparably superior to any existing ^'^ 
 method, and that he had, further, patented an 
 improvement on nature in the way of coral gums, 
 the name whereof was an unpronounceable com- 
 pound of Greek and Latin, calculated to awaken 
 an awful reverence in the unprofessional and un- 
 classical mind. 
 
 The Fitzgeorgians shook their heads with pro- ^ 
 phetic solemnity as they read these circulars. 
 Struggling householders, who find it a hard task 
 to keep the two ends wliich never have met and 
 never will meet from growing farther and farther 
 asunder every year, are apt to derive a dreary
 
 y 
 
 O BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 kind of satisfaction from the contemjDlation of 
 another man's impending ruin. Fitzgeorge-street 
 and its neighbourhood had existed without the 
 sei-vices of a dentist, but it was very doubtful that 
 a dentist would be able to exist on the custom to 
 be obtained in Fitzgeorge-street. Mr. Sheldon 
 may, perhaps, have pitched his tent under tlie im- 
 pression that wherever there was mankind, there 
 was likely to be toothache, and that the healer of 
 an ill so common to frail humanity could scarcely 
 fail to earn his bread, let him establish his abode 
 of horror where he might. For some time after 
 his arrival people watched him and wondered 
 about him, and regarded him a little suspiciously, 
 in spite of the substantial clumsiness of his fm-ni- 
 ture and the unwinking brightness of his windows. 
 His neighbours asked one another how long all 
 that outward semblance of prosperity would last ; 
 and there was sinister meaning in the question. 
 
 The Fitzgeorgians were not a little surprised, 
 and were perhaps just a little disapj)ointed, on 
 finding that the newly -established dentist did 
 manage to liokl his ground somehow or other.
 
 THE HOUSE IN BLOOMSBURY. 9" 
 
 and that the muslin curtains were renewed again 
 and again in all their spotless purity; that the 
 supplies of rotten-stone and oil, hearthstone and 
 house-flannel were unfailing as a perennial spring ; 
 and that the unsullied snow of Mr. Sheldon's shirt- 
 fronts retained its primeval whiteness. Wonder 
 and suspicion gave place to a half-envious respect. 
 Whether much custom came to the dentist no one 
 could decide. There is no trade or profession in 
 which the struggling man will not receive some 
 faint show of encouragement. Pedestrians of 
 agonised aspect, with handkerchiefs held con- 
 ^Tilsivelj before their mouths, were seen to rush 
 wildly towards the dentist's door, then pause for 
 a moment, stricken by a sudden terror, and anon 
 feebly pull the handle of an inflexible bell. Cabs 
 had been heard to approach that fatal door — gene- 
 rally on wet days ; for there seems to be a kind of 
 fitness in the choice of damp and dismal weather 
 for the extraction of teeth. Elderly ladies and 
 gentlemen had been known to come many times 
 to the Fitzo^eorojian mansion. There was a legend 
 of an old ladv who had been seen to arri^-e in a
 
 10 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 brougham, especially weird and nutcrackery of 
 aspect, and to depart lialf-an-hour afterwai'ds a 
 beautified and renovated creature. One half of 
 the Fitzf]reoro:ians declared that Mr. Sheldon had 
 established a very nice little practice, and was 
 saving money ; while the other half were still de- 
 spondent, and opined that the dentist had private 
 property, and was eating up his little capital. It 
 transpired in com'se of time that Mr. Sheldon had 
 left his native town of Little Barlingford, in York- 
 shire, where his father and grandfather had been 
 surgeon-dentists before him, to establish himself 
 in London. He had disposed advantageously of 
 an excellent practice, and had transferred his 
 household goods — tlie ponderous chairs and tables, 
 the wood Avhereof had deepened and mellowed in 
 tint under the indefatigable hand of his grand- 
 mother — to the metropolis, speculating on the 
 chance that his talents and aj)pearance, address 
 and industry, could scarcely fail to achieve a posi- 
 tion. It was further known that he had a brother, 
 an attorney in Gray's Inn, who visited him very 
 frequently ; that he had few other friends or ac-
 
 THE HOUSE IN BLOOMSBURY. 11 
 
 quaintance; that lie was a shining example of 
 steadiness and sobriety ; that he was on the sun- 
 nier side of thirty, a bachelor, and very good-look- 
 ing; and that his household was comprised of a 
 grim-visaged active old woman imjDorted from 
 Barlingford, a girl who ran errands, and a boy 
 who opened the door, attended to the consulting- 
 room, and did some mysterious work at odd times 
 with a file and sundiy queer lumps of plaster-of- 
 paris, beeswax, and bone, in a dark little shed 
 abutting on the yard at the back of the house. This 
 much had the inhabitants of Fitzgeorge-street dis- 
 covered respecting Mr. Sheldon when he had been 
 amongst them four years ; but they had discovered 
 no more. He had made no local acquaintances, 
 nor had he sought to make any. Those of his 
 neighbours who had seen the interior of his house 
 had entered it as patients. They left it as much 
 pleased with Mr. Sheldon as one can be with a 
 man at whose hands one has just undergone mar- 
 tjT-dom, and circulated a very flattering report of 
 the dentist's agreeable manners and delicate white 
 handkerchief, fragrant with the odour of eau-de-
 
 12 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 cologne. For the rest, Philip Sheldon lived his 
 own life, and dreamed his own dreams. His oj)- 
 posite neighbours, who watched him on sultry 
 summer evenings as he lounged near an open win- 
 dow smoking his cigar, had no more knowledge of 
 his thousfhts and fancies than thev mioht have had 
 if he had been a Calmuck Tartar or an Abyssinian 
 chief.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 PHILIP SHELDON READS THE '^ LANCET." 
 
 FiTZGEORGE -STREET was chill aiicl dreary of aspect, 
 under a gray March sky, when Mr. Sheldon re- 
 turned to it after a week's absence from London. 
 He had been to Little Barlingford, and had spent 
 liis brief holiday among old friends and acquaint- 
 ance. Tlie weather had not been in favour of 
 that di'i\dng hither and thither in dog-carts, or 
 riding rakish horses long distances to beat up 
 old companions, which is accounted pleasure on 
 such occasions. The blustrous winds of an im- 
 usually bitter March had buffeted Mr. Sheldon 
 in the streets of his native town, and had almost 
 blown him off the door-steps of his kindred. 
 So it is scarcely sti'ange if he returned to town 
 lookino; none the better for his excursion. He 
 looked considerablv the worse for his week's ab-
 
 14 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 scncc, the old Yorksliirc-woman said, as slio 
 -waited upon him Avhile he ate a chop and drank 
 two large cups of very strong tea. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon made short work of this im- 
 promptu meal. He seemed anxious to put an 
 end to his housekeeper's affectionate interest in 
 himself and his healthj and to get her out of 
 the room. She had nursed him nearly thirty 
 yeai's before, and the recollection that she had 
 been very familiar with him when he was a 
 handsome black-eyed baby, with a tendency to 
 become suddenly stiff of body and crimson of 
 visage without any obvious provocation, inclined 
 her to take occasional liberties now. She watched 
 him furtively as he sat in a big high-backed 
 arm-chair staring moodily at the struggling fire, 
 and would fain have questioned him a little about 
 Bai'lingford and Barlingford people. 
 
 But Philip Sheldon was not a man with whom 
 even a superannuated nurse can venture to take 
 many liberties. He was a good master, paid 
 his servants their wages with unfailing punctu- 
 ality, and gave very little trouble. But he was
 
 PHILIP SHELDON READS THE " LANCET." 15 
 
 the last person in the world upon whom a gar- 
 rulous woman could venture to inflict her ram- 
 bling discourse ; as Nancy Woolper — by courtesy^ 
 Mrs. Woolper — was fain to confess to her next- 
 door neighbour, Mrs. Magson, when her master 
 was the subject of an afternoon gossip. The 
 heads of a household may inhabit a neighbour- 
 hood for years without becoming acquainted even 
 with the outward aspect of their neighbours; 
 but in the lordly servants' halls of the West, or 
 the modest kitchens of Bloomsbury, there will 
 be interchange of civilities and friendly " drop- 
 pings in" to tea or supper, let the master of the 
 house be never so uno-reo^arious a creature. 
 
 " You can take the tea-things, IN'ancy," Mr. 
 Sheldon said presently, arousing himself sud- 
 denly from that sombre re^'erie in which he had 
 been absorbed for the last ten minutes ; "I am 
 going to be very busy to-night, and I expect 
 Mr. Georo;e in the course of the evenino;. Mind 
 I am not at home to anybody but him." 
 
 The old woman arrano;ed the tea-thino:s on 
 her tray, but still kept a furtive watch on her
 
 16 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 master, who sat with his liead a httle bent, and 
 liis bright black eyes fixed on the fire, with that 
 intensity of gaze peculiar to eyes w^hich see some- 
 thing far away from the object they seem to 
 contemplate. She was in the habit of watching 
 Mr. Sheldon rather curiously at all times, for 
 she had never quite got over a difficulty in real- 
 ising the fiict that the black-eyed baby with 
 whom she had been so intimate could have de- 
 veloped into this self-contained inflexible young 
 man, Avhose thoughts were so very far away 
 from her. To-night she watched him more in- 
 tently than she Avas accustomed to do, for to- 
 nio-ht there was some change in his face which 
 she was trying, in a dim way, to account for. 
 
 He looked up from the fire suddenly, and 
 found her eyes fixed upon him. It may be that 
 he had been disturbed by a semi-consciousness 
 -of that curious gaze, for he looked at her angrily 
 — ^' What are you staring at, Nancy ?" 
 
 It was not the first time he had encountered 
 her watchful eyes and asked the same impatient 
 question. But Mrs, Woolper possessed that north-
 
 PHILIP SHELDON EEADS THE " LANCET." 17 
 
 country quiclviiess of intellect which is generally 
 equal to an emergency, and was always ready 
 with some question or suggestion which went to 
 prove that she had just fixed her eyes on her 
 master, inspired by some anxiety about his in- 
 terests. 
 
 '^ I was just a-thinking, sh'/' she said, meet- 
 ing his stern glance unflinchingly with her little 
 sharp gray eyes, " I was just a-thinking — ^you 
 said not at home to anyone^ except Mr. George. 
 If it should be a person in a cab wanting their 
 teeth out sudden — and if anything could make 
 toothache more general in this neighbourhood it 
 would be these March winds — if it should be a 
 patient, sir, in a cab — " 
 
 The dentist interrupted her with a short bitter 
 lauo;h. 
 
 " Neither March winds nor April showers 
 are likely to bring me patients, Nancy, on foot 
 or in cabs, and you ought to know it. If it's 
 a patient, ask him in, by all means, and give 
 him last Saturday week's Times to read, while 
 I rub the rust off my forceps. There, that will 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 BIRDS OF rilEY. 
 
 do ; take your tray — or, stop ; I've some news 
 to tell you." He rose, and stood with liis back 
 to tlie fire and liis eyes bent upon the liearth- 
 rupj, while Mrs. Woolpcr waited by the table, 
 with the tray packed ready for removal. Her 
 master kept her waiting so for some minutes, 
 and then turned his face half away from her, 
 and contemplated himself absently in the glass 
 while he spoke. 
 
 ^^ You remember Mrs. Halliday?" he asked. 
 
 ^'I should think I did, sir; Miss Georgina 
 Cradock that was — Miss Georgy they called her ; 
 your first sweetheart. And how she could ever 
 marry that big awkward Halliday is more than 
 I can make out. Poor fondy ! I suppose she 
 was took with those great round blue eyes and 
 red whiskers of his." 
 
 ^^ Her mother and father were ^ took' by his 
 comfortable farmhouse, and well-stocked farm, 
 Nancy," answered Mr. Sheldon, still contemplat- 
 ing himself in the glass. '^ Georgy had very 
 little to do with it. She is one of those women 
 who let other people think for them. However,
 
 PHILIP SHELDON READS THE ^' LANCET." 19 
 
 Tom is an excellent fellow, and Georgy was a 
 Incky girl to catcli such a husband. Any little 
 flirtation there may have been between her and 
 me was over and done with long before she mar- 
 ried Tom. It never was more than a flirtation ; 
 and I've flirted with a good many Barlingford 
 girls in my time, as you know, Nancy." 
 
 It was not often that Mr. Sheldon conde- 
 scended to be so communicative to his house- 
 keeper. The old Avoman nodded and chuckled, 
 delighted by her master's unwonted friendliness. 
 
 '' I drove over to Hyley while I was at home, 
 Nancy," continued the dentist — he called Barling- 
 ford home still, though he had broken most of the 
 links that had bound him to it, — " and dined with 
 the Hallidays. Georgy is as pretty as ever, and 
 she and Tom get on capitally." 
 
 "Any children, sir?" 
 
 " One girl," answered Mr. Sheldon carelessly, , 
 " She's at school in Scarborough, and I didn't see 
 her ; but I hear she's a fine bouncing lass. I had 
 a very pleasant day with the Hallidays. Tom has 
 sold his farm ; that part of the world doesn't suit
 
 20 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 liira, it seems — too cold and bleak for liim. He's 
 one of those biir burlv-lookino; men who seem as if 
 they could knock you down with a little finger, 
 and who shiver at every puff of wind. I don't 
 think he'll make old bones, Nancy. But that's 
 neither here nor there. I daresay he's good for 
 another ten years ; or I'm sure I hope so, on 
 Georgy's account." 
 
 "It was right down soft of him to sell Hyley 
 Farm, though," said Nancy reflectively; "I've 
 heard tell as it's the best land for forty mile 
 round Barlingford. But he got a rare good price 
 for it, I'll lay." 
 
 "0, yes ; he sold the proj)erty uncommonly 
 well, he tells me. You know if a north-country- 
 man gets the chance of making a profit, he never 
 lets it slip through his fingers." 
 
 Mrs. Woolper received this compliment to her 
 countrymen with a gratified grin, and Mr. Shel- 
 don went on talking, still looking at the reflection 
 of his handsome face in the glass, and pulling his 
 whiskers meditatively. 
 
 ^'Now as Tom was made for a farmer and
 
 PHILIP SHELDON READS THE " LANCET." 21 
 
 nothing but a farmer, lie must find land some- 
 where in a climate that does suit him ; so his 
 friends have advised him to try a place in Devon- 
 shire or Cornwall, where he may train his myrtles 
 and roses over his roof, and grow green peas for 
 the London markets as late as November. There 
 are such places to be had if he bides his time, and 
 he's coming to town next week to look about him. 
 So, as Georgy and he would be about as capable of 
 taking care of themselves in London as a couple 
 of children, I have recommended them to take up 
 their quarters here. They'll have their lodgings 
 for nothing, and we shall chum together, on the 
 Yorkshire system ; for of course I can't afford to 
 keep a couple of visitors for a month at a stretch. 
 Do you tliink you shall be able to manage for us, 
 Nancy?" 
 
 " 0, yes, I'll manage well enough. I'm not 
 one of yom' lazy London lasses that take half an 
 hour to wipe a tea-cup. I'll manage easy enough. 
 Mr. and Mrs. Halliday will be having your room, 
 I'll lay." 
 
 " Yes ; give them the best room, by all means.
 
 22 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 I can sleep anywhere. And now go downstairs 
 and tliink it over, Nancy. I mnst get to my 
 ^^■ork. I've sonic letters that must be written to- 
 night." 
 
 Mrs. Woolper departed with her tray, gratified 
 by her master's unwonted fomiliarity, and not ill 
 pleased by the thought of visitors. They would 
 cause a great deal of trouble, certainly ; but the 
 monotony of Nancy's easy life had grown so op- 
 pressive to her as to render the idea of any variety 
 2)leasing. And then there would be the pleasure 
 of making that iniquitous creature the London lass 
 bestir herself, and there would be furthermore the 
 advantage of certain little perquisites which a clever 
 manager always secures to herself in a house where 
 there is much eatino; and drinkinfr. Mr. Sheldon 
 himself had lived like a modern anchorite for the 
 last four years ; and Mrs. Woolper, who was prett}- 
 well acquainted with the state of his finances, had 
 pinched and contrived for his benefit, or rather for 
 the benefit of the black-eyed baby she had nursed 
 nine-and-twenty years before. For his sake she 
 had been careful and honest, wdllino: to forego all
 
 PHILIP SHELDON READS THE " LANCET." 23 
 
 the small profits to wliicli slie held herself en- 
 titled; but if well-to-do people were going to 
 share her master's expenses, there would be no 
 longer need for such scrupulous integrity ; and if 
 things were rightly managed, Thomas Halliday 
 might be made to bear the entire cost of the 
 household during his month's visit on the York- 
 shire system. 
 
 While Mrs. Woolper meditated upon her do- 
 mestic duties, the master of the domicile aban- 
 doned himself to reflections which were ap- 
 parently of a very serious character. He brought 
 a leathern desk from a side-table, unlocked it, 
 and took out a quire of paper; but he made no 
 further advance towards the writing of those 
 letters on account of which he had dismissed 
 his housekeeper. He sat, with his elbows on 
 the table, nibbling the end of a wooden pen- 
 holder, and staring at the opposite wall. His 
 face looked pale and haggard in the light of the 
 gas, and the eyes, fixed in that vacant stare, had 
 a feverish brightness. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon was a handsome man — eminently
 
 24 BIRDS OF PEEY. 
 
 handsome, according to the popular notion of 
 masculine beauty ; and if the popular ideal has 
 been a little vulgarised by the waxen gentlemen 
 on whose finely-moulded foreheads the wig-maker 
 is wont to display the specimens of his art, that 
 is no discredit to Mr. Sheldon. His features were 
 regular ; the nose a handsome aquiline ; the mouth 
 firm and well modelled ; the chin and jaw rather 
 heavier than in the Avaxen ideal of the hair- 
 dresser; the forehead very prominent in the re- 
 gion of the perceptives, but obviously wanting 
 in the higher faculties. Tlie eye of the phreno- 
 logist, unaided by his fingers, must have failed 
 to discover the secrets of Mr. Sheldon's organisa- 
 tion ; for one of the dentist's strong ])oints was 
 his hair, which was very luxuriant, and which he 
 wore in artfully-arranged masses that passed for 
 curls, but which owed their undulating grace 
 rather to a skilful manipulation than to any 
 natural tendency. It has been said that the 
 rulers of the world are straight-haired men ; and 
 ]\Ir. Sheldon might have been a Napoleon III. 
 so far as regards this special attribute. His hair
 
 LANCET.'* 25 
 
 was of a dense black, and liis whiskers of the 
 same sombre hue. These carefully-arranged whis- 
 kers were another of the dentist's strong points ; 
 and the thii'd strong point was his teeth, the per- 
 fection whereof w^as a fine advertisement when 
 considered in a professional light. The teeth were 
 rather too large and square for a painter's or a 
 poet's notion of beauty, and were apt to suggest 
 ^1 unpleasant image of some sleek brindled crea- 
 ture crunching human bones in an Indian jungle. 
 But they were handsome teeth notwithstanding, 
 and their flashing whiteness made an effective 
 contrast to the clear sallow tint of the dentist's 
 complexion. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon was a man of industrious habits, 
 — fond indeed of work, and distinguished by a 
 persistent activity in the carrying out of any 
 laboiu* he had planned for himself. He was not 
 prone to the indulgence of idle reveries or agree- 
 able day-dreams. Thought with him was labour; 
 it was the "thinking out" of future work to be 
 done, and it was an operation as precise and 
 mathematical as the actual labour that resulted
 
 26 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 therefrom. Tlic contents of his brain were as 
 well kept as a careful trader's ledger. He had 
 his thoughts docketed and indexed, and rarely 
 wasted the smallest j^ortion of his time in search- 
 ino- for an idea. To-niMit he satthinkino; until 
 he was interrupted by a loud double-knock, which 
 was evidently familiar to him, for he muttered 
 " George !" pushed aside his desk, and took up 
 his stand npon the hearthrug, ready to receive- 
 the expected visitor. 
 
 There was the sound of a man's voice below, 
 — very like Philip Sheldon's own voice ; then a 
 quick firm tread on the stairs ; and then the door 
 was opened, and a man, who himself was very 
 like Philip Sheldon, came into the room. This 
 was the dentist's brother George, two years his 
 junior. The likeness between the two men was 
 in no w^ay marvellous, but it was nevertheless 
 very obvious. You could scarcely have mistaken 
 one man for the other, but you could hardly have 
 failed to perceive that the two men were brothers. 
 They resembled each other more closely in form 
 than in face. They were of the same height —
 
 27 
 
 both tall and strongly bnilt. Both had black eyes 
 with a hard brightness in them, black wliiskers, 
 black hair, sinewy hands with prominent knuckles, 
 square finger-tojos, and bony wrists. Each man 
 seemed the personification of savage health and 
 vigour, smoothed and shapened in accordance with 
 the prejudices of civilised life. Looking at these 
 two men for the first time, you might approve or 
 disapprove their appearance; they might impress 
 you favourably or unfavom'ably ; but you could 
 scarcely fail to be reminded vaguely of strong, 
 bright-eyed, savage creatures, beautiful and grace- 
 ful after their kind, but dangerous and fatal to 
 man. 
 
 The brothers greeted each other with a friendly 
 nod. They were a great deal too practical to in- 
 dulge in any sentimental display of fraternal af- 
 fection. They liked each other very well, and 
 were useful to each other, and took their pleasure 
 together on those rare occasions when they were 
 weak enough to waste time upon unprofitable 
 pleasure ; but neither of them would have com- 
 prehended the possibility of anytliing beyond this.
 
 28 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 " Well, old fellow," said George, " I'm glad 
 you're back again. You're looking rather seedy, 
 though. I suppose you knocked about a good deal 
 down there?" 
 
 " I had a night or two of it with Halliday 
 :and the old set. He's going it rather fast." 
 
 " Humph !" muttered Mr. Sheldon the younger; 
 " it's a pity he doesn't go it a little faster, and go 
 off the hooks altogether, so that you might marry 
 Georgy." 
 
 ^' How do I know that Georgy would have me, 
 if he did leave her a widow?" asked PhiHp 
 dubiously. 
 
 '^ 0, she'd have you fast enough. She used 
 to be very sweet upon you before she married 
 Tom ; and even if she has forgotten all that, she'd 
 have you if you asked her. She'd be afraid to 
 say no. She was always more or less afraid of 
 you, you know, Phil." 
 
 " I don't know about that. She was a nice 
 little thing enough ; but she knew how to drop a 
 poor sweetheart and take up with a rich one, in 
 spite of her simplicity."
 
 THILIP SHELDON READS THE " LANCET." 29 
 
 ^' 0, that was tlie old parties' doing. Georgy 
 would have jumped into a caldron of boiling oil 
 if her mother and father had told her she must do 
 it. Don't you remember when we were children 
 together how afraid she used to be of spoiling her 
 frocks ? I don't believe she married Tom Halli- 
 day of her own free will, any more than she stood ^ 
 in the corner of her own free will after she'd torn 
 her frock, as I've seen her stand twenty times. 
 She stood in the corner because they told her she 
 must ; and she married Tom for the same reason, 
 and I don't suppose she's been particularly happy 
 with him." 
 
 " Well, that's her look-out," answered Philip 
 gloomily ; "I know I want a rich w^ife badly 
 enough. Tilings are about as bad with me as they 
 can be." 
 
 " I suppose they are rather piscatorial. Tho 
 elderly dowagers don't come up to time, eh? Very 
 few orders for the complete set at ten-pound-ten ?" 
 
 " I took about seventy pounds last year," said 
 the dentist, " and my expenses are something like 
 five pounds a week. I've been making up the-
 
 30 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 deficiency out of the money I got for the Barling- 
 ford business, thinking I should be able to stand 
 out and make a connection; but the connection 
 gets more disconnected every year. I suppose 
 people came to me at first for the novelty of the 
 thing, for I had a sprinkling of decent patients 
 for the first twelve months, or so. But now I 
 might as well throw my money into the gutter 
 as spend it on circulars or advertisements." 
 
 " And a young woman with twenty thousand 
 pounds and something amiss with her jaw hasn't 
 turned up yet?" 
 
 ^' No, nor an old woman either. I wouldn't 
 ' stick at the age, if the money was all right," an- 
 swered Mr. Sheldon bitterly. 
 
 Tlie younger brother shrugged his shoulders 
 and plunged his hands into his trousers-pockets 
 with a gesture of serio-comic desj)air. He was 
 the livelier of the two, and affected a slanginess of 
 dress and talk and manner, a certain " horsey" 
 style, very different from his elder brother's 
 studied respectability of costume and bearing. 
 His clothes were of a loose sporting cut, and al-
 
 PHILIP SHELDON EEADS THE " LANCET." 31 
 
 ways odorous with stale tobacco. He wore a 
 <^ood deal of finery in tlie shape of studs and pins 
 and dangling lockets and fusee-boxes ; his whis- 
 kers were more obtrusive than his brother's, and 
 he wore a moustache in addition — a thick ragged 
 black moustache, which would have become a 
 guerilla chieftain rather than a dweller amidst the 
 quiet courts and squares of Gray's Inn. His 
 position as a lawyer was not much better than that 
 of Philip as a dentist ; but he had his own plans 
 for making a fortune, and hoped to win for him- 
 self a larger fortune than is often made in the law. 
 He was a hunter of genealogies, a grubber-up of 
 forgotten facts, a joiner of broken links, a kind of 
 legal resurrectionist, a digger in the dust and 
 ashes of the past : and he expected in due time 
 to dig up a treasm'e rich enough to reward the 
 labour and patience of half a lifetime. 
 
 " I can afford to wait till I'm forty for my 
 good luck," he said to his brother sometimes in 
 moments of expansion, " and then I shall have ten 
 years in which to enjoy myself, and twenty more 
 in wdiich I shall have life enouo-h left to eat ofood
 
 32 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 dinners and drink good wine, and grumble about 
 the degeneracy of things in general, after the 
 manner of elderly human nature." 
 
 The men stood one on each side of the hearth : 
 George looking at his brother, Philip looking 
 down at the fire, with his eyes shaded by their 
 thick black lashes. The fire had become dull and 
 hollow. George bent down presently and stirred 
 the coals impatiently. 
 
 " If there's one thing I hate more than another 
 — and I hate a good many things — it's a bad fire," 
 he said. " How's Barlingford — lively as ever, I 
 suppose ?" 
 
 ^^Not much livelier than it was when we left 
 it. Things have gone amiss with me in London, 
 and I've been more than once sorely tempted to 
 make an end of my difficulties with a razor or a 
 few drops of prussic acid ; but when I saw the 
 duU gray streets and the square gray houses, and 
 the empty market-place, and the Baptist chapel, 
 and the Unitarian chapel, and the big stony church, 
 and heard the dreary bells ding-donging for even- 
 ing service, I wondered how I could ever have
 
 PHILIP SHELDON READS THE '' LANCET." 33 
 
 existed a week in sucli a place. I had rather sweep 
 a crossing in London than occupy the best house 
 in Barhngford, and I told Tom Halliday so." 
 
 ^' And Tom is coming to London I understand 
 by yom- letter." 
 
 " Yes, he has sold Hyley, and wants to find a 
 place in the west of England. The north doesn't 
 suit his chest. He and Georgy are coming up to 
 town for a few weeks, so I've asked them to stay 
 here. I may as well make some use of the house, 
 for it's very little good in a professional sense." 
 
 " Humph !" muttered George ; " I don't see 
 your motive." 
 
 " I have no particular motive. Tom's a good 
 fellow, and his company will be better than an 
 empty house. The visit won't cost me anything — 
 Halliday is to go shares in the housekeeping." 
 
 " Well, you may find it answer that w^ay," 
 
 replied Mr. Sheldon the younger, who considered 
 
 that every action of a man's life ought to be made 
 
 to " answer" in some way. " But I should tliink 
 
 you would be rather bored by the arrangement ; 
 
 Tom's a very good fellow in his way, and a great 
 VOL. L D
 
 34 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 h friend of mine, but lie's rather an empty-headed 
 animal." 
 
 The subject dropped here, and the brothers 
 went on talking of Barlingford and Barlingford 
 people — the few remaining kindred whose exist- 
 ence made a kind of link between the two men 
 and their native town, and the boon companions 
 of their early manhood. Tlie dentist produced 
 the remnant of a bottle of whisky from the side- 
 board, and rang for hot water and sugar, where- 
 with to brew grog, for his own and his brother's 
 refreshment ; but the conversation flagged never- 
 theless. Philip Sheldon was dull and absent, an- 
 swering his companion at random every now and 
 then, much to that gentleman's aggravation ; and 
 he owned at last to being thoroughly tired and 
 worn out. 
 
 " The journey from Barlingford in a slow 
 train is no joke, you know, George, and I couldn't 
 afford the express," he said apologetically, when 
 his brother upbraided him for his distraction of 
 manner. 
 
 '^ Then I should think you'd better go to bed,"
 
 PHILIP SHELDON READS THE " LANCET." 35 
 
 answered Mr. Sheldon tlie younger, who had 
 smoked a couple of cigars, and consumed the 
 contents of the whisky-bottle; " so I'll take my- 
 self off. I told you how uncommonly seedy you 
 were looking when I first came in. When do 
 you expect Tom and his wife ?" 
 
 " At the beginning of next week." 
 "So soon! Well, good-night, old fellow"; 
 I shall see you before they come, I daresay. 
 You might as well drop in upon me at my place 
 to-morrow night. I'm hard at work on a job." 
 "Your old kind of work?" 
 " yes. I don't get much work of any other 
 kind." 
 
 "And I'm afraid you'll never get much good 
 out of that." 
 
 " I don't know. A man who sits down to 
 whist may have a run of ill-lnck before he gets 
 a decent hand; but the good cards are sure to 
 come if he only sits long enough. Every man 
 has his chance, depend upon it, Phil, if he knows 
 how to watch for it ; but there are so many men 
 who get tired and go to sleep before their chances
 
 36 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 come to tlicm. I've wasted a good deal of time, 
 and a good deal of labour ; but the ace of trumps 
 is in the pack, and it must turn up sooner or 
 later. Ta-ta." 
 
 George Sheldon nodded and departed, whist- 
 ling gaily as he walked away from his brother's 
 door. Philip heard him, and turned his chair 
 to the fire with a movement of impatience. 
 
 " You may be uncommonly clever, my dear 
 George," soliloquised the dentist, " but you'll 
 never make a fortune by reading wills and hunt- 
 ing in parish-registers for heirs-at-law. A big 
 lump of money is not very likely to go a-begging 
 while anyone who can fudge up the faintest 
 pretence of a claim to it is above ground. ISTo, 
 no, my lad, you must find a better way than that 
 before you'll make yom- fortune." 
 
 The fire had burnt low again, and Mr. Shel- 
 don sat staring gloomily at the blackening coals. 
 Things were very bad with him — he had not 
 cared to confess how bad they were, when he 
 had discussed his affairs with his brother. Those 
 neighbours and passers-by who admired the trim
 
 PHILIP SHELDON READS THE " LANCET." 37 
 
 brightness of the dentist's abode had no suspicion 
 that tlie master of that respectable house was in 
 the hands of the Jews, and that the hearthstone 
 which whitened his door-step was paid for out of 
 Israehtish coffers. The dentist's philosophy was 
 all of this world, and he knew that the soldier 
 of fortune, Avho would fain be a conqueror in the 
 great battle, must needs keep his plumage un- 
 drabbled and the golden facings of liis uniform 
 untarnished, let his wounds be never so des- 
 perate. 
 
 Having found his attempt to establish a prac- 
 tice in Fitzgeorge-street a failure, the only com'se 
 open to Mr. Sheldon, as a man of the world, was 
 to transfer his failure to somebody else, with more 
 or less profit to himself. To this end he preserved 
 the spotless purity of his muslin curtains, though 
 the starch that stiffened them and the bleaching- 
 powder that whitened them were bought with 
 money for which he was to pay sixty per cent. 
 To this end he nm'sed that wan shadow of a 
 practice, and sustained that appearance of re- 
 spectability which, in a world where appearance
 
 38 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 stands for so much, is in itself a kind of capital. 
 It certainly was dull dreary work to hold the 
 citadel of No. 14 Fitz^eorije-street against the 
 besieger Poverty ; but the dentist stood his 
 ground pertinaciously, knowing that if he only 
 waited long enough, the dupe who was to be his 
 victim would come, and knowing also that there 
 might arrive a day when it would be very useful 
 for him to be able to refer to four years' un- 
 blemished respectability as a Bloomsbury house- 
 holder. He had his lines set in several shady 
 places for that mihappy fish with a small capital, 
 and he had been tantalised by more than one 
 nibble ; but he made no open show of his desire 
 to sell his business — since a business that is obvi- 
 ously in the market seems scarcely worth any 
 man's purchase. 
 
 Things had of late grown worse with him 
 every day; for every interval of twenty -four 
 hours sinks a man so much the deeper in the 
 mire when renewed accommodation-bills with his 
 name upon them are ripening in the iron safes 
 of Judah. Philip Sheldon found himself sinking
 
 PHILIP SHELDON READS THE " LANCET." 39 
 
 gradually and almost imperceptibly into that bot- 
 tomless pit of difficulty in whose black' depths the 
 demon Insolvency holds his dreary court. While 
 his little capital lasted he had kept himself clear , 
 of debt, but that being exhausted, and his prac- 
 tice growing worse day by day, he had been fain 
 to seek assistance from money-lenders ; and now 
 even the money-lenders were tired of him. The 
 chair in which he sat, the poker which he swung 
 slowly to and fro, as he bent over his hearth, 
 were not his own. One of his Jewish creditors 
 had a bill of sale on his furniture, and he might 
 come home any day to find the auctioneer's bills 
 plastered against the wall of his house, and the 
 auctioneer's clerk busy with the catalogue of his 
 possessions. If the expected victim came now to 
 buy his practice, the sacrifice would be made too'' 
 late to serve his interest. The men who had lent 
 liim money Avould be the sole gainers by the 
 bargain. 
 
 Seldom does a man find himself face to face 
 with a blacker prospect than that which lay before 
 Pliilip Sheldon ; and yet his manner to-night was 
 
 /
 
 40 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 not the dull blank npatliy of despair. It was the 
 manner of a man whose brain is occupied by busy 
 thoughts ; who has some elaborate scheme to map 
 out and arrange before he is called u])on to carry 
 his plans into action. 
 
 " It would be a good business for me," he 
 muttered J ^'if I had pluck enough to carry it 
 tln'ough." 
 
 The fire went out as he sat swinging the 
 poker backwards and forwards. The clocks of 
 Bloomsbury and St. Pancras struck twelve, and 
 still Philip Sheldon pondered and plotted by 
 that dreary hearth. The servants had retired at 
 eleven, after a good deal of blundering with bars 
 and shutters, and unnecessary banging of doors. 
 That unearthly silence peculiar to houses after 
 midnight reigned in Mr. Sheldon's domicile, and 
 he could hear the voices of distant roisterers, 
 and the miauling of neighbouring cats, with a 
 painful distinctness, as he sat brooding in his 
 silent room. The fact that a mahogany cheffonier 
 in a corner gave utterance to a faint groan oc- 
 casionally, as of some feeble creature in pain,
 
 LANCET." 41 
 
 afforded him no annoyance. He was superior / 
 to superstitions fancies, and all the rappings and 
 scratchings of spirit-land would have failed to 
 distiu'b his equanimity. He was a strictly prac- 
 tical man — one of those men who are always 
 ready, with a stump of lead-pencil and the back 
 of a letter, to reduce everything in creation to 
 figures. 
 
 " I had better read-up that business before 
 they come," he said, when he had to all appear- ' 
 ance " thought out" the subject of his reverie. 
 ^^ No time so good as this for doing it quietly. One 
 never knows who is spying about in the daytime. 
 
 He looked at his watch, and then went to a 
 cupboard, where there were bundles of wood and 
 matches and old newspapers, — for it was his habit 
 to light liis own fire occasionally when he worked 
 unusually late at night or early in the morning. 
 He relighted his fire now as cleverly as any 
 housemaid in Bloomsbury, and stood watching 
 it till it burned briskly. Then he lit a taper, 
 and went downstairs to the professional torture- 
 chamber. The tall horsehair chair looked un-
 
 42 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 utterably awful in the dim glimmer of the taper, 
 and a nervous person could almost have fancied 
 it occupied by the ghost of some patient who 
 had expired under the agony of the forceps. 
 Mr. Sheldon lighted the gas in a movable branch 
 which he was in the habit of turning almost into 
 the mouths of the patients wdio consulted him 
 at night. Tliere was a cupboard on each side 
 of the mantelpiece, and it was in these two cup- 
 boards that the dentist kept his professional li- 
 brary. His books did not form a very valuable 
 collection, but he kept the cupboards constantly 
 locked nevertheless. 
 
 He took the key from his waistcoat-pocket, 
 opened one of the cupboards, and selected a book 
 from a row of dingy-looking volumes. He carried 
 the book to the room above, where he seated 
 himself under the gas, and opened the volume 
 at a place in which there was a scrap of paper, 
 evidently left there as a mark. The book was 
 a volume of the Lancet, and in this book he 
 read with close attention until the Bloomsbury 
 clocks struck three.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon's visitors arrived in due course. 
 They were provincial people of tlie middle-class, 
 accounted monstrously genteel in tlieir own neigh- 
 bourhood, but in no wise resembling Londoners 
 of the same rank. 
 
 Mr. Thomas Halliday was a big, loud-spoken, 
 good-tempered Yorkshireman, who had inherited 
 a comfortable little estate from a plodding, money- 
 making father, and for whom life had been very 
 easy. He was a farmer, and nothing but a 
 farmer; a man for whom the supremest pleasure 
 of existence was a cattle-show or a comitry horse- 
 fair. The farm upon which he had been born 
 and brought up was situated about six miles 
 from Barlingford, and all the delights of his boy- 
 hood and youth were associated with that small
 
 44 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 market-town. He and the two Slieldons had 
 been schoolfellows, and afterwards boon com- 
 panions, taking such pleasure as was obtainable 
 in Barlino-ford toc^ether ; flirtincr with the same 
 provincial beauties at prim teaj-parties in the 
 winter, and getting up friendly picnics in the 
 summer, — picnics at wdiich eating and drinking 
 were the leading features of the day's entertain- 
 ment. ]\Ir. Halliday had always regarded George 
 and Philip Sheldon with that reverential admi- 
 ration which a stupid man, who is conscious of 
 his own mental inferiority, generally feels for a 
 clever friend and companion. But he was also 
 fully aware of the advantage which a rich man 
 possesses over a poor one, and would not have 
 exchanged the fertile acres of Hyley for the in- 
 tellectual gifts of his schoolfellows. He had found 
 the substantial value of his comfortably-furnished 
 house and well-stocked farm when he and his 
 friend Philip Sheldon became suitors for the hand 
 of Georgina Cradock, youngest daughter of a Bar- 
 lingford attorney, who lived next door to the Bar- 
 lingford dentist, Philip Sheldon's father. Philip
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 45 
 
 and the girl liacl been playfellows in the long 
 walled gardens behind the two houses, and there 
 had been a brotherly and sisterly intimacy be- 
 tween the juvenile members of the two families. 
 But when Philip and Greorgina met at the Bar- 
 lingford tea-parties in later years, the parental ./ 
 powers frowned upon any renewal of that childish 
 friendship. Miss Cradock had no portion, and 
 the worthy solicitor her father was a prudent 
 man, who was apt to look for the promise of 
 domestic happiness in the plate-basket and the 
 linen-press, rather than for such superficial quali- 
 fications as black whiskers and white teeth. So 
 poor Philip was '' thrown over the bridge" as 
 he said himself, and Georgy Cradock married 
 Mr. Halliday, with all attendant ceremony and 
 splendom', according to the " lights" of Barling- 
 ford gentry. 
 
 But this provincial bride's story was no 
 passionate record of anguish and tears. The 
 Barlingford Juliet had liked Romeo as much as 
 she was capable of liking anyone ; but when 
 Papa Capulet insisted on her union with Paris,
 
 46 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 slie accepted her destiny with decent resignation, 
 and, in the absence of any sympathetic father 
 confessor, was fain to seek consolation from a 
 more mundane individual in the person of the 
 Bai'hngford milliner. Nor did Philip Sheldon 
 give evidence of any extravagant despair. His 
 father was something of a doctor as well as a 
 dentist ; and there were plenty of dark little phials 
 lui'king on the shelves of his surgery in which 
 the young man could have fomid " mortal drugs," 
 without the aid of the apothecary, had he been 
 so minded. Happily no such desperate idea ever 
 occurred to him in connection with his e-rief. 
 He held himself sulkily aloof from Mr. and Mrs. 
 Halliday for some time after their marriage, 
 and allowed people to see that he considered 
 himself very hardly used; but prudence, which 
 had always been Philip Sheldon's counsellor, 
 proved herself also liis consoler in this crisis of 
 his life. A careful consideration of his own in- 
 terests led him to perceive that the successful 
 result of his love-suit would have been about 
 J the worst thing that could have happened to him.
 
 MR. AED MRS. HALLIDAY. 47 
 
 Georgina had no money. All was said in 
 that. As the J^omig dentist's worldly wisdom 
 ripened with experience, he discovered that the 
 worldly ease of the best man in Barlingford was 
 sometliing like that of a canary-bird who inhabits 
 a clean cage and is supplied with abmidant seed 
 and water. The cage is eminently comfortable, 
 and the sleepy, respectable, elderly bird sighs for 
 no better abiding-place, no w^ider prospect than 
 that patch of the universe which he sees between 
 the bars. But now and then there is hatched a 
 wild young fledgling, Avhich beats its wings against 
 the inexorable wires, and would fain soar away into 
 that wide outer world, to prosper or perish in its 
 freedom. 
 
 Before Georgy had been married a year, her 
 sometime lover had fully resigned himself to the 
 existing state of things, and was on the best pos- 
 sible terms with his friend Tom. He could eat his 
 dinner in the comfortable house at Hyley with an 
 excellent appetite ; for there was a gulf between 
 him and his old love far wider than any that had 
 been dug by that ceremonial in the parish-church
 
 48 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 of Barlingford. Philip Sheldon had awakened to 
 the consciousness that life in his native town was 
 little more than a kind of animal vegetation — the 
 life of some pulpy invertebrate creature, which 
 sprawls helplessly upon the sands whereon the 
 wave has deposited it, and may be cloven in half 
 without feeling itself noticeably worse for the ope- 
 ration. He had awakened to the knowledge that 
 there was a Avider and more agreeable world beyond 
 that little provincial borough, and that a handsome 
 face and figure and a vigorous intellect were com- 
 modities for which there must be some kind of 
 market. 
 
 Once convinced of the utter worthlessness of 
 J his prospects in Barlingford, Mr. Sheldon turned 
 his eyes Londonwards ; and his father happening 
 at the same time very conveniently to depart this 
 life, Philip, the son and heir, disposed of the 
 business to an aspiring young practitioner, and 
 came to the metropolis, where he made that futile 
 attempt to establish himself which has been de- 
 scribed. 
 
 The dentist had wasted four years in London,
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 49 
 
 and ten years had gone by since Georgy's wed- ^ 
 ding; and now for tlie first time he had an 
 opportunity of witnessing the domestic happiness 
 or the domestic misery of the woman who had 
 jihed him, and the man who had been Ms suc- 
 cessful rival. He set himself to watch them with 
 the cool deliberation of a social anatomist, and he 
 experienced very little difficulty in the perform- 
 ance of this moral dissection. They were estab- 
 lished under liis roof, his companions at every 
 meal; and they were the kind of people who 
 discuss their grievances and indulge in their 
 " little differences" with perfect freedom in the 
 presence of a third, or a fourth, or even a fifth 
 party. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon was wise enough to preserve a 
 strict neutralit)^. He would take up a newspaper 
 at the beginning of a little difference, and lay it 
 down when the little difference was finished, with 
 the most perfect assumption of unconsciousness; 
 but it is doubtful whether the matrimonial dis- 
 putants were sufficiently appreciative of this good 
 breeding. They would have liked to have had 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon for a court of appeal; and a little 
 interference from liim would have given zest to 
 their quarrels. Meanwhile Philip watched them 
 slyly from the covert of his newspaper, and formed 
 his own conclusions about them. If he was pleased 
 to see that his false love's path was not entirely rose- 
 bestrewn, or if he rejoiced at beholding the occa- 
 sional annoyance of his rival, he allowed no evidence 
 of his pleasure to appear in his face or manner. 
 
 Georgina Cradock's rather insipid prettiness 
 had developed into matronly comeliness. Her fair 
 complexion and pink cheeks had lost none of their 
 fresluiess. Her smooth aubm-n hair was as soft 
 and bright as it had been when she had braided it 
 preparatory to a Barlingford tea-party in the days 
 of her spinsterhood. She was a pretty, weak little 
 woman, whose education had never gone beyond 
 the routine of a provincial boarding-school, and 
 who believed that she had attained all necessary 
 wisdom in having mastered Pinnock's abridg- 
 ments of Goldsmith's histories and the rudiments 
 of the French lano-uaffe. She was a woman who 
 thought that the perfection of feminine costume
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 51 
 
 was a moire-antique dress and a conspicuous gold- 
 chain. She was a woman who considered a well- 
 furnished house and a horse and gig the highest 
 form of earthly splendour or prosperity. 
 
 This was the shallow commonplace creature 
 whom Philip Sheldon had once admired and 
 wooed. He looked at her now, and wondered 
 how he could ever have felt even as much as he / 
 had felt on her account. But he had little leism^e 
 to devote to any such abstract and useless consi- 
 deration. He had liis own affairs to think about, 
 and they were very desperate. 
 
 In the mean time Mr. and Mrs. Halliday 
 occupied themselves in the pursuit of pleasm^e or 
 business, as the case might be. They were eager 
 for amusement : went to exhibitions in the day and 
 to theatres at night, and came home to cozy little 
 suppers in Fitzgeorge- street, after which Mr. 
 Halliday was wont to waste the small hom's in 
 friendly conversation with his quondam com- 
 panion, and in the consumption of much brandy- 
 and-water. 
 
 Unhappily for Georgy, these halcyon days 
 
 ;,NEs.T^or-amoK
 
 2 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 were broken by intervals of storm and cloud. 
 The weak little woman was afflicted with that 
 -J intermittent fever called jealousy; and the stal- 
 wart Thomas was one of those men who can 
 scarcely give the time of day to a feminine ac- 
 quaintance without some ornate and loud-spoken 
 gallantry. Having no intellectual resources where- 
 with to beguile the tedium of his idle prosperous 
 life, he was fain to seek pleasure in the com- 
 panionship of other men; and had thus become 
 a haunter of tavern -parlours and small race- 
 courses, being always ready for any amusement 
 liis friends proposed to him. It followed, there- 
 fore, that he was very often absent from his com- 
 monplace, substantial home and his pretty weak- 
 minded wife. And poor Georgy had ample food 
 for her jealous fears and suspicions ; for where 
 might a man not be who was so seldom at home ? 
 She had never been particularly fond of her hus- 
 band, but that was no reason why she should not 
 be particularly jealous about him ; and her jea- 
 lousy betrayed itself in a peevish worrying fashion, 
 which was harder to bear than the vengeful fero-
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 53 
 
 city of a Cl}i:emnestra. It was in vain that Tho- 
 mas HalHday and those jolly good fellows his 
 friends and companions attested the Arcadian in- 
 nocence of race-courses, and the perfect purity of 
 that smoky atmosphere peculiar to tavern-par- 
 lours. Georgy's suspicions were too vague for 
 refutation ; but they were nevertheless sufficient 
 ground for all the alternations of temper — from 
 stolid sulkiness to peevish whining, from mur- 
 mm'ed lamentations to loud hysterics — to which 
 the female temperament is liable. 
 
 In tlie mean time poor honest, loud-spoken 
 Tom did all in his power to demonstrate his 
 truth and devotion. He bought his wife as many 
 stiff silk-gowns and gaudy Barlingford bonnets as 
 she chose to sigh for. He made a will, in which 
 she was sole legatee, and insured his life in dif- 
 ferent offices to the amount of five thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 " I'm the sort of fellow that's likely to go off 
 the hooks suddenly, you know, Georgy," he said, 
 " and your poor dad was always anxious I should 
 make things square for you. I don't suppose 
 
 /
 
 54 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 you're likely to marry again, my lass, so I've no 
 need to tie up Lottie's little fortune. I must trust 
 someone, and I'd better confide in my own little 
 wife than in some canting metliodistical fellow of 
 a trustee, w^lio would speculate my daughter's 
 money upon some Stock-Exchange hazard, and 
 levant to Australia when it was all swamped. 
 If you can't trust me, Georgy, I'll let you see 
 that I can trust you," added Tom reproach- 
 fully. 
 
 Whereupon poor weak little Mrs. Halliday 
 murmured plaintively that she did not want for- 
 tunes or life-insurances, but that she wanted her 
 husband to stay at home, content with the calm 
 and rather sleepy delights of his own fireside. 
 Poor Tom was wont to promise amendment, and 
 would keep his promise faithfully so long as no 
 supreme temptation, in the shape of a visit from 
 some friend of the jolly-good-fellow species, arose 
 to vanquish his good resolutions. But a good- 
 tempered, generous-hearted young man who farms 
 his own land, has three or four good horses in his 
 stable, a decent cellar of honest port and sherry —
 
 MR. AND MES. HALLIDAY. 55 
 
 " none of your wishy-washy sour stuff in the way 
 of hock or claret," cried Tom HaUiday — and a 
 very comfortable balance at his banker's, finds it 
 no easy matter to shake off friends of the jolly- 
 good-fellow fraternity. 
 
 In London Mr. HaUiday found the spirit of 
 jolly-dog-ism rampant. George Sheldon had al- 
 ways been his favourite of the two brothers ; and 
 it was George who lured him from the safe shelter 
 of Fitzgeorge-street and took him to mysterious 
 haunts, whence he retm-ned long after midnight, 
 boisterous of manner and unsteady of gait, and 
 with garments reeking of stale tobacco-smoke. 
 
 He was always good-tempered, even after 
 these diabolical orgies on some unknown Brocken, 
 and protested indistinctly that there was no harm 
 " 'pon m' wor', ye know, ol' gur' ! Geor' an' 
 me — half-doz' oyst'r — c'gar — botl' p'l ale — str't 
 home," and much more to the same effect. When 
 did any married man ever take more than half- 
 a-dozen oysters — or take any undomestic pleasure 
 for his own satisfaction ? It is always those incor- 
 rigible bachelors, Thomas, Richard, or Henry, 
 
 y
 
 J 
 
 56 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 "vvlio hinder the unwilling Benedict from retui'n- 
 ing to his sacred Lares and Penates. 
 
 Poor Georgy was not to be pacified by pro- 
 testations about oysters and cigars from the lips 
 of a husband who was thick of utterance, and who 
 betrayed a general imbecility of mind and un- 
 steadiness of body. Tliis London excursion, 
 which had begun in smishine, threatened to end 
 in storm and darkness. George Sheldon and his 
 set had taken possession of the young farmer ; 
 and Georgy had no better amusement in the long 
 blustrous March evenings than to sit at her work 
 under the flaming gas in Mr. Sheldon's drawing- 
 room, while that gentleman — who rarely joined in 
 the dissipations of his friend and his brother — oc- 
 cupied himself with mechanical dentistry in the 
 chamber of torture below. 
 
 Fitzgeorge-street in general, always on the 
 watch to discover evidences of impecuniosity or 
 doubtful morality on the part of any one citizen 
 in particular, could find no food for scandal in the 
 visit of Mr. and Mrs. Halliday to their friend and 
 countryman. It had been noised abroad, through
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 57 
 
 the agency of Mrs. Woolper, that Mr. Sheldon 
 had been a suitor for the lady's hand, and had 
 been jilted by her. The Fitzgeorgians had been, 
 therefore, especially on the alert to detect any sign 
 of backshding in the dentist. There would have 
 been much pleasant discussion in kitchens and 
 back-parlours if Mr. Sheldon had been parti- 
 cularly attentive to his fair guest ; but it speedily 
 became known, always by the agency of Mrs. 
 Woolper and that phenomenon of idleness and 
 iniquity, the London "girl," that Mr. Sheldon 
 was not by any means attentive to the prettj^ 
 young woman from Yorkshire — but that he suf- 
 fered her to sit alone hour after hour in her hus- 
 band's absence — with no amusement but her 
 needlework wherewith to " pass the time," while 
 he scraped and filed and polished those fragments 
 of bone which were to assist in the renovation of 
 decayed beauty. 
 
 The third week of Mr. and Mrs. Halliday's 
 visit was near its close, and as yet the young 
 farmer had arrived at no decision as to the subject 
 which had brouo-ht him to London. The sale of 
 
 /
 
 58 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Hyley Farm was aii accomplished fact ; and the 
 purchase-money duly bestowed at Tom's banker's ; 
 but very little had been done towards finding the 
 new property which was to be a substitute for the 
 estate his father and grandfather had farmed 
 before him. He had seen auctioneers, and had 
 brought home plans of estates in Herefordshire 
 and Devonshire, Cornwall and Somersetshire, all 
 of which seemed to be, in their way, the most 
 perfect things imaginable — land of such fertility 
 as one would scarcely expect to find out of Ar- 
 cadia — live stock which seemed beyond all price, 
 to be taken at a valuation — roads and surround- 
 ing neighbourhood unparalleled in beauty and 
 convenience — outbuildings that must have been 
 the very archetypes of barns and stables — a house 
 which to inhabit would be to adore. But as yet 
 he had seen none of these peerless domains. He 
 was waiting for decent weather in which to run 
 down to the "West and '^ look about him," as he 
 said to himself. In the mean time the blustrous 
 March weather, which was so unsuited to long 
 railroad journeys, and all that waiting about at
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 59 
 
 j mictions and at little windy stations on brancli- 
 lines, incidental to the inspection of estates scattered 
 over a large area of country, served very well for 
 " jolly-dog-ism" — and what with a hand at cards 
 in George Sheldon's chambers, and another hand 
 at cards in somebody else's chambers, and a run 
 down to an early meeting at Newmarket, and an 
 evening at some rooms where there was something 
 to be seen which was as near prize-fighting as the 
 law allowed, and other evenings in unknown 
 regions, Mr. Halliday found time slipping by him, 
 and his domestic peace vanisliing away. 
 
 It was on an evening at the end of this third 
 week that Mr. Sheldon abandoned his mechanical 
 dentistry for once in a way, and ascended to the 
 drawing-room, where poor Georgy sat busy with 
 that eternal needlework, but for which melancholy 
 madness would sm^ely overtake many desolate 
 matrons in houses whose commonplace comfort 
 and respectable dulness are more dismal than the 
 picturesque dreariness of a moated gi'ange amid 
 the Lincolnshire fens. To the masculine mind 
 this needlework seems nothing more than a pur-
 
 60 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 poseless stabbing and sewing of strips of calico ; 
 / but to lonely womanhood it is tlie prison-flower of 
 the captive, it is the spider of Latude. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon brought his guest an evening 
 newspaper. 
 
 "There's an account of the opening of Parlia- 
 ment," he said, "which you may perhaps like to 
 see. I wn'sh I had a piano, or some female ac- 
 quaintances to drop in upon you. I'm afraid you 
 must be dull in these lono; evenino;s when Tom is 
 out of the way." 
 
 " I am indeed dull," Mrs. Halliday answered 
 peevishly; " and if Tom cared for me, he wouldn't 
 leave me like this evening after evening. But he 
 doesn't care for me." 
 
 Mr. Sheldon laid down the newspaper, and 
 seated himself opposite his guest. He sat for a 
 few minutes in silence, beating time to some 
 imaginary air with the tips of his finge rs on the 
 old-fashioned mahogany table. Then he said, 
 with a half-smile upon his face : 
 
 " But surely Tom is the best of husbands ! 
 He has been a little wild since his coming to
 
 ME. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 61 
 
 London, I know; but then you see he doesn't 
 often come to town." 
 
 " He's just as bad in Yorkshire," Georgy 
 answered gloomily; "he is always going to Bar- 
 lingford with somebody or other, or to meet some 
 of his old friends. I'm sm'e, if I had known 
 what he was, I would never have married him." 
 
 " Why, I thought he was such a good hus- 
 band. He was telhng me only a few days ago 
 how he had made a will leaving you every six- 
 pence he possesses, without reservation, and how 
 he has insm^ed his life for five thousand pounds." 
 
 "0 yes, I know that; but I don't call that 
 being a good husband. I don't want him to leave 
 me his money. I don't w^ant him to die. I want 
 him to stay at home." 
 
 " Poor Tom ! I'm afraid he's not the sort of 
 man for that kind of thing. He likes change and 
 amusement. You married a rich man, Mrs. Hal- 
 liday ; you made your choice, you know, without 
 regard to the feelings of anyone else. You sacri- 
 ficed truth and honour to your own inclination, or 
 your own interest, I do not know, and I do not
 
 62 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 ask which. If the bargain has turned out a bad 
 one, that's your look-out." 
 
 PhiHp Sheldon sat with his folded arms rest- 
 ing on the little table and his eyes fixed on 
 Georgy's face. Tliey could be very stern and 
 hard and cruel, those bright black eyes, and Mrs. 
 Halliday grew first red and then pale under their 
 searcliing gaze. She had seen Mr. Sheldon very 
 often dui'ing the years of her married life, but this 
 / was the first time he had ever said anything to her 
 that sounded like a reproach. Tlie dentist's eyes 
 softened a little as he w^atched her, not with any 
 special tenderness, but with an expression of half- 
 disdainful compassion — such as a strong stern 
 man might feel for a fooHsh child. He could see 
 that this woman was afraid of him, and it served 
 his interests that she should fear him. He had a 
 purpose in everything he did, and his purpose to- 
 night was to test the strength of his influence over 
 Georgina Halliday. In the old time before her 
 marriage that influence had been very strong. It 
 was for him to discover now whether it still endm-ed. 
 ^'You made your choice, Mrs. Halhday," he
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 63 
 
 went on presently, " and it was a choice which all 
 prudent people must have approved. What chance 
 had a man, who was only heir to a practice worth 
 four or five hundred pounds, against the inheritor 
 of Hyley Farm with its two hundred and fifty 
 acres, and three thousand poimds' worth of live 
 stock, plant, and working capital ? When do the 
 prudent people ever stop to consider truth and 
 honour, or old promises, or an affection that dates 
 from childhood? They calculate everything by 
 pounds, shillings, and pence; and according to 
 their mode of reckoning you were in the right 
 when you jilted me to marry Tom Halliday." 
 
 Georgy laid down her work and took out her 
 handkerchief. She was one of those women who 
 take refuge in tears when they find themselves at 
 a disadvantage. Tears had always melted honest 
 Tom, was his wrath never so dire, and tears would 
 no doubt subdue Philip Sheldon. 
 
 But Georgy had to discover that the dentist 
 was made of a stuff very different from that softer 
 clay which composed the rollicking good-tempered 
 farmer. Mr. Sheldon watched her tears with the
 
 64 BIRDS OF rrvEY. 
 
 ^ cold blooded deliberation of a scientific experimen- 
 talist. He was glad to find that he could make her 
 cry. She was a necessary instrument in the work- 
 ing out of cei'tain plans that he had made for him- 
 f" selfj and he was anxious to discover whether she 
 was likely to be a plastic instrument. He knew 
 that her love for him had never been worth much 
 at its best, and that the poor little flickering flame 
 had been utterly extinguished by nine years of 
 commonplace domesticity and petty jealousy. But 
 his purpose was one that would be served as well 
 by her fear as by her love, and he had set himself 
 to-night to gauge his power in relation to this poor 
 weak creature. 
 
 '' It's very unkind of you to say such dreadful 
 things, Mr. Sheldon," she whimpered presently ; 
 '^ you know very well that my marriage with Tom 
 was pa's doing, and not mine. I'm sure if I'd 
 known how he would stay out night after night, 
 and come home in such dreadful states time after 
 time, I never would have consented to marry him." 
 
 " Wouldn't you ? — yes, you would. If you 
 were a widow to-morrow, and free to marry again,
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 65 
 
 you would choose just sucli another man as Tom — 
 a man who laughs loud, and pays flourishing com- 
 plimentSj and drives a gig with a high-stepping 
 liorse. That's the sort of man women like, and 
 that's the sort of man you'd marry." 
 
 " I'm sure I shouldn't marry at all," answered 
 ^Irs. Halliday, in a voice that w^as broken by little 
 gasping sobs. " I have seen enough of the misery 
 of married life. But I don't want Tom to die, 
 unkind as he is to me. People are always saying 
 that he won't make old bones — how horrid it is 
 to talk of a person's bones ! — and I'm sure I some- 
 times make myself wretched about him, as he 
 knows, though he doesn't thank me for it." 
 
 And here Mrs. Halliday's sobs got the better 
 of her utterance, and Mr. Sheldon was fain to say 
 something of a consolatory nature. 
 
 " Come, come," he said, '' I won't tease you 
 any more. That's against the laws of hospitality, 
 isn't it ? — only there are some things which you 
 can't expect a man to forget, you know. How- 
 ever, let bygones be bygones. As for poor old 
 Tom, I daresay he'll live to be a hale, hearty old 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 man, in spite of the croakers. People always will 
 croak about something ; and it's a kind of fashion 
 to say that a big, hearty, six-foot man is a fragile 
 blossom likely to be nipped by any wintry blast. 
 Come, come, Mrs. Halliday, your husband mustn't 
 discover that I've been making you cry when he 
 comes home. He may be home early this evening, 
 perhaps ; and if he is, we'll have an oyster supper, 
 and a chat about old times." 
 
 Mrs. Halliday shook her head dolefully. 
 
 " It's past ten o'clock already," she said, " and 
 I don't suppose Tom will be homo till after twelve. 
 He doesn't like my sitting up for liim ; but I won- 
 der lohat time he would come home if I didn't sit 
 up for him ?" 
 
 " Let's hope for the best," exclaimed Mr. 
 Sheldon cheerfully. '^ I'll go and see about the 
 oysters." 
 
 '' Don't get them for me, or for Tom," pro- 
 tested Mrs. Halliday ; "he will have had his sup- 
 per when he comes home, you may be sure, and I 
 couldn't eat a morsel of anything." 
 
 To this resolution Mrs. Hallidav adhered ; so
 
 MR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 67 
 
 tlie dentist was fain to abandon all jovial ideas in 
 relation to oysters and pale ale. But he did not 
 go back to his mechanical dentistry. He sat op- 
 posite his visitor, and watched her, silently and 
 thoughtfully, for some time as she worked. She 
 had brushed away her tears, but she looked very 
 peevish and miserable, and took out her watch 
 several times in an hour. Mr. Sheldon made two 
 or three feeble attempts at conversation, but the 
 talk languished and expired on each occasion, and 
 they sat on in silence. 
 
 Little by little the dentist's attention seemed to 
 wander away from his guest. He wheeled his 
 chair round, and sat looking at the fire, with the 
 same fixed gloom upon his face which had dark- 
 ened it on the night of his retm-n from Yorkshire. 
 Tilings had been so desperate with him of late, 
 that he had lost his old orderly habit of thinking 
 out a business at one sitting, and making an end 
 of all deliberation and hesitation about it. There 
 were subjects that forced themselves upon his 
 thoughts, and certain ideas which repeated them- 
 selves with a stupid persistence. He was such an
 
 68 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 eminently practical man, that tlils disorder of his 
 brain troubled liini more even than the thoughts 
 that made the disorder. He sat in the same atti- 
 tude for a long while, scarcely conscious of Mrs. 
 Halliday's presence, not at all conscious of the 
 progress of time. 
 
 Georgy had been right in her gloomy fore- 
 bodings of bad behaviour on the part of Mr. 
 Halliday. It was nearly one o'clock when a loud 
 double knock announced that gentleman's return. 
 The wind had been howling drearily, and a sharp, 
 slanting rain had been pattering against the win- 
 dows for the last half-hour, wliile Mrs. Halliday's 
 breast had been racked by the contending emo- 
 tions of anxiety and indignation. 
 
 '^ I suppose he couldn't get a cab," she ex- 
 claimed, as the knock startled her from her lis- 
 tening attitude; for however intently a midnight 
 watcher may be listening for the returning wan- 
 derer's knock, it is not the less startling when it 
 comes. ^'And he has walked home tlu-ough the 
 wet, and now he'll have a violent cold, I daresay," 
 added Georgy peevishly.
 
 JJR. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 6l> 
 
 '^ Tlien it's lucky for him lie's in a doctor's 
 house," answered Mr. Sheldon, with a smile. He 
 was a handsome man no doubt, according to the 
 popular idea of masculine perfection, but he had 
 owt a pleasant smile. '^ I went through the re- 
 gular routine, you know, and am as well able to 
 see a patient safely through a cold or a fever as I 
 am to make him a set of teeth." 
 
 Mr. Halliday burst into the room at this mo- 
 ment, sino^ino; a frao^ment of the " Chouo-h and 
 Crow" chorus, very much out of tune. He was 
 in boisterously high spirits, and very little the 
 worse for liquor. He had only walked from 
 Covent Garden, he said, and had taken nothing 
 but a tankard of stout and a Welsh rarebit. He 
 had been hearing the divinest singing — boys with 
 the voices of angels — and had been taking his 
 supper in a place which duchesses themselves did 
 not disdain to peep at from the sacred recesses 
 of a loffe grillee, George Sheldon had told him. 
 But poor country-bred Georgina Halliday would 
 not believe in the duchesses, or the angelic sing- 
 ing boys, or the primitive simplicity of Welsh
 
 70 ;birds of prey. 
 
 rarebits. She had a vision of beautiful women, 
 and halls of dazzling light; where there was the 
 }nad music of per2:)etual post-horn galops, with a 
 riotous accompaniment of huzzas, and the popping 
 of champagne corks; where the sheen of satin and 
 the glitter of gems bewildered the eye of the be- 
 holder. She had seen such a picture once on the 
 stage, and had vaguely associated it with all Tom's 
 midnight roisterings ever afterwards. 
 
 The roisterer's garments were very wet, and 
 it was in vain that his wife and Philip Sheldon 
 entreated him to change them for dry ones, or to 
 go to bed immediately. He stood before the fire 
 relating his innocent adventures, and trying to 
 dispel the cloud from Georgy's fair young brow; 
 and, when he did at last consent to go to his 
 room, the dentist shook his head ominously. 
 
 '' You'll have a severe cold to-morrow, depend 
 upon it, Tom, and you'll have yourself to thank 
 for it," he said, as he bade the good-tempered 
 reprobate good-night. 
 
 " Never mind, old fellow," answered Tom; "if 
 I am ill, you shall nurse me. If one is doomed
 
 MK. AND MRS. HALLIDAY. 71 
 
 to die by doctor's stuff, it's better to have a doc- 
 tor one does know than a doctor one doesn't know 
 for one's executioner." 
 
 After which gracefid piece of humour Mr. 
 Halliday went bhmdering up the staircase, fol- 
 lowed by his aggrieved wife. 
 
 Phihp Sheldon stood on the landing looking 
 after his visitors for some minutes. Then he went 
 slowly back to the sitting-room, where he re- 
 plenished the fu'e, and seated himself before it 
 with a newspaper in his hand. 
 
 " What's the use of going to bed, if I can't 
 sleep?" he muttered, in a discontented tone.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 A PERrLEXIXG ILLNESS. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon's prophecy was fully realised. Tom 
 Halliday awoke the next day with a violent cold 
 in his head. Like most big boisterous men of 
 herculean build, he was the veriest craven in the 
 hour of physical ailment ; so he succumbed at 
 once to the malady which a man obliged to face 
 the world and fight for his daily bread must needs 
 have made light of. 
 
 Tlie dentist rallied his invalid friend. 
 
 "Keep your bed, if you like, Tom," he said, 
 "but there's no necessity for any such coddling. 
 As your hands are hot, and your tongue rather 
 ^ queer, I may as well give you a saline draught. 
 You'll be all right by dinner-time, and I'll get 
 George to look round in the evening for a hand 
 at cards."
 
 A PERPLEXING ILLNESS. 7o 
 
 Tom obeyed his professional friend — took liis 
 jnedieine, read the paper, and slept away the best 
 part of the dull March day. At half-past five he 
 got up and dressed for dinner, and the evening 
 passed very pleasantly ; so pleasantly, indeed, 
 that Georgy Avas half-inclined to wish that her 
 husband might be afflicted with chronic influenza, 
 whereby he would be compelled to stop at home. 
 She sighed when Philip Sheldon slapped his 
 friend's broad shoulder, and told him cheerily 
 that he would be " all right to-morrow." He 
 would be well again, and there would be more 
 midnight roistering, and she would be again tor- 
 mented by that vision of lighted halls and beau- 
 tiful diabolical creatures revolving madly to the 
 music of the Post-horn Galop. 
 
 It seemed, however, that poor jealous Mrs. 
 Halliday was to be spared her nightly agony for 
 some time to come. Tom's cold lasted longer than 
 he had expected, and the cold was succeeded by 
 a low fever — a bilious fever, Mr. Sheldon said. 
 There was not the least occasion for alarm, of 
 course. The invalid and the invalid's wife trusted
 
 74 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 implicitly in the friendly doctor, who assured 
 them both that Tom's attack was the most ordi- 
 nary kind of thing ; a little wearing, no doubt, 
 but entirely without danger. He had to repeat 
 tliis assm'ance very often to Georgy, whose angry 
 feelings had given place to extreme tenderness 
 and affection now that Tom w^as an invalid, quite 
 unfitted for the society of jolly-good-fellows, and 
 willing to receive basins of beef-tea and arrow- 
 root meekly from his wife's hands, instead of 
 those edibles of iniquity, oysters and toasted 
 cheese. 
 
 Mr. Halliday's illness was very tiresome. It 
 w^as one of those perplexing complaints which 
 keep the patient himself, and the patient's friends 
 and attendants, in j)erpetual uncertainty. A little 
 worse one day and a shade better the next ; now 
 gaining a little strength, now losing a trifle more 
 than he had gained. The patient declined in so 
 imperceptible a manner, that he had been ill 
 three weeks, and w^as no longer able to leave his 
 bed, and had lost alike his appetite and his 
 spirits, before Georgy awoke to the fact that this
 
 A PERPLEXING ILLNESS. 75 
 
 illness, liitlierto considered so lightly, must be 
 very serious. 
 
 " I think if — if you have no objection, I should 
 like to see another doctor, Mr. Sheldon," she said, 
 one day, with considerable embarrassment of / 
 manner. She feared to offend her host by any 
 doubt of his skill. " You see — you — you are so 
 much employed with teeth — and — of course you 
 know I am quite assured of your talent — but 
 don't you think that a doctor who had more ex- 
 perience in fever cases might bring Tom round 
 quicker ? He has been ill so long now ; and 
 really he doesn't seem to get any better." 
 
 Philip Sheldon shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 ^' As you please, my dear Mrs. Halliday," he 
 said carelessly; ^^ I don't wish to press my 
 services upon you. It is quite a matter of friend- 
 ship, you know, and I shall not profit sixpence by 
 my attendance on poor old Tom. Call in another 
 doctor, by all means, if you think fit to do so ; 
 but, of course, in that event, I must withdraw 
 from the case. The man you call in may be 
 clever, or he may be stu])id and ignorant. It's
 
 76 BIPvDS OF TREY. 
 
 all a cliaiiccj ^vllcn one doesn't know one's man ; 
 and I really can't advise you upon that point, for 
 I know nothing of the London profession." 
 
 Georgy looked alarmed. Tliis was a new 
 view of the subject. 8hc had fancied that all 
 regular practitioners were clever, and had only 
 doubted Mr. Sheldon because he was not a re- 
 gular practitioner. But how if she were to with- 
 draw her husband from the hands of a clever man 
 to deliver him into the care of an ignorant pre- 
 tender, simply because she was o^'cr-anxious for 
 his recovery ? 
 
 " I always am foolishly anxious about things," 
 she thought. 
 
 And then she looked piteously at Mr. Sheldon, 
 and said, "What do you think I ought to do? 
 Pray tell me. He has eaten no breakfast again this 
 morning ; and even the cup of tea which 1 persuaded 
 him to take seemed to disagree Avith him. And 
 then there is that dreadful sore throat which tor- 
 ments him so. What ought I to do, Mr. Sheldon ?" 
 
 " Whatever seems best to yourself, Mrs. Halli- 
 day," answered the dentist earnestly. " It is a
 
 A PERPLEXING ILLNESS. 77 
 
 subject upon wlilcli I cannot pretend to advise 
 vou. It is a matter of feelino; rather than of rea- 
 son, and it is a matter which you yourself must 
 determine. If I knew any man whom I could 
 honestly recommend to you, it would be another 
 affair ; but I don't. Tom's illness is the simplest 
 thing in the world, and I feel myself quite com- 
 petent to pull him through it, without fuss or 
 bother ; but if you think otherwise, pray put me 
 out of the question. There's one fact, however, 
 of which I'm bound to remind you. Like many 
 fine big stalwart fellows of his stamp, your hus- 
 band is as nervous as a hysterical woman ; and if 
 you call in a strange doctor, who will pull long 
 faces, and put on the professional solemnity, the 
 chances are that he'll take alarm, and do himself 
 more mischief in a few hours than your new 
 adviser can undo in as many weeks." 
 
 There was a little pause after this. Greorgy's 
 opinions, and suspicions, and anxieties were alike 
 vague ; and this last suggestion of Mr. Sheldon's 
 put things in a new and alarming light. She was 
 really anxious about her husband, luit she had
 
 78 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 been accustomed all her life to accept tlie opinion 
 of other people in preference to her own. 
 
 " Do you really think that Tom Avill soon be 
 well and strong again ?" she asked presently. 
 
 ^^ If I thought otherwise, I should be the first 
 to advise other measures. However, my dear 
 Mrs. Halliday, call in someone else, for your own 
 satisfaction." 
 
 " No," said Georgy, sighing plaintively, " it 
 might frighten Tom. You are quite right, Mr. 
 Sheldon ; he is very nervous, and the idea that I 
 was alarmed might alarm him. I'll trust in you. 
 Pray try to bring him round again. You will 
 try, won't you ?" she asked, in the childish plead- 
 ing way which was peculiar to her. 
 
 The dentist was searching for something in the 
 drawer of a table, and his back was turned on that 
 anxious questioner. 
 
 " You may depend upon it, I'll do my best, 
 Mrs. HaUiday," he answered, still busy at the 
 drawer. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon the }'Ounger had paid many visits
 
 A PERPLEXING ILLNESS. 79 
 
 to Fitzgeorge- street during Tom Halliday's ill- 
 ness. George and Tom had been the Damon and 
 Pytliias of Barlingford ; and George seemed 
 really distressed when he found his friend changed 
 for the worse. The changes in the invalid were 
 so puzzling, the alternations from better to worse, 
 and from worse to better, so fi'equent, that fear 
 could take no hold upon the minds of the patient's 
 friends. It seemed such a very slight affair this 
 low fever, though sufficiently inconvenient to the 
 patient himself, who suffered a good deal from 
 thirst and sickness, and showed an extreme disincli- 
 nation for food, all which symptoms Mr. Sheldon 
 said were the commonest and simplest features of 
 a very mild attack of bilious fever, which woul 
 leave Tom a better man than it had found him. 
 
 Tliere had been several pleasant little card- 
 parties during the earlier stages of Mr. Halliday's 
 illness ; but within the last week the patient had 
 been too low and Aveak for cards ; too weak to 
 read the newspaper, or even to bear having it read 
 to him. When George came to look at his old 
 friend, " to cheer you up a little, old fellow, you 
 
 /
 
 80 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 know," and so on, lie found Tom, for the time 
 being, past all capability of being cheered, even 
 by the genial society of his favourite jolly-good- 
 fellow, or by tidings of a steeple-chase in York- 
 shire, in which a neighbour had gone to grief over 
 a double fence. 
 
 "" That chap upstairs seems rather queerish," 
 George had said to his brother, after finding Tom 
 lower and weaker than usual. " He's in a bad 
 way, isn't he, Phil ?" 
 
 " No ; there's nothing serious the matter with 
 him. He's rather Ioav to-night, that's all." 
 
 "Rather low!" echoed George Sheldon. "He 
 seems to me so very low, that he can't sink much 
 lower without going to the bottom of his grave. 
 I'd call someone in, if I were you." 
 
 The dentist shrugged his shoulders, and made 
 a little contemptuous noise with his lips. 
 
 " If you knew as much of doctors as I do, you 
 wouldn't be in any hurry to trust a friend to the 
 mercy of one," he said carelessly. " Don't you 
 alarm yom'self about Tom. He's right enough. 
 He's been in a state of chronic over-eating and
 
 A PEKPLEXING ILLNESS. 81 
 
 over-clrlnklng for the last ten years, and this 
 bilious fever will be the making: of him." 
 
 "Will it?" said George donbtfiJly; and then 
 there followed a Httle pause, during which the bro- 
 thers happened to look at each other furtively, and 
 happened to sm'prise each other in the act. 
 
 " I don't know about over-eating or drinking," 
 said George presently ; " but something has dis- 
 agreed with Tom Halliday, that's very evident." 
 
 / 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 Upon the evening of tlie day on which Mrs. Hal- 
 hday and tlie dentist had discussed the proj)riety 
 of caUing in a strange doctor, George Sheldon 
 came again to see his sick friend. He was quicker 
 to perceive the changes in the invahd than the 
 members of the household, who saAV him daily and 
 hourly, and he perceived a striking change for 
 the worse to-night. 
 
 He took care, however, to suffer no evidence of 
 alarm or surprise to appear in the sick chamber. 
 He talked to his friend in the usual cheery Avay; 
 sat by the bed-side for half-an-hour ; did his best 
 to arouse Tom from a kind of stupid lethargy, and 
 to en corn-age Mrs. Halliday, who shared the task 
 of nursing her husband with brisk Nancy Woolper, 
 an invaluable creature in a sick-room. But he
 
 THE LETTER FROM THE 
 
 failed in both attempts ; the dull apathy of the 
 invalid was not to be dispelled by the most genial 
 companionship, and Greorgy's spirits had been 
 sinking lower and lower all day as her fears 
 increased. 
 
 She would fain have called in a strange doctor; 
 she would fain have sought for comfort and con- 
 solation from some new quarter. But she was 
 afraid of oifending Philip Sheldon ; and she was y 
 afraid of alarming her husband. So she waited, 
 and watched, and struggled against that ever- 
 increasing anxiety. Had not Mr. Sheldon made 
 light of his friend's malady, and what motive 
 could he have for deceiving her ? 
 
 A breakfast-cup full of beef-tea stood on the 
 little table by the bed-side, and had been standing 
 there for hours untouched. 
 
 " I did take such pains to make it strong and 
 clear," said Mrs. Woolper regretfully, as she 
 came to the little table during a tidying process, 
 " and poor dear Mr. Halliday hasn't taken so 
 much as a spoonful. It won't be fit for him to- 
 morrow, so as I haven't eaten a morsel of dinner,
 
 84 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 what witli the huiTv and anxiety and one thinoj 
 and another, I'll Avarni up tlie beef-tea for my 
 supper. There's not a blessed thing in the house ;. 
 for you don't eat nothing, Mrs. Halliday ; and as 
 to cooking a dinner for Mr. Sheldon, you'd a 
 deal better go and throw your yictuals out into 
 the gutter, for then there'd be a chance of stray 
 dogs profiting by 'em, at any rate." 
 
 "Phil is off his feed, then; eh, Nancy?" said 
 George. 
 
 " I should rather think he is, Mr. George. I 
 roasted a chicken yesterday for him and Mrs. 
 Hallida}-, and I don't think the}' eat an ounce 
 between them ; and such a loyely tender young 
 thing as it was too — done to a turn — with bread- 
 sauce and a little bit of sea-kale. One inyalid 
 makes another, that's certain. I neyer saw your 
 brother so upset as he is now, Mr. George, in all 
 his life." 
 
 "No?" answered Georo-e Sheldon thouMit- 
 fully ; " Phil isn't generally one of your sensitiye 
 sort." 
 
 The in-salid was sleeping hea^^ily during this
 
 conversation. George stood by the bed for some 
 minutes looking down at the altered face, and then 
 turned to leave the room. 
 
 "Good-night, Mrs. Halliday," he said; "I 
 hope I shall find poor old Tom a shade better 
 when I look round to-morrow." 
 
 " I am sure I hope so," Georgy answered 
 mournfully. 
 
 She was sitting by the window looking out at 
 the darkening western sky, in which the last lurid 
 glimmer of a stormy sunset was fading against a 
 background of iron gray. 
 
 This quiet figm'e by the window, the stormy 
 sky, and ragged luuTying clouds without, the 
 dusky chamber with all its dismally significant 
 litter of medicine-bottles, made a gloomy picture ; 
 a picture which the man who looked upon it car- 
 ried in liis mind for many years after that night. 
 
 George Sheldon and Nancy Woolper left the 
 room together, the Yorkshirewoman carrying a 
 tray of empty phials and glasses, and amongst 
 them the cup of beef- tea. 
 
 " He seems in a bad way to-night, Nancy,"
 
 8G BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 said George, with a backward jerk of liis head 
 towards the sick-cliamber. 
 
 " He is in a bad way, Mr. George," answered 
 the woman gravel}', " let Mr. Philij:) think what 
 he will. I don't want to say a word against your 
 brother's knowledge, for such a steady studious 
 gentleman as he is had need be clever ; and if I 
 was ill myself, I'd trust my life to him freely; for 
 I've heard Barlingford folks say that my mas- 
 ter's advice is as good as any regular doctor's, 
 and that there's very little your regular doctors 
 know that he doesn't know as well or better. 
 But for all that, Mr. George, I don't think he 
 understands ]\Ir. Halliday's case quite as clear as 
 he might." 
 
 " Do you think Tom's in any danger?" 
 
 " I won't say that, Mr. George ; but I think 
 he gets worse instead of getting better." 
 
 " Humph !" muttered George, " if Halliday 
 were to go off the hooks, Phil would have a good 
 chance of getting a rich wife." 
 
 " Don't say that, Mr. George," exclaimed the 
 Yorkshirewoman reproachfully; "don't even think
 
 of sucli a tiling while that poor man lies at death's 
 door. I'm sure Mr. Sheldon hasn't any thoughts 
 of that kind. He told me before Mr. and Mrs. 
 Halliday came to town, that he and Miss Georg}' 
 had forgotten all about past times." 
 
 "0, if Phil said so, that alters the case. Phil 
 is one of your blunt outspoken fellows ; and al- 
 ways says what he means," said George Sheldon. 
 And then he went downstairs, leaving Nancy to fol- 
 low him at her leisure with the tray of jingling cups 
 and glasses. He went down through the dusk, 
 smiling to himself, as if he had just given utter- 
 ance to some piece of intense humour. He went 
 to look for his brother, whom he found in the 
 torture-chamber, busied with some mysterious 
 process in connection with a lump of plaster-of- 
 paris, which seemed to be the model of ruined 
 battlements in the Gothic style. The dentist looked 
 up as George entered the room, and did not ap- 
 pear particularly delighted by the appearance of 
 that gentleman. 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Sheldon the yomiger, " busy 
 as usual ? Patients seem to be looking up."
 
 88 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 " Patients be toothless to the end of 
 
 time !" cried PhiHp, Avith a savage laugh. " No, 
 I'm not working to order ; I'm only experiment- 
 alising." 
 
 "You're rather fond of experiments, I think, 
 Phil," said George, seating himself near the table 
 at which his brother was Avorking under the glare 
 of the gas. The dentist looked very pale and 
 haggard in the gas-light, and his eyes had the 
 dull sunken appearance induced by prolonged 
 sleeplessness. George sat watching his brother 
 thoughtfully for some time, and then produced his 
 cigar-case. " You don't mind my smoke here ?" 
 he asked, as he lighted a cigar. 
 
 '^ Not at all. You are very welcome to sit 
 here, if it amuses you to see me working at the 
 cast of a lower jaw." 
 
 " 0, that's a lower jaw, is it? It looks like 
 the fragment of some castle-keep. No, Phil, I 
 don't care about watching you work. I want to 
 talk to you seriously." 
 
 "What about?" 
 
 "About that fellow upstairs; poor old Tom.
 
 THE LETTER FROM THE 
 
 He and I were great cronies, you know, at home. 
 He's in a very bad way, Phil." 
 
 '^ Is he ? You seem to be turning physician 
 all at once, George. I shouldn't have thought 
 your grubbing among county histories, and tat- 
 tered old pedigrees, and parish registers had given 
 you so deep an insight into the science of me- 
 dicine !" said the dentist, in a sneering tone. 
 
 " I don't know anything of medicine ; but I 
 know enough to be sure that Tom Halliday is 
 about as bad as he can be. What mystifies me 
 is, that he doesn't seem to have had anythino; 
 particular the matter with him. There he lies, 
 getting worse and worse every day, without 
 any specific ailment. It's a strange illness, 
 Philip." 
 
 " I don't see anything strange in it." 
 
 '^ Don't you? Don't you think the surround- 
 ino; circumstances are strano;e ? Here is this man 
 comes to your house hale and hearty ; and all of a 
 sudden he falls ill, and gets lower and lower every 
 day, without anybody being able to say why or 
 wherefore."
 
 90 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 '' That's not true, George. E-vorybody in tins 
 house knows tlie eause of Tom Halliday's illness. 
 He came home in wet clothes, and insisted on 
 keeping them on. He caught a cold ; which re- 
 sulted in low fever. There is the whole history 
 and mystery of the affair." 
 
 " That's simple enough, certainly. But if I 
 were you, Phil, I'd call in another doctor." 
 
 " Tliat is Mrs. Halliday's business," answered 
 the dentist coolly; "if she doubts my skill, she 
 is free to call in whom she pleases. And now you 
 may as well drop the subject, George. I've had 
 enough anxiety about this man's illness, and I 
 don't want to be worried by you." 
 
 After this there was a little conversation upon 
 general matters, but the talk dragged and lan- 
 guished drearily, and George Sheldon rose to 
 depart directly he had finished his cigar. 
 
 " Good-night, Philip!" he said; "if ever you 
 get a stroke of good luck, I hope you'll stand some-- 
 thing handsome to me." 
 
 This remark had no particular relevance to 
 anything that had been said that night by the
 
 THE LETTER FROM THE " ALLIAXCE" OFFICE. 91 
 
 two men. Yet Philip Sheldon seemed in no wise 
 astonished by it. 
 
 "If things ever do take a turn for the better 
 with me, you'll find me a good friend, George," 
 he said gra\^ely ; and then ]\Ir. Sheldon the 
 younger bade him good-night, and went out into 
 Fitzo-eoroje-street. 
 
 He paused for a moment at the corner of the 
 street to look back at his brother's house. He 
 could see the lighted windows of the invalid's 
 chamber, and it was at those he looked. 
 
 " Poor Tom," he said to himself, " poor Tom ! 
 we were great cronies in the old times, and ha^'e 
 had many a pleasant evening together !" 
 
 Mr. Sheldon the dentist sat up till the small 
 hom's that night, as he had done for many nights 
 lately. He finished his work in the torture-cham- 
 ber, and went up to the common sitting-room, or 
 drawing-room as it was called by courtesy, a little 
 before midnight. The servants had gone to bed, 
 for there was no regular nightly watch in the 
 apartment of the invalid. Mrs. Hallida}- lay on
 
 92 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 a sofa in her liiLsbancVs room, and Nancy Wool- 
 per slept in an adjoining apartment, always 
 •\vakefid and ready if help of any kind should be 
 "wanted. 
 
 The house was very quiet just now. Philip 
 Sheldon walked up and down the room, thinking ; 
 and the creaking of his boots sounded unpleasantly 
 loud to his ears. He stopped before the fire-place, 
 afler having w^alked to and fro some time, and 
 began to examine some letters that lay upon the 
 mantelpiece. They were addressed to Mr. Halli- 
 day, and had been forwarded from Yorkshire. 
 The dentist took them u}) one by one, and delibe- 
 rately examined them. They were all business 
 letters, and most of them bore comitry post-marks. 
 But there was one which had been, in the first 
 instance, posted from London ; and this letter Mr. 
 Sheldon examined with especial attention. 
 
 It W'as a big official-looking document, and 
 embossed upon the adhesive envelope appeared 
 the crest and motto of the Alliance Insurance 
 Office. 
 
 "" I wonder whether that's all square," thought
 
 THE LETTER FROM THE " ALLIANCE" OFFICE. 9S 
 
 Mr. Sheldon, as lie turned the envelope about in 
 his hands, staring at it absently. " I ought to 
 make sure of that. The London post-mark is ^ 
 nearly tlu'ee weeks old." He pondered for some 
 moments, and then went to the cupboard in which 
 he kept the materials wherewith to replenish or 
 to make a fire. Here he found a little tin tea- 
 kettle, in which he was in the habit of boiling 
 water for occasional fi'iendly glasses of grog. He 
 poured some water from a bottle on the sideboard 
 into this kettle, set fire to a bundle of wood, 
 and put the kettle on the blazing sticks. After 
 having done this he searched for a tea-cup, suc- 
 ceeded in finding one, and then stood watching 
 for the boiling of the water. He had not long to 
 wait ; the water boiled furiously before the wood 
 was bmTit out, and Mr. Sheldon filled the tea-cup 
 standing on the table. Then he put the insm-ance- 
 office letter over the cup, with the seal down- 
 wards, and left it so while he resumed his walk. 
 After walking up and down for about ten minutes 
 he went back to the table and took up the letter. 
 The adhesive envelope opened easily, and Mr.
 
 94 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 Sheldon, by tliis ingenious stratagem, made him- 
 self master of his friend's business. 
 
 The '^ Alliance" letter was nothing more than 
 a notice to the effect that the half-yearly premium 
 for insuring the sum of three thousand ])ounds on 
 the life of Thomas Halliday would be due on such 
 a day, after which there would be twenty-one 
 days' grace, at the end of which time the policy 
 would become void, unless the premium had been 
 duly paid. 
 
 Mr. Halliday's letters had been suffered to ac- 
 cumulate durino; the last fortnio;ht. The letters 
 forwai'ded from Yorkshire had been detained some 
 time, as they had been sent first to Hyley Farm, 
 now in possession of the new owner, and then to 
 Barlingford, to the house of Georgy's mother, 
 who had kept them upwards of a week, in daily 
 expectation of her son-in-law's return. It was 
 only on the reccii)t of a letter from Georgy, con- 
 taining the tidings of her husband's ilhiess, that 
 Mr. Halliday's letters had been sent to London. 
 
 Thus it came about that the twenty-one days 
 ^-^ of grace were within four-and-twenty hours of
 
 expiring wlien Philip Sheldon opened his friend's 
 letter. 
 
 '' Tliis is serious," muttered the dentist, as he 
 stood deliberating with the open letter in his 
 hand ; " there are three thousand pounds depend- 
 ing on that man's power to write a cheque !" 
 
 After a few minutes' reflection, he folded the 
 letter and resealed it very carefully. 
 
 '^ It woiddn't do to press the matter upon him 
 to-night," he thought; " I must wait till to-mor- 
 row morning, come what may."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The next morning dawned gray and pale and 
 cliill, after the manner of early spring mornings, 
 let tliem ripen into never such balmy days ; and 
 with the dawn ISTancy Woolj^er came into the in- 
 valid's chamber, more Avan and sickly of aspect 
 than tlie morning itself. 
 
 Mrs. Halliday started from an mieasy slumber. 
 
 " What's the matter, Nancy ?" she asked with 
 considerable alarm. She had known the woman 
 ever since her childhood, and she was startled this 
 morning by some indefinable change in her man- 
 ner and appearance. The hearty old woman, 
 whose face had been like a hard rosy apple 
 shrivelled and wrinkled by long keeping, had now 
 a white and ghastly look which struck terror to 
 Georgy's breast. She who was usually so brisk
 
 MR. BURKILUl's UNCERTAINTIES. 97 
 
 of iiiannor and sharp of speech, had this morning 
 a strange snbdned tone and an unnatnral cahnness 
 of demeanour. ^MVhat is the matter, Nancy?" 
 Mrs. Hallidav repeated, getting up from her sofa. 
 
 '* Dv:)n't be frightened. Miss GeorgVj" an- 
 swered tlie old woman, who was apt to forget that 
 Tom HaUiday's wife had ever ceased to be Georgy 
 Cradoek; "don't be frightened, my dear. I 
 haven't been ve]y well all night, — and — and — 
 I've been worrying myself about Mr. Halliday. 
 If I were yon, I'd call in another doctor. Never . 
 mind what Mr. Philip says. He may be mis- 
 taken, you know, clever as he is. There's no 
 telling. Take my advice. Miss Georgy, and call 
 in another doctor — directly — directly," repeated 
 the old woman, seizing Mrs. HaUiday's wrist with 
 a passionate energy, as if to give emphasis to lier 
 words. 
 
 Poor timid Georgy shrank from her with 
 terror. 
 
 '' You fi'lghten me, Nancy," she whispered ; 
 " do you think that Tom is so much worse ? You 
 have not been with him all night ; and he has 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 been sleeping ^-ery quietly. What makes you sa 
 anxious tins mornino;?'' 
 
 "Never mind that, Miss Gcorgy. You get 
 another doctor, that's all; get another doctor at 
 once. Mr. Sheldon is a light sleeper. I'll go to 
 his room and tell him you've set your heart upon 
 having fresh advice ; if you'll only bear me out 
 afterwards." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; go, by all means," exclaimed 
 Mrs. Halliday, only too ready to take alarm under 
 the influence of a stronger mind, and eager to act 
 when supported by another person. 
 
 Nancy Woolper went to her master's room. 
 He must have been sleeping very lightly, if he 
 was sleeping at all ; for he w^as broad awake the 
 next minute after his housekeeper's light knock 
 had sounded on the door. In less than five mi- 
 nutes he came out of his room half-dressed. 
 Nancy told him that Mrs. Halliday had taken 
 fresh alarm about her husband, and wished for 
 further advice. 
 
 " She sent you to tell me that ?" asked Philip. 
 
 " Yes."
 
 MR. bukkham's uncertainties. 99 
 
 "And Avhcii does slie want this new doctor 
 called in?" 
 
 " Immediatelj, if possible." 
 
 It was seven o'clock by this time, and the 
 mornino; was briorlitenino: a little. 
 
 " Veiy well," said Mr. Sheldon ; " her wishes 
 shall be attended to directly. Heaven forbid that 
 I shonld stand between my old friend and any 
 chance of his speedy recovery! If a stranger 
 can bring him ronnd quicker than I can, let 
 the stranger come." 
 
 Mr. Sheldon was not slow to obey Mrs. 
 Halliday's behest. He was departing on his quest 
 breakfastless, when Xancy Woolper met him in 
 the hall with a cup of tea. He accepted the 
 cup almost mechanically from her hand, and took 
 it into the parlour, whither Nancy followed him. 
 Tlien for the first time he perceived that change 
 in his housekeeper's face which had so startled 
 Georgina Hallidav. The chano-e was somewhat 
 modified now; but still the Nancy Woolper of 
 to-day was not the Nancy Woolper of yesterday.
 
 100 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 " You're looking very queer, !N"ancy," said 
 
 tlie dentist, gravely scrutinising the woman's face 
 
 with his bright penetrating eyes. '^ Arc you ill ?" 
 
 " AVell, Mr. Philip, I have been rather queer 
 
 all night, — sickish and faintish-like." 
 
 "' Ah, you've been over-fatiguing yourself in 
 the sick-room, I daresay. Take care you don't 
 knock yourself up." 
 
 "No; it's not that, Mr. Philip There's not 
 many can stand hard work better than I can. 
 It's not that as made me ill. I took something 
 last night that disagreed with me." 
 
 " More fool you," said Mr. Sheldon curtly ; 
 " you ought to know better than to ill-use your 
 digestive j^owers at your age. What was it? 
 Hard cold meat and preternaturally green pickles, 
 I su2:)pose ; or something of that kind." 
 
 " No, sir ; it was only a drop of beef- tea 
 tliat I made for poor Mr. Halliday. And that 
 oughtn't to have disagreed with a baby, you 
 know, sir." 
 
 " Oughtn't it?" cried the dentist disdainfully. 
 " Tliat's a little bit of vulgar ignorance, Mrs.
 
 101 
 
 Woolper. I suj)pose it was stuff that had been 
 taken up to Mr. Halliday." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Phihp ; you took it up with your 
 own hands." 
 
 '' Ah, to be sure ; so I did. Very well, then, 
 Mrs. Woolper, if you knew as much about at- 
 mospheric influences as I do, you'd know that 
 food ^\liich has been standing for hours in the 
 pestilential air of a fever-patient's room isn't fit 
 for an}'body to eat. The stuff made you sick, 
 I suppose." 
 
 "Yes, sir; sick to my very heart," answered 
 the Yorkshire woman, with a strange mournful - 
 ness in her voice. 
 
 " Let that be a warning to you, then. Don't 
 take anything more that comes down from the 
 sick-room." 
 
 "I don't think there'll be any chance of my 
 doing that long, sir." 
 
 " What do you mean?" 
 
 " I don't fancy Mr. Halliday is long for 
 this world." 
 
 "Ah, you women are always ravens."
 
 102 BIRDS OF rrvEY. 
 
 '' Unless tlic strano'c doctor can do some- 
 tiling to cure him. 0, pray bring a clever man 
 who will be able to cure that poor helpless creature 
 upstairs. Think, Mi*. Philip, how you and him 
 used to be friends and playfellows, — brothers al- 
 most, — when you was both bits of boys. Think 
 how bad it might seem to evil-minded folks if 
 he died under your roof." 
 
 The dentist had been standing near the door 
 drinking his tea during this conversation ; and 
 now for the first time he looked at his house- 
 keeper with an expression of unmitigated astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 '^ What, in the name of all that's ridiculous, 
 do you mean, Nancy?" he asked impatiently. 
 " What has my roof to do w^ith Tom Halliday's 
 illness — or his death, if it came to that ? And 
 what on earth can people have to say about it 
 if he should die here instead of anywhere else?" 
 
 " Why, you see, sir, you being his friend, 
 and Miss Georgy'.s sweetheart that was, and him 
 having no other doctor, folks might take it into 
 their heads he wasn't attended properh\"
 
 MR. BURKHAM'S UXCERTAl^'TIES. 103 
 
 ^^ Because I'm lils friend? That's very good 
 logic! I'll tell you what it is, Mrs. Woolper ; 
 if any woman upon earth, except the woman 
 wlio nursed me when I was a baby, had ^Dre- 
 sumed to talk to me as you have been talking 
 to me just this minute, I should open the door 
 yonder and tell her to walk out of my house. 
 Let that serve as a hint for you, Xancy ; and don't 
 you go out of your way a second time to advise 
 me how I should treat my friend and my patient." 
 
 He handed her the empty cup, and walked 
 out of the house. There had been no passion 
 in his tone. His accent had Ijeen only that of 
 ii man who has occasion to reprove an old and 
 trusted servant for an unwarrantable imperti- 
 nence. Xancy Woolper stood at the street-door 
 watching him as he walked aw^ay, and then went 
 slowly back to her duties in the lower regions 
 of the house. 
 
 '^ It can't be true," she muttered to herself; 
 ^' it can't be true." 
 
 Tlie dentist returned to Fitzo;eoro;e-street ni
 
 104 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 less than an hour, bringing -with him a surgeon 
 from tlic neighbourliood, Avho saw the patient, dis- 
 cussed the treatment, s2)oke hopefully to Mrs. Hal- 
 liday, and dej^arted, after promising to send a 
 saline draught. Poor Gcorgy's spirits, which had' 
 revived a little under the influence of the stranger's 
 hoi:)eful words, sank again when she discovered 
 that the utmost the new doctor could do was to 
 order a saline drauoht. Her husband had taken 
 SO many saline draughts, and had been getting 
 daily worse under their influence. 
 
 She watched the stranger wistfully as he lin- 
 gered on the threshold to say a few Avords to Mr. 
 Sheldon. He was a very young man, with a frank 
 boyish face and a rosy colour in his cheeks. He 
 looked like some fresh young neophyte in the 
 awful mysteries of medical science, and hy no 
 means the sort of man to whom one would \m\e 
 imagined Philip Sheldon appealing for help, when 
 he found his own skill at fault. But then it must 
 be remembered that Mr. Sheldon had only sum- 
 moned the stranger in compliance with \\-htit he 
 considered a womanish whim.
 
 MR. burkham's uncertainties. 105 
 
 '^ He looks very young," Georgina said regret- 
 fully, after the doctor's departure. 
 
 '^ So much the better, my dear Mrs. Halli- 
 day," answered the dentist cheerfully; ''medical 
 science is eminently progressive, and the youngest 
 men are the best-educated men." 
 
 Poor Georcrv did not understand this ; but it 
 sounded convincing ; and she was in the habit of 
 believing what people told her; so she accepted 
 Mr. Sheldon's opinion. How could she doubt 
 that he was wiser than herself in all matters con- 
 nected with the medical profession ? 
 
 " Tom seems a little better this morning," she 
 said presently. 
 
 The imalid was asleep, shrouded by the cur- 
 tain of the hea\y old-fashioned four-post bedstead. 
 
 "He is better," answered the dentist; "so 
 much better, that I shall venture to give him a few 
 business letters that have been waiting for him 
 some time, as soon as he wakes." 
 
 He seated himself by the head of the bed, and 
 waited quietly for the awakening of the patient. 
 
 "Your breakfast is ready for you downstairs,.
 
 106 BIRDS OF rilEY. 
 
 Mrs. Halllday,'' lie said presently; 'Miadn't you 
 better g(j down and take it, while I keep watcli 
 lierc? It's nearly ten o'cloek." 
 
 '' I don't care about any breakfast," Georgina 
 answered })iteously. 
 
 "All, but you'd better eat something. You'll 
 make yourself an invalid, if you are not carefid ; 
 and then you won't be able to attend upon Tom." 
 
 This argument pre^'ailed immediately. Georgy 
 went downstairs to the drawing-room, and tried 
 bravely to eat and drink, in order that she might 
 be sustained in her attendance upon her husband. 
 She had forgotten all the throes and tortm-es of 
 jealousy which she had endured on his account. 
 She had forgotten his late hours and unholy 
 roisterings. She had foro-otten c very thin cr ex- 
 <3ept that he had been very tender and kind 
 throughout the prosperous years of their married 
 life, and that he was lying in the darkened room 
 upstairs sick to death. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon waited with all outwai'd show of 
 patience for the awakening of the invalid. But
 
 MR. burkham's uncertainties. 107 
 
 he looked at his watch twice during* that half-hour 
 of waitino; : and once he rose and moved softlv 
 about the room, searching for writing materials. 
 He found a little portfolio of Georgina's, and a 
 frivolous-minded inkstand, after the semblance of 
 jin apple, with a gilt stalk and leaflet. The dent- 
 ist took the trouble to ascertain that there was a 
 decent supply of ink in the green glass apple, and 
 that the pens were in working order. Then he 
 went quietly back to his seat by the bedside and 
 waited. 
 
 The invalid opened his eyes presently, and re- 
 cognised his friend with a feeble smile. 
 
 ^^ Well, Tom, old fellow, how do you feel to- 
 day? — a little better, I hear from Mrs. H.," said 
 the dentist cheerily. 
 
 " Yes, I think I am a shade better. But, you 
 see, the deuce of it is I never get more than a 
 shade better. It alwa}'s stops at that. The little 
 woman can't complain of me now, can she, Shel- 
 don? Xo more late hours, or oyster-suppers, 
 eh?" 
 
 " No, no, not just yet. You'll have to take
 
 108 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 care of yourself for a week or two when you get 
 about again." 
 
 Mr. Halliday smiled faintly as his friend said 
 this. 
 
 " I shall be very careful of myself if I ever do 
 get about again, aou may depend upon it, old fel- 
 low. But do you know I sometimes fancy I have 
 spent my last jolly evening, and eaten my last 
 oyster-supjDer, on this earth ? I'm afraid it's time 
 for me to begin to think seriously of a good many 
 things. The little woman is all right, thank Grod. 
 I made my will upwards of a year ago, and in- 
 sured my life j^retty heavily soon after my mar- 
 riage. Old Cradock never let me rest till that was 
 done. So Georgy will be all safe. But when a 
 man has led a careless, godless kind of a life, — 
 doing very little harm perhaps, but doing no par- 
 ticular good, — he ought to set about making up 
 his account somehow^ for a better world, when he 
 feels himself slipping out of this. I asked Georgy 
 for her Bible yesterday, and the poor dear loving 
 little thing was frightened out of her wits. ' 0, 
 don't talk like that, Tom,' she cried ; ' Mr. Sliel-
 
 MR. bukkham's uncertainties. 109 
 
 don says yon are getting better every lionr,' — by 
 which yon may gness what a rare thing it is for 
 me to read my Bible. Ko, Phil, old fellow, yon've 
 done yonr best for me, I know ; but I'm not made 
 of a very tongh material, and all the physic yon 
 can pour down this poor sore throat of mine won't 
 put any strength into me." 
 
 " Xonsense, dear boy ; that's jnst what a man 
 who has not been accustomed to illness is sure to 
 think directly he is laid up for a day or two.*' 
 
 '' I've been laid up for three weeks," mur- 
 mured Mr. Halliday rather fretfully. 
 
 "Well, well, perhaps this Mr. Burkham will 
 bring yon round in three days, and then you'll 
 say that your friend Sheldon was an ignoramus." 
 
 " No, no, I sha'n't, old fellow ; I'm not such 
 a fool as that. I'm not going to blame you when 
 it's my own constitution that's in fault. As to 
 that young man you brought here just now, to 
 please Georgy, I don't suppose he'll be able to do 
 any more for me than you have done." 
 
 "We'll contrive to bring you round between 
 us, never fear, Tom," answered Philip Sheldon
 
 110 BIRDS OF I'ilEV. 
 
 in liis most hopeful tone. '' A\'li}', you are look- 
 ing almost yom- old self this morning. You arc 
 so much improved that I may venture to talk to 
 you about business. There have been some letters 
 lying about for tlic last few days. I didn't like to 
 bore you while you were so ^■ery low. But they 
 look like business letters ; and perhaps it would bo 
 as well for you to open them." 
 
 The sick man contemplated the little packet 
 which the dentist had taken from his breast- 
 pocket ; and then shook his head wearily. 
 
 " I'm not up to the mark, Sheldon," he said ; 
 '' the letters must keep.'' 
 
 " 0, come, come, old fellow ! That's giving 
 way, you know. The letters may be important ; 
 and it will do you good if you make an effort to 
 rouse yourself." 
 
 " I tell you it isn't in me to do it, Philip Shel- 
 don. I'm ])ast making efforts. Can't you see 
 that, man? Open the letters yourself if you like." 
 
 '^ No, no, Halliday, I won't do that. Here's 
 one with the seal of the Alliance Insurance Office. 
 I suppose your premium is all right.'*
 
 MIL burkham's uncertainties. Ill 
 
 Tom Hallida}' lifted liimself on liis elbow for a 
 moment, startled into new life ; bnt lie sank back on 
 the pillows again immediately, with a feeble groan. 
 
 " I don't laiow abont that," he said anxiously; 
 " you'd better look to that, Phil, for the little 
 woman's sake. A man is apt to think that his 
 insurance is settled and done with when he has 
 been pommelled about by the doctors and approved 
 by the board. He foi^gets there's that little matter 
 of the premium. You'd better open the letter, 
 Phil. I never was a good hand at remembering 
 dates, and this illness has thrown me altogether 
 out of gear." 
 
 Mr. Sheldon tore open that official document 
 which, in his benevolent regard for his friend's 
 interest, he had manipulated so cleverly on the 
 previous evening, and read the letter with all 
 show of deliberation. 
 
 " You're right, Tom," he exclaimed presently. 
 " The twenty -one days' grace expire to-day. 
 You'd better write me a check at once, and I'll 
 send it on to the office by hand. Where's your 
 check-book ?"
 
 112 BIKUS OF PREY. 
 
 ^^ In tlic pocket of that coat hanging up 
 there." 
 
 Philip Sheldon found the check-book, and 
 brought it to his friend, with Georgy's portfolio, 
 find the frivolous little green glass inkstand in the 
 shape of an apple. He adjusted the writing ma- 
 terials for the sick man's use with womanly 
 gentleness. His arm supported the wasted frame, 
 fis Tom Halliday slowly and laboriously filled in 
 the check ; and when the signature was duly ap- 
 p. pended to that document he drew a long breath, 
 wdiich seemed to express infinite relief of mind. 
 
 " You'll be sure it goes on to the Alliance 
 Office, eh, old fellow ?" asked Tom, as he tore 
 out the oblong slip of paper and handed it to his 
 friend. '^ It was kind of you to jog my memory 
 about this business. I'm such a fellow for pro- 
 crastinating matters. And I'm afraid I've been 
 a little off my head during the last week." 
 
 ^^ Nonsense, Tom; not you." 
 
 '' yes, I have. I've had all sorts of queer 
 " fancies. Did you come into this room the night 
 before last, when Georgy was asleep ?"
 
 MR. burkham's uncertainties. 113 
 
 Mr. Sheldon reflected for a moment before 
 answerino:. 
 
 "No," he said, "'not the night before 
 last." 
 
 "Ah, I thought as much," murmured the in- 
 valid. " I was off my head that night then, Phil, 
 for I fancied I saw you ; and I fancied I heard 
 the bottles and glasses jingling on the little table 
 behind the cm'tain." 
 
 " Youw^ere dreaming, perhaps." 
 
 " no, I wasn't dreaming. I was very rest- 
 less and wakeful that night. However, that's 
 neither here nor there. I lie in a stupid state 
 sometimes for hours and hours, and I feel as weak 
 as a rat, bodily and mentally ; so while I have my 
 wits about me I'd better say what I've been want- 
 ing to say ever so long. You've been a good and 
 kind friend to me all through this illness, Phil, 
 and I'm not ungrateful for your kindness. If it 
 does come to the worst with me — as I believe it 
 will — Georgy shall give you a handsome mom^n- 
 ing ring, or fifty pounds to buy one, if you like 
 it better. And now let me shake hands with you, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Pliillp SlielJuii, and say thank you licai'tily, old 
 fellow, for once and for ever." 
 
 The invahd stretched out a poor feeble at- 
 tenuated hand, and, after a moment's pause, Philip 
 Sheldon clasped it in his own muscular fingers. 
 y He did hesitate for just one instant before taking 
 tliat hand. 
 
 He was no student of the gosj^el ; but when 
 lie had left the sick chamber there arose before 
 him suddenly, as if written in letters of fire on 
 the wall opposite to him, one sentence which had 
 been familiar to him in his school-days at Barling- 
 ford : 
 
 And as soon as he teas come, he goeth straight- 
 loay to him, and saith, Master, master; and kissed 
 him. 
 
 Tlie new doctor came twice a day to see his 
 patient. He seemed rather anxious about the 
 case, and just a little puzzled by the symptoms. 
 Georgy had sufficient penetration to j^erceive 
 that this new adviser was in some manner at 
 fault ; and she began to think that Philip Sheldon
 
 MPx. burkham's uncertainties. 115 
 
 was riglit, and that regular practitioners were 
 very stupid creatures. Slie communicated lier 
 doubts to Mr. Sheldon, and suggested the expe- 
 diency of calling in some grave elderly doctor, 
 to supersede Mr. Burkham. But against this 
 the dentist protested very strongly. 
 
 '^ You asked me to call in a stranger, Mrs. 
 Halliday, and I have done so," he said with 
 the dignity of an offended man. ^^ You must 
 now abide by his treatment, and content your- y 
 self with his advice, unless he chooses to sum- 
 mon further assistance." 
 
 Georgy was fain to submit. She gave a little 
 plaintive sigh, and went back to her husband's 
 room, where she sat and wept silently behind 
 the bed-curtains. There was a double watch 
 kept in the sick chamber now ; for Nancy AYool- 
 per rarely left it, and rarely closed her eyes. 
 It was altogether a sad time in the dentist's 
 house ; and Tom Halliday apologised to his friend 
 more than once for the trouble he had brouo:ht 
 upon him. If he had been familiar with the 
 details of modern history, he would have quoted
 
 'IIG DIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Charles Stuart, and begged pardon for being so 
 lono; a-dvinn;. 
 
 But anon there came a gleam of hope. The 
 patient seemed decidedly better ; and Georgy was 
 prepared to revere Mr. Burkham, the Blooms- 
 bury surgeon, as the greatest and ablest of men. 
 Those shadows of doubt and perplexity which 
 had at first obscured Mr. Burkham's brow cleared 
 away, and he spoke A'ery cheerfully of the in- 
 A'alid. 
 
 Unhappily this state of things did not last 
 long. The young surgeon came one morning, 
 and was obviously alarmed by the appearance 
 of his patient. He told Philip Sheldon as much ; 
 but that gentleman made very light of his fears. 
 As the two men discussed the case, it was Acr}' 
 evident that the irregular practitioner was quite 
 a match for the regular one. Mr. Burkham 
 listened deferentially, but departed only half con- 
 vinced. He walked briskly away from the house, 
 but came to a dead stop directly after turning 
 out of Fitzo-eorc^c-strcet. 
 
 ^'What oudit I to do?" he asked himself.
 
 MR. burkham's uncertainties. 117 
 
 ^^ What course ought I to take? If I am right, 
 I should be a villaiu to let 'things go on. If I 
 am wrono', anvthino: like interference would ruin 
 me for life." 
 
 He had finished his morning round, but ho 
 did not go straight home. He lingered at the 
 corners of quiet streets, and walked up and down 
 the unfrequented side of a gloomy square. Once 
 he turned and retraced his steps in the direction 
 of Fitzgeorge-street. But after all this hesita- 
 tion he walked home, and ate his dinner very 
 thoughtfully, answering his young wife at ran- 
 dom when she talked to him. He was a strug- 
 gling man, who had invested his small fortune 
 in the purchase of a practice which had turned 
 out a very poor one, and he had the battle of 
 life before him. 
 
 ^' There's something on your mind to-day, 
 
 I'm sure, Harry," his wife said before the meal 
 
 Avas ended. 
 
 " Well, yes, dear," he answered ; " I've rather 
 
 a difficult case in Fitzgeorge-street, and I'm 
 
 anxious about it."
 
 118 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 The industrious little wife disapiieared after 
 dinner, and the }'oung surgeon walked up and 
 down the room alone, brooding over that difficult 
 ease in Fitzgeorge-street. After spending nearly 
 an hour thus, he snatched his hat suddenly fi-om 
 the table on which he had set it down, and 
 hiuTied fi*om the house. 
 
 " I'U have advice and assistance, come what 
 may," he said to himself, as he walked rapidly 
 in the direction of Mr. Sheldon's house. "Tlie 
 , case may be straight enough — I certainly can't 
 see that the man has any motive — but I'll have 
 advice." 
 
 He looked up at the dentist's spotless dwell- 
 ino; as he crossed the 'street. Tlie blinds were 
 all down, and the fact that they were so sent a 
 sudden chill to his heart. But the April sun- 
 shine was full upon that side of the street, and 
 there might be no significance in those closely- 
 drawn blinds. The door Avas opened by a sleepy- 
 looking boy, and in the passage Mr. Bm'kham 
 met Philip Sheldon. 
 
 ^' I have been rather anxious about my patient
 
 Mil. burkham's uncertainties. 119 
 
 since tills morning, Mr. Sheldon," said the sur- 
 geon ; " and I've come to the conclusion that I 
 ought to confer •with a man of higher standing 
 than myself. Do you think Mrs. Halliday will 
 object to such a com'se?" 
 
 ''' I am sure she would not have objected to 
 it," the dentist answered very gravely, ^^ if you 
 had suggested it sooner. I am sorry to say the 
 suggestion comes too late. My poor friend 
 breathed his last half an hour airo."
 
 THE TWO MACxilRES.
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A GOLDEN TEMPLE. 
 
 In tlie very midst of tlic Belgian iron country, 
 under tlie shadow of tall shelterino; rido^es of 
 pine-clad mountain-land, nestles the fashionable 
 little watering-place called Foretdechene. Two 
 or three handsome hotels ; a bright white new 
 pile of building, with vast windows of shining 
 plate-glass, and a stately quadrangular courtyard ; 
 a tiny street, which looks as if a fragment of 
 English Brighton had been dropped into this 
 Belgian valley ; a stunted semi-classic temple, 
 which is at once a post-office and a shrine whereat 
 invalids perform their worship of Hygeia by the 
 consumption of unspeakably disagreeable mineral- 
 waters ; a few tall white villas scattered here 
 and there upon the slopes of pine-clad hills ; and 
 a very uncomfortable railway station — constitute
 
 124 BIRDS OF rrvEY. 
 
 tlic cliief features of Foretdecliene. But riglit 
 «ind left of tliat little cluster of shops and hotels 
 there stretch deep sombre avenues of oak, that 
 look like sheltered ways to Paradise — and the 
 deep, dceji blue of the August sky, and the pure 
 breath of the warm soft air, and the tender green 
 of the young pine-woods that clothe the sandy 
 hills, and the delicious tranquillity that pervades 
 the sleepy little town and bathes the hot land- 
 scape in a languorous mist, are charms that render 
 Foretdechene a pleasant oasis amid the lurid 
 woods and mountains of the iron countr3\ 
 
 Only at stated intervals the quiet of this sleepy 
 hollow is broken by the rolling of wheels, the 
 jingling of bells, the cracking of whips, the ejacu- 
 lations of drivers, and supplications of touters : 
 only when the railroad carries away departing 
 visitors, or brings fresh ones, is there anything 
 like riot or confusion in the little town mider 
 tlic pine-clad hills — and even then the riot and 
 confusion are of a very mild order, and create 
 but a transient discord amongst the harmonies 
 of nature.
 
 A GOLDEN TEMPLE. 125 
 
 And yet, despite the Arcadian tranquillity of 
 the landscape, the drowsy quiet of the pine- 
 groves, the deep and solemn shade of those 
 dark avenues, where one mioht fondly hope to 
 find some Druidess lincverino; beneath the shelter 
 of the oaks, there is excitement of no common 
 order to be found in the miniature watering- 
 place of Foretdechene ; and the reflective and 
 observant traveller, on a modern sentimental jour- 
 ney, has only to enter the stately white building 
 with the glittering plate-glass windows in order 
 to behold the master-passions of the human breast 
 unveiled for his pleasure and edification. 
 
 The ignorant traveller, impelled by curiosity, 
 finds no bar to his entrance. The doors are as 
 wide open as if the mansion were an hotel ; and 
 yet it is not an hotel, though a placard which 
 he passes informs the traveller that he may have 
 ices and sorheis, if he will ; nor is the bright fresh- 
 looking building a theatre, for another placard 
 informs the ^^isitor that there are dramatic per- 
 formances to be witnessed every evening in a 
 building on one side of the quadrangle, which
 
 126 BIRDS OF ITiEY. 
 
 is a mere subsidiary attacliment to the vast white 
 mansion. The traveller, passing on his way un- 
 hindered, save by a man in livcrj-, who deprives 
 liim of his cane, ascends a splendid staircase and 
 traverses a handsome antechamber, from which 
 a pair of plate-glass doors open into a spacious 
 saloon, where, in the Avarm August sunlight, a 
 circle of men and Avomen are gathered round a 
 iireat ojreen table, o-amblino-. 
 
 The ignorant traveller, unaccustomed to the 
 amusements of a Continental watering-place, may 
 perhaps feel a little sense of surprise — a some- 
 thing almost akin to shame — as he contemplates 
 that silent crowd : whose occupation seems so 
 much the more strano'c to him because of their 
 silence. There is no lively bustle, none of that 
 animation Avhich generally attends every kind of 
 amusement, none of the clamour of the betting- 
 ring or the exchange. The gamblers at Foretde- 
 €hL'ne are terribly in earnest : and the ignorant 
 visitor unconsciously adapts himself to the solemn 
 hush of the place and steps softly as he approaches 
 the table round which they are clustered — as many
 
 A GULDEN TEMPLE. 127 
 
 sitting as can find room round the green-cloth- 
 covered board ; while behind the sitters there are 
 peoj^le standing two or three rows deep, the hind- 
 ermost watching the table ovev the shoulders of 
 their neighbours. A placard upon the wall in- 
 forms visitors that only constant })lajers are per- 
 mitted to remain seated at tliat sacred table. 
 Perhaps a third of the phiyers and a third of 
 the lookers-on are women. And if there are 
 lips more tightly contracted than other lips, and 
 eyes Avith a harder, greedier light in them than 
 other eyes, those lips and those eyes belong to 
 the women. The ungloved feminine hands have 
 a claw-like aspect as they scrape the glittering- 
 pieces of silver over the green cloth ; the feminine 
 throats look ^veird and scraggy as the}- crane 
 themselves over masculine shoulders ; the femi- 
 nine eyes have something demoniac in their steely 
 glare as they keep watcli upon the rapid progress 
 of the game. 
 
 Half-a-dozen moderate fortunes seem to bo 
 lost and won while the traveller looks on from ^ - .^o^ 
 the background, unnoticed and unseen ; for if 
 
 y
 
 128 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 those plate-glass doors swung suddenly open to 
 admit the seven angels of the Apocalypse, carry- 
 ing the seven golden vials filled with the wrath 
 of God, it is doubtful whether the splendour of 
 their awful glory, or the trumpet -notes that 
 heralded their coming, would have power to 
 arouse the players from their profound abstrac- 
 tion. 
 
 Half-a-dozen comfortable little patrimonies 
 seem to have changed hands while the traveller 
 has been looking on ;. and yet he has only watched 
 the table for about ten minutes ; and this splendid 
 salon is but an outer chamber, where one may 
 stake as shabby a sum as two francs, if one is 
 shabby enough to wish to do so, and where play- 
 ing for half-an-liour or so on a pleasant summer 
 morning one could scarcely lose more than fifty 
 or sixty pounds. Another pair of plate-glass 
 doors open into an inner chamber, Avliere the 
 silence is still more profound, and where around 
 a larger table sit one row of players ; while only 
 here and there a little group of outsiders stand 
 behind their chairs. There is more gilding on
 
 A GOLDEN TEMPLE. 129 
 
 the walls and ceiling of this chamber ; the fres- 
 coes are more delicate; the crystal chandeliers 
 are adorned Avith richer clusters of sparkling 
 ckops, that twinkle like diamonds in the smi. 
 This is the temple of gold ; and in this splendid 
 chamber one may hazard no smaller stake than v 
 half a napoleon. There are women here; but 
 not so many women as in the outer saloon ; and 
 the women here are ^ younger and prettier and 
 more carefully dressed than those who stake only 
 silver. 
 
 The prettiest and the youngest woman in this 
 golden chamber on one particular August after- 
 noon, nine years after the death of Tom Halliday, 
 was a girl who stood behind the chair of a mili- 
 tary-looking Englishman, an old man whose hand- 
 some face was a little disfigured by those traces 
 which late hours and dissipated habits are sup- 
 posed to leave behind them. 
 
 The girl held a card in one hand and a pin in 
 the other, and was occupied in some mysterious 
 process, by which she kept note of the English- 
 man's play. She was very young, with a delicate 
 
 VOL. L K
 
 130 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 face, in -wliosc softer lines there was a refined like- 
 ness to the features of the man Avliose play she 
 watched. But while his eyes were hard and cold 
 and gray, hers were of that dense black in which 
 there seems such an unfathomable and mysterious 
 depth. As she was the handsomest, so she was also 
 ^ the worst-dressed woman in the room. Her flimsy 
 silk mantle had foded from black to rusty brown ; 
 the straw-hat which shaded her face was sun- 
 burnt; the ribbons had lost their brightness ; but 
 there was an air of attempted fiishion in the puff- 
 ings and trimmings of her alpaca skirt ; and there 
 was evidence of a struggle with poverty in the 
 tight-fitting lavender gloves, whose streaky lines 
 bore witness to the imperfection of the cleaner's 
 art. Elegant Parisians and the select of Brussels 
 glanced at the military Englishman and his hand- 
 some daughter with some slight touch of super- 
 cilious surprise — one has no right to find shabbily- 
 dressed young women in the golden temple — and 
 it is scarcely necessary to state that it was from 
 her own countrywomen the young person in 
 alpaca received the most chilling glances. But
 
 A GOLDEN TEMPLE. 131 
 
 those Parthian arrows shot from feminine eyes had 
 little power to wound their object just now. The 
 girl looked up from her perforated card very sel- 
 dom ; and wdien she raised her eyes, it was always 
 to look in one direction — towards the great glass- 
 doors opening from the outer saloon. Loungers 
 came and went ; the doors swung open and closed 
 again as noiselessly as it is possible for well-re- 
 gulated doors to oj)en and shut ; footsteps sounded 
 on the polished floors ; and sometimes when the 
 young person in alpaca lifted her eyes, a passing 
 shadow of disappointment darkened her face. A 
 modern Laurence Sterne, on a new Sentimental 
 Journey, might have derived some interest from 
 the study of the girl's countenance ; but the re- 
 flective and observant traveller is not to be en- 
 countered very often in this age of excursionists ; 
 and Maria and her goat may roam the highways 
 and byways for a long time before she wiU find 
 any dreamy loiterer with a mind attmied to 
 sympathy. 
 
 Tlie shabbily-dressed girl was looking for some- 
 one. She watched her Other's play carefully —
 
 132 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 she marked lier card Avitli unfailing precision ; but 
 she performed these duties ^vItll a mechanical air ; 
 and it was only Avlien she lifted her eyes to the 
 great shining plate-glass doors -which opened into 
 this dangerous Paradise, that any ray of feeling 
 animated her countenance. She was looking for 
 someone, and the person watched for was so long 
 coming. Ah, how difficult for the arithmetician 
 to number the crushing disappointments, the bit- 
 ter agonies that one woman can endm'e in a single 
 half-hour ! This girl was so young — so young ; 
 and already she had learnt to suffer. 
 
 The man j^layed with the concentrated atten- 
 tion and the impassible countenance of an experi- 
 enced gamester, rarely lifting his eyes from the 
 green cloth, never looking back at the girl who 
 stood behind him. He was winning to-day, and 
 he accepted his good fortune as quietly as he had 
 often accepted evil fortune at the same table. He 
 seemed to be playing on some system of his own ; 
 and neighbouring players looked at him with en- 
 vious eyes, as they saw the pile of gold grow 
 larger under his thin nervous hands. Ignorant
 
 A GOLDEN TEMPLE. loo 
 
 gamesters, who stood aloof after having lost two 
 or three napoleons, contemplated the Incky Eng- 
 lishman and wondered about him, while some 
 touch of pity leavened the envy excited by his 
 wonderful fortune. He looked like a decayed 
 gentleman — a man who had been a military dandy 
 in the davs that were o-one, and who had all the 
 old pretensions still, without the power to support 
 them — a Brummel lanojuishino: at Caen ; a Nash 
 wasting slowly at Bath. 
 
 At last the girl's face brightened suddenly as 
 she glanced upwards ; and it woidd have been 
 very easy for the observant traA^eller — if any such 
 person had existed — to construe aright that bright 
 chano;e in her countenance. The someone she 
 had been watching for had arrived. 
 
 Tlie doors swung open to admit a man of about 
 five-and-twenty, whose darkly-handsome face and 
 careless costume had something of that air which 
 was once wont to be associated with \\\q person y 
 and the poetry of George Gordon Lord Byron. 
 The new-comer was just one of those men whom 
 A'ery young women are apt to admire, and whom
 
 134 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 worldly-minded people are prone to distrust. 
 Tlierc was a perfume of Bohemianism, a flavour 
 of tlie Quartier Latin, about the loosely-tied cra- 
 vat, tlie wide trousers, and black-velvet morning- 
 coat, witli wliicli tlie young man outraged the 
 opinions of respectable visitors at Forctdechene. 
 There was a semi-poetic vagabondism in the half- 
 indifferent, half-contemptuous expression of his 
 face, with its fierce moustache, and strongly- 
 marked eyebrows overshadowing sleepy gray eyes 
 — eyes that were half hidden by their long dark 
 lashes ; as still pools of blue water lie sometimes 
 hidden among the rushes that flourish round them. 
 He was handsome, and he knew that he was 
 handsome ; but he affected to despise the beauty of 
 his proud dark face, as he affected to desj^ise all the 
 brightest and most beautiful things u]3on earth ; 
 and yet there was a vagabondish kind of foppery 
 in his costume that contrasted sharply with the 
 gentlemanly dandyism of the shabby gamester sit- 
 ting at the table. There was a distance of nearly 
 lialf a century between the style of the Regency 
 dandy and the Quartier-Latin lion.
 
 A GOLDEN TEMPLE. 135 
 
 The o'irl watched the new-comer with sad 
 
 o 
 
 earnest eyes as he walked slowly towards the 
 table, and a faint blush kindled in her cheeks 
 as he came nearer to the spot where she stood. 
 He went by her presently, carrying an atmo- 
 sphere of stale tobacco with him as he went ; 
 and he gave her a friendly nod as he passed, 
 and a ''Good-morning, Diana;" but that was 
 all. The faint blush faded and left her very 
 pale : but she resumed her weary task with the 
 card and the pin; and if she had endured any 
 disappointment within those few moments, it 
 seemed to be a kind of disappointment that she 
 was accustomed to suffer. 
 
 The young man walked round the table till 
 he came to the only vacant chair, in which he 
 seated himself, and after watching the game for 
 a few minutes, began to play. From the mo- 
 ment in which he dropped into that vacant seat 
 to the moment in which he rose to leave the 
 table, three hours afterwards, he never lifted his 
 eyes from the green cloth, or seemed to be con- 
 scious of anything that was going on around or
 
 136 BIRDS OF PIIEY. 
 
 about lilm. Tlio girl watched liim furtively for 
 some little time after he had taken his place at 
 the table ; but the stony mask of the professed 
 gambler is a profitless object for a woman's ear- 
 nest scrutiny. 
 
 She sighed presently, and laid her hand hea- 
 ^'ily on the chair behind which she was standing. 
 The action aroused the man who sat in it, and he 
 turned and looked at her for the first time. 
 
 " You are tired, DianaJ" 
 
 '' Yes, papa, I am very tired." 
 
 " Give me your card, then, and go away," 
 the gamester answered jieevishly ; " girls are 
 always tired." 
 
 She gave him the mysteriously - perforated 
 card, and left her post behind his chair ; and 
 then, after roaming about the great saloon with 
 a weary listless air, and wandering from one 
 open Avindow to another to look into the sunny 
 quadrangle, Avliere well-dressed people were sit- 
 ting at little tables eating ices or drinking 
 lemonade, she went away altogether, and roamed 
 into another chamber where some children were
 
 A GOLDEN TEMPLE. 137 
 
 dancino; to the sound of a feeble violin. She 
 sat npon a velvet-covered bench, and watched 
 the children's lesson for some minutes, and then 
 rose and wandered to another open window that 
 overlooked the same quadrangle, where the well- 
 dressed people were enjoying themselves in the 
 hot August sunshine. 
 
 '^ How extravagantly everybody dresses!" she 
 thought, '^ and what a shabby poA'erty-stricken 
 creature one feels amongst them I And yet if I 
 ask papa to give me a couple of napoleons out of 
 the money he won to-day, he will only look at me 
 from head to foot, and tell me that I have a gown y 
 and a cloak and a bonnet, and ask me what more 
 I can want, in the name of all that is uiu'eason- 
 able ? And I see girls here whose fathers are so 
 fond of them and so proud of them — ugly girls, 
 decked out in silks and muslins and ribbons that 
 have cost a small fortune — clumsv awkward o-irls, 
 who look at me as if I were some new kind of 
 wild animal." 
 
 The saloons at Foretdechene were rich in 
 monster sheets of looking-glass ; and in wan-
 
 138 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 dering discontentedly about the room Diana 
 Paget saw lierself reflected many times in all 
 ■lier sliabbiness. It was only very lately she had 
 discovered that she had some pretension to good 
 looks ; for her father, who could not or would 
 not educate her decently or clothe her creditably, 
 took a very high tone of morality in his paternal 
 teaching, and, in the fear that she might one day 
 grow A'ain of her beauty, had taken care to im- 
 press upon her at an early age that she was the 
 very incarnation of all that is lean and sallow and 
 awkward.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 
 
 Amongst the many imprudences of wliicli Ho- 
 ratio Paget — once a cornet in a crack ca^'alrj 
 regiment, always a captain in liis intercourse 
 witli tlie world — had been guilty dm'ing the 
 course of a long career, there was none for 
 wliicli he so bitterly reproached himself as for a 
 certain foolish marriage which he had made late 
 in life. It Avas when he had thrown away the 
 last chance that an indulgent destiny had given 
 him, that the ruined fop of the Regency, the 
 sometime member of the Beefsteak Club, the 
 man wdio in his earliest youth had worn a silver 
 gridiron at his button-hole, and played piquet in 
 the gilded saloons of Georgina of Devonshire, 
 found himself laid on a bed of sickness in dingy 
 London lodgings, and nearer death than he had 
 ever been in tlie course of his brief military
 
 140 BIRDS OF TREV. 
 
 career ; so nearly glitling from life's swift-flow- 
 ing river into eternity's trackless ocean, that the 
 warmest thrill of gratitnde which ever stirred the 
 slow pulses of his cold heart quickened its beating 
 as he clasped the hand that had held him back 
 from the unknown region whose icy breath had 
 chilled him with an awful fear. Such men as 
 Horatio Paget arc apt to feci a strange terror 
 when the black night drops suddenly down upon 
 them, and the " Gray Boatman's" voice sounds 
 hollow and mysterious in the darkness, announc- 
 ing that the ocean is near. The hand that held 
 the ruined spendthrift back when the current 
 swept so swiftly ocean-ward was a woman's- 
 tender hand; and Heaven only knows what pa- 
 tient watchftilness, what careful administration 
 of medicines and unwearying preparation of 
 broths and jellies and sagos and gruels, what 
 untiring and devoted slaver}', had been necessary 
 to save the faded rake ; who looked out upon the 
 world once more, a ghastly shadow of his former 
 self, a penniless helpless burden for anyone who 
 might choose to support hi in.
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 141 
 
 " Don't thank me^''^ said the doctor, when his 
 feeble patient whimpered floui'ishing protestations 
 of his gratitude, unabashed by the consciousness 
 that such grateful protestations were the sole coin 
 with wdiich the medical man would be paid for 
 his services; ^^ thank that young woman, if you 
 want to thank anybody : for if it had not been 
 for her you wouldn't be here to talk about grati- 
 tude. And if ever you get such another attack 
 of inflammation on the lungs, you had better 
 pray for such another nurse, though I don't think 
 you're likely to find one." 
 
 And with this exordium, the rough-and-ready 
 surgeon took his departure, leaving Horatio Paget 
 alone with the woman who had saved his life. 
 
 She was only his landlady's daughter ; and his 
 landlady was no prosperous householder in May- 
 fair, thri\^ng on the extravagance of wealthy 
 bachelors, but an honest widow, living in an 
 obscm-e little street leading out of the Old Kent- 
 road, and letting a meagrely-furnished little par- 
 lour and a still more meagrely-furnished little 
 bedroom to any single gentleman whom reverse
 
 142 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 of fortune might lead into siicli a locality. Cap- 
 tain Paget had sunk very low in the world when 
 he took possession of that wretched parlour and 
 laid himself down to rest on the Avidow's flock- 
 bed. 
 
 There is apt to be a dreary interval in the 
 life of such a man — a blank dismal interregnum, 
 which divides the day in which he spends his 
 last shilling from the hour in which he begins 
 to prey deliberately upon the purses of other 
 people. It was in that hopeless interval that 
 Horatio Paget established himself in the widow's 
 parlour. But though he slept in the Old Kent- 
 road, he had not yet brought himself to endure 
 existence on the Surrey side of the water. He 
 emerged from his lodging every morning to 
 hasten westward, resplendent in clean linen and 
 exquisitely-fitting gloves, an unquestionable over- 
 coat, and varnished boots. 
 
 Tlie wardrobe has its Indian summer ; and 
 the glory of a first-rate tailor's coat is like the 
 splendour of a tropical sun — it is glorious to the 
 last, and sinks in a moment. Captain Paget's
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 143 
 
 wardrobe was in its Indian summer in these 
 days ; and when he felt how fatally near the 
 Bond-street pavement was to the soles of his 
 feet, he conld not refrain from a fond admira- 
 tion of the boots that were so beautiful in decay. 
 
 He walked the West-end for many weary 
 hours every day during this period of his deca- 
 dence. He tried to live in an honest gentlemanty 
 way, by borrowing money of his friends, or dis- 
 countino; an accommodation-bill obtained from 
 some innocent acquaintance who was deluded by 
 his brilliant appearance and specious tongue into 
 a belief in the transient nature of his difficulties. 
 He spent his days in hanging about the halls 
 and waiting-rooms of clubs — of some of which 
 he had once been a member; he walked weary 
 miles between St. James's and Mayfair, Ken- 
 sington Gore and Netting Hill, leaving little notes 
 for men who were not at home, or writing a little 
 note in one room while the man to whom he 
 was writing hushed his breath in an adjoining 
 chamber. People who had once been Captain 
 Pao-et's fast friends seemed to have simultane-
 
 144 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 ously decided upon spending tlieir existence out 
 of doors, as it appeared to tlic imjiecunious Cap- 
 tain. Tlie servants of liis friends were afflicted 
 witli a strange uncertainty as to their masters' 
 movements. At whatever hall-door Horatio Paget 
 presented himself, it seemed equally doubtful whe- 
 ther the proprietor of the mansion would be home 
 to dinner that day, or whether he would be at 
 home any time next day, or the day after that, 
 or at the end of the week, or indeed whether he 
 would ever come home again. Sometimes the 
 Captain, calling in the evening dusk, in the faint 
 hope of gaining admittance to some friendly dwell- 
 ing, saw the glimmer of light under a dining- 
 room door, and heard the clooping of corks and 
 the pleasant jingling of glass and silver in the 
 innermost recesses of a butler's pantry ; but still 
 the answer was — not at home, and not likely 
 to be home. All the respectable world was to 
 be out henceforth for Horatio Paget. But now 
 and then at the clubs he met some young man, 
 Avho had no wife at home to keep watch upon 
 his purse and to wail pitcously over a five-pound
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 145 
 
 note ill bestowed, and wlio took compassion on 
 the fiillen spendthrift, and believed, or pretended 
 to believe, his story of temporary embarrassment ; 
 and then the Captain dined sumptuonsly at a 
 little French restanrant in Castle -street, Lei- 
 cester-square, and took a half-bottle of chablis 
 with his oysters, and warmed himself with cham- 
 bertin that was brought to him in a dusty cob- 
 web-shrouded bottle reposing in a wicker-basket. 
 
 But in these latter days such glimpses of sun- 
 shine very rarely illumined the dull stream of the 
 Captain's life. Failure and disappointment had 
 become the rule of his existence — success the rare 
 exception. Crossing the river now on his way 
 westward, he was wont to loiter a little on Wa- 
 terloo Bridge, and to look dreamily down at the 
 water, wondering whether the time was near at 
 hand when, under cover of the evening dusk, he 
 would pay his last halfpenny to the toUkeeper, 
 and never again know the need of any earthly 
 coin. 
 
 " I saw a fellow in the Morgue one day, — a 
 poor wretch who had drowned himself a week or 
 
 VOL. T. L 
 
 y
 
 146 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 tAvo before. Great God, liow liorrlble lie looked ! 
 If there Avas any certainty they Avould find one 
 immediately, and bury one decently, there'd be 
 no particular horror in that kind of death. But 
 to be found like that, and to lie in some riverside 
 deadhouse down by Wapping, with a ghastly pla- 
 card rotting on the rotting door, and nothing but 
 ooze and slime and rottenness round about one — 
 waiting to be identified ! And who knows, after 
 all, Avhether a dead man doesn't feel that sort of 
 thing?" 
 
 It was after such musino-s as these had beijun 
 to be very common with Horatio Paget that he 
 caught the chill which resulted in a very dan- 
 gerous illness of many weeks. The late autumn 
 was wet and cold and dreary ; but Captain Paget, 
 although remarkably clever after a certain fashion, 
 had never been a lover of intellectual pursuits, 
 and imprisonment in Mrs. Kepp's shabby parlour 
 was odious to him. When he had read every 
 page of the borrowed newspaper, and pished and 
 pshawed over the leaders, and groaned aloud at 
 the announcement of some wealthy marriage made
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 147 
 
 by one of lils quondam friends, or chuckled at the 
 record of another quondam friend's insolvency — 
 when he had poked the fire saA^agely half-a-dozen 
 times in an hour, cursing the pinched grate and 
 the had coals during every repetition of the opera- 
 tion — when he had smoked his last cigar, and 
 varnished his favourite boots, and looked out of 
 the window, and contemplated himself gloomily in 
 the wretched little glass over the narrow chimney- 
 piece, — Captain Paget's intellectual resources 
 were exhausted, and an angry impatience took 
 possession of him. Then, in defiance of the pelt- 
 ing rain or the lowering sky, he flung his slippers 
 into the fm'thest corner — and the furthest corner 
 of Mrs. Kepp's parlour was not very remote fi'om 
 the Captain's arm-chair — he drew on the stoutest 
 of his varnished boots — and there were none of 
 them very stout now — buttoned his perfect over- 
 coat, adjusted his hat before the looking-glass, 
 and sallied forth, umbrella in hand, to make his 
 way westward. Westward always, through storm 
 and shower, back to the haunts of his youth, went 
 the wanderer and outcast, to see the red glow
 
 
 
 148 BIRDS OF PRF.Y. 
 
 of cheen- fires reflected on tlie plate-glass win- 
 dows of his favourite clubs ; to see the lamps in 
 spacious reading-rooms lit earl}' in the autumn 
 dusk, and to watch the soft light glimmering on 
 the rich bindings of the books, and losing itself 
 in the sombre depths of crimson draperies. To 
 this poor worldly creature the agony of banish- 
 ment from those palaces of Pall Mall or St. 
 James's-street was as bitter as the pain of a fallen 
 angel. It was the dullest, deadest time of the 
 year, and there were not many loungers in those 
 sumj)tuous reading-rooms, where the shaded 
 lamps shed their subdued light on the chaste 
 splendour of the sanctuary; so Captain Paget 
 could haunt the scene of his departed youth with- 
 out much fear of recognition : but his wanderings 
 in the West grew more hopeless and purposeless 
 every day. He began to understand how it was 
 that people were never at home when he assailed 
 their doors with his fashionable knock. He could 
 no longer endure the humiliation of such repulses, 
 for he beiran to understand that the servants knew 
 liis errand as well as their masters, and had their
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 149 
 
 answers ready, let liim present himself before 
 them when he would : so he besieged the doors of 
 St. James's and Mayfair, Kensington Gore and 
 Nottino; Hill, no lono-er. He knew that the bubble 
 of his poor foolish life had burst, and that there 
 was nothino' left for him but to die. 
 
 It seemed about this time as if the end of all 
 was very near. Captain Paget caught a chill one 
 miserable evening on which he returned to his 
 lodging with his garments dripping, and his beau- 
 tiful varnished boots reduced to a kind of pulp; 
 .and the chill I'esulted in a violent inflammation of 
 the luno-s. Tlien it was that a Avoman's hand was 
 held out to save him, and a woman's divine ten- 
 derness cared for him in his dire extremity. 
 
 The ministering angel who comforted this 
 helpless and broken-down wayfarer was only a 
 low-born ignorant girl called Mary Anne Kepp — 
 a gii'l who had waited upon the Captain during 
 In's residence in her mother's house, but of whom 
 he had taken about as much notice as he had been 
 wont to take of the coloured servants who tended 
 him when he Avas with his reo;iment in India.
 
 150 BIRDS OF PIIEY. 
 
 Horatio Packet had been a nio-lit-lDrawler and a 
 gamester, a duellist and a reprobate, in the 
 glorious' days that were gone ; but he had never 
 been a profligate : and he did not knoTV that the 
 girl who brought him his breakfast and staggered 
 
 J under the weight of his coal-scuttle was one of the 
 most beautiful women he had ever looked upon. 
 
 Tlie Captain was so essentially a creature of 
 the West-end, that Beauty without her glitter of 
 diamonds and splendour of apparel was scarcely 
 Beauty for him. He waited for the groom of the 
 chambers to announce her name, and the low 
 hum of well-bred aj)proval to accompany her 
 entrance, before he bowed the knee and acknow- 
 ledged her perfection. Tlie Beauties whom he 
 
 y remembered had received their patent from the 
 Prince Regent, and had graduated in the houses 
 of Devonshire and Hertford. How should the 
 faded bachelor know that this girl, in a shabby 
 cotton-gown, with unkempt hair dragged off her 
 pale face, and with grimy smears from the handles 
 of saucepans and fire-irons imprinted upon her 
 cheeks — how should he know that she was beauti-
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 151 
 
 fill? It was only dimiig tlie slow monotonous 
 hours of his convalescence, when he lay upon the 
 poor faded little sofa in Mrs. Kepp's parlour — the 
 sofa that was scarcely less faded and feeble than 
 himself — it was then, and then only, that he dis- 
 covered the loveliness of the face which had been 
 so often bent over him during his delirious wan- 
 derings. 
 
 '' I have mistaken you for all manner of 
 people, my dear," he said to his landlady's daugh- 
 ter, who sat by the little Pembroke-table working, 
 while her mother dozed in a corner with a worsted 
 stocking drawn over her arm and a pair of spec- 
 tacles resting upon her elderly nose. Mrs. Kepp 
 and her daughter were wont to spend their even- 
 ings in the lodger's apartment now; for the in- 
 vahd complained bitterly of " the horrors" when 
 they left him. 
 
 " I have taken you for all sorts of people, 
 Mary Anne," pursued the Captain dreamily. 
 '' Sometimes I have fancied you were the Countess 
 of Jersey, and I could see her smile as she looked 
 at me when I was first presented to her. I was
 
 152 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 very young in tlic beautiful Jersey's time; and 
 then there was tlie other one — whom I used to 
 drink tea with at Brio-liton. All me I what a dull 
 world it seems nowadays! The king gone, and 
 everything changed — everything — everything ! 
 I am a very old man, Mary Anne." 
 ^ He was fifty-two years of age ; he felt quite an 
 old man. He had spent all his money, he had 
 outlived the best friends of his youth ; for it had 
 been his fate to adorn a declining era, and he had 
 been a youngster among elderly patrons and as- 
 sociates. His patrons were dead and gone, and 
 the men he had patronised shut their doors upon 
 him in the day of his poverty. As for his rela- 
 tions, he had turned his back upon them long ago, 
 when first he followed in the shining wake of that 
 gorgeous vessel, the Hoyal George. In this hour 
 of his l^penniless decline there was none to help 
 him. To have outlived every affection and every 
 pleasure is the chief bitterness of old age ; and 
 this bitterness Horatio Paget suffered in all its 
 fulness, though his years were but fifty-two. 
 
 ^^ I am a very old man, Mary Anne," he re-
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 153 
 
 peated plaintively. But Mary Anne Kepp could 
 not tliink liim old. To ]ier eyes lie must for ever 
 appear the incarnation of all that is elegant and ^ 
 distinfi^uished. He was the first o-entleman she 
 had ever seen. Mrs. Kepp had given shelter to 
 other lodo^ers who had called themselves £^entle- 
 men, and who had been pompous and grandiose 
 of manner in their intercourse with the widow 
 and her daughter; but 0, what pitiful lacquered 
 counterfeits, what Brummagem paste they had 
 been, compared to the real gem ! Mary Anne 
 Kepp had seen varnished boots before the humble 
 floorino; of her mother's dwellino; was honoured 
 by the tread of Horatio Paget ; but what clumsy 
 vulgar boots, and what awkward plebeian feet 
 had worn them ! The lodger's slim white hands 
 and arched instep, the patrician cm've of his aqui- 
 line nose, the perfect grace of his apparel, the 
 high-bred modulation of his courteous accents, — 
 all these had impressed 3Iary Anne's tender little 
 heart so much the more because of his poverty 
 and loneliness. That such a man should be for- 
 gotten and deserted — that such a man should be
 
 154 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 poor and lonely, seemed so cruel a cliancc to tlie 
 simple maiden : and then when illness overtook 
 him, and invested him with a supreme claim upon 
 her tenderness and pity, — then the innocent girl 
 lavished all the treasures of a compassionate heart 
 upon the ruined gentleman. She had no thought 
 of fee or reward ; she knew that her mother's 
 lodger was miserably poor, and that his payments 
 had become more and more irregidar week by 
 week and month by month. She had no con- 
 sciousness of the depth of feeling that rendered 
 her so gentle a nurse ; for her life was a busy 
 one, and she had neither time nor inclination 
 for any morbid brooding upon her own feel- 
 ings. 
 
 She protested warmly against the Captain's 
 lamentation respecting his age. 
 
 " The idear of any gentleman calling hisself 
 J old at fifty!" she said — and Horatio shuddered 
 at the supererogatory ^^r" and the ^Miisself," 
 though they proceeded from the lips of his con- 
 soler; — "you've got many, many years before 
 you yet, sir, please God," she added piously;
 
 THE EAST DESCENT. 155 
 
 " and there's good friends will come forward yet 
 to help you, I make no doubt." 
 
 Captain Paget shook his head peevishly. 
 
 '' You talk as if you were telling my fortmie 
 with a pack of cards," he said, '^l^o, my girl, 
 I shall have only one friend to rely upon, if ever 
 I am well enough to go outside this house ; and 
 that friend is myself. I have spent the fortune 
 my father left me ; I have spent the price of my 
 commission ; and I have parted with every object 
 of any value that I ever possessed — in vulgar par- 
 lance, I am cleaned out, Mary Anne. But other 
 men have spent every sixpence belonging to them, 
 and have contrived to live pleasantly enough for 
 half a century afterwards ; and I daresay I can do 
 as they have done. If the wind is tempered to 
 the shorn lamb, I suppose the hawks and loiltures 
 take care of themselves. I have tried my luck as 
 a shorn lamb, and the tempest has been very bitter j 
 for me ; so I have no alternative but to join the 
 vultures." 
 
 Mary Anne Kepp stared wonderingly at her 
 mother's lod^rer. She had some notion that he
 
 loG BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 liad Leeii saying somotliing wicked and blasphe- 
 mous ; but slic was too ignorant and too innocent 
 to follow his meaning. 
 
 '^ 0, pray don't talk in that wild way, sir," 
 she entreated. '' It makes me so unhappy to hear 
 you go on like that." 
 
 "" And why should anything that I say make 
 you unhappy, Mary Anne ?" asked the lodger 
 earnestly. 
 
 There was somethino; in his tone that set her 
 pale face on fire with miwonted crimson, and she 
 bent very low over her work to hide those painful 
 blushes. She did not know that the Captain's 
 tone presaged a serious address ; she did not 
 know that the grand crisis of her life was close 
 upon her. 
 
 Horatio Paget had determined upon making a 
 sacrifice. The doctor had told him that he owed 
 his life to this devoted girl ; and he would have 
 been something less than man if he had not been 
 moved with some m'a,tcful emotion. He was 
 grateful ; and in the dreary hours of his slow 
 recovery he had ample leisure for the contem-
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 157 
 
 plation of the woman to whom lie owed so mucli^ 
 if his poor worthless life could indeed be much. 
 He saw that she was devoted to him ; that she 
 loved him more truly than he had ever been con- 
 scious of being loved before. He saw too that she 
 was beautiful. To an ugly woman Captain Paget 
 might have felt extremely grateful ; but he could 
 never have thought of an ugly woman as he 
 thought of Mary Anne Kepp. The end of his 
 contemplation and his deliberation came to this : 
 She was beautiful, and she loved him, and his 
 life was utterly wretched and lonely; so he de- 
 termined upon proving his gratitude by a subHme 
 sacrifice. Before the girl had lifted her face fi'om 
 the needlework over which she had bent to hide 
 her blushes, Horatio Paget had asked her to be 
 his wife. Her emotion almost overpowered her 
 as she tried to answer him ; but she struggled 
 against it bravely, and came to the sofa on which 
 he lay and dropped upon her knees by his side. 
 The beggar-maid who was wooed by a king could 
 have felt no deeper sense of her lover's condescen- 
 sion than that which filled the heart of this poor
 
 158 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 simple girl us she knelt by licr mother's gentle- 
 man-locl^rcr. 
 
 '' I — to be ^joiir wife !" she exclaimed. " 0, 
 surely, sir, you cannot mean it?" 
 
 " But I do mean it, with all my heart and 
 soul, my dear," answered the Captain. '^ I'm 
 not offering you any grand chance, Mary Anne ; 
 for I'm about as low down in the world as a 
 man can be. But I don't mean to be poor all 
 my life. Come, my dear, don't cry," he ex- 
 claimed, just a little impatiently — for the girl had 
 covered her flice with her hands, and tears were 
 dropping between the poor hard-working fingers 
 — " but lift up your head and tell me whether 
 you w^ill take a faded old bachelor for your hus- 
 band or not." 
 
 Horatio Paget had admired many women in 
 the bright years of his youth, and had fancied 
 himself desperately in love more than once in his 
 life ; but it is doubtful whether the mighty passion 
 had ever really possessed the Captain's heart, 
 which was naturally cold and sluggish, rarely 
 fluttered by any emotion that was not engen-
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 159 
 
 dered of selfislmess. Horatio had set up an idol 
 and had invented a rehgion for himself very early 
 in life ; and that idol was fashioned after liis own 
 image, and that religion had its beginning and 
 end in his own pleasure. He might have been 
 flattered and pleased by Miss Kepp's agitation; 
 but he was ill and peevish; and having all his 
 life been subject to a profound antipathy to fe- 
 minine tearfulness, the girl's display of emotion 
 annoyed him. 
 
 ^^ Is it to be yes, or no, my dear?" he asked, 
 with some vexation in his tone. 
 
 Mary Anne looked up at him with tearful, 
 frightened eyes. 
 
 " 0, yes, sir, if I can be any use to you, and 
 nurse you when you are ill, and work for you till 
 I work my fingers to the bone." 
 
 She clenched her hands spasmodically as she 
 spoke. In imagination she was already toiling 
 and striving for the god of her idolatry — the 
 GENTLEMAN whose vamishcd boots had been to 
 her as a glimpse of another and a fairer world 
 than that represented by Tulliver's-terrace, Old
 
 160 BIRDS OF I'REY. 
 
 Kent-road. But Captniii Paget clieckecl her en- 
 thusiasm by a o'cutk' ii-osturc of his attenuated 
 hands. 
 
 " That will do, my dear/' he murmured lan- 
 guidly ; ^^I'm not very strong yet, and anything 
 in the way of fuss is inexpressibly painful to me. 
 Ah, my poor child/' he exclaimed pityingly, " if 
 you could have seen a dinner at the Marquis of 
 Hertford's, you Avould have understood how much 
 can be achieved A\'Ithout fuss. But I am talking 
 of things you don't understand. You will be 
 my wife; and a very good, kind, obedient little 
 wife, I have no doubt. That is all settled. As 
 for working for me, my love, it would be about 
 as much as these poor little hands could do to 
 earn me a cio'ar a da^' — and I seldom smoke less 
 than half-a-dozen cigars ; so, you see, that is all 
 so much affectionate nonsense. And now you 
 may wake your mother, my dear ; for I want to 
 take a little nap, and I can't close my eyes while 
 that good soul is snoring so intolerably; but not 
 a word about our little arrangement, Mary Anne, 
 till you and your mother are alone."
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 161 
 
 And lierenpon the Captain spread a liandker- 
 cliief over liis face and subsided into a gentle 
 slumber. The little scene had fatigued him ; 
 though it had been so quietly enacted, that Mrs. 
 Kepp had slept on undisturbed by the brief frag- 
 ment of domestic drama performed within a few 
 yards of her uneasy arm-chair. Her daughter 
 awoke her presently, and she resumed her needle- 
 work, while Mary Anne made some tea for the 
 beloved sleeper. The cups and saucers made 
 more noise to-night than they were wont to 
 make in the girl's careful hands. The flutter- 
 ing of her heart seemed to communicate itself to 
 the tips of her fingers, and the jingling of the 
 crockery-ware betrayed the intensity of her emo- 
 tion. He was to be her husband! She was to 
 have a gentleman for a husband ; and such a 
 gentleman ! Out of such base trifles as a West- 
 end tailor's coat and a West-end workman's 
 boots may be engendered the purest blossom of 
 womanly love and devotion. Wisely may the 
 modern philosopher cry that the history of the 
 world is only a story of old clothes. Mary Anne 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 had begun by admiring the graces of Stultz and 
 Hoby, and now she was ready to lay down her 
 life for the man who wore the perishing garments ! 
 
 Miss Kepp obeyed her lover's behest; and it 
 was only on the following day, when she and 
 her mother were alone together in the dingy 
 little kitchen below Captain Paget's apartments, 
 that she informed that worthy woman of the 
 honour which had been vouchsafed to her. And 
 thereupon Mary Anne endm-ed the first of the 
 long series of disappointments which were to arise 
 out of her affection for the penniless Captain. The 
 widow was a woman of the world, and was obsti- 
 nately blind to the advantages of a union with a 
 ruined gentleman of fifty. 
 
 " How's he to keep you, I should like to 
 know?" Mrs. Kepp exclaimed, as the girl stood 
 blushing before her after having told her story; 
 ''if he can't pay me regular — and you know the 
 difficulty I've had to get his money, Mary Anne. 
 If he can't keep hisself, how's he to keep you ?" 
 
 " Don't talk like that, mother," cried the girl,
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 163 
 
 wincing under her parent's practical arguments ; 
 " J^^^ S^ ^^^ ^^ if all I cared for was being fed and 
 clothed. Besides, Captain Paget is not going to be 
 poor always. He told me so last night, when he — " 
 
 " He told jou so !" echoed the honest Avidow 
 with immitigated scorn; "hasn't he told me times 
 and often that I should have my rent regular after 
 this week, and regular after that week ; and have 
 I eve?' had it regular ? And ain't I keeping him 
 out of charity now — a poor widow- woman like 
 me — which I may be wanting charity myself be- 
 fore long ; and if it wasn't for your whimj)ering 
 and goincr on he'd have been out of the house 
 three weeks ago, when the doctor said he was 
 well enough to be moved; for I ast him." 
 
 " And you'd have turned him out to die in the 
 streets, mother!" cried Mary; "I didn't think 
 you was so 'artless." 
 
 From this time there was ill-feeling between 
 Mrs. Kepp and her daughter, who had been hither- 
 to one of the most patient and obedient of children. 
 The fanatic can never forgive the wretch who dis- 
 beheves in the divinity of his god ; and women
 
 1134 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 wlio love as blindly and foolishly as Mary Anno 
 Kepp arc the most bigoted of worshippers. Tlie 
 girl could not forgive her mother's disparagement 
 of her idol, — the mother had no mercy upon her 
 daughter's folly ; and after much wearisome con- 
 tention and domestic misery — carefully hidden 
 from the penniless sybarite in the parlour — after 
 many tears and heart-burnings, and wakeful 
 nights and prayerful watches, Mary Anne Kepp 
 consented to leave the house quietly one morning 
 with the gentleman lodger while the widow had 
 gone to market. Miss Kepp left a piteous little 
 note for her mother, rather ungrammatical, but 
 revy womanly and tender, imploring pardon for 
 her want of duty ; and, ^' 0, mother, if you knew 
 how good and nobel he is, you coudent be angery 
 with me for luving him has I do, and Ave shal^ 
 come back to you after oure marige, wich you 
 will be pade up honourabel to the last farthin'." 
 
 After writing this epistle in the kitchen, with 
 more deliberation and more smudging than Cap- 
 tain Pao^et would have cared to behold in the 
 bride of his choice, Mary Anne attired herself in
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 165 
 
 her Sabbath-day raiment, and left Tulliver's-ter- 
 race with the Captain in a cab. She would fain 
 have taken a little lavender-paper-covered box 
 that contained the remainder of her wardrobe; 
 but after surveying it with a shudder, Caj^tain 
 Paget told her that such a box would condemn 
 them anyicliere. 
 
 " You may get on sometimes without luggage, 
 my dear," he said sententiously ; ^^ but with such 
 luggage as tliatj never !" 
 
 The girl obeyed without comprehending. It 
 was not often that she understood her lover's 
 meaning; nor did he particularly care that she 
 should understand him. He talked to her rather 
 in the same spirit in which one talks to a faithful 
 canine companion — as Napoleon III. may talk to 
 his favourite Nero : "I have great plans yet un- 
 fulfilled, my honest Nero, though you may not be 
 wise enough to guess their nature. And we must 
 have another Boulevard, old fellow ; and we must 
 settle that little dispute about Venetia; and we 
 must do something for those unfortunate Poles, 
 eh — ffood dog?" and so on.
 
 1G6 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Captain Paget di'ovc straiglit to a registrar's- 
 office, "svhere the new marriage-act enabled liim 
 to unite himself to Miss Kepp sans fcigon, in pre- 
 sence of the cabman and a woman who had been 
 cleaning the door-step. The Captain went through 
 the brief ceremonial as coolly as if it had been 
 the settlement of a water-rate, and was angered 
 by the tears that poor Mary Anne shed under her 
 cheap black veil. He had forgotten the poetic 
 y superstition in favour of a wedding-ring, but he 
 slipped a little onyx ring off his oAvn finger and 
 put it on the clumsier finger of his bride. It was 
 the last of his jewels — the rejected of the pawn- 
 brokers, who, not being learned in antique in- 
 taglios, had condemned the ring as trumpery. 
 There is always something a little ominous in the 
 bridegroom's forgetfuhiess of that simple golden 
 circle which typifies an eternal union; and a 
 superstitious person might have drawn a sinister 
 augury from the subject of Captain Paget's in- 
 taglio, which was a head of Nero — an emperor 
 whose wife was by no means the happiest of wo- 
 men. But as neither Mary Anne nor the re-
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 167 
 
 gistrar, neitlier. the cabman nor tlie cliarwoman 
 "vvlio had been cleaning the door-step, had ever 
 heard of Nero, and as Horatio Paget was much 
 too indifferent to be superstitious, there was no 
 one to draw evil inferences : and Mary Anne went 
 away with her gentleman husband, proud and 
 happy, with a happiness that was only disturbed 
 now and then by the image of an infuriated 
 mother. 
 
 Captain Paget took his bride to some charm- 
 ing apartments in Halfmoon-street, Mayfair ; and 
 she was sm'prised to hear him tell the landlady 
 that he and his wife had just arrived from Devon- 
 shire, and that they meant to stay a week or so in 
 London, en passant^ before starting for the Con- 
 tinent. 
 
 " My wife has spent the best part of her life in 
 the country," said the Captain, ^^ so I suppose I 
 must show her some of the sights of London in 
 spite of the abominable weather. But the deuce 
 of it is, that my servant has misunderstood my 
 du-ections, and gone on to Paris with the luggage. 
 However, we can set that all straight to-morrow."
 
 168 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 Notliiiig could be more courteously acquiescent 
 than the manner of the landlady; for Captain 
 Paget had offered her references, and the people 
 to whom he referred were among the magnates of 
 the land. The Captain knew enough of human 
 natm-e to know that if references are only suffi- 
 ciently imposing, they are very unlikely to be 
 verified. The swindler who refers his dupe to the 
 Duke of Sutherland and Baring Brothers has a 
 very good chance of getting his respectability ac- 
 cepted without inquiry, on the mere strength of 
 those sacred names. 
 
 From this time until the day of her death 
 Mary Anne Paget very seldom heard her husband 
 / make any statement which she did not know to be 
 false. He had joined the ranks of the ^a^ltures. 
 He had lain down upon his bed of sickness a 
 gentlemanly beggar; he arose from that couch 
 of pain and weariness a swindler. 
 
 Now began those petty shifts and miserable 
 falsifications whereby the birds of j^rey thrive on 
 the flesh and blood of hapless pigeons. Now the
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 169 
 
 dovecotes were fluttered by a new destroyer — a 
 gentlemanly vulture, whose suave accents and j^er- 
 fect manners were fatal to the unwary. Hencefortli 
 Horatio Cromie Nugent Paget flourished and fat- 
 tened upon the folly of his fellow-men. As pro- 
 moter of joint-stock companies that never saw the 
 light; as treasurer of loan-oflices where money 
 was never lent ; as a gentleman with capital about 
 to introduce a novel article of manufacture from 
 the sale of which a profit of five thousand a-year 
 would infallibly be realised, and desirous to meet 
 with another gentleman of equal capital ; as the 
 mysterious X. Y. Z. who will — for so small a re- 
 compense as thirty postage-stamps — impart the 
 secret of an elegant and pleasing employment, 
 whereby seven-pound-ten a-week may be made 
 by any individual, male or female ; — under every 
 flimsy disguise with which the swindler hides his 
 execrable form, Captain Paget plied his cruel 
 trade, and still contrived to find fresh dupes. Of 
 course there were occasions when the pigeons 
 were slow to flutter into the fascinating snare, 
 and when the vultiure had a bad time of it ; and
 
 170 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 it was a common thing for the Captain to sink from 
 the splendour of Mayfair or St. James's-street 
 into some dingy transpontine hiding-place. But 
 he never went back to Tulliver's-terrace, though 
 Mary Anne pleaded piteously for the payment of 
 her poor mother's debt. When her husband was 
 in ftmds, he patted her head affectionately, and 
 told her that he would see about it — i.e. the pay- 
 ment of Mrs. KejDp's bill : while, if she ventured 
 to mention the subject to him when his pm^se was 
 scantily furnished, he would ask her fiercely how he 
 was to satisfy her mother's extortionate claims when 
 he had not so much as a sixpence for his own use. 
 Mrs. Kepp's bill was never paid, and Mary 
 Anne never saw her mother's face ao^ain. Mrs. 
 Paget Avas one of those meek, loving creatures 
 who are essentially cowardly. She could not 
 bring herself to encounter her mother without the 
 money owed by the Captain ; she could not bring 
 herself to cndm-e the widow's reproaches, the 
 questioning that would be so horribly painful to 
 answer, the taunts that would torture her poor 
 sorrowful heart.
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 171 
 
 Alas for her brief dream of love and happi- 
 ness ! Alas for her fooKsh worship of the gentle- 
 nian lodger ! She knew now that her mother 
 had been wiser than herself, and that it would 
 have been better for her if she had renomiced 
 the shadowy glory of an alliance with Horatio 
 Cromie Kugent Paget; whose string of high- 
 sounding namesj written on the cover of an old 
 wine-book, had not been without its influence on 
 the ignorant girl. The widow's daughter knew 
 very little happiness dm'ing the few years of her 
 wedded life. To be hurried from place to place, 
 to dine in Mayfair to-day, and to eat your dinner 
 at a shilling ordinary in Whitecross-street to- 
 morrow ; to wear fine clothes that have not been 
 paid for, and to take them off your back at a 
 moment's notice when they are required for the 
 security of the friendly pawnbroker ; to know that 
 your life is a falsehood and a snare, and that to 
 leave a place is to leave contempt and execration 
 beliind you ; — these things constitute the burden 
 of a woman whose husband lives by his wits. And 
 over and above these miseries, Mrs. Paget had to
 
 172 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 endui'c all the variations of temper to wliicli the 
 schemer is subject. If the pigeons dropped readily 
 into the snare, and if their plmnage proved well 
 worth the picking, the Captain was very kind to 
 liis wife, after his own fashion ; that is to say, he 
 took her out with him, and after lecturing her 
 angrily because of the shabbiness of her bonnet, 
 bought her a new one, and gave her a dinner 
 that made her ill, and then sent her home in a 
 cab, while he finished the evening in more con- 
 genial society. But if the times were bad for the 
 vulture tribe — 0, then, what a gloomy companion 
 for the domestic hearth was the elegant Horatio ! 
 After smiling his fiilse smile all day, while rage 
 and disappointment were gnawing at his heart, it 
 ^ was a kind of relief to the Captain to be moody 
 and savage by his own fireside. The human 
 vulture has something of the ferocity of his fea- 
 thered prototype. The man who lives upon his 
 fellow-men has need to harden his heart ; for one 
 sentiment of compassion, one touch of human 
 pity, would shatter his finest scheme in the hour 
 of its fruition. Horatio Paget and compassion
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 173 
 
 parted fellowship very early in the coiu'se of liis ^ 
 unscrupulous career. What if the pigeon has a 
 widowed mother dependent on his prosperity, or 
 half-a-dozen children who will be involved in his 
 ruin ? Is the hawk to forego his natural prey 
 for any such paltry consideration as a vulgar old 
 woman or a brood of squalling brats ? 
 
 Captain Paget was not guilty of any persistent 
 unkindness towards the woman Avhose fate he had 
 deigned to link with his o^vn. The consciousness 
 that he had conferred a supreme honour on Mary 
 Anne Kepp by offering her his hand, and a share 
 of his difficulties, never deserted him. He made 
 no attempt to elevate the ignorant girl into com- 
 panionship with himself. He shuddered when she 
 misplaced her h's, and turned from her peevishly 
 with a muttered oath when she was more than 
 usually ungrammatical : but though he found it 
 disagreeable to hear her, he would have found it 
 troublesome to set her right ; and trouble was a 
 thing which Horatio Paget held in gentlemanly 
 aversion. The idea that the mode of his existence 
 could be repulsive to his wife — that this low-born
 
 174 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 and low-bred girl could have scruples that he 
 never felt, and might suffer agonies of remorse 
 and shame of which liis coarser nature was incap- 
 able — never entered the Captain's mind. It 
 would have been too great an absurdity for the 
 daughter of plebeian Kepps to affect a tenderness 
 of conscience unknown to the scion of Pagets and 
 Cromies and Nugents. Mary Anne was afraid of 
 her elegant husband : and she worshipped and 
 waited upon him in meek silence, keeping the 
 secret of her own sorrows, and keeping it so well 
 that he never guessed the manifold sources of that 
 pallor of countenance and hollow brightness of eye 
 which had of late annoyed him when he looked at 
 his wife. She had borne him a child; a sweet 
 girl baby, with those great black eyes that always 
 have rather a weird look in the face of infancy ; 
 and she would fain have clung to the infant as the 
 hope and consolation of her joyless life. But the 
 vulture is not a domestic bird, and a baby would 
 have been an impediment in the rapid hegiras 
 which Captain Paget and his wife were wont to 
 make. Tlie Captain put an advertisement in a
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. 175 
 
 daily paper before the child was a week old ; and 
 in less than a fortnight after Mary Anne had 
 looked at the baby face for the first time, she was f ' 
 called upon to surrender her treasure to an elderly 
 woman of fat and greasy aspect, who had agreed 
 to bring the infant up " by hand" in a miserable 
 little street in a remote and dreary district lying 
 between Yauxhall and Battersea. 
 
 Mary Anne gave up the child uncomplain- 
 ingly; as meekly as she would have surrendered 
 herself if the Captain had brought a masked exe- 
 cutioner to her bed-side, and had told her a block 
 was prepared for her in the adjoining chamber. 
 She had no idea of resistance to the will of her 
 husband. She endured her existence for nearly 
 five years after the birth of her child, and during 
 those miserable years the one effort of her life was 
 to secure the miserable stipend paid for the little 
 girl's maintenance ; but before the child's fifth 
 birthday the mother faded ofi" the face of the earth. 
 She died in a miserable lodging not very far from 
 Tulliver's-terrace, expiring in the arms of a land- 
 lady who comforted her in her hour of need as she
 
 17G BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 liacl comforted the ruined gentleman. Captain 
 ^ Paget was a prisoner in Wliitecross-street at the 
 time of his wife's death, and was much surprised 
 when he missed her mornino: visits and the little 
 luxuries slie had been wont to brino; him. 
 
 He had missed her for more than a week, and 
 had written to her twice — rather angrily on the 
 second occasion — when a rough unkempt boy in 
 corduroy Avaited upon him in the dreary ward, 
 where he and half-a-dozen other depressed and 
 melancholy men sat at little tables writing letters, 
 or pretending to read newspapers, and looking at 
 one another furtively every now and then. Tliere 
 is no prisoner so distracted by his own cares that 
 he will not find time to wonder Avliat his neigh- 
 bour is " in for." 
 
 The boy had received instructions to be careful 
 how he imparted his dismal tidings to the " poor 
 dear gentleman ;" but the lad grew nervous and 
 bewildered at sight of the Captain's fierce hook- 
 nose and scrutinising gray eyes, and blurted out 
 his news without any dismal note of warning. 
 
 " The lady died at two o'clock this morning,
 
 THE EASY DESCENT. ITT 
 
 please, sir; and motlier said I was to come and 
 tell you, please, sir." 
 
 Captain Paget staggered under the blow. 
 
 ^' Good God !" he cried, as he dropped upon a 
 rickety Windsor chair, that creaked under his 
 weight; "and I did not even know that she was 
 iU!" 
 
 Still less did he know that all her married' 
 life had been one long heart-sickness — one mono- 
 tonous agony of remorse and shame. 
 
 VOL. I. N"
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " HEART BARE, HEART HUNGRY, VERY POOR." 
 
 Diana Paget left the Kursaal, and walked slowly 
 along the pretty rustic street ; now dawdling be- 
 fore a little printshop whose contents she knew by 
 heart, now looking back at the great windows of 
 that temple of pleasure which she had just quitted. 
 '^ What do they care what becomes of me V 
 she thought, as she looked up at the blank vacant 
 windows, for the last time before she left the main 
 street of Foretdechene, and turned into a strag- 
 gling side-street, whose rugged pavement sloped 
 upward towards the pine-clad hills. The house 
 in which Captain Paget had taken up his abode 
 was a tall white habitation, situated in the nar- 
 rowest of the narrow bye-ways that intersect the 
 main street of the pretty Belgian watering-place ; 
 a lane in which the inhabitants of opposite houses
 
 " HEART BARE, HEART HUNGRY." 179 
 
 may shake hands with one another out of the win- 
 dow, and where the odour of the cabbages and 
 onions so Hberallj employed in the cuisine of the 
 native offends the nose of the foreigner from sun- 
 rise to sunset. 
 
 Diana paused for a moment at the entrance to 
 this lane, but, after a brief deliberation, walked 
 onwards. 
 
 " What is the use of my going home ?" she 
 thought ; " they won't be home for hours to 
 come." 
 
 She walked slowly along the hilly street, and 
 from the street into a narrow pathway winding 
 upward through the pine-wood. Here she was 
 quite alone, and the stiUness of the place soothed 
 her. She took off her hat and slung the faded 
 ribbons across her arm ; and the w^arm breeze 
 lifted the loose hair from her forehead as she wan- 
 dered upwards. It was a very beautiful face from* 
 which that loose dark hair was Hfted by the sum- 
 mer wind. Diana Paget mherited something of 
 the soft loveliness of Mary Anne Kepp, and a 
 little of the patrician beauty of the Pagets. The
 
 180 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 ejes were like tliose wliicli had watclied Horatio 
 Paget on his bed of sickness in TuUiver's-terrace. 
 The resohite curve of the thin flexible lips and the 
 fine modelling of the chin were hereditary attri- 
 butes of the Nugent Pagets ; and a resemblance 
 to the lower part of Miss Paget's face might have 
 been traced in many a sombre portrait of dame 
 and cavalier at Thorpehaven Manor ; where a 
 Nugent Paget, who acknowledged no kindred 
 with the disreputable Captain, was now master. 
 
 The girl's reflections as she slowly climbed the 
 hill were not pleasant. The thoughts of youth 
 should be very beautiful ; but youth that has been 
 spent in the companionship of reprobates and 
 tricksters is something worse than age; for ex- 
 perience has taught it to be bitter, while time has 
 not taught it to be patient. For Diana Paget 
 cliildhood had been joyless, and girlhood lonely. 
 That blank and desolate region, that dreary flat 
 of fenny waste ground between Vauxhall and 
 Battersea, on which the child's eyes had first 
 looked, had been typical of her loveless child- 
 hood. With her mother's death faded the one
 
 " HEART BARE, HEART HXJNGRY." 181 
 
 ray of light that had illumined her desolation. 
 She was shifted from one nurse to another ; and 
 her nurses were not allowed to love her, for she 
 remained with them as an encumbrance and a 
 burden. It was so difficult for the Captain to pay 
 the pitifid sum demanded for his daughter's sup- 
 port : or rather it was so much easier for him not 
 to pay it. So there always came a time when 
 Diana was delivered at her father's lodgings like 
 a pai'cel, by an indignant nm'se, who proclaimed 
 the story of her wrongs in shrill, feminine treble, 
 and who was pohtely informed by the Captain that 
 her claim was a common debt, and that she had 
 the remedy in her own hands, but that the same 
 code of laws which provided her with that remedy 
 forbade any obnoxious demonstration of her anger 
 in a gentleman's apartment. And then Miss Pa- 
 get, after hearing all the tumult and discussion, 
 would be left alone with her father, and w^ould 
 speedily perceive that her presence was disagree- 
 able to him. 
 
 When she outgrew the age of humble foster- 
 mothers and cottages in the dreariest of the out- 
 
 ^
 
 182 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 lying subiu'bs, tlic Captain sent his daugliter to 
 school : and on this occasion he determined on 
 patronising a person whom he had once been too 
 proud to remember among the list of his kindred. 
 There are poor and straggling branches upon 
 every family tree ; and the Pagets of Thorpe- 
 haven had needy cousins who^ in the mighty 
 battle of life, were compelled to fight amongst 
 the rank and file. One of these poor cousins 
 was a Miss Priscilla Paget, who at an early age 
 had exhibited that affection for intellectual pur- 
 suits and that carelessness as to the duties of the 
 toilet which are supposed to distinguish the pre- 
 destined blue-stocking. Left quite alone in the 
 world, Priscilla put her educational capital to good 
 use ; and after holding the position of principal 
 governess for nearly twenty years in a prosperous 
 boarding-school at Brompton, she followed her 
 late employer to her grave with unaffected sor- 
 row, and within a month of the fmieral invested 
 her savings in the purchase of the business, and 
 estabhshed herself as mistress of the mansion. 
 To this lady Captain Paget confided his daugh-
 
 ter's education; and in Priscilla Paget' s house 
 Diana found a shelter that was ahnost like a home, 
 until her kinswoman became weary of promises 
 that were never kept, and pitiful sums paid on 
 account of a debt that grew bigger every day — 
 very weary likewise of conciliatory hampers of 
 game and barrels of oysters, and all the flimsy 
 devices of a debtor who is practised in the varied 
 arts of the gentlemanly swindler. 
 
 The day came when Miss Paget resolved to 
 be rid of her profitless charge ; and once more 
 Diana found herself delivered like a parcel of 
 unordered goods at the door of her father's lodg- 
 ing. Those are precocious children who learn 
 their first lessons in the school of poverty; and 
 the girl had been vaguely conscious of the degra- 
 dation involved in this process at the age of five. 
 How much more keenly did she feel the shame at 
 the age of fifteen ! Priscilla did her best to lessen 
 the pain of her pupil's departure. 
 
 " It isn't that I've any fault to find with you, 
 Diana, though you must remember that I have 
 heard some complaints of your temper," she said
 
 184 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 witli gentle gravity; ^^ but your father is too 
 trying ! If he didn't make me any promises, I 
 .should think better of him. If he told me frankly 
 diat he couldn't pay me, and asked me to keep 
 you, out of charity — " Diana drew herself up 
 with a little shiver at this word — " why, I might 
 turn it over in my mind, and see if it could be 
 done. But to be deceived time after time, as I've 
 been deceived — you know the solemn language 
 your father has used, Diana, for you have heard 
 -him ; and to rely on a sum of money on a certain 
 date J as I have relied again and again, after 
 Horatio's assurance that I might depend upon 
 iiim — it's too bad, Diana ; it's more than anyone 
 can endure. If you were two or three years 
 older, and further advanced in your education, I 
 might manage to do something for you by making 
 jou useful with the little ones ; but I can't afford 
 ijo keep you and clothe you during the next three 
 years for nothing, and so I have no alternative 
 but to send you home." 
 
 The " home" to which Diana Paget was taken 
 xipon this occasion was a lodging over a toyshop
 
 185 
 
 in the Westminster - road, where the Captain 
 lived in considerable comfort on the proceeds of a 
 Friendly and Philantln'opic Loan Society. 
 
 But no very cordial welcome awaited Diana 
 in the gandily-fiirnished drawing-room over the 
 toyshop. She fomid her father sleeping placidly 
 in his easy-chair, while a young man, who was a 
 stranger to her, sat at a table near the window 
 writing letters. It was a dull ISTovember day — a 
 very dreary day on which to find oneself thrown 
 suddenly on a still drearier world ; and in the 
 Westminster-bridge-road the lamps were alreadj- 
 making yellow patches of sickly light amidst the 
 afternoon fog. 
 
 The Captain twitched his silk handkerchief off 
 his face with an impatient gesture as Diana en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 "Now then, what is it?" he asked peevishly, 
 without looking at the intruder. 
 
 He recognised her in the next moment; but 
 that first impatient salutation was about as warm 
 a welcome as any which Miss Paget received from 
 her father. In sad and bitter truth, he did not
 
 186 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 care for her. His maiTiage witli Mary Aim Kepp 
 had been the one grateful impulse of his life; 
 and even the sentiment which had prompted that 
 marriage had been by no means free from the 
 taint of selfishness. But he had been quite un- 
 prepared to find that this grand sacrifice of his 
 life should involve another sacrifice in the main- 
 tenance of a daughter he did not want; and he 
 was very much inclined to quarrel with the destiny 
 that had given him this burden. 
 
 " If you had been a boy, I might have made 
 you useful to me sooner or later," the Captain 
 said to his daughter when he found himself alone 
 with her late on the night of her return ; " but 
 what on earth am I to do with a daughter, in the 
 unsettled life I lead? However, since that old 
 harridan has sent you back, you must manage in 
 the best way you can," concluded Captain Paget 
 with a discontented sigh. 
 
 From this time Diana Paget had inhabited the 
 nest of the vultures, and every day had brought 
 its new lesson of trickery and falsehood. There 
 are men — and bad men too — who would have
 
 u* 
 
 " HEAKT BARE, HEART HUNGRY." 187 
 
 tried to keep the secret of tlieir shifts and mean- /^ 
 nesses hidden from an only child; but Horatio 
 Paget behoved himself the victim of man's ingra- 
 titude, and liis misdoings the necessity of an evil 
 destiny. It is not easy for the unsophisticated 
 intellect to gauge those moral depths to which the 
 man who lives by his wits must sink before his 
 career is finished, or to understand how, with 
 every step in the swindler's do^vnward road, the 
 conscience grows tougher, the perception of shame 
 blunter, the savage selfishness of the animal nature 
 stronger. Diana Paget had discovered some of 
 her father's weaknesses during her miserable child- 
 hood ; and in the days of her unpaid- for schoohng 
 she had known that his most solemn promises were 
 no more to be relied on than the capricious breath 
 of a summer breeze. So the revelations which 
 awaited her under the paternal roof were not ut- 
 terly strange or entirely unexpected. Day by day 
 she grew more accustomed to that atmosphere of ^ 
 fraud and falsehood. The sense of shame never 
 left her; for there is a pride that thrives amidst 
 poverty and degradation, and of such pride Diana
 
 188 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Paget possessed no small share. Slie writhed 
 under the consciousness that she was the daughter 
 of a man who had forfeited all right to the esteem 
 of his fellow-men. She valued the good opinion 
 of others, and would fain have been beloved and 
 admired, trusted and respected ; for she was am- 
 bitious : and the thought that she might one day 
 do something which should lift her above the 
 vulgar level was the day-dream that had consoled 
 her in many an horn- of humiliation and discom- 
 fort. Diana Paget felt the Captain's shame as 
 keenly as her mother had felt it ; but the remorse 
 which had agonised gentle Mary Anne, the tender 
 compassion for others which had wrung that fond 
 and faithfid heart, had no place in the breast of 
 the Captain's daughter. 
 
 Diana felt so much compassion for herself, that 
 she had none left to bestow upon other people. 
 Her father's victims might be miserable, but was 
 not she infinitely more wretched ? The landlady 
 who found her apartments suddenly tenantless and 
 her rent unpaid might complain of the hardness of 
 her fortune ; but was it not harder for Diana,
 
 " HEART BARE, HEART HUNGRY." 189 
 
 with the sensitive feelings and the keen pride of y 
 the Pagets, to endure all the degradation involved 
 in the stealthy carrying away of luggage and a 
 secret departure under cover of night ? 
 
 At first Miss Paget had been inclined to feel 
 aggrieved by the presence of the young man 
 whom she had seen writing letters in the gloomy 
 dusk of the November afternoon ; but in due time 
 she came to accept him as a companion, and to 
 feel that her joyless life would have been drearier 
 without him. He was the secretary of the 
 Friendly and Philanthropic Loan Society, and of 
 any other society organised by the Captain. He 
 was Captain Paget's amanuensis and representa- 
 tive : Captain Paget's tool, but not Captain 
 Paget's dupe ; for Valentine Hawkehurst was not '^ 
 of that stuff of which dupes are made. 
 
 The man who lives by his wits has need of a 
 faithful friend and follower. The chief of the 
 vultm-es must not be approached too easily. There 
 must be a preparatory ordeal, an outer chamber 
 to be passed, before the victim is introduced to 
 the sanctuary which is irradiated by the silver
 
 190 BIRDS OF PKEY. 
 
 veil of the prophet. Captain Paget found an able 
 coadjutor in Valentine Hawkehurst, who answered 
 one of those tempting advertisements in Avhich 
 A. B. C. or X. Y. Z. was wont to offer a salary of 
 three hundred a-year to any gentlemanly person 
 capable of performing the duties of secretary to a 
 newly-established company. It was only after 
 responding to this promising offer, that the ap- 
 plicant was informed that he must possess one 
 indispensable qualification in the shape of a capital 
 of five hundred pomids. Mr. Hawkehurst laughed 
 aloud when the Captain imparted this condition 
 with that suave and yet dignified manner which 
 was peculiar to him. 
 
 '^ I ought to have known it was a dodge of 
 that kind," said the yomig man cooUy. '^ Those 
 very good things — duties light and easy, hours 
 from twelve to fom', speedy advancement certain 
 for a conscientious and gentlemanly person, and 
 so on — are always of the genus do. Your adver- 
 tisement is very cleverly worded, my dear sir ; 
 only it's like the rest of them, rather too clever. 
 It is so difficult for a clever man not to be too
 
 191 
 
 clever. The prevailing weakness of the human 
 intellect seems to me to be exaggeration. How- 
 ever, as I haven't a five-pound note in the world, 
 or the chance of getting one, I'll wish you good- 
 morning. Captain Paget." 
 
 There are people whose blood would have been 
 turned to ice by the stony glare of indignation 
 with which Horatio Paget regarded the man who 
 had dared to question his probity. But Mr. 
 Hawkehurst had done with strong impressions 
 long before he met the Captain; and he lis- 
 tened to that gentleman's freezing reproof with an 
 admiring smile. Out of this very unpromising 
 beginning there arose a kind of friendship between 
 the two men. Horatio Paget had for some time 
 been in need of a clever tool ; and in the young 
 man whose cool insolence rose superior to his own 
 dignity he perceived the very individual whom he 
 had long been seeking. The young man who was 
 unabashed by the indignation of a scion of !Nugents. 
 and Cromies and Pagets must be utterly im- 
 pervious to the sense of awe ; and it was just such 
 an impervious young man that the Captain wanted 
 
 y
 
 192 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 as liis coadjutor. Thus arose the alHance, which 
 grew stronger every day ; until Valentine took up 
 his abode under the roof of his employer and pa- 
 tron, and made himself more thoroughly at home 
 there than the unwelcome dauirhter of the house. 
 
 The history of Valentine Hawkehurst's past 
 existence was tolerably well known to the Cap- 
 tain; but the only history of the young man's 
 early life ever heard by Diana was rather vague 
 and fragmentary. She discovered, little by little, 
 that he was the son of a spendthrift litterateur, 
 who had passed the greater part of his career 
 within the rules of the King's Bench ; that he 
 had run away from home at the age of fifteen, 
 and had tried his fortune in all those profes- 
 sions which require no educational ordeal, and 
 which seem to offer themselves invitingly to the 
 scapegrace and adventurer. At fifteen Valentine 
 Hawkehm'st had been errand-boy in a news- 
 paper office ; at seventeen a penny-a-liner, whose 
 flimsy was pretty sure of admission in the lower 
 class of Sunday papers. In the course of a very 
 brief career he had been a provincial actor, a
 
 '^ HEART BARE, HEART HUNGRY." 193 
 
 manege rider in a circus, a billiard-marker, and a 
 betting agent. It was after having exhausted 
 these liberal professions that he encountered Cap- ^ 
 tain Pa<xet. 
 
 Such was the man whom Horatio Paget ad- 
 mitted to companionship with his only daughter. 
 It can scarcely be pleaded in excuse for the Cap- 
 tain that he might have admitted a worse man 
 than Valentine Hawkelmrst to his family circle, 
 for the Captain had never taken the trouble to 
 sound the depths of his coadjutor's natm'e. There 
 is nothing so short-sighted as selfishness ; and be- 
 yond the narrow circle immediately surrounding ^ 
 himself, there was no man more blind than 
 Horatio Paget. 
 
 It was dusk when Diana grew tired of the 
 lonely pathways among the hills, where the har- 
 monies of a band stationed in the valley were 
 wafted in gusts of music by the fitful summer 
 breeze. Tlie loneliness of the place soothed the 
 girl's feverish spirits ; and, seated in a little classic 
 temple upon the summit of a hill, she looked pen- 
 
 YOL. I.
 
 194 BIRDS OF rr.EY. 
 
 sively downward through the purple mists at the 
 newly-h'ghted lamps tvvinlding faintly in the 
 valley. 
 
 " One does not feel the sting of one's shab- 
 biness here/' thought Miss Paget: "the trees are 
 all dressed alike. Nature makes no distinction. 
 It is only Fortune who treats her children un- 
 fairly." 
 
 The Captain's daughter walked slowly back to 
 the little town in the deepening dusk. The lodg- 
 ing occupied by Horatio Paget and his household 
 consisted of four roomy chambers on the second 
 story of a big rambling house. Tlie rooms were 
 meanly furnished, and decorated with the tawdry 
 ornamentation dear to the continental mind ; but 
 there were long wide windows and an iron bal- 
 cony, on which Diana Paget w^as often pleased to 
 sit. 
 
 She found the sitting-room dark and empty. 
 No dinner had been prepared ; for on lucky days 
 the Captain and his protege were wont to dine at 
 the table-cVhote of one of the hotels or to feast 
 sumptuously a la carte, while on unlucky days
 
 " HEART BARE, HEART HUNGRY." 195 
 
 they did not dine at all. Diana found a roll 
 and some cream elieese in a roomy old cupboard 
 that was flavoured with mice ; and after making 
 a very indifferent meal in the dusky chamber, she 
 went out upon the balcony, and sat there looking 
 down upon the lighted town. 
 
 She had been sitting there for nearly an horn' 
 in the same attitude, when the door of the sitting- 
 room was opened, and a footstep sounded beliind 
 her. She knew the step ; and although she did 
 not lift her head, her eyes took a new brightness 
 in the summer dusk, and the listless grace of her 
 attitude changed to a statuesque rigidity, though 
 there was no change in the attitude itself. 
 
 She did not sth' till a hand was laid softl}' on 
 her shoulder, and a voice said, 
 
 ^^ Diana!" 
 
 Tlie speaker was Valentine Hawkehurst, the 
 young man whose entrance to the golden temple 
 had been so closely watched by Captain Paget's 
 daughter. 
 
 She rose as he spoke, and tm'ned to him. 
 
 '' You have been losing, I suj^pose, ]\Ir. Hawke-
 
 196 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 hurst," slic said, " or you would not liiivc come 
 home?" 
 
 " I am compelled to admit that you arc right 
 in your premise, Miss Paget, and your deduction 
 is scarcely worth discussion. I liave been losing 
 — confoundedly ; and as they don't give credit at 
 the board of green cloth yonder, there was no 
 excuse for my staying. Your fother has not been 
 holding his own within the last hour or two ; but 
 when I left the rooms he was o-oino* to the Hotel 
 d'Orange with some French fellows for a quiet 
 game of ecarte. Our friend the Captain is a 
 great card. Miss Paget, and has a delightful 
 talent for picking up distinguished acquaintance." 
 
 There are few daughters who would have cared 
 to hear a father spoken of in this free-and-easy 
 manner; but Diana Paget was quite unmoved. 
 She had resumed her old attitude, and sat look- 
 ing towards the lighted windows of the Kursaal, 
 while Mr. Hawkehurst lounged ao-ainst the anxjle 
 of the window with his hands in his pockets and 
 Si cigar in his mouth. 
 
 For three years Valentine Hawkehurst had
 
 '' HEART BARE, HEART HUNGRY." 197 
 
 lived ill constant companionsliip with tlie Cap- 
 tain's dangliter; and in that time his manner to 
 her had under o;one considerable variation. Of late 
 it had been something in the manner of an elder 
 brother, whose fraternal breast is impervious to 
 the influence of a sister's loveliness or a sister's 
 fascination. If Diana Paget had been a snub- 
 nosed young person with red hair and white 
 eye-lashes, Mr. Hawkehurst could scarcely have 
 treated her with a more friendly indifference, a 
 more brotherly familiarity. 
 
 Unhappily this line of conduct, which is per- 
 haps the wisest and most honourable plan that 
 a man can pursue when he finds himself thrown 
 into a dangerously familiar association with a 
 beautiful and unprotected woman, is the very 
 line of proceeding which a beautiful woman can / 
 never bring herself to forgive. A chivalrous stiff- 
 ness, a melancholy dignity, a frozen frigidity, 
 which suggest the fiery bubbling of the lava flood 
 beneath the icy sm-face, — these are delightful to 
 the female mind. But friendly indifference and 
 fraternal cordiality constitute the worst insult that
 
 198 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 can be offered to lier beauty, tlie most bitter out- 
 rage upon the majesty of her sex. 
 
 " I suppose it will be midnight before papa 
 comes home, Mr. Hawkehurst," Diana said 
 abruptly, when her companion had finished his 
 cigar, and had thrown the end of it over the 
 balcony. 
 
 " Past midnight more likely, Miss Paget. May 
 I ask how I have become Mr. Hawkehurst all of 
 a sudden, when for the last three years I have 
 been usually known as Valentine — or Yal?" 
 
 The girl tm-ncd her head with a gesture in 
 which the carelessness of his OAvn manner was 
 imitated. She stole a rapid look at him as she 
 answered, " What does it matter whether I call 
 you by one name or another?" 
 
 " "What does anything matter ? I believe Mr. 
 Toots was an miconscious philosoi^her. There is 
 nothing in the world of any consequence, except 
 money. Go and look at those poor devils yonder, 
 and you will see what that is worth," he cried, 
 pointing to the lighted Kursaal; "there you be- 
 hold the one great truth of the universe in action.
 
 199 
 
 There is notliing but money, and men are tlie 
 slaves of money, and life is only another name 
 for the pursuit of money. Go and look at beauty 
 yonde^' fading in the light and heat ; at youth 
 that changes to age before your eyes ; at friend- 
 ship which turns to hate when the chances of the 
 game are with my friend and against me. The 
 Km'saal is the world in little, Diana; and this 
 great globe of ours is nothing but a gigantic 
 gaming-table — a mighty temple for the worship 
 of the golden calf." 
 
 " Why do you imitate those people yonder, if 
 you despise them so heartily ?" 
 
 " Because I am like them and of them. I tell 
 you that money is the beginning and end of all 
 things. Why am I here, and why is my life made 
 up of baseness and lies ? Because my father was 
 an improvident scomidrel, and did not leave me 
 five hundred a year. I wonder what I should 
 have been hke, by the bye, if I had been blest with 
 five hundred a year." 
 
 " Honest and happy," answered the girl ear- y 
 nestly. She forgot her simulated indifference, and
 
 200 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 looked at him with siid earnest eyes. He met 
 tlie glance, and the expression of his own face 
 changed from its cynical smile to a thoughtful 
 sadness. 
 
 " Honest perhaps ; and yet I almost doubt if 
 anything under five thousand a year would have 
 kept me honest. Decidedly not happy ; the men 
 who can be happy on five hundred a year are 
 made of a duller stuff" than the clay which serves 
 for a Hawkehurst." 
 
 '^ You talk about not being happy with five 
 hundi'ed a year !" Diana exclaimed impatiently. 
 ^' Surely any decent existence would be happiness 
 to you compared to the miserable life you lead, — 
 the shameful, degraded life wliich shuts you out 
 of the society of respectable people and reduces 
 you to the level of a thief. If you had any pride, 
 V Valentine, you would feel it as bitterly as I do." 
 
 "" But I haven't any pride. As for my life, — 
 well, I suppose it is shameful and degraded, and 
 I know that it's often miserable ; but it suits me 
 better than jog-trot respectabilit}-. I can dine one 
 day upon truffled turkey and champagne, another
 
 "heart bare, heart hungry." 201 
 
 day upon bread and clieese and small beer ; but 
 I couldn't eat beef and mutton always. That's 
 what kills people of my temperament. There are 
 born scamps in the world, Diana, and I am one 
 of them. My name is Robert Macaire, and I was 
 created for the life I lead. Keep clear of me if 
 you have any hankering after better things ; but 
 don't try to change my nature, for it is wasted 
 labour." 
 
 "Valentine, it is so cruel of you to talk like 
 that." 
 
 " Cruel to whom ?" 
 
 " To — those — who care for you." 
 
 It was quite dark now ; but even in the dark- 
 ness Diana Paget' s head drooped a little as she 
 said this. Mr. Hawkehui'st laughed aloud. 
 
 "Tliose who care for me!" he cried; "no 
 such people ever lived. My father was a drunken 
 scoundrel, who suffered his children to grow up 
 about liim as he would have suffered a litter of 
 puppies to sprawl upon his hearth, only because 
 there was less trouble in letting them lie there 
 than in kicking them out. My mother was a
 
 202 BIRDS OF rilEY. 
 
 o-ood Avoman in the bcii'lnniiio' I know ; but she 
 must have been something more than a mortal 
 woman if she had not lost some of her goodness 
 in twelve years of such a life as she led with my 
 father. I believe she was fond of me, poor soul ; 
 but slie died six months before I ran away from 
 a lodging in the Rules, which it is the bitterest 
 irony to speak of as my home. Since then I have 
 been Robert Macaire, and liaA'e about as many 
 friends as such a man usually has." 
 
 ^^ You can scarcely wonder if you have few 
 friends," said Miss Paget, " since there is no one 
 in the world whom you love." 
 
 She watched him through the darkness after 
 saying this ; watched him closely, though it was 
 too dark for her to see the expression of his face, 
 and any emotion to which her words might have 
 given rise could be betrayed only by some gesture 
 or change of attitude. She watched him in vain, 
 for he did not stir. But after a pause of some 
 minutes he said slowly — 
 
 " Such a man as I cannot afford to love any- 
 one. What have I to offer to the woman I might
 
 pretend to love ? Truth, or honour, or honesty, 
 or constancy ? Those are commodities I have 
 never dealt in. If I know what they are, and 
 that I have never possessed them, it is about as 
 much as I do know of them. If I have any re- 
 deemino; n;race, Diana Packet, it lies in the fact 
 that I know what a worthless wretch I am. 
 Your father thinks he is a great man, a noble 
 suffering creature, and that the w^orld has iU-used 
 him. I laiow that I am a scoundrel, and that let 
 my fellow-men treat me as badly as they please, 
 they can never give me worse usage than I de- 
 serve. And am I a man to talk about love, or 
 to ask a woman to share my life ? Good God, 
 what a noble partner I should offer her ! what a 
 happy existence I could assure her !" 
 
 " But if the woman loved you, she would 
 only love you better for being unfortunate." 
 
 ''Yes, if she was very young and foolish and 
 romantic. But don't you think I should be a 
 villain if I traded on her girlish folly ? She 
 would love me for a year or two perhaps, and 
 bear all the changes of my temper ; but the day
 
 204 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Avould come Avlicn slic vrould awake from lier 
 delusion, and know that slie liad been cheated. 
 She would see other women — less f^ifted than 
 herself, probably — and would see the market they 
 had made of their charms ; would see them rich 
 and honoured and haj^py, and would stand aside 
 in the muddy streets to be splashed by the dirt 
 from their carriage-wheels. And then she would 
 consider the price for which she had bartered her 
 youth and her beauty, and would hate the man 
 who had cheated her. No, Diana, I am not such 
 a villain as the world may think me. I am down 
 in the dirt myself, and I'm used to it. I won't 
 / drag a woman into the gutter just because I may 
 happen to love her." 
 
 There w^as a long silence after this — a silence 
 during which Diana Paget sat looking down at 
 the twinkling lights of the Kursaal. Valentine 
 lighted a second cigar and smoked it out, still in 
 silence. The clocks struck eleven as he threw the 
 end of his cigar away ; a tiny, luminous speck, 
 which shot through the misty atmosphere belovr 
 the balcony like a falling star.
 
 " HEART BARE, HEART HUNGRY." 205 
 
 '^ I may as well go and see how your father 
 is getting on yonder," he said, as the spark of 
 light vanished in the darkness below. " Good 
 night, Diana. Don't sit too long in the cold 
 night-air; and don't sit up for your father — 
 there's no knowing when he may be home." 
 
 The girl did not answer him. She listened 
 to the shutting of the door as it closed behind 
 him, and then folded her arms upon the iron 
 rail of the balcony, laid her head upon them, and 
 wept silently. Her life was very dreary, and it 
 seemed to her as if the last hope which had sus- 
 tained her against an unnatural despair had been 
 taken away from her to-night. 
 
 Twelve o'clock sounded with a feeble little 
 carillon from one of the steeples, and still she 
 sat with her head resting upon her folded arms. 
 Her eyes were quite dry by this time, for with 
 her tears were very rare, and the passion which / 
 occasioned them must needs be intense. The 
 night-air grew chill and damp ; but although 
 iihe shivered now and then beneath that creep- 
 ing, penetrating cold which is ]:)eculiar to night-
 
 206 BIRDS OF PEEY. 
 
 air, slie did not stir from licr ]Ance in tlic bal- 
 cony till she was startled by the opening of the 
 door in the room behind her. 
 
 All was dark within, but Diana Paget was 
 very- familiar with the footstep that sounded on 
 the carpetless floor. It was Valentine Hawke- 
 hurst, and not her father, whose step her quick 
 ear distinguished. 
 
 " Diana," he called ; and then he muttered 
 in a tone of surprise, ^^ all dark still. Ah ! she 
 has gone to bed, T suppose. That's a pity !" The 
 figm-e in the balcony caught his eye at this mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " What in goodness' name has kept you out 
 there all this time?" he asked ; "do you want to 
 catch your death of cold ?" 
 
 He was standing by the manteljoiece lighting 
 a candle as he asked this unceremonious question. 
 Tlie light of the candle shone full upon his face 
 when Diana came into the room, and she could 
 see that he was paler than usual. 
 
 " Is there anything the matter ?" she asked 
 anxiously.
 
 " Yes ; there is a great deal the matter. You 
 ^vill have to leave Foretclechene by the earliest 
 train to-morroTv morninir^ on the first stae^e of 
 yonr journey to England. Look here, my girl ! 
 I can give yon just about the money that will 
 carry you safely to London ; and when you are 
 once there, Providence must do the rest." 
 
 " Valentine, wliat do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean, that you cannot get away from this 
 place — you cannot dissever yourself from the 
 people you have been living with, too soon. 
 Come, come, don't shiver, child. Take a few 
 drops of this cognac, and let me see the colour 
 come back to your face before I say any more." 
 
 He poured the dregs of a bottle of brandy 
 into a glass, and made her drink the spirit. He 
 was obliged to force the rim of the glass between 
 her set teeth before he could succeed in this. 
 
 " Come, Diana," he said, after she had drunk, 
 *'you have been a pupil in the school of adversity 
 so long, that you ought to be able to take mis- 
 fortunes pretty quietly. There's a balance struck, 
 somehow or other, depend upon it, my girl ; and
 
 208 BIRDS OF PRF.Y. 
 
 the prosperous people avIio i)ay their debts liavc 
 to suffer, fis "well as the Macairc family. I'm a 
 scamp and a scoundrel, Init I'm your true friend 
 nevertheless, Diana; and you must promise to 
 take my advice. Tell me that you will trust me." 
 
 " I have no one else to trust." 
 
 '^ No one else in this place. But in England 
 you have your old friend, — the woman with whom 
 you were at school. Do you think she would 
 refuse to give you a temporary home if you sued 
 to her in forma jyariperisV 
 
 " No, I don't think she would refuse. She 
 was very good to me. But why am I to go back 
 to London ?" 
 
 '^ Because to stay here w^ould be ruin and dis- 
 grace to you; because the tie that links you 
 to Horatio Paget must be cut at any hazard." 
 
 "But why?" 
 
 '^ For the best or worst of reasons. Your 
 father has been trying a trick to-night which 
 lias been hitherto so infallible, that I suppose he 
 liad grown careless as to his execution of it. Or 
 perhaps he took a false measure of the man he
 
 209 
 
 ^vas playing Avitli. In any case, lie lias been 
 found ont, and lias been arrested by the police." 
 
 "Arrested, for cheating at cards!" exclaimed 
 tlie girl, with a look of unspeakable disgust and 
 horror. Valentine's arm was ready to support 
 her, if she had shown any symptom of fainting ; 
 but she did not. She stood erect before him, 
 yery pale, but firm as a rock. 
 
 "And you want me to go away?" she said. 
 
 " Yes, I want you to disappear from this place 
 before you become notorious as your father's 
 daughter. That would be about the worst repu- 
 tation which you could carry through life. Be- 
 lieye me that I wish you well, Diana, and be 
 ruled by me." 
 
 " I will," she answered, with a kind of de- 
 spairing resignation. " It seems yery dreary to 
 go back to England to face the world all alone ► 
 But I will do as you tell me." 
 
 She did not express any sympathy for her 
 father, then languishing under arrest, whereby 
 she proyed herself yery wicked and uiiAvomanly, 
 no doubt. But neither womanly yirtues nor Chris- 
 
 VOL. I. P 
 
 v^ 
 
 ^"
 
 / 
 
 210 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 tian o-raccs arc ^vont to flourish in the school in 
 
 o 
 
 whicli Diana Paget had been reared. She obeyed 
 Valentine Hawkelmrst to the letter, without any 
 sentimental lamentations whatever. Her scanty 
 possessions were collected, and neatly packed, in 
 little more than an hour. At three o'clock she 
 lay down in her tawdry little bed-chamber to take 
 what rest she might in the space of two hom's. 
 At six she stood by Valentine Hawkehurst on 
 the platform of the railY^^ay station, with her face 
 hidden by a Ijrown gauze veil, waiting till the 
 train was made ready to start. 
 
 It was after she was seated in the carriage 
 that she spoke for the first time of her father. 
 
 ^^ Is it likely to go very hard with him?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " I hope not. We must try to pull him 
 through it as well as we can. The charge may 
 break down at the first examination. Good- 
 bye." 
 
 " Good-bye, Valentine." 
 
 They had just time to shake hands before the 
 train moved off. Another moment and Miss
 
 211 
 
 Paget and lier fellow-passengers were speeding 
 towards Liege. 
 
 Mr. Hawkehui'st drew his liat over liis eyes as 
 he walked away from the station. 
 
 " The world will seem very dull and empty to 
 me without her," he said to himself. ^^ I have 
 done an imselfish thing for once in my life. I 
 wonder whether the recording angel will carry- 
 that up to my credit, and whether the other fellow 
 will blot out any of the old score in consideration 
 of this one little bit of self-sacrifice." 
 
 V
 
 HEAPING UP EICHES.
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE. 
 
 Eleven years had passed lightly enough over the 
 glossy raven locks of Mr. Philip Sheldon. There 
 are some men with whom Time deals gently, and 
 he was one of them. The hard black eyes had 
 lost none of their fierce brightness; the white 
 teeth flashed with all their old brillancy; the 
 complexion, which had always been dusky of hue, 
 was perhaps a shade or two darker ; and the fierce 
 black eyes seemed all the blacker by reason of the 
 purple tinge beneath them. But the Philip Shel- 
 don of to-day was, taken altogether, a handsomer 
 man than the Philip Sheldon of eleven years ago. 
 
 "Within those eleven years the Bloomsbury 
 dentist had acquired a higher style of dress and 
 bearing, and a certain improvement of tone and
 
 216 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 manner. He was still an eminently respectable 
 man, and a man whose cliief claim to the esteem 
 of his fellows lay in the ftict of his unimpeachable 
 respectability ; but his respectability of to-day, as 
 compared with that of eleven years before, was 
 
 / as the respectability of Tyburnia when contrasted 
 Avith that of St. Pancras. He was not an aristo- 
 cratic-looking man, or an elegant man ; but you 
 felt, as you contemplated him, that the bulwarks 
 
 -A of the citadel of English respectability are de- 
 fended by such as he. f*^ "" ^^"^ 
 
 Mr. Sheldon no longer experimentalised with 
 lumps of beeswax and plaster-of-paris. All the 
 appalling paraphernalia of his cruel art had long 
 since been handed over to an aspiring young 
 dentist, together with the respectable house in 
 Fitzgeorge-street, the furniture, and — the con- 
 nection. And thus had ended Philip Sheldon's 
 career as a surgeon-dentist. Within a year of Tom 
 Halliday's death his disconsolate w^idow^ had given 
 her hand to her first sweetheart, not forgetful of 
 her dead husband or ungrateful for much kindness 
 and affection experienced at his hands, but yield-
 
 A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE. 217 
 
 iiig rather to Philip's suit because she was unable 
 to advance any fair show of reason whereby she 
 might reject him. 
 
 ^' I told you she'd be afraid to refuse you,'' 
 said George Sheldon, when the dentist came home 
 from Barlingford, where Tom Halliday's widow 
 was livino; with her mother. 
 
 Philip had answered his brother's questions 
 rather ambiguously at first, but in the end had 
 been fain to confess that he had asked Mrs. Halli- 
 day to marry him, and that his suit had prospered. 
 
 " That way of putting it is not very compli- 
 mentary to me," he said, drawing himself up 
 rather stiffly. ^' Georgy and I were attached to 
 each other long ago ; and it is scarcely strange 
 if—" 
 
 '' If you should make a match of it, Tom being 
 gone. Poor old Tom! He and I were such 
 cronies. I've always had an idea that neither you 
 nor the other fellow quite understood that low 
 fever of his. You did your best, no doubt ; but I ^ 
 think you ought to have pulled him through 
 somehow. However, that's not a pleasant subject
 
 218 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 to talk of just now; so I'll drop it, and wish you 
 joy, Phil. It'll be rather a good match for you, I 
 fancy," added George, contemplating his brother 
 with a nervous twitching of his lips, which sug- 
 gested that his mouth watered as he thought of 
 Philip's good fortune. 
 
 '^ It's a very nice thing you drop into, old fel- 
 low, isn't it?" he asked presently, seeing that his 
 brother was rather disinclined to discuss the subject 
 
 " You know the state of my affairs well 
 enough to be sure that I couldn't afford to marry 
 a poor woman," answered Philip. 
 
 " And that it has been for a long time a vital 
 necessity with you to marry a rich one," inter- 
 jected his brother. 
 
 '' Georgy will have a few hundreds, and — " 
 
 '^ A few thousands, you mean, Phil," cried 
 Sheldon the younger with agreeable briskness ; 
 " shall I tot it up for you ?" 
 
 He was always eager to ^^tot" things up, and 
 would scarcely have shrunk from setting down 
 the stars of heaven in trim double columns of 
 figures, had it seemed to his profit to do so.
 
 A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE. 219 
 
 " Let lis put it in figures, Phil," lie said, 
 getting liis finger-tips in order for the fray. 
 " There's the money for Hy ley Farm, twelve thou- 
 sand three hundred and fifty ; I had it from poor 
 Tom's own lips. Then there's that little property 
 on Sheepfield Common — say seven-fifty, eh ? — 
 well, say seven hundred, if you like to leave a 
 margin ; and then there are the insurances, three 
 thou' in the Alliance, fifteen hundred in the 
 Phoenix, five hundred in the Suffolk Friendly: 
 the total of which, my dear boy, is eighteen thou- 
 sand five hundred pounds ; and a very nice thing 
 for you to drop into, just as affairs were looking 
 about as black as they could look." 
 
 ^' Yes," answered Mr. Sheldon the elder, 
 who appeared by no means to relish this " tot- 
 ting-up" of his future wife's fortune, " I have no 
 doubt I ought to consider myself a very lucky 
 man." 
 
 '' So Barlingford folks will say when they hear 
 of the business. And now I hope you're not 
 going to forget yom' promise to me." 
 
 ^^ What promise?" 
 
 /
 
 220 BIRDS OF rREY. 
 
 '^Tliat if you ever did get a stroke of luck, I 
 slioukl htiVG a share of it — eh, Phil ?" 
 
 ]Mr. Sheldon caressed his chin and looked 
 thoughtfully at the fire. 
 
 " If my wife lets me have the handling of any 
 of her money, you may depend upon it I'll do 
 what I can for you," he said, after a ]muse. 
 
 " Don't say that, Phil," remonstrated George. 
 ^' When a man says he'll do what he can for you, 
 it's a sure sign he means to do nothing. Friend- 
 ship and brotherly feeling are at an end wdien it 
 comes to a question of ^ ifs' and ^ cans.' 7/ your 
 wife lets you have the handling of any of her 
 money !" cried the lawyer with unspeakable de- 
 rision ; '^ that's too good a joke for you to indulge 
 in with me. Do you think I believe you will let 
 that poor little woman keep custody of her money 
 a day after she is your wife, or that you will let 
 her friends tie it up for her before she marries 
 you? No, Phil, you didn't lay your plans for 
 that." 
 
 "What do you mean by my laying plans?" 
 asked the dentist.
 
 A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE. 221 
 
 " Tliat's a point we won't discuss, Philip," 
 answered the hiwver coolly. " You and I mider- 
 stand each other very ay ell without entering into 
 unpleasant details. You promised me a year ago 
 — before Tom Halliday's death — that if you ever 
 came into a good thing, I should share in it. You 
 have come into an uncommonly good thing, and I 
 shall expect you to keej:) yom' promise." 
 
 ''Who savs I am o;oincr to break it?" de- 
 manded Philip Sheldon Avith an injui'ed air. 
 '' You shouldn't be in such a hurry to cry out, 
 George. You take the tone of a social Dick 
 Turpin, and might as well hold a 2:>istol to ni}^ 
 head while you're about it. Don't alarm your- 
 self I have told you I will do what I can for 
 you. I cannot and I shall not say more.'' 
 
 The two men looked at each other. They 
 were in the habit of taking the measure of all 
 creation in their own eminently practical way, 
 and they took each other's measure now. After 
 having done which, they parted with all cordial 
 expressions of good-will and brotherly feeling. 
 George went back to his dusty chambers in Gray's
 
 222 BIRDS OF TEEY. 
 
 Inn, and Philip prepared for his return to Bar- 
 lingford and his marriage with Georgina Hal- 
 liday. 
 
 For ten years Georgy had been Phihp Shel- 
 don's wife, and she had found no reason to com- 
 plain of her second choice. The current of her 
 life had flowed smoothly enough since her first 
 lover had become her husband. She still wore 
 moire- antique dresses and gold chains ; and if 
 the dresses were of more simple fashion and the 
 chains were less obtrusively displayed, she had to 
 thank ]Mr. Sheldon for the refinement in her taste. 
 Her views of life in general had expanded under 
 Mr. Sheldon's influence. She no longer thought 
 a high-wheeled dog-cart and a skittish mare the 
 acme of earthly splendour ; for she had a carriage 
 and pair at her service, and a smart little page- 
 boy to leap ofi* the box in attendance on her when 
 she paid visits or went shopping. Instead of the 
 big comfortable old-fashioned farmhouse at Hyley, 
 Avitli its mysterious passages and impenetrable 
 obscurities in the way of cupb6ards, she occupied
 
 A FORTUNATE MAEEIAGE. 223 
 
 an intensely new cletaclied villa in Bajswater, in 
 which the eye that might chance to grow weary 
 of sunshine and glitter would have sought in vain 
 for a dark corner wherein to repose itself. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon's fortunes had prospered since 
 his marriao'e with his friend's widow. For a man 
 of his practical mind and energetic temperament, 
 eighteen thousand pounds was a strong starting- 
 point. His first step was to clear off all old 
 engagements with Jews and Gentiles, and to turn 
 his back on the respectable house in Fitzgeorge- 
 street. The earlier months of his married life he 
 devoted to a pleasant tour on the Continent, not 
 wasting time in picturesque byeways, or dawdling 
 among inaccessible mountains, or mooning about 
 drowsy old cathedrals, where there were pic- 
 tm-es with curtains hanging before them, and 
 prowling vergers who expected money for draw- 
 ing aside the curtains ; l^ut rattling at the highest 
 continental speed from one big commercial city 
 to another, and rubbing off the rust of Blooms- 
 bmy in the exchanges and on the quays of the 
 busiest places in Europe. The time which Mr. 
 
 y
 
 224 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 Sheldon forcbore to squander in shadowy gothic 
 aisles and under the shelter of Alpine heights, he 
 accounted well bestowed in crowded cafes, and at 
 the public tables of noted hotels where commercial 
 men were wont to congregate; and as Georgy 
 had no aspirings for the sublimity of Vandyke 
 and Raphael, or the gigantic splendours of Alpine 
 scenery, she was very well pleased to see conti- 
 nental life with the eyes of Philip Sheldon. How 
 could a half-educated little Avoman, whose worldly 
 experience was bounded by the suburbs of Bar- 
 / lingford, be otherwise than delighted by the 
 glare and glitter of foreign cities ? Georgy was 
 childishly enraptured with everything she saw, 
 from the sham diamonds and rubies of the 
 Palais Royal to the fantastical bonbons of Ber- 
 lin. 
 
 Her husband was very kind to her — after his 
 own particular fashion, which was very different 
 from blustering Tom Halliday's weak indulgence. 
 He allotted and regulated her life to suit his own 
 convenience, it is true ; but he bought her hand- 
 some dresses, and took her with him in hired
 
 A FORTUNATE MARPJAGE. 225 
 
 carriacjes when lie drove nboiit the stran^^e cities. 
 He -was apt to leave Georgy and the hired car- 
 riage at the corner of some street or before the 
 door of some cafe, for an honr at a time, in the 
 course of his peregrinations ; but she speedilj^ 
 became accustomed to this, and provided herself 
 with the Tauchnitz edition of a novel, wherewith 
 to beguile the tedium of these intervals in the 
 day's amusement. If Tom Halliday had left her 
 for an hour at a street-corner or before the door 
 of a cafe, she would have tortured herself and 
 him by all manner of jealous suspicions and vague 
 imaginings. But there vras a stern gravity in 
 Mr. Sheldon's character which precluded the pos- 
 sibility of any such shadowy fancies. Every action 
 of his life seemed to involve such serious motives, 
 the whole tenor of his existence was so orderly 
 and business-like, that his wife was fain to submit 
 to him as she would have submitted to some pon- 
 derous infallible machine, some monster of modern 
 ingenuity and steam-power which cut asunder so 
 many bars of iron or punched holes in so many 
 paving-stones in a given number of seconds, and 
 
 VOL. T. Q
 
 226 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 was likely to go on dividing iron or piercing 
 paving-stones for ever and ever. 
 
 She obeyed him, and was content to fashion 
 her life according to his will, chiefly because she 
 had a vague consciousness that to argue with him, 
 or to seek to influence him, would be to attempt 
 the impossible. Perhaps there was something 
 more than this in her mind — some half-con- 
 sciousness that there was a shapeless and inver- 
 tebrate skeleton lurking in the shadowy back- 
 ground of her new life, a dusky and impalpable 
 creatm-e which it woidd not be well for her to 
 examine or understand. She was a cowardly 
 little woman, and finding herself tolerably happy 
 in the present, she did not care to pierce the veil 
 of the future, or to cast anxious glances backward 
 to the past. She thought it just possible that 
 there might be people in the world base enough 
 to hint that Philip Sheldon had married her for 
 love of her eighteen thousand pounds, rather than 
 from pure devotion to herself. She knew that 
 certain prudent friends and kindred in Barling- 
 ford had elevated their hands and eyebrows in
 
 A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE. 227 
 
 speechless horror when they discovered that she 
 had married her second husband without a set- 
 tlement; while one grim and elderly uncle had 
 asked her whether she did not expect her father 
 to turn in his grave by reason of her folly. 
 
 Georgy had shrugged her shoulders peevishly 
 when her Barlingford friends remonstrated with 
 her, and had declared that people were very cruel 
 to her, and that it was a hard thing she could 
 not choose for herself for once in her life. As 
 to the settlements that people talked of, she pro- 
 tested indignantly that she was not so mean as 
 to fancy her future husband a thief, and that to 
 tie up her money in all sorts of ways would be to 
 imply as much. And then, as it was only a year 
 since poor dear Tom's death, she had been anxious 
 to marry without fuss or parade. In fact, there 
 were a hundred reasons against legal interference 
 and legal tying-up of the money, with all that 
 dreadfiil jargon about " whereas," and " herein- 
 after," and " provided always," and " nothing 
 herein contained," which seems to hedge round 
 a sum of money so closely that it is doubtful 
 
 V
 
 228 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 Avliotlior the actual owner will ever bo free to 
 spend a sixpence of it after the execution of tliat 
 formidable document intended to protect it from 
 possible mai'auders. 
 
 George Sheldon had said something very near 
 the trutli when he had told Philip that Mrs. Hal- 
 lidav would be afraid to refuse him. The fair- 
 haired, fair-faced little woman did in some man- 
 ner fear the first lover of her girlhood. She had 
 become his wife, and so far all things had gone 
 well with her ; but if misery and despair had been 
 the necessary consequences of her union with him, 
 she must have married him all the same, so domi- 
 nant was the influence by v>diich he ruled her. Of 
 course Georgy w^as not herself aware of her own 
 dependence. She accepted all things as they were 
 presented to her by a stronger mind than her own. 
 She w^ore her handsome silk dresses, and vras espe- 
 cially particular as to the adjustment of her bon- 
 net-stri-ngs, knowing that the smallest impropriety 
 of attire was obnoxious to the well-ordered mind 
 of her second husband. She obeyed him very 
 much as a child obeys a strict but not unkind
 
 A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE. 229 
 
 schoolmaster. When he took her to a theatre or 
 a raeecoiu'se, she sat by his side meekly, and felt 
 like a child ^Yllo has been good and is reaping 
 the reward of goodness. And this state of things 
 ■was in no wise disao-reeable to her. She was 
 perliaj)s quite as happy as it was in her nature 
 to be; for she had no exalted capacity for hap- 
 piness or misery. She felt that it was pleasant 
 to have a handsome man, whose costume was 
 always irreproachable, for her husband. Her only 
 notion of a bad husband was a man who stayed 
 out late, and came home under the influence of 
 strong liquors consumed in unknown localities and 
 amongst unknown people. So, as Mr. Sheldon 
 rarely went out after dinner, and was on all oc- 
 casions the most temperate of men, she naturally 
 considered her second husband the very model of 
 conjugal perfection. Thus it was that domestic 
 life had passed smoothly enough for Mr. Sheldon 
 and his wife during the ten years which had 
 elapsed since their marriage. 
 
 As to the eighteen thousand pounds which she 
 had brought Philip Sheldon, Georgy asked no
 
 230 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 questions. She knew that she enjoyed luxuries 
 and splendours which had never been hers in 
 Tom Halliday's lifetime, and she was content to 
 accept the goods which her second husband pro- 
 vided. Mr. Sheldon had become a stockbroker, 
 ^ and occupied an office in some dusky com-t within 
 a few hundred yards of the Stock Exchange. 
 He had, according to his own account, trebled 
 Georgy's thousands since they had been in his 
 hands. How the unsuccessful surgeon-dentist had 
 blossomed all at once into a fortunate speculator 
 was a problem too profound for Georgy's con- 
 sideration. She knew that her husband had allied 
 himself to a certain established firm of stockbro- 
 kers, and that the alliance had cost him some 
 thousands of Tom Halliday's money. She had 
 heard of preliminary steps to be taken to secure 
 his admission as a member of some mysterious 
 confraternity vaguely spoken of as "The House;" 
 and she knew that Tom Halliday's thousands had 
 been the seed from which had sprung other thou- 
 sands, and that her husband had been altogether 
 triumphant and successful.
 
 A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE. 231 
 
 It may be that it is easier to rig the market 
 than to induce a given number of people to resort 
 to a certain dull street in Bloomsbury for the pur- 
 pose of having teeth extracted by an unknown 
 practitioner. It is possible that the stockbroker 
 is like the poet, a creature who is born and not 
 made ; a gifted and inspired being, not to be per- 
 fected by any specific education ; a child of spon- 
 taneous instincts and untutored faculties. Cer- 
 tain it is that the divine afflatus from the nostrils 
 of the god Plutus seemed to have descended upon 
 Philip Sheldon; for he had entered the Stock 
 Exchange an inexperienced stranger, and he held 
 his place there amongst men whose boyhood had 
 been spent in the offices of Capel-court, and whose 
 youthful strength had been nourished in the chop- 
 houses of Finch-lane and Threadneedle-street. 
 
 Mrs. Sheldon was satisfied with the general 
 knowledge that Mr. Sheldon had been fortunate, 
 and had never sought any more precise knowledge 
 of her husband's affairs. Nor did she seek such 
 knowledge even now, when her daughter was 
 approaching womanhood, and might ere long
 
 232 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 need some doAvcr out of licr mother's fortune. 
 Poor Tom, trusting implicitly in the wife lie 
 loved, and making his will only as a precau- 
 tionary measure, at a time Avhon he seemed good 
 for fifty years of life arid strength, had not trou- 
 bled himself about remote contingencies, and had 
 iu no wise foreseen the probability of a second 
 husband for Georgy and a stepfather for his 
 child. 
 
 Two children had been born to Mr. Sheldon 
 since his marriage, and both had died in infancy. 
 The loss of these children had fallen very heavily 
 on the strong hard man, though he had never 
 shed a tear or uttered a lamentation, or wasted 
 an hour of his business-like existence by reason 
 of his sorrow. Georgy had just sufficient pene- 
 tration to perceive that her husband was bitterly 
 disappointed when no more baby strangers came 
 to replace those poor frail little lives which had 
 withered away and vanished in spite of his anxiety 
 to hold them. 
 
 " It seems as if there was a blight upon my 
 children," he once said bitterly ; and this was the
 
 A FORTUNATE MARRIAGE. 233 
 
 only occasion on wliicli his wife heard him com- 
 plain of his evil fortune. 
 
 But one day when he had been particularly 
 lucky in some speculation, when he had succeeded 
 in achieving what his brother George spoke of as 
 the '' biggest line" he had ever done, Philip Shel- 
 don came home to the Bayswater villa in a par- 
 ticidarly bad humourj and for the first time since 
 her marriage Gcorgy heard him quote a line of 
 Scripture. 
 
 " Heaping up riches," he muttered, as he 
 paced up and down the room; 'Mieaping up 
 riches, and ye cannot tell who shall gather them." 
 
 His wife knew then that he was thinkino; of 
 his children. During the brief lives of those two 
 fragile boy -babie s the stockbroker had been wont 
 to talk much of futm^e successes in the way of 
 money-making to be achieved by him for the 
 enriclnnent and exaltation of these children. 
 They were gone now, and no more came to re- 
 place them. And though Philip Sheldon still 
 devoted himself to the sublime art of money- 
 making, and still took delight in successful
 
 234 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 time-bargains and all the scientific combinations 
 of the money-market, the salt of life had lost 
 something of its savour, and the chink of gold 
 had lost somewhat of its music.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 The little villa at Bayswater was looking its 
 brightest on a resplendent midsummer afternoon, 
 one year after Diana Paget's hurried hegira from 
 Foretdechene. If the poor dentist's house in 
 dingy Bloomsbury had been fresh and brilhant 
 of aspect, how much more brilliant was the west- 
 ern home of the rich stockbroker, whose gate was 
 within five minutes' walk of that aristocratic Eden, / 
 Kensington Gardens ! Mr. Sheldon's small do- 
 main was called The Lawn, and consisted of some- 
 thing over half an acre of flower-garden and 
 shrubbery, a two-stall stable and coach-house, a 
 conservatory and fernery, and a moderate-sized 
 house in the gothic or mediaeval style, with mul- 
 lioned windows in the dining-room and oriels in
 
 236 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 the best bed-room, and with a, threat deal of un- 
 necessary stonework and wooden excrescence in 
 every direction. 
 
 The interior of Mr. Sheldon's dwelling bore 
 no trace of that solid old-fashioned clumsiness 
 which had distinguished his house in Fitzgeorge- 
 street. Having surrendered his ancestral chairs 
 and tables in liquidation of his liabilities, Philip 
 Sheldon was free to go with the times, and had 
 furnished his gothic villa in the most apj^'oved 
 modern style, but without any attempt at artistic 
 grace or adornment. All was bright and hand- 
 some and neat and trim ; but the brightness and 
 the neatness savoured just a little of furnished 
 apartments at the seaside, and the eye sought in 
 vain for the graceful disorder of an elegant home. 
 The dining-room was gorgeous with all the splen- 
 dour of new mahogany and crimson morocco ; the 
 drawing-room was glorified by big looking-glasses, 
 and the virginal freshness of gilt frames on which 
 the feet of agile house-fly or clumsy blue-bottle 
 had never rested. The crimsons and blues and 
 greens and drabs of the Brussels carpets retained
 
 CHAELOTTE. 237 
 
 the vivid brightness of the loom. The drops of 
 the chandeliers twinkled like little stars in the 
 sunshine ; the brass birdcages were undimmed by 
 any shadow of dulness. To Georgy's mind the 
 gothic villa was the very perfection of a dwelling- 
 place. The Barlingford housekeepers were wont 
 to render their homes intolerable by extrem.e 
 neatness. Georgy still believed in the infallibility 
 of her native town, and the primness of Barling- 
 ford reigned supreme in the gothic villa. There 
 were no books scattered on the polished walnut- 
 wood tables in the drawing-room, no cabinets 
 crammed with scraps of old china, no pictures, 
 no queer old Indian feather-screens, no marvels 
 of Chinese carving in discoloured ivory ; none of 
 those traces which the footsteps of the ^^ collector" 
 alwa}'S leave behind him. Mr. Sheldon had no 
 leisure for collecting; and Georgy preferred the 
 gaudy pink-and-blue vases of a Regent-street 
 china-shojo to all the dingy chefs-cVoeuvre of a 
 Wedgwood, or the quaint shepherds and shep- 
 herdesses of Chelsea. As for books, were there not 
 four or five resplendent volumes primly disposed
 
 238 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 on one of the tables ; an illusti'atccl edition of 
 Cowper's lively and thrilling poems ; a volume of 
 Rambles in Scotland, with copper-plate engravings 
 of " Melrose by night," and Glasgow Cathedral, 
 and Ben Nevis, and other scenic and architectural 
 glories of North Britain ; a couple of volumes of 
 Punch, and an illustrated Vicar of Wakefield ; and 
 what more could elevated taste demand in the way 
 of literature ? Nobody ever read the books ; but 
 Mrs. Sheldon's visitors were sometimes glad to 
 take refuge in the Scottish scenery and the pic- 
 torial Vicar, during that interval of dulness and 
 indigestion which succeeds a middle-class dinner. 
 Georgy read a great many books ; but they were 
 all novels, procured from the Bayswater branch of 
 a fashionable circulating library, and were con- 
 v/ demned unread by Mr. Sheldon, who considered 
 all works of fiction perfectly equal in demerit, and 
 stigmatised them, in a general way, as " senseless 
 trash." He had tried to read novels in the dreary 
 days of his Bloomsbury probation ; but he had 
 found that the heroes of them were impracticable 
 beings, who were always talking of honour and
 
 CHARLOTTE. 239 
 
 chivalry, and always sacrificing their own interests 
 in an utterly preposterous manner ; and he had 
 thrown aside story after story in disgust. 
 
 " Give me a book that is something like life, ^^ 
 and I'll read it," he exclaimed impatiently ; '^ but 
 I can't swallow the high-flown prosings of impos- 
 sibly virtuous inanities." 
 
 One day, indeed, he had been struck by the 
 power of a book, a book written by a certain 
 Frenchman called Balzac.^ He had been riveted 
 by the hideous cynicism, the supreme power of 
 penetration into the vilest corners of wicked 
 hearts; and he flung the book from him at last 
 with an expression of unmitigated admiration. 
 
 '^ Tliat man knows his fellows," he cried, 
 " and is not hypocrite enough to conceal his 
 knowledge or to trick out his puppets in the tinsel 
 and rags of false sentiment in order that critics 
 and pubKc may cry, ' See, what noble instincts, 
 what generous impulses, what unbounded sym- 
 pathy for his fellow-creatures this man has !' This 
 Frenchman is an artist, and is not afraid to face 
 the difficulties of his art. What a scoundrel this
 
 240 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Philippe Bridnu is ! And after wallowing in the 
 gutter, he lives to bespatter his virtuous brother 
 with the mire from his carriage -wheels. That is 
 real life. Your English novelist would ha^'e made 
 his villain hang himself with the string of his 
 waistcoat in a condemned cell, while his amiable 
 hero was declared heir to a dukedom and fort}^ 
 thousand a year. But this fellow Balzac knows 
 better than that." 
 
 The days had passed when Mr. Sheldon had 
 leisure to read Balzac. He read nothing but the 
 newspapers now, and in the newspapers he read 
 very little more than the money articles and such 
 political news as seemed likely to affect the money- 
 market. There is no such sole absorbing pursuit 
 as the race which men run whose goal is the glit- 
 tering Temple of Plutus. The golden apples which 
 ^ tempted Atalanta to slacken her pace arc always 
 rolling before the modern runner, and the greed of 
 gain lends the wings of Hermes to his feet. Mr. 
 Sheldon had sighed for pleasures sometimes in the 
 days of his Bloomsbury martyrdom. He had sat 
 by his open window on sultry summer evenings,
 
 CHARLOTTE. 241 
 
 smoking his solitary cigar, and thinking moodily 
 of all the pleasant resting-places from which other 
 men ^yere looking out at that golden western sky, 
 deepening into crimson and melting into pm'ples 
 which even the London smoke could not obscure. 
 He had sat alone, thinking of jovial parties loung- 
 ing in the bow-windows of Greenwich taverns, 
 with cool green hock-glasses and pale amber wine, 
 and a litter of fruit and flowers on the table before 
 them, while the broad river flowed past them with 
 all the glory of the sunset on the rippling water, 
 and one black brig standing sharply out against 
 the yellow sky. He had thought of Richmond, 
 and the dashing young men who drive there every 
 summer in drags, with steel chain and bar clank- 
 ing and glittering in front of the team, and two 
 solemn grooms with folded arms seated stiff" and 
 statue -hke behind. He had thought of Epsom, 
 and the great Derby mob ; and of all those golden 
 goblets of pleasure which prosperous manhood 
 drains to the very dregs. He had fancied the 
 enjoyments which would be his if ever he were 
 rich enough to pay for them. And now he was 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 able to afford all such pleasm-es he cared nothing 
 for them; for the ecstasy of making money seemed 
 better than any masculine dissipation or delight. 
 He did sometimes dine at Greenwich. He knew 
 the menus of the different taverns by heart, and 
 had discovered that they were all alike vanity and 
 indigestion ; but he never seated himself at one of 
 those glistening little tables, or deliberated with 
 an obsequious waiter over the mysteries of the 
 wine carte, without a settled purpose to be served 
 by the eating of the dinner, and a definite good 
 to be achieved by the wine he ordered. He gave 
 many such entertainments at home and abroad; 
 but they were all given to men who were likely to 
 be useful to him — to rich men, or the toadies and 
 hangers-on of rich men, the grand viziers of the 
 sultans of the money-market. Such a thing as 
 pleasure or hospitality pure and simple had no 
 place in the plan of Mr. Sheldon's life. The race 
 in which he was running was not to be won by a 
 loiterer. The golden apples were always rolling 
 on before the runner; and woe be to him wdio 
 turned away from the course to dally with the
 
 CHARLOTTE. 248 
 
 flowers or loiter by the cool streams that beautified 
 the wayside. 
 
 Thus it was that Mr. Sheldon's existence grew 
 day by day more completely absorbed by business 
 pursuits and business interests. Poor Georgy 
 complained pee"sashly of her husband's neglect; 
 but she did not dare to pour her lamentations into 
 the ear of the offender. It was a kind of relief 
 to grumble about his busy life to servants and 
 humble female friends and confidantes ; but what 
 could she say to Phihp Sheldon himself? What 
 ground had she for complaint? He very seldom 
 stayed out late; he never came home tipsy. He 
 was quite as cool and clear-headed and business- 
 like, and as well able to " tot up" any given 
 figures upon the back of an envelope after one of 
 those diplomatic little Greenwich dinners as he 
 was the first thing after breakfast. It had been 
 an easy thing to tyrannise over poor Tom Halli- 
 day; but this man was a grave inscrutable crea- 
 ture, a domestic enigma which Georgy was always 
 giving up in despair. 
 
 But so completely did Mr. Sheldon rule his
 
 244 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 wife tliat when lie informed her inferentially that 
 she was a very happy woman, she accepted his 
 view of the subject, and was content to beHeve 
 lierself blest. 
 
 In spite of those occasional grumblings to ser- 
 vants and female friends Mrs. Sheldon did think 
 herself happy. Those occasional complaints were 
 the minor notes in the harmony of her life, and 
 only served to make the harmony complete. She 
 read her novels, and fed a colony of little feeble 
 twittering birds that occupied a big wire cage in 
 the breakfast-parlour. She executed a good deal 
 of fancy-work with beads and Berlin- wool ; she 
 dusted and arranged the splendours of the draw- 
 in ir-room with her own hands; and she took 
 occasional walks in Kensington Gardens. 
 
 This was the ordinary course of her existence, 
 now and then interrupted by such thrilling events 
 as a dinner given to some important acquaint- 
 ance of Mr. Sheldon's,^or a visit to the school at 
 which Charlotte Halliday was completing her 
 education. 
 
 That young lady had been removed fi'om the
 
 CHARLOTTE. 245 . 
 
 Scarborongli boarding-scliool to a liiglily respect- 
 able establisliment at Bromptoiij within a few 
 months of her mother's marriage w^ith Mr. Shel- «/ 
 don. She had been a rosy-cheeked yomig damsel 
 in pinafores at the time of that event, too young to 
 express any strong feeling upon the subject of her 
 mother's second choice ; but not too young to feel 
 the loss of her father very deeply. Tom Halliday 
 had been fondly attached to that bright-eyed, 
 rosy-cheeked damsel of nine years' growth, and 
 the girl had fully reciprocated his affection. How 
 often they had talked together of the future which 
 was to be so delightful for them both ; the new 
 farm, which was to be such a paradise in com- 
 parison to Hjdey ; the pony that Charlotte was to 
 ride when she should be old enouo:h to wear a habit 
 like a lady, and to go about with her father to 
 market-towns and corn-exchanges. The little girl 
 had remembered all this, and had most bitterly 
 lamented the loss of that dear and loving father. 
 
 She remembered it all to this day ; she regretted 
 her loss to this day, though she was nearly of 
 age, and on the point of leaving school for ever.
 
 246 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 after having prolonged lier school-days consider- 
 ably beyond the usual period, at the express wish 
 of her stepfather. To say that she disliked Mi'. 
 Sheldon is only to admit that she was subject to 
 the natm^al prejudices of humanity. He had 
 usurped the place of a beloved father, and he was 
 in every way the opposite of that father. He had 
 come between Charlotte Halliday and her mother, 
 and had so absorbed the weak little woman into 
 himself, as to leave Charlotte quite alone in the 
 world. And yet he did his duty as few stepfathers 
 do it. Charlotte admitted that he was very kind 
 to her, that he was an excellent husband, and 
 altogether the most conscientious and respectable 
 of mankind; but she admitted with equal can- 
 dour that she had never been able to like him. 
 " I daresay it is very wicked of me not to be fond 
 of him, when he is so good and generous to me," 
 she said to her chosen friend and companion ; 
 " but I never can feel quite at home with him. 
 I try to think of him as a father sometimes, but I 
 never can get over the ^stcp.' Do you know I 
 have dreamed of him sometimes ; and though he
 
 CHARLOTTE. 247 
 
 is SO kind to me in reality, I always fancy him 
 cruel to me in my dreams. I suppose it is on 
 account of liis black eyes and black whiskers," 
 added Miss Halliday in a meditative tone. " It is 
 certainly a misfortune for a person to have blacker 
 eyes and whiskers than the rest of the world; 
 for there seems something stern and hard, and 
 almost murderous, in such excessive blackness." 
 
 Charlotte Halliday was a very different crea- 
 tm^e from the mother whom Mr. Sheldon had 
 absorbed into himself. Georgy was one of the 
 women who have " no characters at all," but 
 Georgy's daughter was open to the charge of 
 eccentricity rather than of inanity. She was a 
 creature of fancies and impulses. She had written 
 wild verses in the secrecy of her own chamber at 
 midnight, and had torn her poetic eifasions into a 
 thousand fragments the morning after their com- 
 position. She played and sang very sweetly and 
 danced admirably, and did everything in a wild 
 way of her own, which was infinitely more charm- 
 ing than the commonplace perfection of other 
 women. She was not a beauty according to those
 
 248 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 established rules wliicli everybody believes in until 
 they meet a woman who sins against them all and 
 yet is beautiful. Miss Halliday had thick black 
 eyebrows, and large gray eyes which people were 
 apt to mistake for black. She had a composite 
 nose, and one of the sweetest mouths that ever 
 smiled upon enraptured mankind. Nature had 
 given her just a little more chin than a Greek 
 sculptor would have allowed her ; but by way of 
 make-weight, the same careless Nature had be- 
 stowed upon her a throat which Phidias himself 
 might have sought in vain to improve upon. And 
 Nature had planted this young lady's head upon 
 her shoulders with a grace so rare that it must 
 needs be a happy accident in the workmanship of 
 that immortal artist. Indeed it seemed as if 
 Charlotte Halliday owed her charms to a series 
 of happy accidents. The black eyebrows which 
 made her face so piquant might have been destruc- 
 tion to another woman. The round column-like 
 throat needed a fine frank face to surmount it, 
 and the fine frank face was rendered gracious 
 and womanly by the wealth of waving dark hair
 
 CHARLOTTE. 249 
 
 which framed it. Tlie girl was one of those bright 
 happy creatures whom men worship and women / 
 love, and whom envy can scarcely dislike. She 
 was so infinitely superior to both father and mo- 
 ther that a believer in hereditary attributes was 
 fain to invent some mythical great-grandmother 
 from whom the girl's graces might have been 
 derived. But she had something of her father's 
 easy goodnature and imprudent generosity; and 
 was altogether one of those impulsive creatures 
 whose lives are perpetual difficulties and dilemmas. 
 More lectures had been delivered for her edifica- 
 tion than for any other young lady in the Bromp- 
 ton bo'arding-school, and yet she had been the 
 favourite and delight of everybody in the estab- 
 lishment, fi'om the mistress of the mansion down 
 to the iniquitous boy who cleaned the boots, and 
 who was hounded and hunted, and abused and 
 execrated, fi'om dewy mom to dusky eve. 
 
 '^ I alius puts plenty of elbow-grease on your 
 boots. Miss 'Allundale, though cook does heave 
 saucepan-lids at my 'ed and call me a lazy wiper," 
 this incorrigible imp protested to Charlotte one
 
 / 
 
 250 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 morning when she had sm-prised him in tears and 
 had consoled his woes by a donation of pence. 
 
 "All things love thee, so do I," says the 
 lover to his mistress ; and it is almost impossible 
 not to adore a yomig lady who is miiversally 
 beloved, for the simple reason that this general 
 affection is very rarely accorded to any but a 
 loving nature. There is an instinct in these 
 things. From all the ruck of Cheapside a vagrant 
 dog will select the man who has most toleration 
 for the canine species, and is most likely to give 
 him shelter. A little child coming suddenly into 
 a circle of strangers knoAvs in which lap it may 
 find a haven, on which bosom it may discover 
 safety and comfort. If mistress and schoolfellows, 
 servants and shoeblack, dogs and cats, were 
 fond of Charlotte Halliday, their affection had 
 been engendered by her own sweet smiles and 
 loving words, and helping hands always ready to 
 give substantial succour or to aid by active service. 
 
 She had been at the Brompton gynseceum 
 nearly eleven years — only leaving it for her holi- 
 days — and now her education was finished, and
 
 CHARLOTTE. 251 
 
 Mr. Sheldon could find no excuse for leaving 
 her at school any longer, so her departure had 
 been finally agreed upon. 
 
 To most damsels of twenty-one this would 
 have been a subject for rejoicing ; but it was 
 not so with Charlotte. She did not like her 
 stepfather; and her mother, though veiy affec- 
 tionate and gentle, was a person whose society 
 was apt to become wearisome any time after 
 the first half-hour of social intercourse. At Hyde 
 Lodge Charlotte had a great deal more of Lin- 
 gard and condensed and expurgated Gibbon than 
 was quite agreeable; she had to get up at a 
 preternatural hour in the morning and to devote 
 herself to " studies of velocity," wdiose monotony 
 became wearing as the drip, drip, drip of water 
 on the skull of the tortm^ed criminal. She was 
 very tired of all the Hyde-Lodge lessons and 
 accompHshments, the irregular French verbs — 
 the ' braires' and ' traires' which were so diffi- 
 cidt to remember, and which nobody ever could 
 w^ant to use in pohte conversation — the ruined 
 castles and dilapidated windmills, the perpetual
 
 252 
 
 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 stumpy pieces of fallen timber and jagged posts 
 executed witli a bbb pencil, the chalky expanse 
 of sky with that inevitable flight of crows scud- 
 'ding across it : — why must there be always crows 
 scudding across a drawing-master's sky, and why 
 so many jagged posts in a drawing-master's ideal 
 of rural beauty? Charlotte was inexpressibly 
 weary of all the stereotyped studies; but she 
 liked Hyde Lodge better than the gothic villa. 
 She liked the friendly schoolfellows with their 
 loud talk and boisterous manners, the girls who 
 called her " Halliday" and who were always 
 borrowing her reels of crochet-cotton and her 
 pencils, her collars and pocket-handkerchiefs. 
 She liked the free-and-easy schoolgirl talk better 
 than her mother's tame discourse ; she preferred 
 the homely litter of the spacious schoolroom to 
 the prim splendours of Georgy's state chambers ; 
 and the cool lawn and shrubberies of Hyde Lodge 
 were a hundredfold more pleasant to her than 
 the stiff little parterre at Bayswater, wherein 
 scarlet geraniums and calceolarias flourished with 
 an excruciating luxuriance of orrowth and an
 
 CHARLOTTE. 253 
 
 aggravating brilliancy of coloiu\ She liked any 
 place better than the hearth by which Philip 
 Sheldon brooded with a dark thoughtful face, 
 and a mind absorbed by the mysteries and com- 
 plications of the Stock Exchange. 
 
 On this bright June afternoon other girls 
 were chattering gaily about the fun of the break- 
 ing-up ball and the coming delights of the holi- 
 days, but Charlotte sighed when they reminded 
 her that the end of her last half was close at hand. 
 
 She sat under a group of trees on the lawn, 
 with a crochet antimacassar lying in her lap, 
 and with her friend and favourite, Diana Paget, /^ 
 sitting by her side. 
 
 Hyde Lodge was that very establishment over 
 wliich Priscilla Paget had reigned supreme for 
 the last seventeen years of her life, and among 
 all the pupils in a school of some forty or fifty 
 girls, Diana was the one whom Charlotte Halli- 
 day had chosen for her dearest companion and 
 confidante, clinging to her with a constancy not 
 to be shaken by ill-fortune or absence. The girl 
 knew very well that Diana Paget was a poor
 
 254 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 relation and dependent; tliat her bills had never 
 been paid; that all those incalculable and myste- 
 rious ^^exti'as" which are the martyrdom of 
 parents and the delight of schoolmistresses, were 
 a dead letter so far as Diana was concerned. 
 She knew that " poor Di" had been taken home 
 suddenly one day, not in compliance with any 
 behest of her father's, but for the simple reason 
 that her kinswoman's patience had been worn 
 out by the Captain's dishonesty. It is doubtfiil 
 whether Priscilla Paget had ever communicated 
 these facts in any set phi'ase, but in a boarding- 
 school such things make themselves known, and 
 the girls had discussed the delinquencies of that 
 dreadful creatm'e, Captain Paget, very freely in 
 the security of their dormitories. 
 
 Charlotte knew that her dearest friend was 
 ^ not a person whom it was advantageous to know. 
 She had seen Diana depart ignominiously, and 
 return mysteriously after an absence of some 
 years, very shabby, very poor, very sombre and 
 melancholy, and with no inclination to talk of 
 those years of absence. Miss HaHiday had known
 
 CHARLOTTE. 255 
 
 all tliisj and had asked no questions. She took 
 the returned wanderer to her heart, and cherished 
 her with an affection which was far beyond the 
 average measure of sisterly love. 
 
 " I thought I should never see you again, 
 dear," she cried when she and Diana had re- 
 tired to a corner of the schoolroom to talk con- 
 fidentially on the morning of Miss Paget's re- 
 tm-n ; ^' and I missed you so cruelly. Other 
 girls are very nice and very kind to me. There 
 is a new gM, Miss Spencer — ^that girl with flaxen 
 hair, standing by the big Canterbury — whom I 
 get on with delightfully; but there is no one in 
 the world like you, Di. And where have you 
 been all this time ? With your papa, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes," answered Miss Paget gloomily ; "I 
 have been with my father. Don't ask me any- 
 thing about the last three years, Lotta. I have 
 been utterly wretched and miserable, and I can't 
 bear to talk about my misery." 
 
 " And you sha'n't talk of it, darling," cried 
 Charlotte, pursing up her mouth for a kiss in 
 a manner which mi^-ht have been distraction to a 
 
 /
 
 256 BIllDS OF PREY. 
 
 masculine mind of average susceptibility. " Yon 
 sha'n't talk of anything or think of anything 
 the least, least, least bit unpleasant ; and you shall 
 have my gold pencil-case," added Miss Halliday, 
 wrenching that trinket suddenly from the ribbon, 
 by which it hung at her side. Perhaps there 
 was just the least touch of Georgy's childishness 
 in this impidsivo habit of giving away all her 
 y small possessions, for which Lotta was distin- 
 guished. "Yes, you must, dear," she went on. 
 " Mamma gave it me last half; but I don't want 
 it; I don't like it; in point of fact, I have had 
 it ^so long that I positively loathe it. And I 
 know it's a poor trumpery thing, though mamma 
 gave two guineas for it; but you know she is 
 always imposed upon in shops. Do, do, do take 
 it, darling, just to oblige me. And now, tell 
 me, dear, you're going to stop here for ever and 
 ever now you've come back?" asked Charlotte, 
 after having thrust the gold pencil-case into Di- 
 ana's unwiUing hand. 
 
 " I don't know about for ever and ever, dear," 
 Miss Paget replied presently; "but I daresay I
 
 CHARLOTTE. 257 
 
 shall stay here till I'm tired of the place and 
 everybody about it. You won't be here very 
 long, you know, Lotta ; for you'll be twenty next 
 birthday, and I suppose 3^ou'll be leaving school 
 before you're twenty-one. Most of the girls leave 
 at eighteen or nineteen at latest ; and you've been 
 here so long, and are so much further advanced 
 than others are. I am not going to be a pupil 
 again — that's out of the question; for I'm just 
 twenty-two, as you know. But Priscilla has 
 been good enough to let me stay as a kind of v/ 
 second teacher for the little ones. It Avill be dull 
 work going through the stupid abridgments of 
 history and geography, and the scrappy bits of 
 botany and conchology, with those incorrigible 
 little ones ; but of course I am very grateful to 
 my cousin for giving me a home under any con- 
 ditions, after papa's dishonourable conduct. If 
 it were not for her, Lotta, I should have no 
 home. What a happy girl you are, to have a t 
 respectable man for your father !" 
 
 Charlotte's brow darkened a little as her friend 
 said this. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 258 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 '^ He is not my o^^ai fatlier, you know," she 
 said gravely: '^and I should be a great deal 
 happier if mamma and I were alone in the world. 
 We could live in some dear little cottage on wide 
 open downs near the sea, and I could have a 
 linsey habit, and a pony, and ride about all day, 
 and read and j)Iay to mamma at night. Of course 
 Mr. Sheldon is very respectable, and I daresay 
 it's very wicked of me ; but 0, Diana, I think 
 I should like him better if he were not quite so 
 respectable. I saw your papa once when he came 
 to call, and I thought him nicer than my step- 
 father. But then I'm such a frivolous creature, 
 Di, and am always thinking what I ought not 
 to think." 
 
 Nearly a year had passed since Diana's re- 
 tm-n, and the girl's life had been very monotonous 
 during that time. She had stuck bravely to the 
 abridgments and the juvenile scraps of -ologies, 
 and had been altogether a model of propriety, 
 sewing on such a number of strings and buttons 
 during the period as can only be compassed by
 
 CHARLOTTE. 259 
 
 tliG maternal mind. Her existence had been by 
 no means as joyless or desolate as sncli an exist- 
 ence is generally represented by the writer of 
 fiction. There was plenty of life and bustle in 
 the big prosperous boarding-school, if there was 
 not much variety. There were small scandals 
 and small intrigues; departures and arrivals; 
 wonderful hampers of cake and wine to be di- 
 vided among the elect of a fashionable dormi- 
 tory — for there is as wide a difference between 
 the tone and status of the bedrooms in a ladies'- 
 school as between the squares of Berkeley and 
 Bedford. There were brealdng-up parties, and 
 the free-and-easy idleness of the holidays, when 
 a few dark-complexioned girls fi'om the colonies, 
 a yellow -haired damsel from the remote north of 
 Scotland, and Miss Diana Paget, were wont to 
 cluster round the fire in the smaller of the school- 
 rooms to tell o;host-stories or talk scandal in the 
 ffloaminor. 
 
 It was a life which, taken with all its small 
 hardships and petty annoyances, should have been 
 as the life of Paradise compared to that which 
 
 r
 
 260 BIRDS OF rilEY. 
 
 Diana had led witli her fatlier and Mr. Hawke- 
 hurst. AVlietlier the girl fully appreciated the 
 change from the Bohemianism of her late exist- 
 ence to the respectability of Hyde Lodge was a 
 question which no one had asked of her. She 
 had fits of despondency now and then, even in 
 the midst of her duties, and was apt to fall into 
 a sombre reverie over one of the abridgments, 
 whereby she was neglectful of her pupils' aspirates, 
 and allowed Henry the Second to be made the 
 poorer by the loss of an H, or Heliogabalus to 
 be described by a name which that individual 
 himself would have failed to recognise. 
 
 Tliere were times when, in the midst of that 
 shrill Babel, the schoolroom, Diana Paget heard 
 the summer winds sighing in the pine -woods 
 above Foretdechene, and fancied herself standing 
 once more in that classic temple on whose plas- 
 tered wall Valentine had once cut her initials 
 with his penknife in a fantastical monogram sur- 
 mounted by a death's-head, and encircled by a 
 serpent. She thought of that familiar companion 
 very often, in spite of her juvenile pupils and the
 
 CHARLOTTE. 261 
 
 sewing-on of tapes and buttons. He had seemed 
 to her a perpetual enigma and mystery when she 
 was with him ; and now that she was far away 
 from him lie was more than ever an inscrutable 
 creature. Was he altogether vile, she wondered, 
 or was there some redeemino; virtue in his nature ? 
 He had taken trouble to secure her escape from 
 shame and disgrace, and in doing this he surely 
 had performed a good action ; but was it not just 
 possible that he had taken this opportunity of get- 
 ting rid of her because her presence was alike 
 wearisome and inconvenient ? She thought very 
 bitterly of her fellow Bohemian when this view of 
 his conduct presented itself to her. How heart- 
 lessly he had shuffled her off; how cruelly he had 
 sent her out into the hard pitiless world, to find 
 a shelter as best she might ! 
 
 ^^ What would have become of me if Priscilla 
 had refused to take me in?" she asked herself. 
 ^' I wonder whether Mr. Hawkehurst ever con- 
 sidered that." 
 
 More than one letter had come to Diana from 
 
 y
 
 262 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 lier old companion since her fliglit from the little 
 Belgian watering-place. Tlie first letter told her 
 that her father had " tided over that business, and 
 was in better feather than before the burst-up at 
 the Hotel d' Orange." The letter was dated from 
 Paris, but gave no information as to the present 
 arrangements or future plans of the writer and 
 his companion. Another letter, dated from the 
 same place but not firom the same address, came 
 to her six months afterwards, and anon another; 
 and it was such a wonderful thing for Captain 
 Paget to inhabit the same city for twelve months 
 togetlier, that Diana began to cherish faint hopes 
 of some amendment in the scheme of her father's 
 life and of Valentine's, since any improvement in 
 her father's position would involve an improve- 
 ment in that of his protege. 
 
 Miss Paget' s regard for her father was by no 
 means an absorbing affection. The Captain had 
 never cared to conceal his indifference for his only 
 child, or pretended to think her anything but a 
 nuisance and an encumbrance ; a superfluous piece 
 of luggage more difficult to dispose of than any
 
 CHAKLOTTE. 263 
 
 •otlier liio'O'ao'e, and altoo-etlier a stumblino'-block 
 in the stony joatli of a man who has to Hve by 
 his wits. So perhaps it is scarcely strange that 
 Diana did not think of her absent father with any 
 passionate tenderness or sad yearning love. She 
 thought of him very often ; but her thoughts of 
 liim were painful and bitter. She thought still 
 more oflen of his companion ; and her thoughts 
 of him were even more bitter. 
 
 The experiences of Diana Paget are not the 
 experiences which make a pm'e or perfect woman. 
 There are trials which chasten the heart and ele- 
 vate the mind ; but it is doubtful whether it can 
 be for the welfare of any helpless, childish crea- 
 tm'e to be familiar with falsehood and chicanery , 
 with debt and dishonour, from the earliest awake- 
 ning of the intellect ; to feel, from the age of 
 six or seven, all the shame of -a creature who is 
 always eating food that will not be paid for, and 
 lying on a bed out of which she may be turned 
 at any moment with shrill reproaches and upbraid- 
 ings; to hear her father abused and vihfied by 
 vulgar gossips over a tea-table, and to be re- 
 
 Y
 
 264 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 minded every day and every hour that she is an 
 unprofitable encumbrance, a consumer of the bread 
 of other people's children, an intruder in the 
 household of hard j^itiless poverty, a child whose 
 only heritage is shame and dishonour. These 
 things had hardened the heart of Captain Paget's 
 daughter. There had been no counteracting in- 
 fluence — no fond, foolish, loving creature near at 
 hand to save the girl from that perdition into 
 which the child or woman who has never known 
 what it is to be loved is apt to fall. For thir- 
 teen years of Diana's life all love and tenderness, 
 endearing words, caressing touches, fond admir- 
 ing looks, had been utterly unknoAvn to her. To 
 sit in a room with a father who was busy writing 
 letters, and who was wont to knit his brows pee- 
 vishly if she stirred, or to mutter an oath if she 
 spoke ; to be sent. to a 2:>awnbroker's in the gloam- 
 ing with her father's watch, and to be scolded and 
 sworn at on her return if the money-lender had 
 advanced a less sum than was expected on that 
 security — do not compose the most delightful or 
 improving experiences of a home life. But Diana
 
 CHARLOTTE. 265 
 
 could remember little of a more pleasant cliaracter 
 respecting her existence during those brief periods 
 ^vhen she was flung back upon her father's hands, 
 and while that gentleman was casting about for 
 some new \'ictlm on whom to plant her. 
 
 At Hyde Lodge, for the first time, the girl 
 knew what it was to be loved. Bright, impulsive 
 Charlotte Halliday took a fancy to her, as the 
 schoolgirl plu'ase goes, and clung to her with a 
 fond confiding affection. It may be that the soft- 
 ening influence came too late, or that there was 
 some touch of natural hardness and bitterness in 
 Diana's mind ; for it is certain that Charlotte's 
 affection did not soften the girl's heart or lessen / 
 her bitter consciousness of the wide difference be- 
 tween her own fortunes and those of the happier 
 daughters whose fathers paid their debts. The 
 very contrast between Charlotte's position and her 
 own may have counteracted the good influence. 
 It was very easy for Charlotte to be generous and 
 amiable. She had never been hounded from pillar 
 to post by shrewish matrons \\'ho had no words 
 too bitter for their unprofitable charge. She had
 
 266 BIKDS OF PKEY. 
 
 never known what it was to rise up in the morn- 
 ing uncertain where she should lie down at night, 
 or whether there would be any shelter at all for 
 her hapless head ; for who could tell that her 
 father would be found at the lodoincr where he 
 had last been heard of, and how should she ob- 
 tain even workhouse hospitality, whose original 
 parish was unknown to herself or her protector ? 
 To Charlotte these shameful experiences would 
 have been as incomprehensible as the most ab- 
 struse theories of a metaphysician. Was it any 
 w^onder, then, if Charlotte was bright and wo- 
 manly, and fond and tender— Charlotte, who had 
 never been humiliated by the shabbiness of her 
 clothes, and to whom the daily promenade had 
 never been a shame and a degradation by reason 
 of obvious decay in the heels of her boots ? 
 
 " If your father would dress you decently, 
 and supply you with proper boots, I could almost 
 bring myself to keep you for nothing," Priscilla 
 had said to her reprobate kinsman's daughter; 
 "but the more one does for that man the less he 
 will do himself; so the lono^ and the short of it
 
 CHARLOTTE. 267 
 
 is, that you will have to go back to him, for I 
 cannot consent to have such an expensive estab- 
 lishment as mine degraded bj the shabbiness of a 
 relation." 
 
 Diana had been obliged to listen to such 
 speeches as this verj often during her fii'st resi- 
 dence at Hyde Lodge, and then, perhaps, within 
 a few minutes after Priscilla's lecture was con- 
 cluded, Chai'lotte Halhday would bound into the 
 room, looking as fresh and bright as the morn- 
 ing, and dressed in silk that rustled with newness 
 and richness. 
 
 Keenly as Diana felt the difference between 
 her friend's fortune and her own, she did never- 
 theless in some manner return Charlotte's affec- 
 tion. Her character was not to be altered all at 
 once by this new atmosphere of love and tender- 
 ness; but she loved her generous friend and 
 comj)anion afler her own fitful fashion, and de- 
 fended her with passionate indignation if any 
 other girl dared to hint the faintest disparagement 
 of her graces or her virtues. She envied and 
 loved her at the same time. She would accept
 
 268 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Charlotte's affection one da}' witli unconcealed 
 pleasure, and re^'olt against it on the next day 
 as a species of j^atronage which stung her proud 
 lieart to the quick. 
 
 ^' Keep your pity for people who ask you for 
 it," she had exclaimed once to poor bewildered 
 Charlotte; "I am tired of being consoled and 
 petted ; go and talk to your prosperous friends, 
 Miss Halliday; I am sick to death of hearing 
 about your new frocks, and your holidays, and 
 the i^resents your mammals always bringing you." 
 
 And then when Charlotte looked at her friend 
 with a sad perplexed face, Diana relented, and 
 declared that she was a wicked discontented 
 creatm^e, unworthy of either pity or affection. 
 
 '' I have had so much misery in my life, that 
 I am very often inclined to quarrel with happy 
 people without rhyme or reason, or only because 
 they are happy," she said in explanation of her 
 impatient temper. 
 
 " But who knows what happiness may be 
 waiting for you in the future, Di?" exclaimed 
 Jliss HaUiday. " You will marry some rich man
 
 CHARLOTTE. 269 
 
 by and by, and forget that you oyer kne\y wliat 
 poyerty was." 
 
 " I wonder where the rich man Is to come 
 from who will marry Captain Paget's daughter?" 
 Diana asked contemptuously. 
 
 " Neyer mind where he comes from ; he will 
 come, depend upon it. The handsome young 
 prince with the palace by the lake of Como will 
 come to fall in loye with my beautiful Diana, 
 and then she will go and liyc at Como, and desert 
 her faithfid Charlotte, and liye happy eyer after- 
 wards." 
 
 " Don't talk nonsense, Lotta," cried Miss 
 Paget. " You know what kind of fate lies before 
 me as well as I do. I looked at myself this 
 morning, as I was plaiting my hair before the 
 glass — you know how seldom one gets a turn at 
 the glass in the blue room — and I saw a dark, 
 ugly, e\'il-minded-looking creature, whose face ^ 
 frio;htened me. I liaye been ^ettino; wicked and 
 Ugly ever since I was a child. An aquiline nose 
 and black eyes will not make a woman a beauty ; 
 she wants haj^piness and hope and loye, and all
 
 270 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 manner of things that I ha^e never known, before 
 she can be pretty." 
 
 " I have seen a beautifiil woman sweeping a 
 r crossing," said Charlotte, doubtfully. 
 
 "Yes, but what sort of beauty was it? — a 
 beauty that made you shudder. Don't talk about 
 these things, Charlotte ; you only encourage me to 
 be bitter and discontented. I daresay I ought to 
 be very happy, when I remember that I have 
 dinner every day, and shoes and stockings, and a 
 bed to lie down upon at night ; and I am happier, 
 now that I work for my living, than I was in the 
 old time, when my cousin was always grumbling 
 about her unpaid bills. But my life is very 
 dreary and empty: and when I look forward to 
 the future, it seems like looking out upon some 
 level plain that leads nowhere, but across which I 
 must tramp on for ever and ever, until I drop 
 down and die." 
 
 It was something in this fashion that Miss 
 Paget talked, as she sat in the garden with Char- 
 lotte Halliday at the close of the half-year. She 
 was going to lose her faithful friend — the girl who,
 
 CHARLOTTE. 271 
 
 SO mucli richer and happier and more amiable 
 than herself, had yet clmig to her so fondly ; she 
 was going to lose this tender companion, and she 
 was more sorry for the loss than she cared to ex- 
 press. 
 
 " You must come and see us yery often," 
 Charlotte said for tlie hunch'edth time ; " mamma 
 will be so glad to haye you, for my sake ; and my 
 stepfather neyer interferes with our arrangements. 
 0, Di, how I wish you would come and liye with 
 us altogether ! AYould you come, if I could 
 manage to arrange it ?" 
 
 "How could I come? What Quixotic non- 
 sense you talk, Lotta !" 
 
 " Not at all, dear ; you could come as a sort ot 
 companion for me, or a sort of companion for 
 mamma. '\Yliat does it matter how you come, if 
 I can only haye you ? My life will be so dreary 
 in that dreadful new-looking house, unless I haye 
 a companion I loye. Will you come, Di ? — only 
 tell me you will come ! I am sure Mr. Sheldon 
 would not refuse, if I asked him to let you 
 liye with us. Will you come, dear ? — yes or
 
 272 LIKDS OF PREY. 
 
 110. You would bo glad to couio, if you loved 
 me." 
 
 " And I do love you, Lotta, with all my 
 heart," answered Miss Paget with unusual fer- 
 vour ; '^ but then the whole of my heart is not 
 much. As to coming to live with you, of course 
 J it would be a hundred thousand times pleasanter 
 than the life I lead here ; but it is not to be sup- 
 posed that Mr. Sheldon will consent to have a 
 stranger in his house just because his imj^ulsive 
 stepdaughter chooses to take a fancy to a school- 
 fellow who isn't worthy of half her affection." 
 
 "Let me be the judge of that. As to my 
 stepfather, I am almost sure of his consent. You 
 don't know how indulgent he is to me; which 
 shows what a wicked creature I must be not to 
 like him. You shall come to us, Diana, and be 
 my sister; and we will play and sing our pet 
 duets together, and be as happy as two birds in 
 a cage, or a good deal happier, for I never could 
 quite understand the ecstatic delight of perpetual 
 hempseed and an occasional peck at a dirty lump 
 of sugar."
 
 CHARLOTTE. 273 
 
 After this there cjime all the bustle of packing 
 and preparation for departure, and a kind of 
 saturnalia prevailed at Hyde Lodge — a saturnalia 
 which terminated with the breaking-up ball ; and 
 who among the crowd of fair young dancers so 
 bright as Charlotte Halliday, dressed in the 
 schoolgirl's festal robes of cloud-like muslin, and 
 with her white throat set oflP by a black ribbon 
 and a gold locket ? 
 
 Diana sat in a corner of the schoolroom to- 
 wards the close of the CA^enlng, very weary of her 
 share in the festival, and watched her friend, half 
 in sadness, half in envy. 
 
 " Perhaps if I were like her, he would love 
 me," she thought. 
 
 •^ 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 GEORGE Sheldon's prospects. 
 
 For George Sheldon the passing years had brought 
 very Httle improvement of fortune. He occupied 
 his old dingy chambers in Gray's Inn, which had 
 grown more dingy under the hand of Time ; and 
 he was wont to sit in his second-floor window 
 on sultry summer Sundays, smoking his solitary 
 cigar, and listening to the cawing of the rooks 
 in the gardens beneath him, mingled with the 
 voices of rebellious children, and shrill mothers 
 threatening to ^'do for them," or to ^' flay them 
 alive," in Somebody's Eents below. The lawyer 
 used to be quite meditative on tliose Sunday after- 
 noons, and would wonder what sort of a fellow 
 Lord Bacon was, and how he contrived to get 
 into a mess about taking bribes, when so many 
 other fellows had done it quietly enough before
 
 GEORGE Sheldon's prospects. 275 
 
 the Lord of Verulam's day, and even yet more 
 quietly since ; agreeably instigated thereto by the 
 pleasant casuistry of Escobar. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon's prospects were by no means 
 promising. From afar off he beheld his brother's 
 star shining steadily in the commercial firmament ; 
 but, except for an occasional dinner, he was very 
 little the better for the stockbroker's existence. 
 He had reminded his brother very often, and very 
 persistently, of that vague promise which the 
 dentist had made in the hour of his adversity — the 
 promise to help his brother if he ever did " drop 
 into a good thing." But as it is difficult to pre- 
 vent a man who is disposed to shuffle from shuf- 
 flino; out of the closest agreement that Avas ever 
 made between Jones of the one part, and Smith of 
 the other part, duly signed and witnessed and 
 stamped with the sixpenny seal of infallibility; 
 so is it still more difficult to obtain the perform- 
 ance of loosely-worded promises, uttered in the 
 confidential intercourse of kinsmen. 
 
 Li the first year of his married life Philip ^ 
 Sheldon gave his brother a hundred pounds for
 
 n1 
 
 276 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 the carrying out of some grand scheme which the 
 lawyer was then engaged in, and wliich, if suc- 
 cessful, would secure for him a much larger for- 
 tune than Georgy's thousands. Unhaj^jpily the 
 grand scheme was a failure ; and the hundred 
 pounds being gone, George applied again to his 
 brother, reminding him once more of tliat promise 
 made in Bloomsbury. But on this occasion LIr. 
 Sheldon plainly told his kinsman that he could 
 do no more for him. 
 
 " You must fight your own battle, George," 
 he said, "as I have fought mine." 
 
 " Tliank you, Philip," said the younger bro- 
 ther ; " I would rather fight it any other way." 
 
 And then the two men looked at each other, 
 as they were in the habit of doing sometimes, with 
 a singularly intent gaze. 
 
 " You're very close-fisted with Tom Halliday's 
 money," George said presently. " If I'd asked 
 poor old Tom himself, I'm sure he wouldn't have 
 refused to lend me two or three hundred." 
 
 " Then it's a pity you didn't ask him," Mr. 
 Sheldon answered with supreme coolness.
 
 GEORGE Sheldon's prospects. 277 
 
 " I should liave done so, fast enough, if I had 
 thought he ^Yas going to die so suddenly. It was 
 a bad day for nie, and for him too, when he came 
 to Fitzo^eoro'e-street." 
 
 "What do you mean by that?" asked Mr. 
 Sheldon sharply. 
 
 " You can pretty well guess my meaning, I 
 should think," George answered in a sulky tone. 
 
 " No, I can't ; and v/hat's more, I don't mean 
 to try. I'll tell you what it is. Master George, 
 you've been treating me to a good many hints 
 and innuendoes lately ; and you must know very 
 little of me if you don't know that I'm the last 
 kind of man to stand that sort of thing from you, 
 or from anyone else. You have tried to take the 
 tone of a man Avho has some kind of hold uj)on 
 another. You had better understand at once that 
 such a tone won't answer with me. If you had 
 any hold upon me, or any power over me, you'd 
 be quick enough to use it ; and you ought to be 
 aware that I know that, and can see to the bottom 
 of such a shallow little game as yours." 
 
 Mr. Sheldon the younger looked at his brother 
 
 v^
 
 278 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 with an expression ofsui'prise that was not cntii'ely 
 unmingled with admiration. 
 
 " "^^""611, you are a cool hand, Phil !" he said. 
 
 Here the conversation ended. The two bro- 
 thers were very good friends after this, and 
 George presented himself at the gothic villa when- 
 ever he received an invitation to dine there. The 
 dinners were good, and the men who ate them 
 were men of solidity and standing in the commer- 
 cial world ; and George was very glad to eat good 
 /dinners, and to meet eligible men ; but he never 
 again asked his brother for the loan of odd hundreds. 
 
 He grubbed on, as best he might, in the dingy 
 Gray's-Lni chambers. He had a little business 
 — business which lay chiefly amongst men who 
 wanted to borrow money, or whose halting foot- 
 steps required guidance through the quagmire of 
 the Bankruptcy Court. He just contrived to keep 
 his head above water, and his name in the Law- 
 list, by means of such business; but the great 
 scheme of his life remained as yet unrij^encd, an 
 undeveloped shadow to which he had in vain 
 attempted to give a substance.
 
 GEORGE Sheldon's peospects. 279 
 
 The leading idea of George Sheldon's life was 
 the idea that there were o^reat fortunes in the 
 world waiting for claimants ; and that a share 
 of some such fortune was to be obtained by any 
 man who had the talent to die; it out of the 
 obscurity in which it was hidden. He was a 
 student of old county histories, and a searcher 
 of old newspai^ers; and his studies in that line 
 had made him familiar with many strange 
 stories : stories of field-labourers called away from 
 the plough to be told they were the rightful 
 owners of forty thousand a year ; stories of old 
 wliite-haired men starving to death in miserable 
 garrets about Bethnal-green or Spitalfields, who 
 could have claimed lands and riches immeasur- 
 able, had they known how to claim them ; stories 
 of half-crazy old women, who had wandered about 
 the world with reticules of discoloured papers cla- 
 morously asserting their rights and wrongs un- 
 heeded and unbelieved, until they encountered 
 sharp-witted lawyers who took up their claims, 
 and carried them triumphantly into the ownership 
 of illimitable wealth. 
 
 v/
 
 280 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 George Sheldon had read of these things until 
 it had seemed to him that there must be some 
 such chance for any man who would have pa- 
 tience to watch and wait for it. He had taken 
 up several cases, and had fitted link after link 
 together with extreme labour, and had hunted in 
 parish registers until the cold mouldy atmosphere 
 of vestries was as familiar to him as the air of 
 Gray's Inn. But the cases had all broken down 
 at more or less ad^'anced stages ; and after in- 
 finite patience and trouble, a good deal of money 
 spent upon travelling and small fees to all manner 
 of small i^eople, and an incalculable number of 
 hom'S wasted in listenino; to the rambling: dis- 
 course of parish-clerks and oldest inhabitants, Mr. 
 Sheldon had been compelled to abandon his hopes 
 time after time, until a man with less firmly rooted 
 ideas would have given up the hunting of regis- 
 ters and grubbing up of genealogies as a delusion 
 and a snare. 
 
 George Sheldon's ideas were very firmly rooted, 
 and he stuck to them with that dogged persistency 
 which so often achieves great ends, that it seems
 
 GEORGE Sheldon's prospects. 281 
 
 a kind of genius. He saw liis brother's success, 
 and contemplated the grandeurs of the gothic villa 
 in a cynical rather than an envious spirit. How 
 lono; would it all last ? how lono; would the stock- 
 broker float triumphantly onward upon that won- 
 derful tide which is constituted by the rise and 
 fall of the money-market? 
 
 "" That sort of thing is all very well while 
 a man keeps his head cool and clear," thought 
 George ; " but somehow or other men always 
 seem to lose their heads on the Stock Exchange v' 
 before they have done with it, and I daresay my 
 wise brother will drop into a nice mess sooner 
 or later. Setting aside all other considerations, I 
 think I would rather have my chances than his ; 
 for I speculate very little more than my time and 
 trouble, and I stand in to win a bigger sum than 
 he will ever get in his line, let stocks rise and 
 fall as they may." 
 
 Dm'ing that summer in which Miss Halliday 
 bade farewell to Hyde Lodge and her school- 
 days, George Sheldon was occupied with the 
 early steps in a search Avhich he hoped woidd
 
 y 
 
 282 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 end in tlie discovery of a prize rich enough to 
 reward him for all his wasted time and labour. 
 
 Very early in the previous year there had ap- 
 peared the following brief notice in the Observer : 
 
 " The Rev. John Haygarth, late vicar of Til- 
 ford Haven, Kent, died lately, without a will, or 
 relation to claim his property, 100,000Z. The 
 Crown therefore claimed it. And last court-day 
 the Prerogative Court of Canterbury decreed let- 
 ters of administration to Mr. Paul, the nominee 
 of the Crown." 
 
 Some months after this an advertisement had 
 been inserted in the Times newspaper to the fol- 
 lowinij effect : 
 
 '^ Next of Kin. — If the relatives or next of 
 kin of the Pev. John Haygarth, late vicar of Til- 
 ford Haven, in the county of Kent, clerk, de- 
 ceased, will apply, either personally or by letter, 
 to Stephen Paul, Esq., solicitor for the affairs of 
 her Majesty's Treasury, at the Treasury Chambers, 
 Whitehall, London, they may hear of something 
 to their advantage. The late Rev. John Hay- 
 garth is supposed to have been the son of Mat-
 
 GEORGE Sheldon's peospects. 283 
 
 tliew Haygartli, late of tlie parisli of St. Judith, 
 Ullerton, and Rebecca liis wife, formerly Rebecca 
 Caulfield, spinster, late of tlie same parisli; botli 
 long since deceased." 
 
 Upon the strength of this advertisement George 
 Sheldon began his search. His theory was, that 
 there always existed an heir-at-law somewhere, if 
 people would only have the patience to hunt him 
 or her out; and he attributed his past failures 
 rather to a want of endurance on his own part 
 than to the breaking down of his pet theory. 
 
 On this occasion he began his work with more 
 than usual determination. 
 
 ^' Tliis is the biggest chance I've ever had," 
 he said to himself, " and I should be something 
 worse than a fool if I let it slip through my 
 fingers." 
 
 The work was very dry and dreary, involving 
 interminable hunting of registers, and questioning 
 of oldest inhabitants. And the oldest inhabitants 
 were so stupid, and the records of the registers 
 so bewildering. One after another Mr. Sheldon 
 set himself to examine the lines of the intestate's 
 
 /
 
 284 BIRDS OF TKEY. 
 
 kindred and ancestors : his father's only sister, his 
 grandfather's brotliers and sisters, and even to the 
 brothers and sisters of his orreat-m-andfather. At 
 tliat point the Hajgarth family melted away into 
 the impenetrable darkness of the past. They were 
 no high and haughty race of soldiers and scholars, 
 churchmen and lawyers, or the tracing of them 
 would have been a much easier matter. Burke 
 would have told of them. There would have been 
 old country houses filled with portraits, and gar- 
 rulous old housekeepers learned in the traditions 
 of the past. There would have been moulder- 
 ing tombs and tarnished brasses in quiet country 
 churches, with descriptive epitaphs, and many 
 escutcheons. There would have been crumblincr 
 parchments recording the prowess of Sir Regi- 
 nald, knight, or the learning of Sir Rupert, coun- 
 sellor and judge. The Haygarths were a race of 
 provincial tradesmen ; and had left no better re- 
 cord of their jog-trot journey through this world 
 than the registry of births, marriages, and deaths, 
 in obscure churches, or an occasional entr}^ in the 
 fly-leaf of a family Bible.
 
 285 
 
 At present Mr. Sheldon was only at the begin- 
 ning of his work. The father and grandfather 
 and nncle and great-nncles, the great-grandfather 
 and great-great-uncles, with all their progenies^ 
 lay before him in a maze of entanglement which 
 it would be his business to unravel. And as he 
 was obliged to keep his limited legal connection 
 together, while he devoted himself to this task, 
 the work promised to extend over months, or 
 indeed years ; and in the mean while there was 
 always the fear that someone else, as quick-witted 
 and indefatigable as himself, would take up the 
 same tangled skein and succeed in the unravel- 
 ment of it. Looking this fact full in the face, 
 Mr. Sheldon decided that he must have an able 
 and reliable coadjutor ; but to find such a coad- 
 jutor, to find a man who would help him, on the 
 chance of success, and not claim too large a share 
 of the prize if success came, was more than the 
 speculative attorney could hope. In the mean 
 time his work progressed very slowly; and he 
 ^\'as tormented by perpetual terror of that other 
 sharp practitioner who might be following up the 
 
 y
 
 2SG BIEDS OF PREY. 
 
 same clue, and wliosc agents might watch him in 
 and out of parish chm'ches, and Hsten at street- 
 corners when he was hmiting an oldest inha- 
 bitant.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 
 
 The holidays at Hyde Lodge brought at least 
 repose for Diana Paget. The little ones had gone 
 home, with the exception of two or three young 
 colonists, and even they had perpetual liberty 
 from lessons ; so Diana had nothing to do but sit 
 in the shady garden, reading or thinking, in the 
 di'owsy summer afternoons. Priscilla Paget had 
 departed with the chief of the teachers for a sea- 
 side holiday ; other governesses had gone to their 
 homes ; and but for the presence of an elderly 
 French woman, who slept through one half of the 
 day, and wrote letters to her kindred during the 
 other half, Diana would have been the only re- 
 sponsible person in the deserted habitation. 
 
 She did not complain of her loneliness, or envy
 
 J 
 
 288 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 the delights of those who had dejmrted. She was 
 very glad to be quite alone, free to think her own 
 thoughts, free to brood over those unforgotten 
 years in which she had wandered over the face of 
 the earth with her father and Valentine Hawke- 
 hurst. The few elder girls remaining at the 
 Lodge thought Miss Paget unsociable because 
 she preferred a lonely corner in the gardens and 
 some battered old book of namby-pamby stories 
 to the delights of their society, and criticised her 
 very severely as they walked listlessly to and fro 
 upon the laAvn with big garden-hats, and arms 
 entwined about each others' waists. 
 
 Alas for Diana, the battered book was only an 
 excuse for solitude, and for a morbid indulgence 
 in her own sad thouohts ! She had lived the life 
 of unblemished respectability for a year ; and 
 looking back now at the Bohemian wanderings, 
 she regretted those days of humiliation and misery, 
 and sighed for the rare delights of that disreput- 
 able past I Yes, she had revolted against the 
 degraded existence ; and now she was sorry for 
 having lost its uncertain pleasures, its fitful
 
 DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 289^ 
 
 glimpses of sunsliine. Was that true which 
 Valentine had said, that no man can eat beef 
 and mutton every day of his life ; that it is 
 better to be unutterably miserable one day and 
 uproariously hapjw the next, than to tread one 
 level path of dull content ? Miss Paget began 
 to think that there had been some reason in her 
 old comrade's philosophy; for she found the 
 level path very dreary. She let her thoughts 
 wander whither they would in this quiet holi 
 day idleness, and they went back to the years 
 which she had spent with her father. She 
 thouo^ht of winter evenino-s in London when 
 
 O CD 
 
 Valentine had taken her the round of the 
 theatres, and they had sat together in stifling 
 upper boxes, — she pleased, he critical, and with 
 so much to say to each other in the pauses of the 
 performance. How kind he had been to her ; 
 how good, how brotherly ! And then the plea- 
 sant walk home, through crowded noisy tho- 
 roughfares, and anon by long lines of quiet 
 streets, in which they used to look up at the 
 lighted windows of houses where parties were 
 VOL. I. u 
 
 y
 
 290 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 being given, and sometimes stop to listen to the 
 music and watch the figures of the dancers flitting 
 across the blinds. She thought of the journeys 
 she had travelled with her father and Valentine 
 by land and sea ; the lonely moonlight watches 
 on the decks of steamers ; the long chill nights 
 in railway-carriages under the feeble glimmer of 
 an oil-lamp, and how she and Valentine had be- 
 guiled the tedious hours with wild purposeless 
 talk while Captain Paget slept. She remem- 
 bered the strange cities which she and her 
 father's protege had looked at side by side : he 
 w^th a calm listlessness of manner, which might 
 either be real or assumed, but which never va- 
 ried ; she with an inward tremor of excitement 
 and surprise. They had been very happy to- 
 gether, this lonely unprotected girl and the 
 reckless adventurer. If his manner to her had 
 been fitful, it had been sometimes dangerously, 
 fatally kind. She looked back now, and remem- 
 bered the days which she had spent with him, and 
 knew that all the pleasures possible in a pro- 
 sperous and successful life could never bring for
 
 DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 291 
 
 her such delight as she had known in the midst 
 of her wanderings ; though shame and danger 
 hu'ked at every corner, and poverty, disguised 
 in that tawdry masquerade habit in which the 
 swindler di'esses it, accompanied her wherever 
 she went. 
 
 She had been happy with him because she had 
 loved him. That close companionship), sisterly V 
 and brotherly though it had seemed, had been 
 fotal for the lonely and friendless daughter of 
 Horatio Packet. Li her desolation she had clunsr 
 to the one creature who was kind to her, who did 
 not advertise his disdain for herself and her sex, 
 or openly avow that she was a nuisance and an 
 encumbrance. Every slight put upon her by her 
 father had strengthened the chain that bound her 
 to Valentine Hawkehurst; and as the friendship 
 between them grew closer day by day, until all 
 her thoughts and fancies took their colour from 
 his, it seemed a matter of course that he should 
 love her, and she never doubted bis feelings or 
 questioned her own. There had been much in 
 his conduct to justify her belief that she was be-
 
 292 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 loved ; so this inexperienced, untutored girl may 
 surcl}' ])e forgiven if slic rested her fiiith in that 
 fancied affection, and looked forward to some 
 shadowy future in which she and Valentine 
 would be man and wife, all in all to each other, 
 free from the trammels of Captain Paget's elabo- 
 rate schemes, and living honestly, somehow or 
 other, by means of literature, or music, or pen- 
 and-ink caricatures, or some of those liberal arts 
 which have always been dear to the children of 
 Bohemia. They would have lodgings in some 
 street near the Thames, and go to a theatre or a 
 concert every evening, and spend long summer 
 days in suburban parks or on suburban commons, 
 he lying on the grass smoking, she talking to him 
 or reading to him, as his fancv mio;lit dictate. 
 Before her twentieth birthday, the proudest wo- 
 man is apt to regard the man she loves as a grand 
 and superior creature ; and there had been a 
 certain amount of reverential awe mingled with 
 Diana's regard for Mr. Hawkehurst, scapegrace 
 and adventurer though he was. 
 
 Little by little that briirht o-irlish dream had
 
 DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 293 
 
 faded aAvay. Fancy's enchanted palace had been 
 shattered into a lieap of shapeless ruin by those 
 accidental scraps of hard worldly wisdom with 
 which Valentine had pelted the fairy fabric. He 
 a man to love, or to marry for love ! Why, he 
 talked like some hardened world-weary sinner 
 who had done with every human emotion. The 
 girl shuddered as she heard him. She had loved 
 him, and believed in his love. She had fancied 
 a tender meanino; in the voice which softened 
 when it spoke to her, a pensive earnestness in the 
 dark eyes which looked at her ; but just when the 
 voice had seemed softest and sweetest, the pensive 
 eyes most eloquently earnest, the adventurer's 
 manner had changed all at once, and for ever. 
 He had grown hard and cold and indifferent. 
 He had scarcely tried to conceal the fact that 
 the girl's companionship bored and wearied him. 
 He had yawned in her face, and had abandoned 
 himself to moody abstraction when accident 
 obliged him to be alone with her. Miss Paget's 
 pride had been equal to the occasion. Mary Anne 
 Kepp would have dissolved into tears at the first 
 
 /
 
 294 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 unkind word from the lips of her beloved ; but 
 Mary Anne Kepp's daughter, with the blood of 
 the Cromie Pagets in her veins, was quite a dif- 
 ferent person. She returned Mr. Hawkehurst's 
 indifference with corresponding disregard. If 
 his manner was cold as a bleak autumn, hers was 
 icy as a severe winter ; only now and then, when 
 she was very tired of her joyless existence, her 
 untutored womanhood asserted itself, and she be- 
 trayed the real state of her feelings — betrayed 
 herself as she had done on her last night at 
 Foretdechene, when she and Valentine had 
 looked down at the lighted windows shining 
 dimly through the vaporous purple of the smn~ 
 mer night. She looked back at the past now in 
 the quiet of the school-garden, and tried to re- 
 member how miserable she had been, what ago- 
 nies of despair she had suffered, how brief had 
 been her dehghts, how bitter her disappointments. 
 She tried to remember what tortures she had 
 suffered from that wasted passion, that useless 
 devotion. She tried to rejoice in the conscious- 
 ness of the peace and respectability of her present
 
 DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 295 
 
 life : but she could not. That passionate yearning 
 for the past possessed her so strongly. She could 
 remember notliing except that she had been with 
 him. She had seen his face, she had heard his 
 voice ; and now how long and weary the time 
 mio;ht be before she could a^ain see that one 
 beloved face or hear tlie dear familiar voice t 
 The brightest hope she had in these midsummer 
 hohdays was the hope of a letter from him ; and 
 even that might be the prelude of disappointment. 
 She "svrestled with herself, and tried to exorcise 
 those ghosts of memory which haunted her by 
 day and wove themselves into her di*eams by 
 night ; but they were not to be laid at rest. She 
 hated her folly ; but her folly was stronger than 
 herself 
 
 For tln'ee weeks Diana Paget had no compa- 
 nions but her sorrowful m-emories — her hauntins: 
 shadows ; but at the end of that time the stao;- 
 nant mill-pond of her life was suddenly ruffled — 
 the dull com\se of existence was disturbed by the 
 arrival of two letters. She found them lying by 
 her plate upon the breakfast-table one bright July
 
 296 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 morning ; and while she was yet far away from 
 the table she could see that one of the envelopes 
 bore a foreign stamp, and was directed by the 
 hand of Valentine Hawkehurst. She seated her- 
 self at the table in a delicious flutter of emotion, 
 and tore open that foreign envelope ; while the 
 French governess poured out the tea, and while 
 the little group of school-girls nudged one another 
 and watched her eager face with insolent cm-iosity. 
 Tlie first letter contained only a few lines. 
 
 " My dear Diana," wrote the young man, 
 "your father has decided on returning to London, 
 where I believe he really intends to make a re- 
 spectable start, if he can only get the opening 
 and the help he wants. I know you will be glad 
 to hear this. I don't exactly say where we shall 
 take up our quarters; but the Captain will of 
 course come to see you ; and if I can chasten my 
 y outward semblance sufficiently to venture within 
 the sacred precincts of a lady's school, I shall 
 come with him. Direct to the old address, if you 
 w^ite before the end of the month, and believe me, 
 as always, your friend, Valentine."
 
 DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 297 
 
 The second letter was in Cliarlotte Halliday's 
 big bold hand, and was frank, impetuous, and 
 loving as the girl herself. 
 
 " My own dearest Di, — It is all arranged," v/* 
 wrote Miss Halliday, dashing at once into the 
 heart of the subject. " I talked mamma over the 
 very first day after my retm*n, and then there was 
 nothing more to be done than to talk over Mr. 
 Sheldon. Of course there was just a little diffi- 
 culty in that, for he is so awfully practical ; and 
 he wanted to know why I wanted a companion, 
 and what use you would be in the house ; as if the 
 very last thing one required in a companion was 
 companionship. I'm almost afraid to tell you the 
 iniquitous fables I invented about yom' extreme 
 usefidness : your genius for millinery, and the 
 mints of money you would save by making-up 
 mamma's flimsy httle caps ; your taste for dress- 
 making, &c. &c. &c. You are the cleverest crea- 
 tm'e in the world, you know, Di ; for you must 
 remember how you altered that green-silk dress 
 for me when Miss Person had made me a square-
 
 / 
 
 298 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 shouldered friglit. So, after a great of humming 
 and ha-ing and argufication — is there such a word 
 as ^ argufication,' I wonder ? — my stepfather said 
 that if my lieart was set upon having you, and if 
 1 thought you would be useful, you might come 
 to us ; but that he could not afford to give you 
 any salary, and that if you wanted a new dress 
 now and then, I must buy it for you out of my 
 own allowance ; and I will, darling, if you will 
 only come and be my friend and sister. My life 
 is dreadfully dull without you. I walk up and 
 down the stiff little gravel paths, and stare at the 
 geraniums and calceolarias. Mariana might have 
 been dreary in her moated grange ; but I daresay 
 the Lincolnshire flowers grew wild and free, and 
 she was spared the abomination of gaudy little 
 patches of red and yellow, and waving ribbons of 
 blue and white, which constitute the glory of 
 modern gardening. Do come to me, dear. I 
 have no one to talk to, and nothing to do. 
 Mamma is a dear good affectionate soul ; but she 
 and I don't understand each other. I don't care 
 for her twittering little birds, and she doesn't care
 
 DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 299 
 
 for my whims and fancies. I have read novels 
 mitil I am tii'ed. I am not allowed to go out by 
 myself, and mamma can scarcely walk to Ken- 
 sington-gardens without sinking under the exer- 
 tion. We drive out sometimes ; but I am sick to 
 death of crawhng slowly up and down by the 
 Serpentine staring at people's bonnets. I might 
 enjoy it, perhaps, if I had you with me to make 
 ftui out of some of the bonnets. The house is 
 very comfortable ; but it always seems to me mi- 
 pleasantly like some philanthi'opic institution in 
 miniatm-e. I long to scratch the walls, or break 
 the windows ; and I begin to understand the feel- 
 ings of those unhappy paupers who tear up their 
 clothes ; they get utterly tired of their stagnation, "^ 
 you see, and must do something wicked and re- 
 beUious rather than do nothing at all. You will 
 take pity upon my forlorn state, won't you, Di ? 
 I shall come to Hyde Lodge to-morrow afternoon 
 with mamma, to hear your idti — what's its name ? 
 — and in the mean while, and for ever afterwards, 
 believe me to be yom- devoted and unchanging, 
 
 "LOTTA."
 
 300 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 Diana Paget's eyes grew dim as slie read this 
 letter. 
 
 ^' I love her very dearly," she thought, ^' but not 
 one hundredfold as much as I ought to love her." 
 
 And then she went back to Mr. Hawkehurst's 
 epistle, and read and re-read its half-dozen lines, 
 wondering when he would come to London, and 
 whether she would see him when he came. To 
 see him again ! The thought of that possibility 
 seemed like a spot of vivid light, which dazzled 
 her eyes and made them blind to anything around 
 or beyond it. As for this offer of a strange home 
 in the household of Mr. Sheldon, it seemed to her 
 a matter of so very little importance where she 
 / went or what became of her, that she was quite 
 willing to let other people decide her existence. 
 Anything would be better than the monotony of 
 Hyde Lodge. If Valentine Hawkehurst came to 
 see her at Mr. Sheldon's house, he would be per- 
 mitted to see her alone, most likely, and it would 
 be something like the old times ; whereas at the 
 Lodffe Priscilla Pae-et or one of the o;overnesses 
 would undoubtedly be present at any interview
 
 DIANA. FINDS A NEW HOME. 301 
 
 between Diana and her old friend, and the real 
 Valentine wonld be hidden nnder the semblance 
 of a respectable joung man, with very little to say 
 for himself. Perhaps this one thought exercised 
 considerable influence over Miss Paget's decision. 
 She wanted so much to see Valentine alone, to 
 know whether he had changed, to see his face at / 
 the first moment of meeting, and to discover, if 
 possible, the solution of that enigma wdiich was 
 the grand mystery of her life — that one perpetual 
 question which was always repeating itself in her 
 brain — whether he was altogether cold and in- 
 different, or if there was not some hidden warmth, 
 some secret tenderness beneath that repelling out- 
 ward seeming ? 
 
 In the afternoon Miss Halliday called with 
 Mrs. Sheldon, and there was a long discussion 
 about Diana Paget's future life. Georgy aban- 
 doned herself as unhesitatingly to the influence of 
 her daughter as she did to that of her husband, 
 and had Ijeen brought to think that it would be 
 the most delightful thing in the world to have 
 Miss Paget for a useful companion.
 
 302 BIllDS OF PREY. 
 
 "And will you really make my caps, dear?" 
 she said, when she had grown at her ease with 
 Diana. " Miss Terly in the Bayswater-road 
 charges me so much for the simplest little lace 
 head-dress ; and though Mr. Sheldon is very good 
 about those sort of things, I laiow he sometimes 
 thinks my bills rather high." 
 
 Diana was very indiiferent about her future, 
 and the heart must have been very hard which 
 could have resisted Charlotte's tender pleading ; 
 so it was ultimately decided that Miss Paget 
 should write to her kinswoman to describe the 
 offer that had been made to her of a new home, 
 and to inquire if her services could be conveniently 
 dispensed with at Hyde Lodge. After which 
 decision Charlotte embraced her friend with en- 
 thusiasm, and departed, bearing off Mrs. Sheldon 
 to the carriage which awaited them at the gates of 
 Priscilla Paget's umbrageous domain. 
 
 Diana sighed as she went back to the empty 
 schoolroom. Even Charlotte's affection could not 
 altogether take the sting out of dependence. To 
 go into a strange house amongst strange people,
 
 DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 303 
 
 and to hold a place in it only on the condition of 
 being perpetually useful and unfailingly good- 
 tempered and agreeable, is scarcely the pleasantest 
 prospect which this world can offer to a proud and 
 beautiful woman. Diana remembered her brio-ht 
 vision of Bohemianism in a lodo-ing; near the 
 Strand. It would be very delightful to ride on 
 sufferance in Mrs. Sheldon's carriage, no doubt; 
 but 0, how much pleasanter it would have been 
 to sit by Valentine Hawkehurst in a hansom cab 
 spinning along the road to Greenwich or Rich- 
 mond ! 
 
 She had promised to despatch her letter to 
 Priscilla by that afternoon's post, and she kept her 
 promise. The reply came by return of post, and 
 was very kind. Priscilla advised her by all means 
 to accept Miss Halliday's offer, which would give 
 her a much better position than that which she 
 occupied at Hj^le Lodge. She would have time 
 to improve herself, no doubt, Priscilla said, and 
 might be able to hope for something still better in 
 the course of two or three years ; "for you must 
 look the world straight in the face, Diana," wrote
 
 304 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 the schoolmistress, ^^ as I did before I was your 
 ^ age ; and make up your mind to rely upon your 
 own exertions, since you know what your father 
 is, and how little you have to hope for from him. 
 As you are to have no salary with the Sheldons, 
 and will no doubt be expected to make a good ap- 
 pearance, I shall do what I can to help you with 
 your wardrobe." 
 
 This letter decided the fate of Captain Paget's 
 daughter. A week after Miss Halliday's visit to 
 Hyde Lodge a hack cab carried Diana and all her 
 earthly possessions to the Lawn, where Charlotte 
 received her with oj)en a,rms, and where she was 
 inducted into a neatly furnished bedchamber ad- 
 joining that of her friend. Mr. Sheldon scru- 
 tinised her keenly from under the shadow of his 
 thick black brows when he came home to dinner. 
 He treated her with a stiff kind of politeness dur- 
 ing the orderly progress of the meal ; and once, 
 when he looked at her, he was surprised to find 
 y tliat she was contemplating him with an expres- 
 sion of mingled Avonder and reverence. 
 
 He was the first eminently respectable man
 
 DIANA FINDS A NEW HOME. 305 
 
 whom Miss Paget had ever encountered in f\imi- 
 h'ar intercourse, and slie was recrardino; him at- 
 tentivelj, as an individual with scientific tastes 
 might regard some natural curiosity. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 AT THE LAWN. 
 
 Life at the Lawn went by very smoothly for 
 Mr. Sheldon's family. Georgy Avas very happy 
 in the society of a companion who seemed really 
 to have a natural taste for the manufactm'e of 
 pretty little head-di'esses from the merest frag- 
 ments of material in the way of lace and ribbon. 
 Diana had all that versatile cleverness and capacity 
 for expedients which is likely to be acquired in a 
 wandering and troubled life. She had learned 
 more in her three years of discomfort with her 
 father than in all the undeviating com-se of the 
 Hyde - Lodge studies ; she had improved her 
 French at one table-dhote^ her German at ano- 
 ther ; she had caught some new triclv: of style in 
 QXQVj concert-room, some fresh combination of 
 costume on every racecourse; and, being really
 
 AT THE LA^VN. 307 
 
 grateful for Charlotte's disinterested affection, she 
 brought all her accomplishments to bear to please 
 her fi'iend and her friend's household. 
 
 In this she succeeded admirably. Mrs. Shel- 
 don found her daughter's society much more 
 delightful now that the whole pressure of Char- 
 lotte's intellect and vitality no longer fell entirely 
 upon herself. She liked to sit lazily in her arm- 
 chair while the two girls chattered at their work,, 
 and she could venture an occasional remark, and 
 fancy that she had a full share in the conversation.. 
 When the summer weather rendered walkinor a 
 martjTdom, and driving an affliction, she could 
 recline on her favourite sofa reading a novel, 
 soothed by the feeble twittering of her birds ; 
 while Charlotte and Diana went out together pro- 
 tected by the smart boy in buttons, who was not 
 altogether without human failings, and was apt to 
 lino^er behind his fair charo-es, readino^ the boards 
 before the doors of newsvendors' shops, or look- 
 ing at the cartoons in Punch exhibited in the sta- 
 tioners' windows. 
 
 Mr. Sheldon made a point of pleasing his step-
 
 308 BIRDS OF TREY. 
 
 daughter whenever it was possible for liim to do 
 / so without palpable inconvenience to himself ; and 
 ^ as she was to be gratified by so small a pecuniary 
 sacrifice as the triflino; increase of tradesmen's bills 
 caused by Miss Paget's residence in the gothic 
 villa, he was the last man in the world to refuse 
 her that indulgence. His own pursuits were of so 
 absorbing a nature as to leave little leisure for 
 concern about other people's business. He asked 
 no questions about his stepdaughter's companion ; 
 but he was not the less surprised to see this beauti- 
 ful high-bred woman content to sit at his board as 
 an unsalaried dependent. 
 
 '' Your friend Miss Paget looks like a coun- 
 tess," he said one day to Charlotte. '^ I thought 
 girls generally pitched upon some plain homely 
 young woman for their pet companion, but you 
 seem to have chosen the handsomest girl in the 
 school." 
 
 ^^ Yes, she is very handsome, is she not? I 
 wish some of your rich City men would marry 
 her, papa." 
 
 Miss Halliday consented to call her mother's
 
 AT THE LAWN. 309 
 
 husband " Papa," though the caressing name 
 seemed in a manner to stick in her throat. She 
 had loved that bhistrous good-tempered Tom 
 HaUiday so very dearly, and it ^yas only to please 
 poor Georgy that she brought herself to address 
 any other man by the name that had been his. 
 
 " My City men have something better to do 
 than to marry a young woman without a six- 
 pence," ansAvered Mr. Sheldon. " Why don't 
 you try to catch one of them for yom-self ?" 
 
 ■ ^' I don't like City men," said Charlotte quicldy; 
 and then she blushed, and added apologetically, 
 " at least not the generality of City men, papa." 
 
 Diana had waited mitil her destiny was settled 
 before answering Valentine Hawkehm'st's letter ; 
 but she wrote to him directly she was established 
 at the Lawn, and told liim the change in her plans. 
 
 " I think papa had better let me come to see 
 him at his lodgings," she said, " wherever they 
 may be ; for I should scarcely care about Mr. 
 Sheldon seeing him. No one here knows any- 
 thing definite about my history ; and as it is just 
 possible Mr. Sheldon may have encountered my j
 
 y 
 
 310 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 father somehow or others it would be as well for 
 him to keep clear of this house. I could not ven- 
 tm-e to say this to papa myself, but perhaps you 
 could suggest it without offending him. You see 
 I have grown very worldly-wise, and am learning 
 to protect my own interests in the spirit which 
 you have so instilled into me. I don't know 
 whether that sort of spirit is likely to secure one's 
 happiness, but I have no doubt it is the wisest 
 and best for tliis world." 
 
 Miss Paget could not refrain from an occasional 
 sneer when she wrote to her old companion. He 
 never retm-ned her sneers, or noticed them. His 
 letters were always frank, friendly, and brotherly 
 in tone. 
 
 '' Neither my good opinion nor my bad opinion 
 is of any consequence to him," Diana thought 
 bitterly. 
 
 It was late in August when Captain Paget and 
 his protege came to town. Valentine suggested 
 the wisdom of leaving Diana in her new home 
 uncompromised by any past associations. But 
 this was a suggestion which Horatio Paget could
 
 AT THE LAWN. 311 
 
 •not accept. His brightest successes in the way of y 
 scheming had been matured out of chance ac- 
 quaintanceships with eligible men. A man who 
 could aiford such a luxury as a companion for his 
 daughter must needs be eligible, and the Captain 
 was not inclined to sacrifice his acquaintance from 
 any extreme delicacy. 
 
 " My daughter seems to have made new friends 
 for herself, and I should like to see what kind of 
 people they are," he said conclusively. " We'll 
 look them up this evening, Yal." 
 
 My. GeovgiG Sheldon dined at the Lawn on the 
 day on which Horatio Paget determined on "look- 
 ing up" his daughter's new friends, and he and 
 the two girls were strolling in the garden when 
 the Captain and Mr. Hawkehurst were announced. 
 They had been told that Miss Paget was in the 
 garden. 
 
 " Be good enough to take me straiglit to her," 
 said the Captain to the boy in buttons; " I am 
 her father." 
 
 Horatio Paget was too old a tactician not to 
 know that by an unceremonious plunge into the
 
 312 BIRDS OF PKEY. 
 
 family circle lie was more likely to secure an easy 
 footing in the household than by any direct ap- 
 proach of the master. He had seen the little 
 group in the garden, and had mistaken George 
 for the head of the house. 
 
 Diana turned from pale to red, and from red 
 to })ale again, as she recognised the two men. 
 Tlicre had been no announcement of their coming. 
 She did not even know that they were in England. 
 
 " Papa !" she cried, and then hold out her 
 hand and greeted him; coldly enough, as it 
 seemed to Charlotte, who fancied that any kind 
 of real father must be very dear. 
 
 But Captain Paget was not to be satisfied by 
 that cold greeting. It suited his purpose to be 
 especially paternal on this occasion. He drew his 
 daufichter to his breast and embraced her affec- 
 ' tionately, very much to that young lady's sur- 
 prise. 
 
 Then, having abandoned himself entirely for 
 the moment to this tender impulse of paternity, 
 he suddenly put his daughter aside, as if he had 
 all at once remembered his duty to society, drew
 
 AT THE LAWN. 313 
 
 himself up stiffly and saluted Miss Halliday and 
 George Sheldon with uncovered head. 
 
 "Mr. Sheldon, I believe?" he murmured. 
 
 " George Sheldon/' answered that gentle- 
 man ; '' my brother Philip is in the drawing-room 
 yonder, looking at us." 
 
 Philip Sheldon came out into the garden as 
 George said this. It was one of those sultry even- 
 ings on which the most delightful of gothic villas 
 is apt to be too stifling for endurance ; and in 
 most of the prim suburban gardens there were 
 people lounging listlessly among the flower-beds. 
 Mr. Sheldon came to look at this patrician 
 stranger who had just embraced his daughter's 
 companion ; whereupon Captain Paget introduced 
 himself and his friend Mr. Hawkehurst. After 
 the introduction ]\ii\ Sheldon and the Captain fell 
 into an easy conversation, while the two girls 
 walked slowly along the gravel pathway with 
 Valentine by their side, and while George loitered 
 drearily along chewing the stalk of a geranium, 
 and pondering the obscure reminiscences of the 
 last oldest inhabitant whose shadowy memories he
 
 314 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 had evoked in his search after new hnks in the 
 chain of the Haygarths. 
 
 The two girls walked in the familiar school- 
 girl fashion of Hyde Lodge, Charlotte's arm en- 
 circling the waist of her friend. They were both 
 dressed in white muslin, and looked very shadowy 
 and sylph-like in the summer dusk. Mr. Hawke- 
 hurst found himself in a new atmosphere in this 
 suburban garden, with these two white-robed 
 damsels by his side ; for it seemed to him that 
 Diana with Charlotte's arm round her waist, and 
 a certain shy gentleness of manner which was 
 new to him, was quite a different person from 
 that ]\Iiss Paget whose wan face had looked at 
 him so anxiously in the saloons of the Belgian 
 Kursaal. 
 
 At first there was considerable restraint in the 
 tone of the conversation, and some little of that 
 unnecessary discussion as to whether this even- 
 ing was warmer than the preceding evening, or 
 whether it was not, indeed, the warmest evening 
 of all that summer. And then, when the ice was 
 broken, Mr. Hawkehurst began to talk at his case
 
 AT THE LAWN. 315 
 
 about Paris, whlcli city Miss Halliclay had never 
 seen ; about the last book, the last play, the last 
 folly, the last flxshionable bonnet ; for it was one 
 of the special attributes of this young Robert 
 Macaire to be able to talk about anything, and to 
 adapt himself to any society. Charlotte opened 
 her eyes to their widest extent as she listened to 
 this animated stranger. She had been so wearied 
 by the dryasdust arguments of City men who had 
 disdussed the schemes of great contractors, " which 
 will never be carried out, sir, while money is at its 
 present rate, mark my words," — or the chances of 
 a company " which is eaten up b}' debenture- 
 bonds and preference-shares, sir, and will never 
 pay its original proprietors one sixpence of interest 
 on their capital," with a great deal more of the 
 same character; and it was quite new to her 
 to hear about novels, theatres, and bonnets, from 
 masculine lips, and to find that there were men 
 living who could interest themselves in such frivo- 
 lities. Charlotte was delighted with Diana's 
 friend. It was she who encouraged Valentine 
 every now and then by some exclamation of sur-
 
 316 BIRDS OF rnEY. 
 
 prise or expression of interest, wliile Miss Paget 
 herself was thoughtful and silent. 
 
 It was not thus that she had hoped to meet 
 / Valentine Hawkehurst. She stole a look at him 
 now and then as he walked by her side. Yes, it 
 was the old face — the face which would have been 
 so handsome if there had been warmth and life in 
 it, instead of that cold listlessness which repelled 
 all sympathy, and seemed to constitute a kind of 
 mask behind which the real man hid himself. 
 
 Diana looked at him, and remembered her 
 parting from him in the chill gray morning on 
 the platform at Foretdechene. He had let her go 
 out alone into the dreary world to encomiter what 
 fate she might, without any more appearance of 
 anxiety than he might have exhibited had she 
 been starting for a summer-day's holiday; and 
 now, after a year of separation, he met her with 
 the same air of unconcern, and could discourse 
 conventional small-talk to another woman while 
 she walls:ed by his side. 
 
 While Mr. Hawkehurst was talking to Mr. 
 Sheldon's stepdaughter. Captain Paget had con-^
 
 AT THE LA^VN. 317 
 
 trived to make himself very agreeable to that 
 gentleman himself. Lord Lytton has said that 
 "there is something strange and almost mes- 
 merical in the rapport between two evil natures. 
 Bring two honest men together, and it is ten to 
 one if they recognise each other as honest ; differ- 
 ences in temper, manner, even politics, may make 
 each misjudge the other. But bring together 
 two men unprincipled and perverted — men who, 
 if born in a cellar, would have been food for the 
 hulks or gallows — and they understand each other 
 by instant sympathy." However this might be 
 with these two men, they had speedily become 
 upon very easy terms with each other. Mr. Shel- 
 don's ''plans for the making of money were very 
 complicated in their nature, and he had frequent 
 need of clever instruments to assist in the carry- 
 incr out of his arran<](;ements. Horatio Pallet was 
 the exact type of man most likely to be useful to 
 such a speculator as Philip Sheldon. He was the 
 very ideal of the " Promoter," the well-dressed, 
 well-mannered gentleman, beneath whose magic 
 wand new companies arise as if by magic; the
 
 318 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 man wlio, witliout a sixpence in liis own pocket, 
 can set a small Pactolus flowing from the pockets 
 of other people ; the man who, content himself to 
 live in a humble second-floor at Chelsea, can point 
 to gigantic hotels which are as the palaces of a 
 new Brobdignag, and say, " Lo, those arose at 
 my bidding !" Mr. Sheldon was always on the 
 alert to discover anything or anybody likely to 
 serve his own interest, either in the present oi' the 
 future ; and he came to the conclusion that Miss 
 Paget's father was a person upon whom an oc- 
 casional dinner might not be altogether thrown 
 away. 
 
 " Take a chop with us to-morrow at six," ho 
 said, on parting from the Captain, " and then you 
 can hear the two girls play and sing. They play 
 remarkably well, I believe, from what other people 
 tell me ; but I am not a musical man myself" 
 
 Horatio Paget accepted the invitation as cor- 
 dially as it was given. It is astonishing how 
 genial and friendly these men of the w^orld can be 
 at the slightest imaginable notice. One can fancy 
 the striped tigers of Bengal shaking paws in the
 
 AT THE LAWN. 319 
 
 jungle, the vultures hob-nobbing in a mountain 
 cleft over the torn carcass of a stag, the kites put- 
 ting their beaks together after dining on a nest of 
 innocent cloves. 
 
 " Then we shall expect to see you at sharp 
 six," said Mr. Sheldon, " and your friend Mr. 
 Hawkehurst with you, of course." 
 
 After this the two gentlemen departed ; Val- 
 entine shook hands with Diana, and took a more 
 ceremonious leave of Charlotte. George Sheldon 
 tlu'ew away his chewed geranium-stalk in order 
 to bid good-evening to the visitors ; and the little 
 party walked to the garden-gate together. 
 
 ^^That Sheldon seems a very clever fellow," 
 said Captain Paget, as he and Valentine walked 
 towards the Park, which they had to cross on 
 their way to Chelsea, where the Captain had se- 
 cured a convenient lodging. " I wonder whether 
 he is any relation to the Slieldon who is in with a 
 low set of money-lenders ?" 
 
 ^~"What, the Sheldon of Gray's Inn?" ex- 
 claimed Mr. Hawkehurst. ^' We can easily find 
 that out." 
 
 y 
 
 /"
 
 320 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 Horatio Paget and Valentine Hawkeliurst 
 were frequent visitors at the Lawn after that 
 first evening. IMr. Sheldon found the Captain 
 useful to him in the carrying out of certain busi- 
 ness arrangements on more than one occasion, 
 and the relations between the respectable stock- 
 broker and the disreputable adventurer assumed 
 a very friendly character. Diana wondered to 
 see so spotless a citizen as Philip Sheldon hand- 
 and-ojlove with her father. Mrs. Sheldon and 
 Charlotte were delighted with the Captain and 
 his protege ; these two penniless Bohemians were 
 so much more agreeable to the feminine mind 
 than the City men who were wont to sit in the 
 dining-room slowly imbibing Mr. Sheldon's old 
 port in the long summer evenings, while their 
 wives endured the abomination of desolation with 
 Georgy and Charlotte in the drawing-room. Cap- 
 tain Paget paid Mrs. Sheldon flowery compli- 
 ments, and told her delightful stories of the aris- 
 tocracy and all that shining West-end world with 
 which he had once heen familiar. Poor simple 
 Georgy regarded him with that reverential awe
 
 AT THE LAWN. 321 
 
 which a middle -class country - bred woman is 
 prone to feel for a man who bears upon him 
 that ineffaceable stamp of high birth and good 
 breeding, not to be destroyed by half a century 
 of degradation. Nor could Charlotte withhold her 
 admiration from the man whose tone was so in- 
 finitely superior to that of all the other men she 
 had encountered. In his darkest hour Captain 
 Paget had found his best friends, or his easiest 
 dupes, among women. It had gone hard with 
 him when his dear friend had withheld the tem- 
 porary accommodation of a five-pound note ; but 
 it had been much harder when his friend's wife 
 had refused the loan of " a httle silver." 
 
 Valentine Hawkehurst came very often to the 
 Lawn ; sometimes with his friend and patron, 
 sometimes alone. He brought the young ladies 
 small ofierings in the way of a popular French 
 novel adapted for feminine perusal, or an occa- 
 sional box for some theatre which had fallen upon 
 evil days, and was liberal in the circulation of 
 " paper." He met the two girls sometimes in 
 their morning walks in Kensington -gardens, and 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 322 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 walked with them in the leafy avenues, and only 
 left them at the gate by which they departed. 
 So much of his life was a listless waiting for the 
 arising of new chances, that he had ample time 
 to waste in feminine society, and he seemed very 
 well inclined to loiter away the leisure hours of 
 existence in the companionship of Diana and her 
 friend. 
 
 And was Miss Paget glad of his coming, and 
 pleased to be in his company ? Alas, no ! The 
 time had been, and only within a few months, 
 when she had sickened for the sight of his fami- 
 liar face, and fancied that the most exquisite hap- 
 piness life could afford her would be to see him 
 once more, anywhere, under any circumstances. 
 She saw Mm now almost daily, and she was 
 miserable. She saw him ; but another woman 
 had come between her and the man she loved; 
 and now, if his voice took a softer tone, or if his 
 eyes assumed a tender earnestness of expression, 
 it might be Charlotte's influence which wrought 
 the transformation. Who could say that it was 
 not on Charlotte's account he came so often, and
 
 AT THE LAWN. 323 
 
 lingered so long? Diana looked at him some- 
 times with haggard angry eyes, which saw that 
 it was Miss HaUiday who absorbed his attention. 
 It was Charlotte, — Charlotte, who was so bright 
 and happy a creature that the coldest heart must 
 needs have been moved and melted by her fas- 
 cination. "What was the cold patrician beauty 
 of Miss Paget' s face when compared with the 
 changeful charm of this radiant girl, with the 
 flashing gray eyes and piquant features, and all 
 those artless caprices of manner which made her 
 arch-lovehness irresistible? Diana's heart grew 
 sick and cold as she watched these two day by 
 day, and saw the innocent school-girl's ascend- 
 ancy over the adventurer. The attributes wliich 
 made Charlotte charming were just those very 
 attributes wliich Valentine Hawkehurst had been 
 least accustomed to discover in the womankind he 
 had hitherto encountered. He had seen beautiful 
 women, elegant and fascinating women, without 
 number ; but this frank girlish natm-e, this happy 
 childlike disposition, was entirely new to him. 
 How should he have met bright childlike crea-
 
 324 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 tures in the pathways which lie had trodden? 
 For the first time in his life a fresh young heart 
 revealed its treasures of purity and tenderness 
 before his world-weary eyes, and his own heart 
 was melted by the new influence. He had ad- 
 mired Diana ; he had been touched by her girlish 
 
 ,. fancy for him, and had loved her as well as he 
 had believed himself capable of loving any woman. 
 
 ' But when Prudence and Honour counselled him 
 to stifle and crush his growing affection for the 
 beautiful companion of his wanderings, the strug- 
 gle had involved no agony of regret or despair. 
 He had told himself that no good could ever 
 come of his love for Captain Paget's daughter, 
 and he had put aside that love before it had 
 taken any vital root in his heart. He had been 
 very strong and resolute in this matter — resisting 
 looks of sad surprise which would have melted a 
 softer nature. And he had been j)roud of his own 
 firmness. " Better for her, and better for me," 
 he had said to himself; " let her outlive her fool- 
 ish school-girl fancies, and wait patiently till her 
 beauty wins her a rich husband. As for me, I
 
 AT THE LAWN. 325 
 
 must marrj some prosperous tradesman's widow, 
 if I ever marry at all." 
 
 The influence of the world in which his life 
 had been spent had degraded Valentine Hawke- 
 hurst, and had done much to harden him; and 
 yet he was not altogether hard. He discovered 
 his own weakness very soon after the begimiing 
 of his acquaintance with Mr. Sheldon's step- 
 daughter. He knew very well that if he had 
 been no fitting lover for Diana Paget, he was 
 still less a fitting lover for Charlotte Halliday. 
 He knew that although it might suit Mr. Shel- 
 don's purpose to make use of the Captain and 
 himself as handy instruments for the accomplish- 
 ment of somewhat dirty work, he would be the 
 very last man to accept one of those useful in- 
 struments as a husband for his stepdaughter. 
 He knew all this ; and knew that, apart fi.'om all 
 worldly considerations, there was an impassable 
 gulf between himself and Charlotte. What could 
 there be in common between the unprincipled 
 companion of Horatio Paget and this innocent 
 girl, whose darkest sin had been a neglected 
 
 /- 
 
 /
 
 326 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 lesson or an ill-written exercise ? If ho could 
 have given lier a home and a position, an un- 
 tarnished name and respectable associations, he 
 would even yet have been unworthy of her af- 
 fection, unable to assure her happiness. 
 
 "I am a scoundrel and an adventurer," he 
 said to himself in his most contemptuous spirit. 
 " If some benevolent fairy were to give me the 
 brightest home that was ever created for man, 
 and Charlotte for my wife, I daresay I should 
 grow tired of my happiness in a week or two, 
 and go out some night to look for a place where 
 I could play billiards and drink beer. Is there 
 any woman upon this earth who could render my 
 existence supportable witJiout billiards and beer ?" 
 
 Knowing himself much better than the Gre- 
 cian philosopher seemed to think it possible for 
 human nature to know itself, Mr. Hawkehurst 
 decided that it was his bomiden duty, both for 
 his own sake and that of the young lady in 
 question, to keep clear of the house in which 
 ^ Miss Halliday lived, and the avenue in which 
 she was wont to walk. He told himself this a
 
 AT THE LAWN. 327 
 
 dozen times a day, and yet he made his appear- 
 ance at the Lawn whenever he had the poorest 
 shadow of an excuse for going there ; and it 
 seemed as if the whole business of his Kfe lay at 
 the two ends of Charlotte's favourite avenue, so 
 often did he find himself called upon to peram- 
 bulate that especial thoroughfare. He knew that 
 he was weak and foolish and dishonourable; he 
 knew that he was sowing the dragon's teeth from 
 which were to spring up armed demons that would 
 rend and tear him. But Charlotte's eyes were mi- 
 speakably bright and bewitching, and Charlotte's 
 voice was very sweet and tender. A tln:illing 
 consciousness that he was not altogether an in- 
 different person in Charlotte's consideration, had 
 possessed him of late when he found himself in 
 that yomig lady's society, and a happiness which 
 had hitherto been strange to him gave a new zest 
 to his purposeless life. 
 
 He still affected the old indifference of manner, 
 the idle listless tone of a being who has finished 
 with all the joys and sorrows, affections and aspi- 
 rations of the world in which he lives. But the
 
 ^/ 
 
 328 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 pretence had of late become a very shallow one. 
 In Charlotte's presence he was eager and inter- 
 ested in spite of himself; childishly eager about 
 the veriest trifles which interested her. Love had 
 taken up the glass of Time; and the days and 
 hours were reckoned by a new standard ; every- 
 thing in the world had suffered some wondrous 
 change, which Valentine Hawkehurst tried in vain 
 to understand. The very earth upon which he 
 walked had undergone some mystic process of 
 transformation; the very streets of London were 
 new to him. He had known Kensington-gardens 
 from his boyhood; but not those enchanted ave- 
 nues of beech and elm in which he walked with 
 Charlotte. Li the plainest and most common- 
 place phraseology, Mr. Hawkehurst had fallen in 
 love. This penniless adventurer, who at eight- 
 and-twenty years of age was steeped to the lips 
 in the worst experiences of a very indifferent 
 world, found himself all at once hanging upon 
 the words and living upon the looks of an ignor- 
 ant school-girl. 
 
 The discovery that he was capable of this
 
 AT THE LAWN. 329 
 
 tender weakness had an almost overwhelming ef- 
 fect upon Mr. Hawkelmrst. He was ashamed of 
 this touch of humanity; this foolish affection which 
 had awakened all that was purest and best in a 
 natui-e that had been so long abandoned to de- 
 grading influences. For some time he fought 
 resolutely against that which he considered his 
 folly; but the training wliich had made him 
 the master of many a perplexing position had 
 not given him the mastery over his own inclina- 
 tions ; and when he fomid that Charlotte's society 
 had become the grand necessity of his life, he 
 abandoned himself to his fate without fm'ther re- 
 sistance. He let himself drift with the tide that 
 was so much stronger than himself; and if there 
 were breakers ahead, or fatal rocks lurking in- 
 visible beneath the blue waters, he must take his 
 chance. His frail bark must go to pieces when 
 her time came. In the mean while it was so de- 
 licious to float upon the summer sea, that a man 
 could afford to forget future possibilities in the 
 way of rocks and quicksands. 
 
 Miss Paget had known very few pleasures in 
 
 y
 
 330 BIRDS OF PREY. 
 
 tlie course of her uncared-for youth ; but she 
 hitherto had experienced no such anguish as that 
 y which she had now to endure in her daily inter- 
 course with Valentine and Charlotte. She under- 
 went her martyrdom bravely, and no prying eye 
 discovered the sufferings which her proud nature 
 supported in silence. '^ Who takes any heed of 
 my feelings, or cares whether I am glad or sorry ?" 
 she thought; " he does not." 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 UOBSON ANi; SON, GREAT NORTHERN PRINTING WORKS, 
 
 PANCRAS ROAD, N.W.
 
 a' 
 
 /.
 
 UNIVERSITY OFILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
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