LIBRA R.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N 1 VERS ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 82.3 
 v.| 
 
 
 f
 
 AN ARTIST'S PEOOF.
 
 AN ARTIST'S PROOF. 
 
 BY 
 ALFRED AUSTIN, 
 
 AUTHOR OF ' THE SEASOX : A SATIRE,' ETC. ETC. 
 
 ' Nil nequeat nobis dignam Dis degere vltam.'— Lucuetius. 
 
 ' Nought e'er need balls us of a godlike life.' — Author's Translation. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 Vol. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 TINSLEY BROTHEES, 18, CATHEEINE ST., STRAND. 
 
 1864. 
 
 [The Right of Ti-amlation is reserved,']
 
 LONDON: PRINTEI) BY M'. CLOWES AKD SONS, STAUFOBD STBEST, 
 ASD CIIAKIXG CU08S.
 
 
 ^Z3 
 1/. /, 
 
 AN ARTIST'S PEOOF. 
 
 PART THE FIRST. 
 
 OPPOSITION. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 Under the freshly-budded branches of an umbra- 
 geous beech, which has encountered since that 
 surprising spring the shifting rain and radiance of 
 upwards of a score of years, a girl very fair to look 
 on sat silently reading. Her eyes were so intently 
 '^ fastened downward on the page, that divination alone 
 S could have told their colour ; and the dark lashes, 
 ^ which were distinctly seen, would only have made 
 J more unlikely the happy guess that they were of a 
 <f^ lustrous blue. But even the unfavouring garden- 
 .^ bench on which she sat could not hide her lissom 
 ■"-f grace of form, nor a hat more designed for screen 
 ^ than ornament conceal the golden glories of her 
 
 1^4 VOL.1. B
 
 2 AN artist's proof. 
 
 rippling hair. She was not reading of Lancilotto, 
 nor was any Paolo Malatesta by her side to throw 
 too strong a colour on the page. Still, like Fran- 
 cesca, she was ' senza alcun sospetto,' dreadless 
 quite; like her she had the 'cor gentil,' the gentle 
 heart which love is qiiick to seize ; and, like her, 
 she was doomed that day to read no further on. If 
 here the analogy must cease, it was not that her 
 woes, if different, w^ere destined to be less severe 
 than the unhappy daughter of Guido of Polenta. 
 
 Measuredly across the lawn, as though nowise 
 bent on errand of rebuke or cruel dissipation of a 
 Mayday dream, draped in sober livery, came a 
 figure that you would have felt must be, and yet 
 could not be, her mother. Measuredly through the 
 shapeless lips, as though even torture was to be 
 justified by the calm judicial method of its infliction, 
 came the disenchanting w ords : 
 
 ' Isabelle ! it is time for you to practise your 
 singing.' A watch outdrawn. ' Indeed, it is after 
 the time. You should not require to be told. Go 
 at once, dear.' 
 
 A flush, faint and instantly gone, broke upon the 
 smooth, transparent, upturned face.
 
 OPPOSITION. 3 
 
 ' Very well, mamma.' 
 
 And with the word she rose and turned towards 
 the house, but still reading, as she walked, the book 
 which had brought on her the rebuke. 
 
 ' What have vou been reading ? ' asked the same 
 unirritated, duty-doing voice. 
 
 ' " The Pot of Basil," ' she answered, pausing and 
 holding out the volume. 
 
 ' By whom is it ? ' 
 
 ' It is one of Keats's poems.' 
 
 ' Where did you get it ? ' 
 
 ' In the library. Mr. Dyneley recommended me 
 to read it' 
 
 ' On those matters, my dear, as I have told you 
 before, I wish you to follow my recommendations 
 only. Put it back v.'here you found it, there's a 
 good girl, and go and practise.' 
 
 Isabelle obeyed to the letter ; but that the spirit 
 was not willing might have been concluded by one 
 who was very quick-eyed, from the momentary com- 
 pression of her irresponsible lips. Mrs. Thatchley 
 took the seat vacated, but upon her lap lay the 
 pages, chastened if uncut, of the ' Sabbath Platitu- 
 dinarian.'
 
 4 AN ARTISTS PROOF. 
 
 Surely that woman was not the girl's mother. If 
 she were, Horace's dictum binds no longer, and 
 eagles may procreate a dove. What consanguinity 
 could there be between that leaden, blue-blurred 
 face, that hair which had never been black, and was 
 unwilling now to become grey, those slate-coloured 
 eyes, those swollen meaningless nostrils, that stupid 
 mouth and shapeless form, and the outline, colour, 
 and expression of the maiden whom I have scarcely 
 attempted, yet will not further attempt, to describe ? 
 Ah ! there is a mother who is no mother, endowed 
 with the rights but not the yearning sympathy of the 
 parent, who has had no silent suffering time, and 
 who has not learned the tenderness which pain sharp 
 as death alone can teach. The best substitute for 
 a mother is not an angel ; the worst is a fiend. 
 It must be owned that Mrs. Thatchley was neither. 
 She was infinitely worse. 
 
 She was what is usually termed a conscientious 
 woman. Most men have but a dim moral sense : 
 most women have none at all. Liberty alone can 
 evoke and train it ; in a state of social and religious 
 slavery it perishes outright. Then custom erects 
 itself on the ruins of conscience, and assumes her
 
 OPPOSITION. 5 
 
 regal title. The masculine mind ever and anon 
 rebels ; but the feminine habit of obedience deifies 
 the detestable usurper, whether his proclamation 
 enjoin suttee or short kirtles. What ' others ' do 
 becomes a law to women ; and the ' others ' are 
 the few of their early and limited experience. 
 Some women, let us haste to own — insensible 
 stones — are a law unto themselves. But they are 
 terribly few, and Mrs. Thatchley was not one of 
 them. 
 
 She acted according to her light, and that light 
 was, as I say, sheer and supreme custom ; only, 
 unfortunately, her custom was of the most disagree- 
 able and offensive kind. She was too religious to 
 be genial, but too respectable not to be worldly. 
 She had grave doubts as to whether she had a right 
 to be happy herself; but she had no earthly doubt 
 that nobody else had. She liked purple and fine 
 linen vastly, but she would take mighty good care 
 that benevolent dogs should never be a reproach to 
 her, and would give Lazarus considerably more 
 than crumbs provided that he remained outside her 
 gates. She would not forestall heaven by striving 
 to make earth in any way resemble it ; but she
 
 6 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 relegated hell as much as possible to hebdomadal 
 devotion, and used it more as a threat over those 
 who denied than as a warning to those who confessed 
 it. She would eat and drink, but she would on no 
 account be merry. In fact, she was that unfruitful 
 modern hybrid, the comfortable-uncomfortable Eng- 
 lish Puritan. 
 
 Yet even Puritanism, when embodied in a plain 
 and undowried widow of nine-and-thirty, can stoop 
 to compromise when an ambassador comes in the 
 shape of a well-to-do half-brother ; and neither the 
 High Church tendencies which Mr. Chesterton car- 
 ried but lightly, nor the Tory principles which he 
 held very strongly, stood in the way of her becom- 
 ing domesticated at Beadon Priorv. Thenceforward 
 she went without demur to his church, and read 
 without remark his newspapers. She was content to 
 fight her battle, and have her way on more practical 
 ground. That ground was the training of his 
 daughter, for whose sake mostly, three years after 
 the death of her mother, he had invited his widowed 
 half-sister to his home. He might be an active 
 member of the Conservative committee for the 
 county, and bow his head at the mention of a
 
 OPPOSITION. 7 
 
 Name ; but Isabelle should be brought up in the 
 way in which she should go. She should neither 
 be spoiled nor spared. 
 
 The exquisite little fairy was not long turned of 
 six when, twelve years ago, she made the acquaint- 
 ance of the only mamma she ever really knew ; 
 for by that title Mrs. Thatchley at once taught 
 Isabelle to address her. During the first three years 
 of her parent's widowhood she had been allowed 
 full scope to develop into herself. No bird, no 
 tree, was freer. Childishly uttering in the frankest 
 manner every little thought she had, she never 
 said anything which a genial listener would not 
 have delighted to hear. She was completely un- 
 restrained, yet the most severe could not have 
 found her forward. She worshipped her papa, and 
 loved impulsively everybody else who loved her. 
 Prettily as she talked, she spoke even more so. 
 Indeed, she was the most childish child, and the 
 most thorough little lady, that ever ran over sward 
 or nestled upon lap. 
 
 The stranger came, and set herself conscientiously 
 to work to snatch this little brand from the burninof. 
 To see a girl so happy, and if not unemployed, at
 
 8 AN aetist's teoof. 
 
 least employed to no severe purpose, was too shock- 
 ing a spectacle not to be at once put down. I have 
 seen, more or less unmoved, a fair amount of 
 human misery ; but I declare I have not the heart 
 to describe the details of that seven years' war 
 waged within the precincts of Beadon Priory, in 
 which Mrs. Thatchley came off apparently victor. 
 I have seen deaths on cold doorsteps and in hot 
 feversheds, and could take artist's courage, were 
 there need, to portray them ; but, like a flogged 
 coward, I sneak away from describing those 
 biiter, bursting tears of the sweet little fay who, 
 since she cut her baby teeth, had never shed 
 tears before. At first papa had his doubts ; and 
 there was some hope that his alliance might be 
 obtained for the pitiable pet, now turned victim. 
 But the correction, which had begun by venting 
 itself on imaginary faults, soon succeeded in creating 
 real ones. A free soul is a sweet sight, but none 
 of us can wholly sympathize with a rebel ; and the 
 despotic protectress was not long in transforming 
 the first into the second. By the time she was 
 seven, Isabelle was profoundly unhappy ; by the 
 time she was nine, intensely passionate ; and by
 
 OPPOSITION. 9 
 
 the time she was twelve, she was simply sullen. 
 Through all these changes she had preserved her 
 beauty ; but she seemed to have lost everything 
 else, even to her fondness for her papa. At four- 
 teen, as I said, the struggle ended ; and Mrs. 
 Thatchley congratulated herself on having broken a 
 most stubborn spirit, trained a most vagrant nature, 
 made of a sloven a model of neatness, and of an 
 unreflecting chatterbox a reticent and well-behaved 
 young girl. There was every certainty, she assured 
 her brother, that their daughter — for their daughter 
 she invariably called her — would turn out a 
 most accomplished and amiable lady ; and he, poor 
 fellow, having the last eight years come to regard 
 Isabelle as a young demon, was but too glad to take 
 comfort and faith from the assurance. Two more 
 years — very quiet years — passed away, and at sixteen 
 Isabelle was regarded by Mrs. Thatchley as perfect 
 as anything can become and be kept by the only 
 means which she conceived could at all create and 
 maintain perfection — viz. periodical supervision and 
 reproof She had the most complete command over 
 her temper and her tongue. Of sullenness there 
 was not the slightest trace ; of anger, never a hint.
 
 10 
 
 AN AIITIST S PEOOF, 
 
 She appeared happy, even cheerful. True, she did 
 not take a very earnest interest in what she was told 
 to do ; but, at any rate, she always did it. And 
 as she was not surrounded by paradoxical people, 
 she was not likely to be subjected to the criticism 
 that 'she is all fault who hath no faults at all.' 
 
 Mr. Chesterton still knelt in the same pew, and 
 still rallied round the same old party-cries, as in the 
 days when his knees were more supple, his seat was 
 more steady, and his voice more hearty, than they 
 could boast of being now. But somehow the same 
 sort of people did not habitually come to the 
 Priory as in the gracious days of the buried 
 mistress, to whose memory glowed the marble 
 monument in the chancel of Beadon Church. His 
 former male friends stuck to him, and were as 
 cordial as ever on hustings or hunting-field ; but 
 their stout legs did allegiance under other maho- 
 gany than that at which presided his respectable 
 relative. She had changed his set for him im- 
 perceptibly, but long before this time with un- 
 mistakable distinctness. Some men are very 
 manageable. She had robbed him of everything 
 worth having, and I declare he never knew it.
 
 OPPOSITION. 11 
 
 The two years and odd that intervened between 
 Isabelle's attaining her sixteenth year and the 
 time at which this story commences, were spent in 
 ' masters.' She had a ' master ' from London for 
 every conceivable subject ; and though not one of 
 them was ever loud in her praise, they all com- 
 mended her attention. Nor had Mrs. Thatchley 
 been idle. She had spent most of this period in 
 considering whom Isabelle ought to marry ; and she 
 had, some six months previously, arrived at a con- 
 clusion. In her decision it is unnecessary to state 
 that her brother completely concurred. Mr. 
 Chesterton's name was a good enough one in the 
 county ; but he was a younger son of a junior 
 branch, and held his small estate, worth but some 
 fifteen hundred a-year, only for life. So that his 
 daughter, with all her misfortunes, past and prospec- 
 tive, escaped the misery of being an heiress. Men 
 are not so mercenary, even yet, as they are usually 
 represented, especially when a winsome face steps 
 in to perplex their calculations ; and Isabelle would 
 not have been likely to suffer from her father's 
 having but little to leave, even if her future had 
 been handed over to chance. But her mother —
 
 12 AN artist's proof, 
 
 as Mrs. Thatchley was often called — did not 
 believe in leaving anything either to chance or 
 beauty. It was certainly not by the instrumentality 
 of either that she had won her deceased husband 
 for herself; and Isabelle, even though she might 
 not need it, was to have the benefit of the same 
 active and scientific discretion. 
 
 The property adjoining that which Mr. Chester- 
 ton held for life, was held by George Forrester for 
 ever. To him let us not be unjust. Some people 
 called him a nincompoop, and some a good fellow. 
 He was three-and-thirty, untravelled, nervous, 
 decent enough to look at, awkward rather for a 
 gentleman, weak as water in everything but princi- 
 ple, commonplace, no more narrow-minded than his 
 neighbours, a bad shot, an indifferent rider, having 
 nothing to say worth hearing, but a good son to the 
 old aunt who lived with him, and honest as the day. 
 He was as incapable of saying a clever thing, as of 
 doing a dirty one. He would no more have thought 
 of making love to Isabelle Chesterton, or to any 
 other woman, than of jumping from Beadon spire, 
 if he had not been prompted so to do; and he 
 would just as quickly have done the second as he
 
 OPPOSITION. 1 
 
 o 
 
 was now doing the first, if Mrs. Thatchley had 
 commanded it. Not that she had told him in so 
 many words, that he was to marry Isabelle ; but 
 she held him flesh and soul in the leash of her 
 will, and he obeyed her eye as rapidly as her lips. 
 Mrs. Thatchley had frankly avowed her intention 
 to her brother, and he had entered cordially into 
 the arrangement ; but to no third person had either 
 hinted a word. For all that, their intentions were 
 as manifest as if they had called them out at market- 
 cross ; and Isabelle was not the last person to 
 discover them. 
 
 She might have been practising half-an-hour, and 
 Mrs. Thatchley placidly dozing over the turned- 
 upside-down pages of the ' Platitudinarian ' some 
 three-and-twenty minutes, when from the stables 
 there came walking across the lawn a figure whose 
 step, though not hurried, was too quick and too 
 straightly directed towards the just-awakened matron 
 to belong to a denizen of the Priory. His tread was 
 firm yet supple ; and a small riding-cane, which he 
 held in a closely-gloved hand, was grasped with a 
 tightness quite out of proportion with either its 
 weight or its use. His dress was as near that of a
 
 14 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 fop's without being such, as is possible to consummate 
 artistic skill. In hitting this happy medium, he was 
 assisted by a figure as much above the middle height 
 as is necessary for physical superiority, and as little 
 above it as is requisite for grace. His countenance 
 was not statuesque enough to be ordinarily deemed 
 handsome, though its features were clearly chiselled, 
 and a pair of outlooking large brown eyes reposed 
 under a broad but concentrated brow. He had a slight 
 moustache, and just tolerated whiskers ; but even 
 under his hat, the abundance of dark chestnut hair 
 could be detected, finishing a head about which the 
 most enthusiastic of young ladies would not have 
 raved, but which the most prosaic of governesses 
 would have quietly commended. Rightly or wrongly, 
 a believer in physiognomy would have pronounced 
 him ' well-balanced.' He must have been about 
 twenty-four. His name was Mortimer Dyneley. . 
 An ordinarily shrewd man, after ever so little 
 experience, gives up looking into women's faces for 
 the expression of their feelings. Moreover, as 
 Dyneley knew well enough that his presence would 
 not be over-welcome to Mrs. Thatchley, he troubled 
 himself more to throw cordiality into his own
 
 OPPOSITION. 15 
 
 manner than to detect the absence of it in hers. He 
 was the only person who, after failing thoroughly to 
 propitiate, did not concern himself either to avoid or 
 deceive her. If you had asked her what she thought 
 of him, she would have said that he was a very 
 charming young man, and added some 'but' that 
 would not have sounded particularly damning. 
 Had you asked him what he thought of her, he 
 would have told you bluntly that he thought her 
 simply detestable. Yet he tried slightly to like 
 her, and she thoroughly to dislike him. Oddly 
 enough, neither succeeded. He did not fear her 
 in the least, but he had the keenest sense of her 
 domestic and social power. She knew, or thought 
 at any rate, that he had no power on earth ; still 
 the fear of him, the only fear she had in the world, 
 was too fast on her to be shaken off. Nature had 
 made them antagonists, and circumstances had in- 
 tensified the hostility. As he sat down on the 
 bench beside her, there was really nothing to 
 provoke the suspicion that they were not excellent 
 friends. For all that, she really was not much of 
 a hypocrite, and he was the most straightforward 
 fellow on earth.
 
 16 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 They had not been conversing — much as other 
 people converse — for five minutes, when Isabelle 
 stepped out of the conservatory at the end of the 
 drawing-room and approached. Let us look hard 
 and see what we can make of the greeting. 
 
 Stately, very. A looker-on cannot measure 
 the pressure of palms, and you will have to remain 
 in doubt whether the detection of a brighter lustre 
 in his brown eyes, and a delicate compression of her 
 undulating lips, be due to your sharp sight or to 
 your suspicious imagination. A few playful words 
 were all that followed to enlighten. And then : 
 
 ' Itabelle, my dear, you ought not to have left 
 your practising. Another half-an-hour, and then 
 you will have done enough. I am sure Mr. Dyneley 
 will excuse you.' A gracious bow of assent from 
 him, and a ' Good-bye, Mr. Dyneley,' from her. 
 ' Of course,' continued Mrs. Thatchley to him, 
 now again her only companion, 'of course you 
 understand how necessary it is for a girl of her 
 age not only to attend to her studies, but to be 
 constantly employed.' 
 
 A courteous ' quite so ' was his sufficient answer 
 to a remark which it was impossible to contradict
 
 OPPOSITION. 17 
 
 or discuss. And he set himself bravely to work, 
 for a good twenty minutes, to talk with niadame 
 upon every conceivable subject that was not worth 
 talking about at all. Whatever might have been 
 her wishes, he did not intend to go yet awhile. 
 Indeed he meant to be invited to stop for dinner, 
 just as she meant not to invite him. For the 
 present, time had to be gained. Steadfast mainte- 
 nance of the conversation was his only chance ; and 
 he worked away at it gallantly. Both invention 
 and execution were beginning slightly to flag when, 
 to his relief, he saw coming, as he had himself 
 come, from the stables, the briskly-moving nerv- 
 ous form of George Forrester. That Forrester 
 would remain and dine he was positive, and this 
 would materially assist him in compelling an invi- 
 tation for himself. The new comer was greeted as 
 George by the lady, and with like familiarity by 
 Miss Chesterton, who, now again approaching, was 
 this time not dismissed. Forrester, however, did 
 not retort with her Christian name, and seemed to 
 find it difficult enough to call her by any. He was 
 a nervous, jealous man, trying to appear neither. 
 Dyneley was completely at his ease. Isabella was 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 temperately frank with both. Mrs. Thatchley 
 unflinchingly supervised. 
 
 We are all pretty well aware by this time that 
 
 I 
 
 there were strong men before Agamemnon ; but 
 not many are aware that there were good games 
 before the invention of croquet. One of these 
 Miss Chesterton contrived to set going, her mother 
 assigning to her Forrester for partner, and for 
 herself retaining Dyneley. It was not very 
 amusing to this last, but it brought him ano- 
 ther half-hour nearer to dinner-time, and gave 
 him two opportunities, of each of which he 
 availed himself. One was when, as at the close 
 of the game and in the insolence of victory, 
 he was sending his opponents' balls in opposite 
 directions, he said to Miss Chesterton, sotto 
 voce, 
 
 ' I will not unite you even in death ; ' and 
 received for reply a clever shudder and the equally 
 softly-spoken words, 
 
 ' For pity's sake, don't ! ' 
 
 The other was when, victory achieved, and they 
 were collecting the implements of war, he contrived 
 to whisper.
 
 OPPOSITION. 19 
 
 ' Ride, Tuesday and Thursday mornings, in the 
 heart of the Chase.' 
 
 And was answered briefly, ' If I can.' 
 
 The time, however, came when Dyneley must 
 either be asked to stay or must go. Miss Chester- 
 ton had proposed another game, but this had been 
 by supreme authority refused. Round the gravel - 
 path travelled nearer the leisurely step of the 
 owner. No more benevolent old gentleman ever 
 trod than Mr. Chesterton ; and for no one had 
 he a stronger natural liking than for Mortimer 
 Dyneley. But we know the proverbial power 
 of ' whispering tongues ; ' and the presence, once 
 so agreeable to him, made him now positively un- 
 comfortable. Not but that he still liked Dyneley 
 vastly, as he had liked his father before him. But 
 he had been induced at last to believe undesirable, 
 and to welcome less cordially, or scarcely at all, 
 visits which he had once assured Mortimer could 
 not be made too often. He was a shocking bad 
 hand at concealment ; and his embarrassment was 
 the evident result of perplexity and semi-shame. 
 And when Miss Chesterton asked aloud, 
 
 ' What time do we dine, mamma ? '
 
 20 AN aetist's pkoof. 
 
 And there came the cold answer, ' Half-past 
 six,' and one guest was evidently going, and the 
 other was evidently not, he could not, for all the 
 prospective curtain-lectures from this to doomsday, 
 have kept down the hospitable query, 
 
 ' You will dine with us, will you not ? ' 
 
 So Mrs. Thatchley was vanquished for once at 
 least. And there was malicious but justifiable joy 
 in two breasts at any rate, over that impenitent 
 sinner doing penance. 
 
 Mrs. Thatchley took Mortimer's arm and placed 
 him in solitary precedence on her right, Isabella 
 and Forrester confronting him from her left. Most 
 people are too busy during dinner to watch their 
 neighbours very closely ; but this is the most 
 favourable opportunity for such examination. The 
 old proverb about wine must be extended to 
 the meats. One natural act induces another ; 
 and in actively confessing their hunger, men and 
 women are apt to lay aside a few artifices rigidly 
 paraded at less spontaneous moments. For the 
 life of him Mr. Chesterton could not conceal, after 
 his first glass of sherry, that he must once have 
 been exceedingly genial, nor Mrs. Thatchley, after
 
 OPPOSITION. 21 
 
 her second, that she was still rather vulgar. Nor 
 had the hospitable meal far advanced before it was 
 quite evident that, whatever effect warnings in 
 sober day might have upon him, the rapidly warm- 
 ing host much preferred the discourse of Dyneley, 
 who could and did talk, to that of Forrester, who 
 perhaps did, but certainly could not. This danger- 
 ous cordiality his sister did not fail to notice, and 
 was not likely to fail to attempt to disturb. On 
 the score of politics she knew well enough she 
 would be unable to create anything like discord, 
 for Mr. Chesterton and his young guest held pretty 
 much the same political opinions, though probably 
 their reasons for holding them, if given, would have 
 been very different ; and the former resembled most 
 people in thinking any reasons good that upheld the 
 right conclusion, just as he would have thought any 
 had that upheld the wrong one. But there was a 
 discovery she had recently made and professed to 
 lament, but which she rejoiced over with the 
 glee of a knight who has hit upon a crevice in 
 his opponent's armour, and whereof she deemed 
 this an excellent opportunity for availing herself. 
 She let her brother drivel on from subject to sub-
 
 22 AN artist's proof. 
 
 ject till she found him approaching one, then as 
 now, fruitful of social charity, viz. that of Church 
 and State. He had concluded, or at least aban- 
 doned, a great many sentences in which institu- 
 tions, and rights, and interests, and religion had 
 been dwelt upon and jumbled with customary 
 fidelity to the forms of language, and had been once 
 or twice nervously supported by Forrester, when 
 Dyneley said calmly, in his frank, reckless manner, 
 ' Not a doubt of it. Your reasons are most excel- 
 lent. But it seems to me there is a better reason 
 even than any you have given for maintaining their 
 union. The time was when despotic power was 
 eminently serviceable in the education, both poli- 
 tical, social, and religious, of the European world ; 
 but that time, Mr. Chesterton, we fully, of course, 
 believe to have passed away for ever, do we 
 not?' 
 
 ' Of course we do. Why — ' 
 
 And he was going to start off on a long recrimin- 
 ation of a leader he had recently read in a local 
 paper, in which the opposite opinion had of course 
 been expressed ; but Mortimer thought he had a 
 right to his innings, and skilfully trij)ped him up.
 
 OPPOSITION. 23 
 
 ' Of course we do. And having grown out of tlic 
 need of autocracy, we iire not going to put any 
 other supreme power in its place, not even the 
 absolute will of a democratic majority. But of 
 all supremacies that cannot any longer, and never 
 will again, be anything but dangerous, spiritual 
 supremacy is the one against which we ought the 
 most carefully to guard. Men who consider their 
 teaching and mission immutable, will regard their 
 authority in much the same light ; and having once 
 been free from contradiction, would lain remain 
 dogmatical to the close. As free agents among a 
 free audience, the clergy of this, as of every other 
 country, cannot fail to be of service. But so long 
 as their pretensions be v/hat they are, the State is 
 the best, and, as I conceive, the only instrument for 
 tempering and, when necessary, controlling the 
 action of the Church. For these reasons, no less 
 than for yours, I would on no account assent to any 
 measure that would weaken their natural, fruitful, 
 and beneficial union.' 
 
 Miss Chesterton alone had comprehended the 
 argument. Her father alone cared for the conclu- 
 sion, which he heartily applauded. Forrester had
 
 24 AN artist's proof. 
 
 been too well aware of the direction in which a pair 
 of blue eyes were all the time intently turned, and 
 Mrs. Thatchley, too anxious to break in with a 
 remark which she now thought might be opportunely 
 made, to be anything but uncomfortable. 
 
 ' I am surprised to find you so stanch a sup- 
 porter of the Church, Mr. Dyneley, as I am 
 assured that you rarely or never go there.' (What 
 a funny confusion of terms !) 
 
 ' If you think from my argument,' Dyneley 
 answered, without the slightest confusion, and 
 throwing into his manner a more than usually 
 playful courtesy, ' that I ought to go, I fear I have 
 expressed myself very inefficiently. I gave poli- 
 tical reasons for political conduct. For that part 
 of religious conduct which is implied by going or 
 not going to church, surely, my dear Mrs, Thatch- 
 ley, I am not called upon to give any.' 
 
 His chivalric but fearless straightforwardness 
 gave her nothing to say at the time ; but it left 
 her a good deal to say when there were not so 
 many listeners. The conversation shifted to other 
 topics, and so on to others, Dyneley smiting poor 
 Forrester into silence, having Miss Chesterton's
 
 OPPOSITION. 25 
 
 ears whenever she dared not lend him her eyes, 
 still further entangling his host in friendly talk, 
 and still further satisfying his hostess that he was 
 the most dangerous person whom she had ever 
 met. He thought so differently from everybody 
 across whom she had come since childhood, and he 
 said so bravely what he thought, that she endea- 
 voured to consider him as utterly unbearable. 
 But he was too deferential to hers and everybody 
 else's opinion, when most asserting his own, for her 
 either to be able to quarrel or induce others to 
 quarrel with him. And, indeed, she could afford to 
 forgive him. She imagined that she had by this 
 time pretty well discovered what he was driving 
 at, and was thoroughly convinced that she could 
 easily prevent him attaining the intended goal. 
 
 So that when he asked for his horse to be brought 
 round, she no less than her brother said that he 
 was going away very early. And when Forrester 
 did not ask for his, they both thought he was never 
 going at all. Whatever the daughter's thoughts 
 might be^ she kept them strictly to herself Indeed, 
 she had rarely hazarded a remark, and never an 
 opinion, the whole evening. And if, as he rode
 
 26 • AN artist's proof. 
 
 home in the balmy May night, Mortimer did not 
 say to himself, ' \Yhat a very elegant but extremely 
 stupid young person ! ' he cannot have troubled 
 himself much about her, or must have had other 
 means of forming a judgment than ordinary spec- 
 tators. But before he struck heel into his impatient 
 steed, he dropped his customary lialf- crown into the 
 palm of old Jeff, who muttered, as he clattered out 
 into the road, 
 
 ' Ar, that's the sort o' gemm'an I'd like to see 
 comin' about the place. But we don't have many 
 o' him now, and I fear we shan't have him much 
 longer. Jack won't get much out o' t'other chap. 
 See to Mr. Forrester's oss, Jack ; I'm off.' 
 
 And to bed went as faithful an old servant as 
 ever stayed with English gentleman for five-and- 
 twenty years, but who would not have stayed 
 another day, had it not been for two as light hands 
 and two as kindly eyes as ever held lady's rein or 
 looked a lady's thanks.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Mortimer Dyneley's father had been, during the 
 first half of his life, an unattached but ornamental 
 unit of that big, clumsy total, called society ; and 
 during the second half, the trusted and useful 
 steward of a big Earl, in a big northern county. 
 The experience and manners acquired in the early 
 part of his career, obtained for him a welcome 
 which materially sweetened the later ; but while 
 he conscientiously managed and improved the affairs 
 of his patron, he paid but indifferent attention to 
 his own. A widower with an only son, he visited 
 the Earl and the Earl's acquaintances on a footing 
 of the most complete equality. ' Dear Jack Dyneley ' 
 was in all their mouths, and at all their tables; and 
 as he had the finest palate and the most renowned, 
 if the smallest, cellar of them all, they sometimes 
 made themselves his guests in turn. The fascina- 
 tion of their society he could no more resist, than
 
 28 AN artist's proof. 
 
 they c )uld resist the fascination of his. So though 
 he took good care never to run into debt, he spent 
 his 800Z. a-year allowed him by the Earl like a man, 
 and never put away a sixpence. Regarding himself 
 as the most fortunate fellow upon earth, and justly 
 attributmg his good fortune to his excellent address 
 and accomplished tongue, he thought he could do 
 nothing better for Mortimer, than give him the 
 same education from which he had himself reaped 
 such comfortable profit. At eighteen years of age, 
 the lad, though more stately and perhaps more 
 dignified than his father, was fully as well-looking 
 and as well-bred ; and if not so intensely popular a 
 favourite over fences or under oak, was withal 
 lovingly regarded by the gentlemen of the soil, 
 with whom, during the holidays, he also had freely 
 consorted. The Earl asked one day if he was to go 
 to college. 
 
 ' College, my lord ? No, indeed. / never was 
 at college. He already knows quite enough of 
 what is taught there to teach it to himself, if he 
 have any desire to know it. I shall send him to 
 travel.' 
 
 And with a promise of 300/. out of the 800/.
 
 OPPOSITION. 29 
 
 a-year, and a farewell admonition to ' make no debts 
 and fight no duels/ Mortimer, at eighteen, was 
 free to go where he listed. If, thought his father, 
 at the end of three or four years, some of those fine 
 friends of mine will not be but too glad to do some- 
 thing for the boy, he is not, and they are not, what 
 I take them to be. 
 
 The son had been absent some three years-and-a- 
 half, and the father was beginning to be anxious to 
 see what time and travel had done for him, when an 
 ugly fall took all the value out of Jack Dyneley's 
 crack hunter, and made sad havoc with Jack 
 Dyneley's own limbs. He would have saved his leg 
 at all hazards but the final hazard of all, and gave 
 in to the decree of amputation when he was too 
 powerless to resist. At last an old squire took 
 courage to tell him what they were saying down 
 stairs, that amputation was the last chance, and 
 that it too might fail. 
 
 ' All right,' he answered ; ' it's a bad business, 
 but broken timber is broken timber, and I suppose 
 I must take the big fence ahead. I should like to 
 see my wine-merchant, if you'll tell him to come as 
 soon as ever he can.'
 
 30 AN artist's proof. 
 
 The old squire was mightily puzzled, and thought 
 Jack might, at such a moment, have asked for a 
 more appropriate visitor than the minister of Bac- 
 chus. This last too, though one of Jack's oldest 
 and stanchest allies, was not prepared for such 
 singular precedence. However he started off at 
 once, heard from the surgeons, whom he met de- 
 scending the crippled man's staircase, that a couple 
 of days must end the misery, and in a moment 
 saw plainly enough for himself that they were about 
 right. The poor fellow, though with all the strength 
 nearly out of him, received his chum with even 
 jocose welcome. 
 
 ' Look here ! old boy ! ' he said, stretching out 
 his hot hand, ' I sadly want you to help me when 
 nobody else can. There's my lad, whom they've 
 sent for to Italy ; but though they don't tell me so, 
 I know well enough, I shall never see his brave 
 face at this bedside. Unless he be much altered, 
 he is, as you know, as likely a young fellow as ever 
 this country, not a bad hand at growing gentlemen, 
 ever bred. That my friends will see he gets a fair 
 start at something, and that he will then keep his 
 head well forward, never you fear any more than 1
 
 OPPOSITION. 31 
 
 do. But a younker ought not to be left without a 
 few hundreds, if it be only to rattle in his pocket. 
 People are always quicker to help you when you 
 don't seem to want help. Now I haven't a rap 
 to leave Mortimer, and shan't have unless you'll do 
 for rae what I think is fair enough, though it would 
 not do for it to be found out. You know the sort 
 of wine I've always had, and what a reputation ray 
 bit of a cellar has in the county. Well, it's as 
 aiear empty now as may be, and I want you to 
 fill it choke full, till not another bottle will go into 
 it. Not with the prime vintages the old place has 
 known all along, nor yet with rubbish. But I want 
 you to fill it with the very cheapest wines that 
 cannot possibly do anybody harm, though not likely 
 to do anybody good. How long do they say I shall 
 last? Come, tell me.' 
 
 ' Well, a couple of days at any rate.' 
 ' Then you've a couple of nights for your work. 
 Let it be done as secretly as possible, and see that 
 nobody blabs. As soon as I'm gone, advertise for 
 sale all the wine in my cellar ; and if it doesn't 
 bring a jolly long price, there's no such thing as 
 what we used to read of at school, no fama superstes:
 
 32 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 reputation's not worth having. Give Mortimer the 
 profit and my blessing, and accept the last, old boy, 
 for yourself.' 
 
 Jack Dyneley was obeyed to the letter and died 
 in peace. His wines fetched an enormous price, 
 and are still the boast and glory of many a northern 
 magnate's table. Mortimer reached home, to look 
 mournfully upon his father's grave, and to receive 
 through his father's friend, the faithful vintner, a 
 sum little short of nine hundred pounds. He never 
 knew, any more than the rest of the world, how 
 narrowly he had escaped being the inheritor of a 
 much more limited fortune, and often used inno- 
 cently to say how he wished he had some of the 
 rare old ports that had been sold off at his father's 
 death. 
 
 ' Dear Jack Dyneley ' was not wrong when he 
 gave his friends credit for willingness to do some- 
 thing for his son, and his son credit for being worth 
 doing for. But who shall blame them if they were 
 too much occupied with their own and others' more 
 importunate concerns not to wait until Mortimer pre- 
 sented his claims, and if they forgot all about him 
 when he never took the trouble even to present him-
 
 OPPOSITION. 33 
 
 self? Four years — especially four such revolu- 
 tionary years as intervene between eighteen and 
 twenty-two — had made them and him entire 
 strangers. Had he been hard pressed for an 
 outlook, he might perhaps have sufficiently made 
 away with his natural and acquired dignity, to seek 
 counsel and assistance from those who he could 
 scarcely doubt would open to him if he would only 
 knock and keep on knocking. But it so happened 
 that an opportunity of advancement presented it- 
 self, unsolicited ; and unsolicited opportunities were 
 more to Mortimer's taste. Between his fcither and 
 hia father's cousin, Roger Dyneley, there had sub- 
 sisted if not absolute estrangement, at least persis- 
 tent coolness; but in passing through London on 
 his way to the Continent, Mortimer had visited and 
 with his graceful manners completely fascinated his 
 metropolitan relative. However, he would not, in 
 spite of much warm pressure, stay to complete a 
 conquest that, if turned to account, would have alto- 
 gether set aside the schemes of travel upon which 
 he was then enthusiastically bent. Upon his now 
 being summoned home, he called on Mr. Dyneley 
 and met with a welcome, to say the least, as cordial 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 AN artist's pnooF. 
 
 as that of four years back ; and was given to under- 
 stand that his future should be the care as his 
 person and address were the delight of his more than 
 sexagenarian cousin. 
 
 In the last year of the long struggle which ended 
 in consigning to a wave-washed boulder the nine- 
 teenth century Prometheus, Roger Dyneley had 
 made a bold financial stroke for fortune, and had 
 succeeded. He was before and remained after it 
 an impenitent bachelor ; but the possession of 
 fifteen thousand a year materially increased his 
 importance, if it did not alter his position. That he 
 had cared to make it seemed inexplicable to many, 
 since he seemed to evince the greatest care not to 
 spend it. He bought an estate where he never 
 resided, but which returned him for a neighbouring- 
 borough, and rented a good but not pretentious 
 house in a square which fashion has long since 
 deserted. That he was rich everybody knew ; but 
 that he spent most if not all of his income, very few 
 suspected. He was considered penurious by people 
 who squandered their incomes in luxuries which 
 would have been to him scarcely an indulgence. 
 His gratifications were such as Western morality does
 
 OPPOSITION. 35 
 
 not prevent a man from enjoying, but strictly forbids 
 him to parade. Truth to tell, he was a systematic 
 sensualist, with an average good character. There 
 were men — and still more women — who were pretty 
 well acquainted with his practices ; but the former 
 had as little reason to expose as the latter had good 
 reason to suppress them. Had he been a pro- 
 minent public character, or been invested with the 
 interest which attaches to a title, his name might not 
 have escaped ihe prurient curiosity of the virtu- 
 ous. But a silent and undecorated member of the 
 House of Commons, who, though he have a princely 
 fortune, does not spend it in the market-place, may 
 rival Lothario without having to envy Joseph. He 
 had abilities which he had never cared to cultivate, 
 and opportunities of doing good to himself and 
 others which he never even saw. He was as selfish 
 as he was agreeable. Courtesy itself to all who 
 ministered to his pleasure, to those who interfered 
 with it he was pitiless as fate. To everybody else 
 he was simply indifferent. His dress and bearing 
 was as young at sixty-five as they had been at 
 sixteen, and his hunger for enjoyment was fiercer 
 than ever. But Nature would not be true to herself
 
 36 AN artist's proof. 
 
 if his constitution had kept pace with his cravings. 
 The appetite may elude her ravage ; but she will 
 vindicate her title on the jaw. 
 
 Had Mortimer been deformed, ugly, or ungrace- 
 ful, or returned from his wanderings with the habits 
 often acquired abroad of an incorrigible Bohemian, 
 neither ability nor relationship w^ould have re- 
 commended him to so much as Mr. Dyneley's 
 recognition. His cousin would not only have ex- 
 ternally ignored, but would have internally and 
 bond fide forgotten him. Returning with the come- 
 liness of youth united to the repose of early man- 
 hood, fluent in three languages besides his own, 
 almost courtly in his dignity of approach, and 
 lordly in a well-worn self-esteem, he recommended 
 himself as much to the vanity as to the taste of his 
 would-be patron. 
 
 Had Mortimer's father left him a competency. 
 Mr. Dyneley would not the less have shrunk from 
 attaching him as a client, and, making a virtue of 
 necessity, would have added to the competency a 
 decent, perhaps a handsome allowance. But the 
 pittance which the young fellow had inherited, gave 
 the old man an opportunity of having a highly
 
 OPPOSITION. 37 
 
 creditable dependent at a very small cost. So 
 that when he announced his willingness to strive 
 to obtain for Mortimer some diplomatic or other 
 similar appointment, he was not forced to obtain 
 his grateful assent at a higher price than an allow- 
 ance meanwhile of five hundred a-year. His own 
 gratification and not the other's advancement being 
 his object, it was enough for him to know that five 
 hundred a-year would not be rejected by one who 
 had no income at all. And official appointments 
 being within the scope of his influence, he would 
 never have thought of inquiring into the young 
 man's character and tastes. With these, however, 
 it is time that we should form an acquaintance. 
 
 Very early on in his school career, Mortimer 
 Dyneley betrayed a mental peculiarity, then as 
 now most rare among his countrymen. He valued 
 nothing at its use ; he prized everything according 
 to its beauty. It was idle to tell him that pure 
 mathematics were the best education for the mind, 
 or the machinery most likely to be serviceable to 
 the majority of men living in a mechanical and 
 industrial age. The first proposition he flatly 
 denied, and had at least the authority of Gibbon
 
 38 AN artist's proof. 
 
 on his side ; the second he did not consider re- 
 quired any answer at all. But when the inquiry 
 was diverted from the properties of x and n^ to 
 the orbit of Saturn and Mars, or the occult powers 
 of ?/ were abandoned for the discussion of the 
 theory of light, he manifested an interest dispro- 
 portionate with his years. His self-respect made 
 him master the Latin and Greek grammars, though 
 he found them both detestable ; and an acute sense 
 of dignity alone induced him to construe with 
 decency the stupid excerpts which are considered 
 not too difficult, but quite interesting enough, for 
 the boys of a northern nation. But when these 
 were surmounted, and there were opened to him 
 the pages of philosophical historians, and still more 
 philosophic poets, his enthusiasm for the tongues 
 no longer spoken this side Acheron was as intense 
 as it was spontaneous. He never wrote a penta- 
 meter or designed an Alcaic strophe, save under 
 something approaching to compulsion ; and of the 
 full measure of ' particles,' though he assuredly 
 had a semi-instinctive notion, he would never be 
 troubled to acquire accurate information. But the 
 precise pedagogue who had written learnedly on
 
 OPPOSITION. 39 
 
 these, had but a dim notion of the pregnant beauty 
 of this adjective, of the liberal signification of that 
 abstract noun, or the changeable harmony of that 
 other sonorously inserted verb, compared with the 
 brown-eyed pupil, who, he said, could never be 
 made a scholar. A scholar, indeed, he never 
 became ; but even at eighteen he conversed with 
 the great Pagan shades with a familiarity that 
 might have been envied by many a man whose 
 classical attainments have been deemed deserving 
 of a mitre. 
 
 He started on his travels, and it was soon ap- 
 parent that he would treat life as he had treated, 
 and still continued to treat, the printed legacies of 
 the wise, viz. as an end, not as a means. He found 
 existence too good and beautiful to be put to inten- 
 tional use. Itself should be its sole occupation and 
 reward. With the soul of the contemplative artist, 
 he needed not the employments of the restless or 
 guerdon-seeking craftsman. Not to labour among 
 instruments, but to repose among results, was his 
 persistent pursuit. Even in the studio he was dis- 
 satisfied, since there he pined for the gallery. Per- 
 haps he could wait while a nymph was being formed
 
 40 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 from foam of the sea, or a goddess struck from the 
 anvii of an immortal's brain ; but the sight of a 
 brush or the sound of a chisel was sufBcient to mar 
 his luxurious joy. He would walk through acres of 
 ' curiosities,' and only yawn or be cynical ; but at 
 sight of suggestive torso or glimpse of judicious 
 draj)ery, he and his enthusiasm would suddenly 
 re-awake. For a year-and-a-half he wandered ; but 
 with such a turn of mind as his it was pretty certain 
 where he would soon sit down and halt. And after 
 eighteen months' vagrancy, he was never again this 
 side the Alps till his father's death summoned him 
 from beyond the mountains. 
 
 He had taken his peculiarity to a land where it 
 stood a good chance of ripening into a disease. A 
 man who rests in Italy and is not thankful must 
 have upon him the curse of Ahasuerus. Most wan- 
 dering Westerns take their vulgar restlessness with 
 them thither, as they would take it to heaven if they 
 ever get admitted, or would with it invade the 
 Divum numen sedesque quietcB, were they acquainted 
 with such classical abodes. Hence it is not surpris- 
 ing if their assertion of enjoying the sweet Peninsula 
 be nothing more than a lie to cloak their vanity and
 
 OPPOSITION. 41 
 
 excuse their folly for not having remained at home. 
 But Mortimer was imitating the wings of the dove, 
 in order to obtain the dove's reward. He was in 
 Italy ; and though he was constantly moving within 
 its sea and snowy limits, within those limits he was 
 assuredly at rest. He found cathedral doors ajar 
 from blue dawn until dusk, without tonitrant inter- 
 ruptions from intolerant pulpits. No imputation of 
 idolatry followed on his intercourse with painted 
 saints and angels, whom he undoubtedly worshipped. 
 Nor was any industrious finger pointed at the indo- 
 lent form which found in a sunset or a spire unrerau- 
 nerative and unexciting but sufficient employment. 
 Surrounded by men with whom courtesy is first and 
 last habit, and by women who reflect the intensity 
 of their clime without excluding its softness, he 
 found society as indulgent of his tastes as were even 
 nature and art. He read and looked and lived for 
 reading, looking, and living's sake, and entirely 
 without any ulterior design. So that though his 
 knowledge was extensive, and his experience of 
 human nature vast and various, they served but to 
 leave him happy, not to equip him for any accom- 
 plishment. It would have been difficult for a young
 
 42 AN artist's proof. 
 
 man's mind to be better stocked to less purpose. In 
 England or France he would have been almost as 
 much in everybody's way as he would have found 
 everybody in his. But one who united the manly 
 graces of a northern person to the dreamy dilettante- 
 isra of a southern mind was sure to be dear to the 
 Italian eye. ' Mio euro ' in every masculine mouth, 
 I fear he was ' mio diletto ' in many feminine breasts. 
 Unlike their more northern sisters, who are rarely 
 ever liberal unless they intend to be permanently 
 exacting, they found in his occasional society, as he 
 in theirs, a final compensation. Having treated him 
 with generosity while he stayed, they did not upbraid 
 him when he was compelled to leave. The senti- 
 mental regret felt by both was tinged with no 
 remorse for either. He had never pretended vio- 
 lently to love, but had never for a moment ceased to 
 be respectful. His attachments, as his reading and 
 the rest of his existence, never influenced by sordid 
 motives, nor exasperated by laborious passion, could 
 be exchanged for fresh ones equally gracious, but 
 could never be degraded below the dignified level 
 of themselves. He was not in the least spoiled, 
 provided that he could remain where he was. But
 
 OPPOSITION. 43 
 
 for society, more corrupt since more correct, be was 
 spoiled — the timid would have feared irretrievably. 
 It was certainly Mr. Dyneley's wish that he 
 should remain in London. At first Mortimer did 
 his best to be entertained. But there is no trying so 
 certain to fail as the trying to enjoy in the teeth of 
 one's tastes. The society that on his arrival he found 
 simply dull, he soon felt to be altogether intolerable. 
 What it dignifies with the title of ' amusements,' 
 though he did not find them amusing, he might have 
 learned to endure, if among the spectators he had been 
 able to discover any with a capacity for less artificial 
 and more genial pastimes. But between women of 
 the middle-class who, it seemed to him, had no man- 
 ners, and those of the upper classes who had nothing 
 else, he encountered an alternative but no choice. 
 Finished falsehood is a bad thing ; but uncultivated 
 nature is, if not worse, at least more disagreeable. 
 And the internal simplicity united to external polish 
 which had fascinated him in Italv, lie looked for in 
 vain at home. Too fastidious to be satisfied with 
 the gestures of a bourgeoise, and too honest to be 
 content without the heart of a patrician, he was not 
 likely to find in a society where plutocrats want to
 
 44 AN artist's proof. 
 
 be aristocrats, and aristocrats want to be plutocrats, 
 companionship such as he desired. So. whilst never 
 absenting himself from Mr. Dyneley's dinner parties, 
 and occasionally putting in an appearance at other 
 gatherings, where the old man's vanity demanded 
 the concession, he soon ceased to be prominent in 
 circles which his cousin was good enough to assure 
 him he would at present ornament, and shrewd 
 enough to impress upon him he would some day find 
 of use. And without abandoning or closing his 
 rooms in town, he established himself about twenty 
 miles from it, in a spot where, the morning after the 
 scene described in the first chapter, we find him 
 indolently stretched upon the lawn. 
 
 Few establishments, large or small, convey any 
 idea of the character of their owners, except in 
 their inconsistency and incompleteness. Gracewood 
 Cottage was Mortimer Dyneley reproduced in 
 flower-bed, gravel-path, stable-yard, hayrick, dining- 
 table, every conceivable part and parcel of his small 
 but comprehensive home. There was no portrait 
 of him on the walls ; but he looked at you from 
 every panel, spoke to you from every curtain-fold, 
 and warned you from every climbing rose. Every-
 
 OPPOSITION. 45 
 
 thing was finished ; nothing was being done. And 
 I defy the scrutiny of the most critical to point out 
 anything that needed doing. But there was no 
 more a single costly article of furniture than there 
 was a single inelesjant one : luxurious baubles were 
 as absent as clumsy chairs. If his was the house 
 of a Sybarite, at least it was the house of a manly 
 Sybarite. There was an absence of crumples ; but 
 he lay upon something more masculine than rose- 
 leaves. The garden and orchard were in keeping 
 with the cottage : tiny but complete, the perfection 
 of grace, the despair of ostentation. They could 
 not have been more hemmed in by trees had they 
 been cleared out of an Amazonian forest; and the 
 hum of their insects or the twitter of their birds 
 was as incessant as if they were. 
 
 How, it may be wondered, had he got it, or the 
 money which must have gone to the making of it ? 
 In an age of costly blunders, the question may be 
 imderstood and forgiven. But the answer is easy. 
 Thirty years before, it had been, if not so lovely as 
 now, a place withal of singular beauty. But the 
 combined, or rather rival, meanness of its landlord 
 and its tenant had ended in obliterating to all but
 
 46 AN artist's proof. 
 
 the deep-seeing nearly all its charms; and when 
 Mortimer, on his return from abroad, had accident- 
 ally stumbled on it, he found a wilderness with 
 which, though now offered for a rental of 601. per 
 annum, nobody would venture to grapple. He 
 saw at a glance that Nature had done everything 
 she could for the tiny nook ; and he had the most 
 complete competence in his power to do the rest. 
 He was not a good financier ; but regarding debt 
 as a sort of disorder, he was offended by it accord- 
 ingly, and no more allowed it than any other ugly 
 thing to fasten itself on his life. And it was not 
 till aftei" he had satisfied himself that the 900Z. 
 left him by his father would repair and furnish 
 the modest though neglected paradise which a 
 fishing expedition had presented to his gaze and 
 talents, that he resolved upon applying for a lease. 
 He felt that he could not spend the slight legacy 
 with more piety to his parent or more benefit to 
 himself. As long as the 500/. a-year allowed him 
 by Mr. Dyneley remained 500Z. a-year, upon that 
 sum his bachelor establishment could well be main- 
 tained. If some home appointment were to increase 
 his income, Gracevvood would still content his
 
 OPPOSITION. 47 
 
 country desires. If some foreign appointment sent 
 liim abroad, and he were obliged to sublet, a certain 
 rental of 130/. would only further prove the wisdom 
 of his choice. 
 
 I shall quickly forgive, but must as quickly un- 
 deceive, any of my readers wjio have been led to 
 imagine, from the whispered sentences which passed 
 between Mortimer and Miss Chesterton, that they 
 were upon a footing of furtive intimacy, and that 
 pre-arranged rides were weekly, if not more fre- 
 (pient, occurrences. Their bridles had never yet 
 hung side by side ; and not only was this the first 
 time she had acceded to, but also the very first that 
 he had made this or any such suggestion. Her 
 father had been one of 'Jack Dyneley's' chums in 
 the days gone by, and had welcomed the son, on 
 first meeting him after his return from Italy, with 
 a cordiality partly due to the pleasant memories 
 connected with the dead man, and partly prompted 
 l)y the pleasant manners of his living representative. 
 For a time, Mortimer, residing exclusively in town, 
 could but rarely avail himself of invitations often 
 and pressingly given ; but when, upon taking up 
 his quarters at Gracewood, he found himself but
 
 4S AN artist's proof. 
 
 ten short miles from the Priory, he had no excuse 
 for not reciprocating such kind offers of hospi- 
 tality. Still, for a time, he went but seldom. He 
 took at first an instinctive though by no means 
 intense dislike to the hostess, and did not find the 
 host or his present circle particularly entertaining. 
 He did not fail to be stricken, even on a first brief 
 call, with the visible elegance of the daughter, 
 though then but little turned of sixteen. But the 
 interest excited by her appearance was not deep- 
 ened or even maintained by the excessive supineness 
 of her behaviour ; and even when, after a longer 
 acquaintance, he began to have some glimpse of 
 how matters stood in that well-behaved establish- 
 ment, he did not see enough to make him decide 
 whether the silent passiveness of her conduct were 
 wholly due to the active repression of her mother, 
 or partly to her own lack of intelligence. A mere 
 accident gave him the opportunity of solving a 
 doubt which, it must be owned, had given him but 
 little trouble. Indeed, he had come indolently to 
 * regret that a thing so fair should be so raeanins;- 
 less. But riding over one Sunday evening, some 
 seven or eight months since, more to make up for
 
 OPPOSITION. 49 
 
 long negligence in calling than with any pleasant 
 anticipations, he found Miss Chesterton just returned 
 from Divine service and alone. Her papa and 
 mamma, she said, had walked on with some friends 
 from the church-door, and would doubtless be home 
 shortly. Shortly, however, they did not return ; 
 and the good three quarters of an hour during 
 which Mortimer awaited their advent gave him 
 ample time to discover, without being told a word 
 of, what he had once or twice been inclined to 
 imagine, but had afterwards discarded as not 
 proven and altogether improbable. 
 
 He now scarce knew at which to wonder more, 
 whether the sweet timidity or the conversational 
 ease, neither of which she had ever displayed when 
 others were (as they had hitherto always been) 
 hard by, but both of which she manifested now 
 that there were no other eyes but his to encounter. 
 Her expression of regret that her parents were not 
 there to receive him, was evidently unaffected ; but 
 the gracious interest with which she listened, and 
 the finished intelligence with which she replied, 
 joined to the appropriate modesty of her looks and 
 gestures, made it impossible for him to join his 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 AN artist's proof. 
 
 regrets to hers ; and when, after half-an-hour had 
 elapsed they still did not appear, he could not resist 
 the temptation of replying to her reiterated assurance 
 of being sorry, by the frank assurance that he was 
 not. It was quite evident that, though she was 
 allowing herself to do her best to entertain him, she 
 was troubled with the fear that she was quite 
 incapable of doing so ; and it was perhaps only by 
 the pleasure she at last began to feel in listening to 
 him, that she permitted herself to hope that he was 
 not bored by talking to her. But her companion 
 was not the man to be long charmed with a woman 
 without, however unintentionally, letting her per- 
 ceive it; and the courteous regard which she had 
 exdted in his manner, had succeeded in raising her 
 self-esteem to a pleasurable height never before 
 attained, when the shutting of a gate and approach- 
 ing footsteps on the gravel sent it down to its usual 
 moderate level. 
 
 You cannot give too much credit to people for 
 honesty ; you cannot give too little to them for 
 sense. Only by confidence can you make and keep 
 them straightforward ; only by suspicious alarm can 
 you guard against their stupidity.
 
 OPPOSITION. 51 
 
 Mrs. Thatch] ey was of a difFerent opinion. She 
 took as little precaution against folly as is usual 
 with people who are not over-wise themselves ; but 
 if anybody ever deceived her, it was not because 
 she ever wittingly gave them an opportunity. She 
 controlled herself sufficiently for the moment, to 
 be as civil to Mortimer as usual ; but Isabelle, 
 whose manner and speech on her arrival assumed 
 their wonted reserve, was made that night to pay 
 the sharp penalty of severe reproof, and ever after 
 even the persistent penalty of increased supervision. 
 The fact that the unexpected visitor had seen the 
 young lady on the lawn as the servant opened hira 
 the garden gate, and had walked straight up to her 
 without more ado, did not prevent the discharge of 
 a domestic, or lessen the acerbity of Mrs. Thatch- 
 ley's rebukes. To these last no answer was made, 
 until the word ' indelicate ' having been uttered v/ith 
 calm but cruel emphasis, the poor girl replied by 
 leaving the room, and seeking in her own the poor 
 consolation of maidenly tears. Nor did Mortimer 
 fare very much better. For the nonce, as I said, 
 Mrs. Thatchley was wontedly civil ; but she was never 
 again anything more. At last he had discovered a
 
 62 AN artist's proof. 
 
 reason beyond that of courtesy for visiting the 
 Priory, but only by an incident which gave her 
 reason to receive him with scarcely that. He had 
 once been alone with Isabelle, and was henceforward 
 mistrusted. How could she tell what had passed 
 between them? She knew nothing, so imagined 
 everything. She was completely in the dark, and 
 therefore stumbled in her groping against every 
 awkward possibility. Nearly an hour's freedom 
 had been permitted to one whom she had ruled 
 for twelve years with rigorous surveillance, and she 
 would never forgive anybody who had part in the 
 momentary emancipation. And so the servant 
 who had answered the bell was dismissed : Mor- 
 timer had to ring it three times out of four 
 without Mrs. Thatchley being at home ; and on 
 the fourth time, if he gained admittance, the chief 
 object of his visit was sent to ' practise,' or kept out 
 of the way on some trivial excuse if the father was 
 present, and if he was not, on none. At first Morti- 
 mer was ready to believe the ' not at home ' purely 
 accidental ; but the frequency of its occurrence, 
 joined to the altered welcome even from Mr. 
 Chesterton, when he icas admitted, ended by con-
 
 OPPOSITION. 53 
 
 vincing him of the existence of design. Design 
 could not have been more injudicious. It was 
 scarcely probable that a young fellow who, Heaven 
 knows, had mixed pretty freely with a fair number 
 of accomplished women in his time, would have 
 given very many thoughts to the agreeable impres- 
 sions of an accidental interview, unless that inter- 
 view were repeated under circumstances equally 
 favourable. To have prevented this would perhaps 
 have been wise, if we grant Mrs. Thatchley's 
 views ; but to guard rigidly against the chance of 
 her daughter ever again being one moment alone 
 with Mr. Dyneley, was too marked a proceeding 
 not to be noticed by both ; and could only succeed 
 in giving to the one solitary and successful conver- 
 sation a permanent importance which other tetes-a- 
 tetes, shorter and not so happy, might have gradually 
 removed. As it was, the more stupid Isabelle 
 seemed, the more entertaining Mortimer felt con- 
 vinced she could be ; and after every dull call or 
 laborious conversation, he only fell back upon the 
 reminiscence of the one protracted commune, when 
 words were nowise wanting, and their value was 
 enhanced by youthful spontaneity. Till, at last, the
 
 54 AN artist's proof. 
 
 interview, which had made on him a pleasant, but 
 by no means deep impression, grew by not being 
 again repeated, but being sedulously prevented, into 
 a matter of considerable importance ; and after 
 what Mrs. Thatchley deemed a six months' most 
 successful defence, during which Dyneley had not 
 entered the Priory gates above five times, and had 
 each time been so encountered as to be convinced 
 that he might enter five hundred without any 
 chance of change in the mother's welcome or the 
 daughter's demeanour, he came to consider himself 
 as a sort of travelled Perseus, commissioned to 
 liberate from domestic chains a most unfortunate 
 Andromeda. 
 
 With his first positive step towards her emanci- 
 pation we are already acquainted. But it is im- 
 possible to do more than divine the indefinite 
 nothings which had induced Mortimer to take it, 
 and given him the complete certainty that it would 
 be successful. Without being the least conceited 
 in such matters, he had been too great a 
 favourite with the only people whose favour he 
 would ever have thought of wanting, to be 
 at all diffident in his address with women. Still
 
 OPPOSITION. 55 
 
 he was not the man to run the risk of a rebuff, just 
 as he was not the man, if so rebuffed, to make a 
 second trial. How then had he acquired the surety 
 that, without a prior word on the subject, Miss 
 Chesterton would accede to his request, or rather 
 command, that she should ride at place and time of 
 his appointment ? 
 
 Ah ! thou shrivelled duenna, love, and even that 
 indefinable sentiment which is not yet love and will 
 perhaps never become such, has an immaterial 
 sense which waxes all the finer in proportion to the 
 grossness of material obstacles. And, though I 
 declare that nothing tangible or tellable had hap- 
 pened between them from that Sabbath eve seven 
 or eight months ago till that hurried under-tone 
 which we at least overheard, the one was no more 
 surprised at the authoritative whisper than the other 
 at the obedient response. 
 
 So that with a mixed sense of triumph over Mrs. 
 Thatchley's machinery for the maintenance of a 
 cool domestic despotism, of vengeance for all the 
 tens of miles she had made him ride backwards and 
 forwards for nothing, and of high moral responsi-
 
 56 AN ARTISTES PEOOF. 
 
 bility as the vindicator of maidenhood's right to 
 reasonable liberty, he quietly awaited among his 
 books on the lawn the announcement by a tidy but 
 modest-looking little Phyllis that his horse stood 
 caparisoned at the door.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 All the home counties are beautiful, and Alwood- 
 ley Chase is in one of them. It lies five miles the 
 London side of Beadon Priory, and therefore fifteen 
 from Gracewood. But Mortimer had covered too 
 many hundred leagues on horseback in his con- 
 tinental wanderings, and was now far too satis- 
 factorily mounted, to regret that he had not named 
 a nearer rendezvous. He knew that, on Tuesdays 
 and Thursdays, Mr. Chesterton went up to town 
 to attend the Board Meetings of a Charitable 
 Trust which counted him among its directors, 
 and that on those days alone was there any 
 chance of his daughter being accompanied only 
 by old Jeff. He knew further that the direction 
 of her rides on these last occasions would be the 
 subject of close inquiry, and that suspicion might 
 be aroused in that vigilant breast at home if the 
 direction were ever so little in that of his cottage.
 
 58 AN APwTIST's pp.oof. 
 
 More glorious English May morning never glis- 
 tened over spring more complete. From wheat 
 fields, green, young, and strong, from meadows 
 turned by full-blazoned buttercups to gorgeous 
 cloth of gold, lark followed lark up to heaven, in 
 eddies of perpetual music. The cuckoo's alliter- 
 ative call scarcely ever ceased in blossoming hedge- 
 row or bright green copse. The lilacs were only 
 just beginning to wear a slightly diminished glory, 
 and the apple-bloom still lingered white-and-pink 
 in orchards sheltered from the breeze. But the 
 laburnum had hung out every available tassel, and 
 the lanes were red and white for miles with the 
 luscious incumbrance of intoxicating may. Fret- 
 fully anticipating its month not yet arrived, the 
 wild rose here and there at distant intervals had 
 broken into rebellious flower, herald of the pro- 
 fusion June held in store, when her gay fore- 
 runner's glories should have silently dropped away. 
 
 But these were now supreme ; and on and on 
 through their splendid territory rode delighted 
 Mortimer, neither drawing rein nor urging spur. 
 The dark bay filly knew her owner's pace, and 
 never once slackened stride or hurried it ; so that
 
 OPPOSITION. 59 
 
 two sharp hours brought them well up to the 
 outskirts of the Chase. 
 
 He knew that he was all in good time ; so he let 
 the bridle hang loosely on her neck, as they quietly 
 threaded the mazes of the redecorated woodland. 
 Here and there were dark -brown peaty pools, and 
 ever and anon interspaces overgrown with thriving 
 bracken. The ground in some places was soft with 
 last year's leaves and this year's rain, but for the 
 most part was firm and even to the hoof as loiterer 
 could desire. Right athwart the Chase was a 
 broad, well cleared path, from which branched 
 off interminable ways which none but those who 
 knew the compass and were indifferent to stray 
 boughs need attempt. Into these last, however, 
 Mortimer advanced, but never too far to be out of 
 hearing of a gallop along the first, nor to break 
 out upon the rider whose advent the sound might 
 possibly announce. 
 
 It is difficult to decide whether waiting for a 
 person whom you do want to see, or for a person 
 whom you do not, be the more provocative of 
 impatience. But it seemed as if he had made up 
 his mind to be kept expecting, without allowing
 
 60 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 himself to be anxious. It was philosophic, and it 
 was wise. He had himself named two days ; and 
 the answer he had received — the very best he could 
 have anticipated — was only, ' If I can.' So that he 
 quite recognized the possibility, which he tried (for 
 the sake of his own ultimate comfort), but utterly 
 failed (in the teeth of his wishes), to persuade him- 
 self was the probability, that she would not be able 
 to come either day. He dismounted, seated him- 
 self on a mossy stump, drew from his pocket a tiny 
 volume, and deceived himself into the idea that 
 he was reading Petrarch's ' Trionfo d'Amore.' I 
 should not like to be read with so little attention. 
 He was awake to every sound, and mistook more 
 than once a peripatetic donkey, and more than 
 twice a gipsy's vagrant colt for the sound of the 
 hoofs that, though it was getting on to two p. m., 
 withal approached not. The less likely it became 
 that the fair Amazon would ride that way, the more 
 he pretended to be immersed in his book, but the 
 more did he become the sport of every sound and 
 motion. Well, he would stay till half-past two, 
 and then he would go. He had said ' morning,' 
 and morning was surely over. Still it was an in-
 
 OPPOSITION. 61 
 
 definite word ; and as it was now half-past two, he 
 would read (?) another ' capitolo,' and so while 
 away the time till three. Surely that was a hoof? 
 Not a bit of it. Hang it, then he would go. And 
 he leaped into the saddle, and emerged into the 
 broad grassy path, still to hear no warning stamp, 
 but at any rate to see coming at gay speed along 
 its right extremity something — then two somethings 
 — which represented people on horseback, or the 
 devil was in it. He broke into a gallop. Every 
 second told. Horses, certainly. Riders too, now, 
 for that matter. Yes, a lady's habit. And — a 
 groom. And no other, clear as day, than Miss 
 Chesterton and old Jeff. 
 
 Her eyes were fully as good as Mortimer's ; and 
 she checked the stride of her thorough-bred roan 
 the moment that she recognized his approach. But 
 though, when he was near enough for her to answer 
 his lifted hat, lowered after continental fashion to his 
 knee, with a slight but gracious inclination wliolly 
 English, the flanks of the brave young steed showed 
 not the faintest symptoms of distress, yet the spume- 
 flakes which dotted the martingale, and the glow 
 which infused her countenance but to heighten
 
 62 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 its charm, betrayed the pace at which five miles had 
 just been annihilated. Her light-grey habit which 
 Mrs. Thatchley had ordered because she imagined 
 it to be quiet and more becoming a ' child,' but 
 which only brought out more vividly the soft but 
 consummated outline of the girlish form, fitted her 
 like a sheath, and the graceful curves of her simple 
 hat, whilst saving from the sun's invasion that 
 delicate and precious complexion, left perfect 
 freedom of display to the rival lustre of her golden 
 hair. 
 
 ' So delighted to have met you,' Mortimer began 
 at once, avoiding with prepared tact any allusion 
 to her evidently having ridden fast or to the long 
 ordeal of waiting through which he had gone — 
 for this would have implied an appointment which 
 it was now more delicate to ignore. ' So delighted 
 to have met you. See how diligently I was 
 employed ! ' And he held out the pocket volume. 
 ' I was reading Petrarch. You know Italian ? ' 
 
 ' Just a little.' 
 
 ' Then you should read his " Canzoni," These 
 sunny days, you see, send me to the sweet southern 
 tongue, and bring back all my southern memories.
 
 OPPOSITION. 63 
 
 At least, when I am alone. Now, I can forget 
 both.' 
 
 * It is only when we are present, then, Mr. 
 Dyneley, that we poor English have a chance of 
 being remembered.' 
 
 ' Were your conclusion,' he answered, charmed 
 with the intelligence of her rapid reply, ' as true as it 
 is skilful, you at least ought to be but rarely in my 
 mind. You have the best of the argument, but — ' 
 'No — if I have it, let me keep it. I triumph 
 so seldom. That little book, I doubt not, is a 
 charming companion for quiet summer days; but, 
 do you know, you must not interfere with my 
 reading. I followed your last recommendation ; but 
 had not got through half of the "Pot of Basil," 
 before I was bidden to replace it in the library.' 
 
 He uttered a slight sound of impatience, but 
 only gave articulate utterance to a quiet ' I suppose 
 so.' Immediately, he continued, ' It must be eight 
 months, or nearly, since I recommended you to 
 read Keats, or had the opportunity of recommending 
 you to read or do anything. My visits at the 
 Priory have sunk into a form, and pardon my 
 frankness if I add, into a very stupid one.'
 
 64 AN artist's proof. 
 
 ' Quefaire'^^ she answered, with a pretty laugh 
 and an almost imperceptible shrug of her graceful 
 shoulders. ' I would try to amuse you, if I — well, 
 yes — if I dare. But would you not rather see me 
 silent' — and again she gave a tiny laugh — 'than 
 snubbed ? I am not fond of being crushed ; are 
 you?' 
 
 ' I never am,' he answered swiftly and savagely. 
 ' But pardon my rough reply ; I do not for one 
 moment mean to accuse you of weakness, or of 
 anything else indeed. That you are not stupid, I 
 once had an opportunity of judging ; since then, I 
 have never had, and it would seem never again 
 am to have, an opportunity of judging of anything 
 concerning you. Yet that one occasion, combined 
 with the constant care taken against its repetition, 
 assisted me to form a pretty strong, if not a sound 
 conclusion. Miss Chesterton, as to your entire 
 position.' 
 
 ' Do you envy it ? ' 
 
 ' I profoundly commiserate it' He placed his 
 bridle-hand heavily on her pommel. 'May I be 
 very frank ? ' 
 
 ' As frank as ever you like.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 65 
 
 ' As frank as elder brother, or friend from the 
 cradle ? ' 
 
 'Am I likely to refuse such an offer?' she said, 
 with a tinge of sadness in her clear soft voice. ' I 
 shall never have the first ; and the second or any- 
 thing resembling it I have begun to despair of 
 meeting. You will have difficulty in saying any- 
 thing frank, — since I am sure it will, even if severe, 
 be kindly meant, — for which I shall not be grateful.' 
 
 ' I was going to ask a question.' 
 
 ' Ask it, Mr. Dyneley,' she said quietly. 
 
 ' How much do you love your — mother ? ' 
 
 ' Not at all. ' 
 
 ' And your father ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! boundlessly.' 
 
 ' Do you care for anybody else ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; ' and she raised her riding-whip and 
 pointed over her shoulder. ' For Jeff.' 
 
 ' Poverina ! ' It was better than ' poor child ' in 
 blunt English, and she equally understood it. There 
 was silence, save the sound of the quiet hoofs on the 
 soft turf and the jingle of bits when the horses 
 brought their nostrils lovingly together. She was 
 the first to speak. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 66 AN artist's proof. 
 
 * Do you want me to tell you more, Mr. Dyneley, 
 than you have asked ? You are so kind that, if you 
 wish it, I will.' 
 
 'Tell me, please.' 
 
 ' Yet what shall I tell you? How much, or how 
 little ? Of a childhood all tears, and a girlhood all 
 suppression? Of a spirit that would not be sub- 
 dued, because too young and high to calculate the 
 chances of successful resistance ? Or of a sense 
 that, coming at last, but even then premature, 
 feigned a submission for peace's sake, w'hich has at 
 last become a habit ? Is not that enough ? And yet 
 is it, after all, more than you had already discerned ?.' 
 
 ' Nor more, nor less,' he answered, bitterly. ' I 
 
 know enough of your past, and do not want you 
 to inflict torture on me by unnecessarily relating 
 your own. But may my frankness extend to your 
 future ? ' 
 
 *It really had not occurred to me, I declare' — 
 again she laughed, though sweetly — 'that I had one.' 
 
 ' Have your made up your mind, then, to go on 
 submitting to the end, be the end what it may ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 'In everything? '
 
 OPPOSITION. / 67 
 
 She did not answer, as before, all at once ; but 
 when she did, the answer was — 
 
 ' In everything.' 
 
 Again there was a pause ; but this time he was 
 the first to break it. 
 
 'You make no exception. Yet, perhaps, you 
 would make it if I named it. Remember — I was 
 to be as frank as ever I liked.' 
 
 ' Quite so.' 
 
 ' Then, making no exception to your law of sub- 
 mission in everything, you will marry according to 
 order ? ' 
 
 ' Never ! ' she broke out vehemently, and without 
 a second's hesitation. ' I will never marry where I 
 do not love ! ' 
 
 The fleeciest of summer cloudlets momentarily 
 netted the sun, which instantly regained its freedom. 
 But brief as had been the cold obstruction, the 
 beechen leaves had shivered and the roan started 
 at their sudden emotion. Her hand was as light 
 as her seat was firm ; and no more than Mortimer 
 did she notice the trivial occurrence. But the days 
 were coming when the shudder of those beechen 
 leaves and the swerve of her sensitive steed would
 
 68 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 haunt her ears at least, and set her limbs at least 
 a-tremble with a cruel iteration never to be exor- 
 cised. But now she only continued in a tone so 
 trenchant, though still subdued, that you would 
 have thought the words were issuing from his lips, 
 not hers: — 
 
 ' See, Mr. Dyneley ; it was not necessary — perhaps 
 it would have been difficult, or possibly unbecoming 
 • — for me to name this one only exception which you, 
 however, were fully justified, by my glad concession 
 to you of frankness, to extort. But do not doubt 
 that I have long since asked myself every question 
 which you can ask upon the subject. After years 
 of young, stubborn, unreasoning resistance I gave 
 in, or seemed to give in, to a will more powerful 
 than mine. Not more powerful because it is 
 stronger, but because it is — as mine is not — wholly 
 indifferent to peace. We may do tolerably without 
 many things in life, but calm grace is necessary for 
 mine.' 
 
 He started, as well he might start. She was the 
 first person that had told him, however unintention- 
 ally and unconsciously, his own secret. In exposing 
 what she imagined was her own predominant disease,
 
 OPPOSITION. 69 
 
 she had most certainly declared his. He felt that 
 he knew himself better after that brief epitome of 
 the ' necessaries of life.' 
 
 ' Yet,' she went on, not regarding his stare of 
 curious admiration, ' though the grace may possibly 
 still be retained, the calmness will have to go if the 
 challenge extends to compulsory marriage. Till 
 then I will not even skirmish. If it comes to that, 
 I will fight to the death.' 
 
 ' It will come,' he said, slowly. 
 
 ' It will be time to talk further of it when it does. 
 I thank you, Mr. Dyneley, immensely ; but, for the 
 present, we have said enough.' 
 
 He raised his hat. 
 
 ' Your wish is sufficient, your gratitude unmerited. 
 But if imaginary obligation — for from you to me 
 there can never henceforward be a real one — be 
 not too burdensome for your generosity to bear, 
 should you ever want fidelity at need, I will go 
 through all the elements to serve you.' 
 
 She looked at him hard, and then replied, ' I 
 believe you.' 
 
 Again there was silence. It was scarcely won- 
 derful. At length he stretched out his right arm,
 
 70 AN artist's proof. 
 
 and extending his chest, let the hand drop again to 
 his side, and said, — 
 
 ' God knows I never wittingly tempted man or 
 woman ever so slightly astray from duty. In com- 
 ing here this day my conscience more than acquits 
 me. But conscience cannot be vicarious ; and if 
 yours. Miss Chesterton, upbraids you, do not repeat 
 what you do not approve.' 
 
 ' I feel fully justified.' 
 
 ' I am glad of it. And you have doubtless been 
 accused wrongly so long and so often that you must 
 necessarily have come to have either a very fine moral 
 sense or none at all. That you have the first I am 
 certain, and I am consoled in having it, in this 
 matter, as the endorser of mine. On Tuesdays and 
 Thursdays I shall often be here. The rest I leave 
 to your wishes, your judgment, and your con- 
 venience.' 
 
 ' Thanks. Now I must say Good-bye.' 
 
 * Good-bye. But won't you take Petrarch ? ' 
 
 ' Where would be the use ? My very pillow is 
 not sacred from search. No. Good-bye. 
 
 She gave her little hand, and lightly bounded 
 away. Jeff, touching his hat, trotted rapidly after,
 
 OPPOSITION. 71 
 
 and Mortimer was left to fifteen miles of solitary, 
 but not altogether unsatisfactory, reflection. 
 
 The day ended as it had begun, in song and 
 sunshine ; but the full May-moon permitted no 
 regret that its glories had graciously yielded to 
 the softer supremacy of night. The Inst puff of 
 the last after-dinner cigar trailed away among 
 the foliage ; and Gracewood's young lord strolled 
 leisurely across the grass-plat, under the arch of 
 yellow motionless laburnums, through the wicket- 
 gate into the deep moist grass of the just deflowered 
 orchard, and sat himself musingly on the stile at its 
 extremity. Around him were woods and meadows ; 
 above him, the liquid heaven ; below him, was his 
 snugly-nestled home. At distant intervals the corn- 
 crake croaked sharp in some neighbouring field, and 
 occasionally a big white owl would startle the air ; 
 but the long silvery flow, followed by the short 
 quick ripple, of the nightingale's lament, never for 
 an instant ceased. It was not a night to be alone. 
 Society would have been an injury, if not an insult ; 
 but Mortimer would not have been of your flesh 
 and blood or mine, if at such a moment he had not 
 felt the necessity for ' another.'
 
 72 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 He had never yet loved, and he did not love 
 now. Older here at twenty-four, in almost every 
 social experience than the more experienced usually 
 become at forty, and the less experienced ever 
 become at all, he was in genuine amorous sentiment 
 as fresh as Hylas himself. What we may still be 
 permitted, since forced by the forms of language, 
 to call accident, now that it is recognized that in 
 an orderly universe the accidental has no place, 
 prevented him from knowing the higher, since the 
 jmrer and more profiting, phases of passion; but 
 his taste had secured him against any prolonged 
 acquaintance with the lower. He had met, and in 
 a certain sense known, the most daring and dazzling 
 of the softer sinners ; but the only women who 
 would have led him into degradation were the very 
 women who could not lead him at all ; and ifj as 
 I need not deny, his name had been mixed up, 
 since his hours had been mingled, with the pro- 
 minently frail of that southern land whose shores 
 are yet hugged by syrens, it was that his ears 
 needed not the wax requisite to save the more 
 ' vulgar mariner, but that, like Ulysses, he could 
 securely chug to the mast of his uncompromising
 
 OPPOSITION. 73 
 
 instincts. There was much in them to lure, but at 
 least as much to warn and disenchant him ; and 
 though he did not refuse them an appreciable share 
 of his hours of leisure, they ever after looked back 
 to his fastidious companionship as a sort of purified 
 pause and consolatory reminiscence in the thought- 
 less rush of their profligate lives. He had tasted 
 frugally of their best; their worst he had wholly 
 passed by. The beauty of their forms, the courtli- 
 ness of their array, the sportive peiil never ending 
 in disaster of their athletic conversation, he had 
 enjoyed to the full. Nor, perhaps, would it be just 
 to say that he was dead to their admiration or 
 indifferent to their esteem ; but he left unreservedly 
 to others their Dead-sea apples, their compulsory 
 venality, their unhappy rivalries, their evanescent 
 hunger, and their never-dying hate. He had no 
 vermin's taste for plunging and wallowing in their 
 deep though well-hidden mud. Swallow-like, he 
 had only skimmed their beautiful bright surface, to 
 mount up higher after the swoop ; so that now, 
 when we know him, without being in the slightest 
 degree blase, he was bitterly bad to please. 
 
 Heaven help the man, especially in these latter
 
 74 AN artist's proof. 
 
 days, who has hecome immoderately fastidious with- 
 out ceasing to be moderately virtuous. A good 
 career of vice would leave him so enamoured of 
 rectitude that innocence, even though ungarnished, 
 might possibly be mistaken for an accomplishment. 
 But what satisfaction can be found for him who, 
 though he will leave his garment in the hands of 
 the wife of Potiphar, cannot bring himself to spread 
 his coverlet over the feet of Ruth ? What avails it 
 him to be able to resist the voluptuous limbs and 
 glozing speeches of the imperial adulteress, if he 
 cannot reconcile himself to the labour-roughened 
 palms and gentile provincialisms of the unsophis- 
 ticated Moabite? In vain will the modern Noemi 
 instruct her child to wash herself and anoint her 
 and put on her best attire. The obedient devices 
 of the simple daughter of the Ephrathite mother 
 leave him as utterly unmoved as the unprompted 
 solicitations of the lustful Egyptian. 
 
 So through all last year's London season and so 
 much of this as he had been compelled to endure, 
 together with autumn experiences at the seaside 
 and winter experiences in country-houses, he had 
 passed as unscathed as through Lombard salons,
 
 OPPOSITION. 75 
 
 Tyrrhenian palaces, and Tuscan villas. He had 
 not met since his return a single woman, old or 
 young, handsome or deformed, who had excited in 
 him any the slightest personal or permanent imper- 
 sonal interest. Not till now. 
 
 And now ! He was intensely interested ; but 
 whether personally or impersonally, it would be hasty 
 to decide. It would be to do for him far more than 
 it entered into his head to do for himself. One 
 thing, however, was clear. He might not dote on the 
 daughter, but he now certainly detested the so-called 
 mother. She had herself to thank. Even Isabelle's 
 almost divine beauty would have failed to take much 
 hold of Mortimer, if to it had not been superadded 
 the fascination of a thoroughly human interest. 
 Twenty minutes' dullness would have sufficed to 
 outweigh her looks, if twenty months' experience, 
 culminating in this morning's complete avowal of 
 her position, had not occurred to more than readjust 
 the balance ; and if the days of chivalry have really 
 passed away, let us try to hope that it is more be- 
 cause dungeons and dragons have become rare 
 than because swords and arms have become craven. 
 But here was an ugly monster vomiting domestic
 
 76 AN artist's proof. 
 
 fire and brimstone, and there a piteous fair maiden 
 shoved into as dreary an oubliette as storier ever 
 wot of. And shall no lance be lifted ? If so, it is 
 high time that ' Audax omnia perpeti ' be erased 
 from Mortimer's fierce escutcheon. 
 
 So not knowing exactly how he was going to help, 
 but convinced that a little light skirmishing would 
 enable him at any rate to become better acquainted 
 with the enemy's position, he might have been seen 
 on the following Tuesday and Thursday, now loiter- 
 ing in the broad grassy path, and now exploring the 
 umbrageous intricacies, of Alwoodley Chase. But 
 by Miss Chesterton, at least, he was not seen : and 
 another week of fidelity met with only virtue's pro- 
 verbial reward. Still she came not. The same 
 light fare being repeated yet one day more, the 
 cavalier became impatient. As he had ridden 
 thirty miles five times to no purpose, he thought he 
 had better try to do something with the fifteen that 
 yet remained to him this morning and call at 
 Beadon Priory on his way home. He had not been 
 there since the day preceding that of the woodland 
 meeting ; and as that was now nearly three weeks ago, 
 he thought he could call with decency, though the
 
 OPPOSITION. i i 
 
 odds were that he would not be admitted. Mrs. 
 Thatchley, however, was ' at home.' She came 
 into the drawing-room in a rough, thick dressing- 
 gown that made Mortimer's flesh creep, praying 
 excuse for it on the score of her having ' been busy 
 packing.' 
 
 ' Certainly. Are you going up to town, then, for 
 a few days ? ' 
 
 ' O dear, no ! My brother ' — she always called 
 him her brother, as if there had been a doubt 
 about it — ' My brother does not care for London, 
 and I consider it a very worldly trivial place ; be- 
 sides Isabelle is too young to see anything of it 
 yet. We are going to Wales.' 
 
 ' Really ! For any length of time ? ' 
 
 ' No ; for four or five weeks, perhaps. We are 
 going to visit some relations of mine there. I have 
 been dreadfully busy ; but as we were going away, 
 of course I came down to see you to say good-bye, 
 knowing you would pardon my costume. I am 
 sure you will excuse Isabelle's doing so ; she 
 is very much occupied with preparing her own 
 things. My brother has gone up to town to a 
 Meeting.'
 
 78 AN artist's proof. 
 
 And so on ; and so on. 
 
 It was quite evident to Mortimer that if he sat 
 on the ottoman till the crack of doom, his eyes 
 would be regaled that day with nothing more re- 
 freshing than Mrs. Thatchley in her he-did-not- 
 know-what-material dressing-gown. So outwardly 
 wishing her a pleasant journey to Wales, but in- 
 wardly wishing her an unpleasant one to another 
 celebrated principality, he bade her adieu, vaulted 
 into the saddle, and galloped off to Gracewood. 
 One thing he thought was clear, — the meeting in 
 the Chase, though not repeated, had not been men- 
 tioned or discovered. As for anything else, conjec- 
 ture was unwise, since it might be mistaken, and 
 must be barren. How much had he taken by his 
 skirmishing ? 
 
 So the stock-doves coo, and the woodbine deftly 
 climbs in Alwoodley ; but the stride of the roan 
 smites not the short soft turf, and the eye of the 
 dark bay filly looks aside in vain for the proud 
 arched neck she has not, withal, forgotten.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The sun is down, but much of the light and all of 
 the heat of day still linger in the London streets. 
 Omnibuses are fewer, and cabs are not so many, 
 on the hard rough thoroughfare ; but though hours 
 of business are long since over, and the legs of 
 householders are mostly stretched under stout 
 mahogany or on reposeful hearth, the pavement 
 seems busy almost as at noon. The crowd of these 
 later hours, however, is pleasanter to look on, 
 especially in that most picturesque and interesting 
 of London ways, the very Via Sacra of the English 
 capital, the historic and still dramatic Strand. Not 
 even the dog-days balk these lively Metropolitans 
 of their Thespian amusements, and the dog-days 
 have not yet come ; so they hold small congresses, 
 while the clock of St. Clement's or St. Martin's has 
 not yet stricken nine, debating which theatre shall 
 be patronized by their favour, when half-price shall
 
 80 AN artist's proof. , 
 
 have tolled. Their decision and disappearance 
 slightly thin the street. But that prettiest prole- 
 tariate, the London milliner, that the world has 
 ever seen, still maintains the reputation of the 
 husiest city in Europe. Most of them are home- 
 wards bent, some merely loitering for the sake of 
 the urban summer night; but all are natty, and 
 quick - eyed and comely, and alive to modest 
 coquetry ; many, fresh and bonnie as dog-roses in 
 the lanes. None are slatternly ; and few, very few, 
 bear the marks of excessive toil or mercenary 
 degradation. Blessings on you, hard-working, 
 lively little maidens ! for your trim figures and 
 expressive eyes have often and often made cheerier, 
 trudging of mine along that pictorial highway, in 
 the pleasant youth now almost passed away. 
 
 I think they were the only things Mortimer 
 admired in the whole of London. He knew that 
 they worked, and they always seemed sprightly and 
 happy, and I cannot help fancying that the fact of 
 the Strand being their greatest haunt and thorough- 
 fare had unconsciously decided him in his original 
 choice of rooms. The Temple precincts were quiet 
 and semi-secluded ; but, for him, they were terribly
 
 OPPOSITION. 81 
 
 out of the way. And chambers further west would 
 have probably been his London home, had it not 
 been for faces on the road, and for Grattan 
 Horncastle, at whose oak he is now impatiently 
 thundering. 
 
 But all the hammers of Thor would not have 
 made the tenant of the fourth floor right, 6, Es- 
 cheat Court, Temple, open to their knocks, before 
 he had surveyed from his invisible watch-tower 
 the person of the boisterous invader. 
 
 ' All right, old boy !' came from somewhere ; and 
 a few seconds later, the lightest of keys opened the 
 heaviest of doors and admitted Mortimer. The 
 cheeriest welcome followed. 
 
 ' Delighted to see you, my dear fellow. I 
 thought you were never coming. I got your letters. 
 Many thanks. I will tell you all about it.' He 
 lowered his voice, as they proceeded along the 
 passage. * Not just yet. Bracebridge is here. 
 Mum before him.' Then, resuming his former 
 tone. ' Come along. Just in time for some 
 supper.' 
 
 ' Hallo ! Dyneley ! how are you ? I began to 
 think you were dead and buried. What game are 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 
 
 AN AKTISTS TEOOF. 
 
 you up to in Woodlandshirc ? O yes. Fine 
 country, flowers, cucumbers, and that sort of thing. 
 All right. We understand, don't we, Horncastle ? 
 Ha ! you fellows who've lived in Italy know how the 
 trick ought to be done. I expect there's a mighty 
 lot of heiresses down in your parts, and smaller 
 game to go on with.' And so rattled on the best 
 and unluckiest fellow that could never manage 
 to square matters with, as he thought imprac- 
 ticable, and to him certainly most inexorable, 
 Fortune. 
 
 Guy Bracebridge's father had hunted, fought, and 
 drunk in the days when hunting was fiercer and 
 fighting and drinking were more fashionable than 
 now. He still survived, though he was rarely heard 
 of except in Guy's mouth as ' that fool, my father.' 
 The accusation, not bitterly uttered and not un- 
 kindly meant, was at least wholly true. A bigger 
 fool never squandered a fortune, at no time suffici- 
 ently large to prompt or palliate a reckless pro- 
 digality. Poor devil! he did not know he was 
 spending it until it was fpent. His eldest son, who, 
 in this case with lamiistakable bitterness and no 
 touch of kindness, but with more than equal truth,
 
 OPPOSITION. 83 
 
 was always alluded to by Guy as *that scoundrel 
 my brother,' had probably made away with most of 
 it. The three younger brothers had from child- 
 hood upwards always ridden such thunderingly good 
 flesh, and drunk such thunderingly good claret, that 
 they imagined themselves great swells accordingly, 
 and fully provided for by the excellent gods. 
 Luckily, one of them was drowned in a salmon 
 stream, and another's neck was broken and life 
 hurried away over a brutal stone wall that would 
 not give and could not be cleared. And Guy, 
 alone of the three, arrived at the end of boyhood 
 to discover that nothinsf remained for him but 
 university and work. He went to college, knowing 
 literally nothing except how to make himself 
 popular without trying. This excessive popularity 
 got him rusticated at Oxford, plucked at Cam- 
 bridge, and considerable worthless experience at 
 Bonn. On his return from Germany, he obtained, 
 through the influence of the county member, a 
 clerkship in a Government office, and through the 
 same instrumentality, a better appointment in the 
 commissariat accompanying one of our ever-re- 
 curring eastern expeditions. This last was soon
 
 84 AN artist's proof. 
 
 over ; and Bracebridge returned to find his patron's 
 seat vacated by death, and his former clerkship 
 filled up. Thrown again on his own resources, 
 he was almost glad to hear that his father had 
 entered upon a Chancery suit, by which most of 
 his property was to be recovered, and that as the 
 suit would be likely to last some time, he was to 
 enter at Lincoln's Inn, and get called to the Bar 
 before this splendid chance of business passed away. 
 He kept his first term. A decision was obtained 
 in his father's favour. Four more terms had been 
 kept. A fresh decision, scarcely so favourable, 
 was given ; and the other side ofl'ered a compromise. 
 Mr, Bracebridge was urged, by his leading counsel, 
 on no account to accept it. Guy had completed his 
 second year of probation, but was doomed not to 
 hold his first brief in the great family suit. That, 
 however, was a small matter, if the case were won. 
 It came on for final hearing before the House of 
 Lords. In the meantime the leading counsel, who 
 had scouted all notion of compromise, had been 
 raised to the woolsack, and Guy was dead certain 
 what the decision must be. Imagine his horror, 
 when his lordship decided for the other side, against
 
 OPPOSITION. 85 
 
 which he had originally been employed as advocate, 
 and from whom he would hear of no offer of com- 
 promise, and concluded his judgment with the re- 
 mark that the claim was so preposterous, it ought 
 never to have been made. Such was Guy Brace- 
 bridge's story, at least ; an extraordinary one, as 
 indeed were all his stories. At any rate, he was 
 • never known to lie. The explanation is probably to 
 be found in the fact that, though he was incapable 
 of wittingly telling the wrong story, he was almost 
 equally incapable of getting hold of the right one. 
 The result was, that his father had to scrape to- 
 gether every tangible shilling in order to pay the 
 costs, and had not a farthing left wherewith to con- 
 tinue Guy's legal education, A couple of hundred 
 pounds would have sufficed for as much of this as 
 tender-hearted benchers used then to require, viz. 
 to pay his call fees, and for as many dinners as 
 remained to be eaten. Those dinners had never 
 been eaten to this day. Old Bracebridge kept up 
 as decent an establishment as he could for himself 
 and for his daughter, whom he was too selfish to 
 allow to marry, though too poor to make really 
 comfortable. And Guy was given to understand
 
 86 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 that, now everything had fallen to pieces, he 
 must light on his legs as best he might. Then 
 it was that he became the London nondescript 
 he had since remained. He gave up society al- 
 together, protesting that he could not possibly 
 keep it up. 
 
 ' Poor men,' he would say, ' cannot afford to be 
 economical. I cannot afford to be seen in bad 
 clothes, and I cannot afford to pay for good ones. 
 The name of that scoundrel, my brother, is on the 
 back of so much paper, that I don't think there's a 
 tradesman in London would give me any credit 
 worth having ; and if they did, egad ! I don't see 
 how they would ever get paid.' Here a laugh by 
 no means saturnine or cynical, but as straight from 
 the heart as if not the speaker but quite somebody 
 else were alluded to. ' They are not such fools, I 
 can tell you. And if they were — which they are 
 not ' — (for poor Guy, being substantially the most 
 illogical talker in the world, thought it necessary to 
 be what he thought most precisely and reiteratively 
 lo^cal in form) — 'and if they were — which they 
 are not — no, and it would be very funny if they 
 were — very funny — which they are not — where
 
 OPPOSITION. 87 
 
 would be the use ? Where would be the use, 
 I say ? ' By this time he would have got lashed 
 up to his work, gesticulated freely, got dry about 
 the lips, and altogether conducted himself as 
 though his assertions had been contradicted. ' Use ! 
 Not a bit of it ! Why, I know those fellows well 
 enough — aye, and the women, too. They don't 
 like to be seen talking with a man, no matter who 
 he is, unless he's well got up, and that sort of thing. 
 There are those Culletons that my father wouldn't 
 have had in his house — wretched people — and if I 
 wanted to know them — which I don't, mind you — 
 which I don't — if I did, I say, they'd cut me, 
 or like to cut me — like to cut me at any rate. But 
 they're not going to get the chance ; for I haven't 
 got a coat to go anywhere where I should be likely 
 to meet them.' And again he laughed, as though 
 it were the best joke in the world. And certainly 
 his declamatory bonhomie made it exceedingly 
 humorous. 
 
 It must not be supposed from this that he went 
 about out at elbows, a forsaken vagabond. The man 
 was well enough dressed, and from the os frontis 
 to the tendon Achilles looked what he was, of old
 
 88 AN artist's proof. 
 
 blood, old and done for if you like, but old for all 
 that. He was a gentleman and a good fellow, and 
 ridiculously frank ; and all three were discoverable 
 in five minutes. How he made the 150Z. or so on 
 which he lived, it is impossible to define more pre- 
 cisely than by saying that he made it out of news- 
 papers and journals ; but the publications for which 
 he worked, and the kind of labour he did for them, 
 varied from day to day. He himself never varied ; 
 he was always grumbling and always jolly. A con- 
 firmed croaker, regarding and proclaiming himself 
 as ' the unluckiest beggar that ever was,' he had at 
 any rate the inexhaustible fortune of the highest 
 social spirits. He would tell you such a string of 
 woes as you never heard of before, and you would 
 come away with the impression of having had the 
 most lively and chirpy conversation of your life. 
 He, too, resided in the Inn ; but, unlike Horn- 
 castle, never by any chance sported oak. He was 
 hail-fellow-well-met with everybody, and was only 
 too glad when anybody turned up. When nobody 
 came or was to be found, he would sing a very old 
 and melancholy English ditty in a very loud and 
 lamentably flat voice, accompanying himself with
 
 OPPOSITION, 89 
 
 one thumb on a piano that must have been housed 
 in Noah's ark. As for his duns, they might come 
 as often as ever they pleased. If Guy were in luck 
 and feather, he would give them a glass of Cock 
 sherry and a merry-sad story ; were he in bad luck 
 or bothered, he would threaten to kick them down- 
 stairs this time, and never pay them at all if they 
 came another. They knew their man well enough. 
 His accounts were small, but always paid even- 
 tually. They had no fears of his honesty ; and as 
 long as they did not give excessive tether to his 
 capacity, were aware that they were all right. From 
 Mortimer he borrowed small sums for short periods 
 over and over again; but he invariably repaid 
 them to the day. He would have sold himself into 
 slavery sooner than, in such a matter, have failed 
 of his word. 
 
 Mortimer thoroughly enjoyed his friendly chaff, 
 and freely chaffed him in return. 
 
 ' It's all very well to pretend envy of my rural 
 lot; but I think I know pretty accurately where 
 the fleshpots are. They used to be in Egypt, not 
 in the wilderness ; and I question if the " cover " 
 be altered. Had there been anything in the
 
 90 AN artist's proof. 
 
 country worth yonr having, you would have been 
 down to see me long ago.' 
 
 ' Down to see you ! That's good. You're too 
 far off for a walk, and I can't go to you any other 
 way ; or I should have looked you up before now. 
 But I say, old fellow, you ought to be in town 
 more than you are.' 
 
 ' Of course he ought,' put in Horneastle, boister- 
 ously, but, like the other, in thorough earnest. 
 ' Never was there a fellow with such a chance.' 
 
 ' By Jove ! if / had such a chance — yes, or any- 
 thing like such a chance — wouldn't I stick to it ? 
 Why now, how much has your cousin got ? ' 
 
 Remember that these men — the oldest (Brace- 
 bridge) of whom was thirty, the youngest (Mortimer) 
 twenty-four — the most cordial friends possible, were 
 together and alone. 
 
 ' Oh, perhaps ten thousand a-year ? ' 
 ' Yes ; and more. Fifteen — twenty — everybody 
 says so.' Bracebridge had the completest confidence 
 in 'everybody.' ' And why shouldn't you have it? 
 Well, of course you'll have it, or ought to have it. 
 Ought to have it, I say ; and you will, if you're not 
 a d — d fool. But you ought to go there more, old
 
 OPPOSITION. 91 
 
 boy, instead of sticking in the country. I know 
 it's very pleasant ; / know all that. But then — 
 By Jove ! if I had such a chance, virhich I might 
 have had if that ruffian' — (and he named the then 
 Lord Chancellor, who had been his father's counsel, 
 and whose virtues are now engraven on marble in 
 the great Abbey) — 'if that ruffian hadn't — ' 
 
 Horncastle knew what was coming ; he had had 
 it all over again once before that evening, for the 
 fifty-seventh time ; so he shouted : 
 
 ' Supper, gentlemen ! supper ! Every delicacy 
 from every zone. What do you say, ray dear 
 fellow ? lobster or sardines ? ' And in offering an 
 alternative, he had named every one of the boasted 
 delicacies. ' Sardines from the tideless sea, and 
 the noble crawfish from our beloved native shores- 
 Brown bread of the Patent-unadulterated-never- 
 grow-stale Company, and butter equal to that of 
 Woodlandshire. The wines are not numerous, as 
 you perceive ; but the beer is from the immortal 
 Prosser's, and is abundant.' 
 
 ' The scoundrel ! Prosser. Um ! Prosser ; I 
 think I settled that fellow for a time this afternoon.' 
 And Bracebridge deftly scooped out as he spoke
 
 92 AN artist's proof. 
 
 the contents of a claw, ' Will you believe it ? it's 
 five years since I first vi'ent to that fellow, and I've 
 paid him about a fourth of my income — which 
 certainly is not large — but a fourth, a fourth.' He 
 generally paused a moment after what he thought 
 an important repetition. ' A fourth ! Well - if he 
 didn't positively refuse to send in anything more 
 if I did not pay his bill ; as if I hadn't paid his 
 bill thousands of times. Not that particular one, 
 perhaps — indeed, certainly — but any amount of 
 others.' 
 
 ' And what did you say ? ' asked Mortimer, 
 making believe to eat. 
 
 *Say? Well, I just told him that, so long as 
 he refused to send in what I ordered, so long would 
 I not pay him at all ; and even if he did send in 
 what I ordered, I should just keep him waiting 
 three months more than I otherwise should have 
 kept him, for his cursed impudence.' 
 
 It was said with the most earnest joviality ; but 
 it was all meant, and it was done pretty much as 
 he declared it should be. Guy Bracebridge never 
 told a tradesman he would pay him, if he did not 
 mean to do so : and for three months there were
 
 OPPOSITION. 93 
 
 further supplies, but no further applications for 
 a little money, from one of his duns. 
 
 The best fellows in the world may sometimes be 
 in the way ; and it was a great relief to Horncastle 
 when Bracebridge announced that he was forced to 
 go. The former had much to say to Mortimer, of 
 which he had no intention of saying a word until 
 the two were alone. Discretion was not one of poor 
 Guy's virtues ; and the frankness which he mani- 
 fested in speaking of his own unimportant concerns, 
 he extended to the graver affairs of his friends. It 
 really was not his fault ; he trusted everybody, and 
 so had no secrets. The moment the outer door 
 sounded after his descending footsteps, Mortimer 
 asked at once : 
 
 ' Well, what news ? ' 
 
 ' Everything is arranged. I feel so sure of suc- 
 cess that I shall start to-morrow for Veerborough, 
 and commence my personal canvass. I will leave 
 in your hands a written resignation of my clerkship 
 (I have got three weeks' leave), and will write and 
 ask you to hand it in the moment that I feel abso- 
 lutely certain of winning.' 
 
 ' Well, Grattan, you ought to know best ; but all
 
 94 AN artist's proof. 
 
 I can say is, that, if you get in, it is very wonderful. 
 It is a touch-and-go business for you. The place 
 has always been held by a Conservative ; you have 
 not an atom of interest in the town ; and whatever 
 I may think of your abilities, not a soul there, and 
 precious fesv people anywhere else, have ever heard 
 of your existence.' 
 
 ' All very true, my dear fellow ; but then, as I 
 have told you before — ' 
 
 ' Then we won't discuss it. If you have finally 
 made up your mind to try, it is no use my reite- 
 rating objections which I dare say you are already 
 tired of. You know I wish you good luck, what- 
 ever may be my fears.' 
 
 ' Of course I do ; and you know that I never un- 
 dervalue your objections or your advice. I only 
 wish you would care more for mine. Now, why 
 don't you stand, too ? You would be sure to get 
 in.' 
 
 ' For where ? I should like to know.' 
 
 ' For heaps of places.' 
 
 ' And by what means ? ' 
 
 ' By your cousin's influence and money.' 
 
 ' My dear Grattan, the only influence and money
 
 OPPOSITION. 95 
 
 which he would expend in my favour to forward 
 such a scheme, would be clogged with a condition I 
 will not hear of. I think I am sufficiently tolerant 
 of other folk's opinions, but I shall retain my own. 
 Plainly, I will, neither now nor ever, contest any 
 place except on Conservative principles.' 
 
 ' Oh ! my dear fellow ! What nonsense ! Don't 
 you see how parties are disorganized ? Have you 
 not often said that every side is partially wrong 
 in thinking itself wholly right, and that political 
 motion, like every other, is the resultant of con- 
 liicting forces, each of which influences the direc- 
 tion?' 
 
 'And I say it again, just as I say that it is 
 necessary for a good football-match that the ball 
 should be kicked each way ; but the same man 
 must not kick both ways indiscriminately. And I 
 will not kick your way, whether you call it the Whig 
 way or the Radical way.' 
 
 ' Hang it! 1 know you'll be getting some rascally 
 diplomatic appointment, and off you will go to the 
 Continent again, and we shall see no more of you. 
 You who ought to remain here and be one of the 
 men of your time. There's no earthly reason why
 
 96 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 you should not, with your head and your backing, 
 be a Secretary of State in ten years, and anything 
 else you like in ten more.' 
 
 ' Except my unfortunate Conservative opinions, 
 old boy/ 
 
 ' But Mr. Dyneley is not at all a violent partisan, 
 and has, to my knowledge, offended his own side by 
 his recent lukewarmness.' 
 
 ' True ; but for all that, you cannot expect a 
 man to be so regardless of consistency, indeed of 
 decency, as to be seen standing for one place on 
 the Whig interest, and supporting his cousin, who 
 stands on the Tory interest, in another.' 
 
 ' Oh, with a little management, it could be done. 
 Why need you declare your opinions so unmistak- 
 ably? Once in the House, you could choose your 
 side ; and it would soon be forgotton by whose 
 influence you got there.' 
 
 ' No use ; no use, Grattan ; so you need not try. 
 You will have to make me more ambitious than I 
 am — and I could probably be more ambitious than 
 even you imagine — before I can consent to make a 
 wrong start ; and such would be the start which you 
 recommend. No ! go in and win. I will watch
 
 opposiTioisr. 97 
 
 your management. I shall have the benefit of your 
 attempt.' 
 
 More to the same purpose followed ; but the 
 arguments, continued deep into the night, were of a 
 similar colour to those hitherto adduced, and the 
 answers were just as decisive, simple, and peremp- 
 tory as their predecessors. A listener would have 
 had abundance of material for forming an estimate 
 of the character of the two speakers. That estimate 
 would have contained a most remarkable contrast. 
 On the one hand was the order-loving, principle- 
 seizing, direct-looking m.ind of Mortimer Dyneley, 
 with which we have already some tolerable acquaint- 
 ance. On the other was a mental and moral struc- 
 ture, not lightly to be passed over in a story in 
 which its influence will be so deeply felt. 
 
 G rattan Horncastle passed for an Englishman, 
 but his parentage was unquestionably Scotch. Of 
 his relations nobody in London ever heard, but 
 as long as a man remains a bachelor, even the most 
 vulgar people in London are not very curious. He 
 held an appointment in the Waste Paper Office, 
 with a salary of some 140Z. per annum, yearly 
 increasing at the rate of ten pounds, and lived 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 quietly in the Temple, known by everybody in it as 
 a young fellow (of seven-and-twenty) with iniSnite 
 tact, splendid health and spirits, and a temper never 
 off its guard. In argument, for which he was 
 always ready, let people be as rude as they might, 
 he never ceased to display an unmovable courtesy. 
 Withal he was a most provoking antagonist ; not so 
 much by reason of his perfect self-command — though 
 to some, of course, that was a great cause of irrita- 
 tion — as by his thorough acquaintance with, and 
 the use which he made of, the details of every sub- 
 ject which he thought fit to discuss. No matter 
 how just might be the principles propounded, or how 
 philosophic the ends sought by his opponent, one 
 slip in a matter of fact was seized on and exposed, 
 and pressed home at once with ruthless urbanity. 
 He literally bristled with facts ; and he used them 
 so determinedly that many a listener went away 
 impressed with the feeling that he could have used 
 them to support an opposite view if he wished, and 
 some with the impression that he would so have used 
 them had it served his purpose. In addition to this 
 excellent memory and curiosity of research, must be 
 added an indefatigable but exceedingly peculiar
 
 OPPOSITION. 99 
 
 activity. It was not like the activity of any other 
 energetic man. It was not restless, nor laborious, 
 nor intermittent. It was quiet, constant, and ap- 
 parently unaccompanied by effort. He had not an 
 atom of genius — except for always doing something. 
 Had he been thrown on the shore of a desert island 
 he would have counted the pebbles and registered 
 their shapes and colours, not with any idea of arriv- 
 ing at a valuable conclusion, or inducing a law, 
 but partly from the habit of occupation, and partly 
 from the habit of regarding any fact as likely to 
 turn out useful. He had made himself acquainted 
 with the latest enumeration of phenomena accepted 
 by scientific men; but he never troubled himself 
 about their conclusions. Facts of themselves led 
 him nowhere ; but he was ready to marshal them 
 at a moment's notice, and lead them anywhere. 
 Look at his room ! It is a perfect chaos! The 
 books are tumbled about on dirty broken-legged 
 tables, and the semi-carpeted floor is literally a foot 
 deep in papers, pamphlets, and blue-books ; but he 
 can go to any passage, put his finger on any speech, 
 and turn to any table of figures he wants. Contra- 
 dict him on some point, and he will make a dive
 
 100 AN artist's proof. 
 
 into that dense pool of print and draw out immedi- 
 ately some passage or other and controvert you on 
 the spot with an authority, while you have not at 
 hand, and could not for your life find in a fortnight, 
 any other authority in your favour. His hair and 
 dress are as disorderly as his room ; but he can put 
 the former into a show of neatness in two minutes. 
 He is scrupulously clean, and seems brimming over 
 with fine health. He can live on the plainest or 
 even coarsest fare, and can equally eat, but does not 
 any more enjoy, the richest. He has no ear for 
 music, no judgment in pictures, no palate, no taste 
 of any kind. But if you know anything of your 
 species, you will go away and consider him the 
 cleverest man without genius you ever met, or are 
 ever likely to meet. For Mortimer, his society had 
 a fascination greater than that of all other people. 
 Horncastle's splendid animal spirits and independent 
 moral courage undoubtedly exercised their charm ; 
 but it is in accordance with the result of common 
 experience to believe that other qualities, more 
 useful though more dangerous, omitted from or not 
 cultivated in Mortimer's nature, gratified him in his 
 friend. The mental characteristics of the two, if
 
 OPPOSITION. 101 
 
 combined in one brain, would have equipped a per- 
 fect man. It is difficult to say which of the two, not 
 perfected by the other, was the more incomplete. 
 But they were doomed never to coalesce ; for cir- 
 cumstances, superadded to tendency, will only still 
 more determine their divergence.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 After five successive years of blundering financial 
 legislation, steadily represented by five successive 
 years of financial deficits, the Whigs under the 
 premiership of Lord Melbourne, had been defeated 
 on the Budget. But it was not the misfortunes of 
 their Chancellor of the Exchequer alone that had 
 brought them into disrepute ; nor could Mr. Baring 
 be made the scapegoat of a cabinet. Nine years of 
 penitential opposition had been the punishment 
 justly inflicted on the Tory party, for refusing to 
 pass a Reform Bill. It seemed as though nine years 
 were to be the limit of Whig triumph for having 
 passed a wrong one. They had been playing the 
 first rounds of a game, which is now nearly played 
 out. They then exceeded their Radical friends in 
 number and power far more than they can boast to 
 do now ; but though they had not as yet admitted 
 these into alliance, they had courted co-operation
 
 OPPOSITION. 103 
 
 and coquetted for support. They had obtained both 
 at the expense of their character, and, it now ap- 
 peared, probably of their supremacy. A general 
 election would help to solve the problem. 
 
 It was the summer of 1841. It was thirsty 
 weather both for canvassers and voters, and the 
 electioneering tap was freely turned on. It was a 
 land flowing with beer and money. We were not 
 so virtuous then as now ; and failed to detect 
 corruption in a brass band, or treating in the 
 questionable grammar of an emblazoned banner. 
 Ribbons were very dear, and drums very noisy. 
 Every natural law was outraged. Teapots brought 
 forth monsters, and attorneys positively assisted 
 their neiiihbours. 
 
 Grattan Horncastle was in the thick of it, and 
 had written Mortimer to hand in at once to the chief 
 of the Waste Paper Office, the resignation of his 
 clei'kship. Mortimer could but obey. He was not, 
 however, any the less lost in wonder. No man 
 could have been ordinarily less curious about the 
 private concerns of his neighbours ; and no man 
 ever more completely restrained his curiosity when 
 aroused by some extraordinary occurrence to an
 
 104 AN artist's proof. 
 
 unwonted pitch of interest ; but it would have 
 been strange indeed if Horncastle's conduct had 
 not excited his marvel. As far as he could form 
 an opinion, his friend had no income beyond that 
 accruing from his government appointment ; and 
 this he was abandoning, as he was of course forced 
 to do, before he could be elected a Member of 
 Parliament. Of his relations he had barely ever 
 spoken : indeed, Mortimer did not quite know where 
 they lived. He had apparently no intimate friend 
 even as well off as Mortimer himself; and with 
 Mortimer's small income, and that too an allow- 
 ance, Horncastle was thoroughly acquainted. He 
 had taken pains to disclaim, though without the 
 slightest provocation, any promises of financial 
 support from the agents of the Whig party. The 
 disclaimer, all the more because it was spontaneous 
 and unnecessary, Mortimer could not entirely 
 believe ; but even supposing, what was highly im- 
 probable, that the party would defray the A\hole 
 of his electioneering expenses, how was he to live 
 if he got into the House ? And equally so, how was 
 he to live if he did not ? His clerkship, of course, 
 could not be resumed : that would have gone for
 
 OPPOSITION. 105 
 
 ever. The more the matter was turned over, the 
 more incomprehensible it seemed. 
 
 Guy Bracebridge had now, in common with the 
 rest of the world, become aware of his friend's 
 extraordinary move. Naturally enough, he was 
 hurt, and perhaps annoyed, that Horncastle should 
 have kept from his knowledge so important a secret. 
 Of Horncastle's affairs, he knew about as much, or 
 as little as Mortimer ; and between them a discus- 
 sion of the subject was now both reasonable and 
 sure to take place. Perhaps the latter would have 
 avoided it if he could, but Bracebridge was as 
 suspicious, when his suspicions were aroused, as he 
 was credulous when they were not. 
 
 ' It's a rum move,' he said to Mortimer, ' a very 
 rum move ; indeed, the rummest move / ever heard 
 of, and I've known some rum moves in my time, / 
 have ; but he's the queerest fellow I ever met, he 
 is — the queerest ; a very good fellow, and I like 
 him. Like him ! Why, do you think I — . Of 
 course not.' — Guy often considered it unnecessary 
 to finish his sentences, just as he often considered it 
 necessary to repeat them — ' Of course not. I say I 
 like him ; but I don't know what he's driving at —
 
 106 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 not a bit — just not one bit. There ! Why, of 
 course he has got money from Mumford, Brown, and 
 Co. As if / didn't know that ! Know it ! Why, of 
 course, I know it. If he hasn't — but he has — why, 
 of course he has — but if he hasn't, why was he so 
 anxious lo get me to introduce him to the Culletons 
 — wretched people, that my father wouldn't have 
 had at his table ? Wretched people ; but Mumford's 
 son married Culleton's third daughter — egad, I wish 
 I had — thirty thousand pounds, sir, thirty thousand 
 pounds — and lie knew that he could get an intro- 
 duction to Mumford through them. As if I don't 
 know that ! And then, to tell you that he's not 
 getting any money from the Party. He's a very 
 clever fellow, is Horncastle — a very clever fellow ; 
 but he's a great fool in some things — in some things. 
 And, if he wanted Mumford and Brown to help 
 him, he had better have told me at once. But of 
 course I know he's got money from them, or a pro- 
 mise of it — a 'promise of it. But he won't get in, 
 for all that ; if he does, it will surprise me ; and if 
 he does, he may thank me. He didn't choose to 
 tell me what he was after ; as if I couldn't guess it 
 at once ; he didn't choose to tell me, I say, but if
 
 OPPOSITION. 107 
 
 he gets in, he may thank me, that's all — that's all ; 
 
 but he won't — you'll see that he won't.' 
 
 Now all this was sheer guess ; whether sound 
 
 guess or shallow, I am unable to say. Had honest 
 
 Guy been talking to anybody other than Mortimer, 
 
 he would have repudiated the notion of Horncastle's 
 
 getting anything through the Whig parliamentary 
 
 agents, and still more determinedly have scouted 
 
 the notion that he would not get in for Veer- 
 borough. 
 
 ' Not get in ! ' he would break out in his own 
 rooms to a knot of loafers, or to a more mixed 
 audience at the ' Bohemian,' — ' Not get in ! you'll 
 see if he doesn't get in ; he's a cleverer fellow than 
 you all think for ; he's as clever a fellow as I ever 
 saw. Isn't he though ? The very cleverest fellow 
 / ever met, he is. Money from the Reform ! As if 
 they'd give it him, if he wanted it ! From the Re- 
 form ! Do you think, if there was money to be had 
 from the Reform, I wouldn't have had some long 
 ago.' And then the jolly visitors laugh. ' Why, 
 bless your life, he's got relations in the neighbour- 
 hood of Veerborough. Do you think a man would 
 go down and contest a place — yes, and get in?
 
 108 AN aetist's peoof. 
 
 You'll see if he doesn't get in — if he had no in- 
 fluence there. I know Horncastle better than any 
 of you ; and I know he's got relations there — of 
 course he has.' 
 
 These relations, when Bracebridse was a2;ain 
 closeted with Mortimer, cut a very sorry figure. 
 
 ' Relations ! ' he would say, ' I should like to 
 know what relations he has there or anywhere. He 
 has an uncle, a maltster or something — something 
 very poor. Relations ! Why, it's absurd ; and even 
 if he had relations — which he hasn't — not relations 
 likely to be of any use to him ; if he had relations, 
 what would they to do for him. I've got relations, 
 and I should like to do what they've done for 
 me ? Nothing. Oh, my relations have not only done 
 nothing for me, they've just prevented me from 
 doing anything for myself. If that scoundrel my 
 brother — . Relations ! I know where he's got the 
 money — he's got it from Mumford and Brown, and 
 he may thank me for it.' 
 
 Now let no one accuse honest Guy of duplicity 
 in this matter. He was a loyal, chivalrous gentle- 
 man, who would have made any and every possible 
 sacrifice for many a person for whom he cared far
 
 OPPOSITION. 109 
 
 less than he cared for Grattan Horncastle. Their 
 good name, too, he would have defended against all 
 comers. He had always thoroughly believed in and, 
 as the phrase is, cracked up his indefatigable friend 
 as a wonder of wonders, and he was not going to let 
 him down now. Horncastle miaht have taken him 
 by surprise in this last singular proceeding, and he 
 might have been a deal better pleased if Horncastle 
 had apprised him of it beforehand ; but until the 
 proceeding ended in failure, Bracebridge would 
 defend its being undertaken, and prognosticate its 
 triumphant issue to all the world — to all the world 
 but Mortimer. Here the case was different. They 
 had a perfect right between themselves to scrutinize 
 their friend's projects, rigidly calculate his means, 
 and forecast his prospects without let or favour. Be- 
 tween them, it was Mortimer who affected to be 
 more satisfied and sanguine than he felt: for it 
 was Bracebridge who here gave vent to all his 
 doubts, disappointment, and perplexities. But 
 whatever was said by either, whether to others 
 or between themselves, they were actuated by 
 the bravest motives, and prompted by the most 
 friendly considerations. They might be very
 
 110 AN artist's proof.' 
 
 much puzzled, but they certainly hoped for the 
 best. 
 
 One of them, at any rate, might possibly have 
 been a little enlightened — and yet, like the reader, 
 possibly not have been enlightened as yet in the 
 least — had he been present at, or happened to be 
 informed of, one interview which certainly did take 
 place between their friend and Messrs. Mumford 
 and Brown before the former went north on his 
 electioneering journey. On this occasion, money 
 was certainly not the subject of conversation, but 
 Mortimer Dyneley's cousin was. Horncastle pointed 
 out to these political agents how lukewarm had been 
 the countenance and how independent the votes of 
 the member for Pocketford during the last few 
 months of the session ; how he had always been a 
 moderate Whig, not unlikely to become in the 
 altered times a moderate Tory ; and how it would 
 be worth while to back up as dexterously as they 
 could any more Radical candidate who should start 
 in opposition. If they would do this, he promised 
 them the candidate should be forthcoming. A couple 
 of days after, Mr. Dyneley was made unpleasantly 
 aware by a large red placard forwarded by his
 
 OPPOSITION. Ill 
 
 local agent to London, that Pocketford, where he 
 imagined himself undisputed master, would be eon- 
 tested by a friend of the people. He felt pretty 
 sure that he had only to put the screw on to make 
 his return certain ; but he would have to undergo 
 considerable annoyance and expense. He at once 
 hurried down to his borough. 
 
 Aloof from tortuous ambitions, with nought to 
 tax the quiet of the full-fledged woods, Mortimer 
 meanwhile led classic life at Gracewood. Await- 
 ing in dignified seclusion the lot which his kinsman 
 might provide for him, he was well satisfied to spend 
 the interval in the society of his books and thoughts ; 
 curious to note how the moderns have aban- 
 doned the grammatical precision of the ancients, 
 without discarding or much advancing on their 
 ideas. Positivism was not so familiar a word, nor 
 inductive science so generally pursued, three-and- 
 twenty years ago as now ; but of the pregnancy of 
 the former and the importance of the latter he was 
 intimately convinced. Still that which, existent in 
 or accruing from both, most appropriated his 
 interest, viz. the idea of unequivocal and universal 
 law, he was pleased to find proclaimed in periods
 
 112 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 never since excelled, by the Latin disciple of Epi- 
 curus. So that, prompted by his taste to shrink 
 from the strife which necessarily accompanies mo- 
 dern action, he was equally without motive to 
 attempt any addition to the store of thought, most 
 of which it seemed to him had not as yet been ex- 
 hausted by use. It needs indeed an 'unspiritual 
 God'* to get work out of such a man, be his 
 capacity or even his ambition what it may. Cir- 
 cumstance may work the miracle, nothing internal 
 can. But guard against pitying, much less despis- 
 ing, such a nature. You little know what terrible 
 energy may reside in the man who has never yet 
 manifested a single symptom of activity. The 
 indolence that has never been anything else, is by 
 no means to be trusted. For the present, however, 
 his activity was manifested only in the saddle. 
 
 Yet let me, even now, be just. There was 
 smaller wail of woful poverty, and more successful 
 struggling with hard-pinching penury, in the imme- 
 diate neighbourhood of Gracewood than had been 
 known for many a day. The left hand can easily 
 
 * ' Circumstance, that unspiritual God.' — ChUde Harold.
 
 OPPOSITION. 113 
 
 be kept in ignorance when the right is so undemon- 
 strative as Mortimer's. 
 
 But, as I say, all that was usually seen in It was 
 a book or a riding-whip. In Alwoodley Chase it 
 was deep set summer ; and in its grateful shade 
 again he had begun to saunter. The ' five or six 
 weeks ' which were to be spent in Wales were more 
 than over, and he readily persuaded himself that he 
 was no true knight unless, faithful to his promise 
 he lingered in the sylvan winding-ways where the 
 tether of the poor chained prisoner occasionally ex- 
 tended. Had it been tightened? That she had 
 returned he knew, for the day before yesterday he 
 had called at the Priory and learned that, though 
 ' not at home,' the Chestertons were again domesti- 
 cated. You think him singularly sedulous in his 
 waiting in the woods, and are, perhaps, inclined to 
 draw somewhat hasty conclusions. But the leafy 
 interspaces of Alwoodley were pretty much the 
 same to Mortimer as the trimmer arbour of the 
 cottage ; and thirty miles of saddle are a very small 
 matter to a man wdio is constantly in it. Judge 
 him neither by your own occupations nor your own 
 subjection to fatigue. He was putting himself to 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 no inconvenience and sacrificing no other pursuit in 
 l)is bi-weekly frequenting of the remote and solitary 
 glades. Nature was an old companion of his, a 
 senior and still sedater friend, who had told him 
 many wise things, and was constantly telling him 
 more. In her society it was impossible to be irri 
 tated or impatient. She was always there, even if 
 the slender maiden came not. 
 
 But come at last she did : as a sultry summer 
 afternoon was sobering down into less scorch- 
 ing mood, a tiny little foot peeping out as she 
 cantered past the by-path where Mortimer, the 
 mare quiet at his side, lay reading unobserved. 
 Ex pede Herculem. That foot proclaims a 
 Diana. 
 
 In a second he was in his seat, and in ten seconds 
 at her side. She well might start. 
 
 ' It is fortunate my eyes are more observant — or, 
 must I say ? — more anxious than yours.' He held 
 out his hand. ' It seems so long since we met 
 that it is almost necessary to say I am delighted to 
 see you.' 
 
 ' Perhaps,' she answered, warmly returning his 
 pressure, ' equally necessary for me to say that
 
 OPPOSITION. 115 
 
 you would probably have seen me before, had it 
 been possible.' 
 
 ' Has anything occurred ? ' he asked. 
 
 ' Nothing special,' she answered, smiling. ' It is 
 not necessary to imagine any extraordinary incident 
 to account for my seclusion. I have not been here 
 since I last saw you, more than ten weeks ago. 
 We have been in Wales for six.' 
 
 ' Yes ; I know.' 
 
 ' You know. How ? ' 
 
 ' Mrs. Thatchley told me you were going there, 
 one day when I called just before your depar- 
 ture.' 
 
 ' I did not hear of your visit. We got back only 
 ten days ago.' 
 
 ' I know that also.' 
 
 ' That too ! You know everything.' 
 
 ' 1 learned it from your servant on Tuesday, 
 when I called again, but you were not at home.' 
 
 ' I did not hear of that visit, either.' 
 
 They both laughed outright, but said nothing 
 further. 
 
 ' How did you enjoy your trip ? ' 
 
 ' Wales is very lovely and picturesque ; and so
 
 116 AN aetist's peoof. 
 
 much, at least, I enjoyed immensely. George 
 Forrester was with ns/ 
 
 'Indeed. You say I know everything. That, 
 at any rate, I did not know.' 
 
 ' ^^'hat do you think of him ? ' 
 
 ' I have not had so many opportunities of judging, 
 Miss Chesterton, as you have.' 
 
 ' Is the old bond of frankness to be considered as 
 ended?' she said, looking straight aside at him. 
 
 ' Certainly not,' he answered quickly. ' I think 
 him a loval gentleman.' 
 
 ' Cela se peiit. Indeed it is so. But, I mean, 
 what do you think of his mental calibre ? ' 
 
 ' He is not a travelled thane. But then, most 
 English gentlemen are not pundits.' 
 
 ' Are most English gentlemen very stupid ? There I ' 
 
 ' No. Is George Forrester ? ' 
 
 ' Yes : very. You know he is, as well as I do. 
 Now, please help me ; or why am I here ? ' 
 
 ' Very well, I will,' he answered merrily. ' But 
 if I blunder, forgive me. You are requested to 
 marry him ? Eh ? ' 
 
 ' When you are frank, there is no mistaking you. 
 No ; I am not requested — I wonder you did not
 
 OPPOSITION. 117 
 
 say, ordered— to marry him. It is the other way. 
 I more than suspect that he is ordered to marry me, 
 and that the poor creature, as far as in him lies, 
 will perforce comply. As you say, he is a loyal 
 gentleman. Can we do nothing for him ? ' 
 
 * You can do something for him. You can marry 
 him.' 
 
 She stretched out her little hand imploringly. 
 ' Don't, Mr. Dyneley, please. I know you are 
 only teazing me. But I want you to be serious 
 and really to advise me.' She spoke very gravely. 
 ' Unquestionably, they will want me to marry him ; 
 and unquestionably, I never will. You know, from 
 what I told you before, at what point my obedience 
 will cease, and passive resistance commence, /am 
 doomed, I know. But can nothing be done for 
 him ? Poor fellow ! he is blameless. He is told 
 to torment me, and he does so without knowing it. 
 This I could bear, since I am accustomed to bear 
 worse. But I suppose that a man cannot go on 
 long making love to a girl, especially if unsuc- 
 cessfully, without getting finally to love her ? And 
 to love and not be loved is, I imagine, a greater 
 pain even than to be loved and not to love. The
 
 118 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 latter I am armed to undergo, if necessary. But 
 Heaven knows, Mr. Dyneley, I would spare him 
 or anyone else the former. Tell me ! how am I 
 to do it ? ' 
 
 He did not answer her at once ; but after gazing 
 hard at her a moment, stared out between his 
 horse's ears. At last, he said : 
 
 ' The first point to be considered, Miss Chesterton, 
 is whether you should do anything at all. If you 
 do nothing, it is probable that matters will remain 
 as they are for some little time. If you do what I 
 imagine you think you ought to do — make him 
 distinctly understand what he has to expect at your 
 hands — you may succeed in shaking him off. But 
 do you think you will not soon be fastened with 
 another ? Now to the torment of being loved by 
 Mr. Forrester you have more or less got accustomed. 
 You would certainly be provided with a new suitor, 
 and worse inasmuch as new. Unless — what is of 
 course possible but scarcely probable — that the new 
 one provided for you should turn out not to be a 
 torment at all.' 
 
 ' That is not only improbable but impossible. I 
 know too well the society which has been and will
 
 OPPOSITION. 119 
 
 continue to be provided for the Priory. But I shall 
 have to claim your forgiveness in seeming to impute 
 to you motives not quite so generous as ray own. 
 However, it is natural that you should be a little 
 selfish in my regard rather than in George Forres- 
 ter's. But believe me when I say that / can think 
 only of him. I will face all other possible torments, 
 not to rid myself of him, but to rid hira of me.' 
 
 She had turned more towards him as she con- 
 cluded her words, as though to give them greater 
 impressiveness, and he towards her, bound to an 
 oblivious stare by inexpressible admiration. 
 
 ' You are a brave girl, and I reverence jou.' 
 
 ' Many thanks for so kindly spoken an assurance ; 
 it v.ill console me through many torments. But 
 what then can I do ? ' 
 
 ' Are you sure that he loves you ? ' 
 
 ' I still strongly hope that he does not ; but I 
 have no room for hoping that he does not obediently 
 seek to marry me.' 
 
 ' After all, you must tread on safer ground than 
 I can pretend to tread. Your judgment is as sound 
 in the matter as mine ; and your opportunities of 
 arriving at a right conclusion are infinitely greater.
 
 120 AN artist's proof. 
 
 Mine are none. But if you are informing me 
 rightly — and of course you intend to do so — the 
 best way for you to carry out your benevolent 
 intentions would be rather to make than await an 
 occasion for putting them into practice. You know 
 better than I can know what is maidenly ; but if 
 your instincts assure you that he is in full pursuit, 
 seize the very first and faintest opportunity to appeal 
 to his loyalty to desist.' 
 
 ' How good you are ! ' she said sweetly. ' That 
 was exactly what I wanted to know, though what I 
 could not exactly ask you. Oh, how glad I am 
 that I have seen you ! I think that there is time to 
 save him, at least, from much pain or mortification.' 
 They were solemn and perorating words, such as 
 seem by their very sound to smite the listener into 
 silence. Both were thoughtful, and for some time 
 speechless. Unchecked the quiet-striding steeds 
 held inarticulate converse, curb by curb. There 
 was not the flutter of a leaf, and the May songs 
 were long since hushed. The woods, like the 
 world, grow less sonorous when showery spring has 
 settled into comfortable summer. Larks mostly 
 soar in the morning !
 
 OPPOSITION. 121 
 
 ' You see I am still what most people would call 
 unemployed,' he said at length. 'I have not yet 
 got an appointment — save that of your honorary 
 counsel.' 
 
 ' An unremunerative office, in truth. But do you 
 not find the absence of any definite occupation irk- 
 some to you ? ' 
 
 ' No ; at least, not when the sun shines. I am not 
 fond of contention, and indeed should never accept 
 it till it was forced upon me. And it is difficult to 
 have any definite occupation now-a-days without 
 being dragged into strife. A man is no longer 
 permitted to live, even under his own figtree, except 
 on condition of constantly defending it. There is a 
 great political cry just now against Protection ; but 
 it seems to me we have long since ceased to protect 
 the individual ; and by ceasing to protect the indi- 
 vidual, we are giving to society — 'SO strong is it — a 
 virtual monopoly. The weakest to the wall used to 
 be the cry of strong brave days: it is to be the 
 justification of these weak craven ones. Extremes 
 meet. The real social results of modern civilization 
 seem to be but those of ancient barbarism, with a 
 scientific varnish. The shallow sciolists, who are
 
 122 AN aetist's peoof. 
 
 wresting the sound abstract laws of political economy 
 to their own unsound and particular applications, 
 are perfectly right in one sense. There will always 
 be a fair supply of weak folks in answer to the 
 demand of the strong ones.' 
 
 ' But you are not weak,' 
 
 ' Weak enough not to wish to be strong at any- 
 body else's expense. Weak enough to dislike being 
 hit, but still more to dislike hitting. The hands 
 that come away, full or empty, from a scramble, 
 are not usually very clean.' 
 
 ' But is there no other quieter sphere for exer- 
 tion ? ' 
 
 ' There used to be two others,' he replied ; ' the 
 sphere of contemplation and of active art ; but the 
 second has become as much of a free fight as the 
 industrial scramble, without the latter 's unquestion- 
 ably successful results ; and contemplation has 
 become almost impossible, and entirely a reproach. 
 Yet so far within possibility, it has been mine.' 
 
 ' What you say about contemplation I think I 
 comprehend ; but what do you mean by active art 
 being equally an industrial scramble without any 
 corresponding benefits ? '
 
 OPPOSITION. 123 
 
 * This ; that the industrial scramble benefits 
 somebody — the somebody who gets the most by it ; 
 whereas competition in art can only produce furni- 
 ture, not divine workmanship, and so does no good, 
 as art, either to him who produces or to him 
 who buys. To all the demand in the world there 
 comes no natural supply of Raffaeli or Praxiteles, 
 but only a shoal of Robinsons and Smiths ; with 
 chisel and paint-brush, certainly, but very little more. 
 Mind ; I am accusing nobody ; neither Smith nor 
 Smith's patron. I am only saying that the patron 
 has got a large fortune to spend in well-covered 
 canvas, and the well-covered canvas is quickly 
 forthcoming ; just as quickly as teapots or fire-irons. 
 There is not very much difference in the processes, 
 and scarcely much more in the result. I would as 
 lief in these days be an ironmonger as what is still 
 courteously called an artist.' 
 
 ' I could not discuss such a question,' she re- 
 marked, 'even if I saw my way of differing from 
 you. I hope you will not think, because I say 
 nothing, that I am not interested, and do not 
 partially, at least, comprehend. Then your contem- 
 plative life is to continue ? '
 
 124 AN artist's proof. 
 
 ' I suppose so. At least until Mr. Dyneley pro- 
 vides me with an occupation, just as at present he 
 provides me with the means of abstaining from any. 
 I am perfectly aware that, in this restless country, 
 a man is not highly esteemed who, holding aloof 
 from the general turmoil, is content to exist on the 
 benevolence of others. However, I am not at the 
 mercy of other people's consciences, and have studied 
 my elements of morality neither in the market-place 
 nor the newspaper. I am quite satisfied to reap 
 what others sow ; of course, in moderation. I 
 should not, whilst blaming as I distinctly blame 
 anybody who devotes his life to making half-a- 
 million of money, be so inconsistent as to devote my 
 life to spending it. My cousin allows me five hun- 
 dred a-year, and I spend it — on myself. If he 
 allowed me five thousand I might possibly spend it, 
 but in that case on others. If he gave me more, I 
 should simply pass it on to somebody else. These 
 being my opinions, I receive without any sen-e of 
 loss of dignity, and having received, I employ my 
 time as I think best under the circumstances. I 
 think I would fight to-morrow for a good cause ; ' 
 and he stretched out a long, muscular arm, that
 
 OPPOSITION. 125 
 
 would have told to the good in any contest; 'but' 
 — and the arm swung back to its side — ' at present 
 I do not see one. So peace is best. Men erst 
 deemed holy have led blameless life in unremunera- 
 tive commerce with the mountains. The mountains 
 remain, though the blamelessness imputed to their 
 worshippers may have passed away. But as long as 
 the still small voice can make itself heard amid the 
 turbulent unanimity of modern society, I shall con- 
 tinue to think that ruminating on a seaward slope is 
 as pious an occupation as buying in the cheapest 
 market and selling in the dearest.' 
 
 ' But you do not mean to condemn the commer- 
 cial pursuits of modern times ? ' she asked. 
 
 ' By no means, save v;hen they are carried to 
 an excess. It would be just as wise to condemn a 
 man for being a bootmaker instead of a botanist ; 
 though of course I should condemn him if he were 
 all bootmaker. But I ask for myself the toleration 
 which I extend to others. There are a good many 
 animals which we can neither eat nor put into the 
 shafts — a good many flowers which we never see — 
 and a fair amount of stars that do not give us much 
 light. May there not still be also human indivi-
 
 126 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 duals who fulfil some cosmical functions without 
 either hewing wood or drawing water? Per- 
 haps man cannot be too economical ; but let 
 us leave to nature her long-established privilege 
 of splendid prodigality. Even I may be more 
 useful than people imagine, or than I myself per- 
 ceive.' 
 
 The last words were said with a cheerfulness 
 which, contrasting with the solemnity of those that 
 had gone before, seemed to establish a close to the 
 conversation. She only added — 
 
 ' You have been very useful to me to-day, and 
 I thank you much.' 
 
 ' I would do anything,' he said ardently, ' any- 
 thing to make you happier.' 
 
 ' Happier ! ' she exclaimed. ' Happier is not 
 and need not be the question. If you strengthen 
 my will and back up my conscience, it is all you 
 can ever do. But to do so much for poor me, is 
 indeed a Samaritan's office.' 
 
 'It is well you are grateful for so little, since 
 there is so little for me to do. You have already 
 told me, that your conscience will be evoked, and 
 your will exercised only in answer to one challenge.
 
 OPPOSITION. 127 
 
 and that in everything else yeu will yield complete 
 submission.' 
 
 ' I said so,and I meant it.' 
 
 ' You accused me, when we met to-day, of for- 
 getting our bond of frankness. In order to send 
 you away with a correcter impression, I am going 
 to ask yet another question. You will refuse to 
 marry whom you do not love — ' 
 
 ' Yes ; absolutely.' 
 
 ' Yes, but will you abstain from marrying whom 
 you do love, should such ever occur ? ' 
 
 ' I have scarcely anticipated the possibility,' she 
 answered, simply. ' But, replying to a question 
 not fully weighed since really never considered, 
 I say that my submission would extend to such 
 a case. Should such a perplexity occur, however, 
 I will — if I may — trust you sufficiently to consult 
 you.' 
 
 ' Do so,' he answered ; ' and 1 will advise you 
 loyally, as I have advised you to-day.' 
 
 And they parted. 
 
 Mortimer has either become, these last two 
 months, a more confirmed smoker than before, 
 or to-night he is indulging in meditative fumes
 
 128 AN artist's proof. 
 
 beyond his wont. He has thrown away his fourth 
 vesper cheroot, and now he sets alight his fifth. 
 His hands are plunged very deep into his pockets, 
 and his head is carried very high in the air, as 
 though with more than usual purposes of pro- 
 spective inquiry. It is a still, sultry night. The 
 hay has all gone from the meadows, and the smell 
 of the fast-ripening corn is hot and dry. The 
 nightingale no longer cheers his brooding mate 
 with song, as in that now-recalled May moonlight. 
 For the smooth, warm eggs are now a hungry 
 little family, and the plump grub is more welcome 
 than the mellow note. The air is not so moist and 
 fresh and balmy ; and the light-blue trail of the 
 tropical narcotic seems no special profanation of the 
 night. Smoke on, O loiterer ! if to thy apparent 
 wonderings such idlesse prompt a solution. 
 
 Nothing so much delights the matrons of a 
 bachelor's acquaintance, as the information that 
 he has taken a 'place.' Be it ever so small or 
 unpretentious, and though it satisfy the most rigor- 
 ous of agrarian and sumptuary laws, a mere apto 
 cum lare fundus, such as would meet the limitations 
 imposed by the severer Cato, provided that it be
 
 OPPOSITION. 129 
 
 a * place,' it is enough. They have got him in 
 the toils of the snarer. Often and often, when 
 they fondly deemed him irrecoverably emmeshed, 
 they had to endure the insolent strain, Laqueus 
 contritus est, et nos liberati sumus. But that was in 
 the days of clubs and chambers. Let the net of 
 the fowler but once encompass him now, and he 
 shall be set free never again. Let the poor fool 
 think that he will build his nest aloof from the 
 hunter's track, — small, secluded, difficult to see, 
 and when seen, of but slight account. Let him, 
 emulous of old Ennius on the Aventine, restrict 
 himself unius ancillce ministerio ; paying no tax on 
 powder or armorial bearings, and with only one 
 poor waiting-maid. He thinks it not, but he is 
 utterly undone. Love is almost as impartial as 
 Death, and though it perhaps forbore from climb- 
 ing a weary Temple staircase, will be dead certain 
 very soon to kick at a cottage door, be it ever so 
 lowly. That cottage will hold two just as well as 
 one. And when the sun goes down, and the night 
 closes in, ' one ' is occasionally just a little lonely. 
 He may be a very brave fellow, a self-sufficient 
 nature enough, and whilst daylight hours tick, may 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 AN aktist's proof. 
 
 possibly not find much missing. But dews are 
 falling, and rest comes with the night, we know, 
 and resting, alone, is not always repose. There is 
 no jolly fellow Brown over the way, no new opera, 
 no old comedy just down the lane, no billiard-room 
 in the orchard, and not much indolent gossip going 
 on in the copse. We have all our weak moments, 
 even we strong ones. And the tread of the snarer 
 is stealthy but sure, and the nets are closing in, and 
 O for something in the empty semi-circle of those 
 poor vacant arms ! Nature surely abhors such a 
 terrible vacuum as that? 'Ware, boy, 'ware! I 
 say. You may have trodden the ball-room, one 
 heel more invulnerable than Achilles', and even 
 swept the sward of the ' Botanical ' and come off 
 unscathed. But for all that, there lurks a 
 matrimonial serpent in the lawn you have once 
 made, but will not long retain exclusively, your 
 own. 
 
 Mortimer had taken a place ; as small, if as 
 perfect, as might be, but — a 'place.' A placid 
 Pythagorianisra could, perhaps, be transplanted 
 from the Magna Graecia made familiar to him 
 by travel, and find a fiitting soil in his English
 
 OPPOSITION. 131 
 
 Tarentum, But we are not — thank Heaven ! — all 
 philosophy ; and even a sage of five-and-twenty 
 may confess without shame a periodical longing for 
 something more carnal than first principles. 
 
 He had never loved, and he did not love now. I 
 said it of him two months back. I can say it of 
 him still. How, during the last six years — the 
 years during which a man is most liable to re- 
 curring fits of sentimental or unworthier passion — 
 he escaped the visitation of either, I have already 
 minutely described. But he was not now, by 
 reason of such escape, any the more likely to 
 become enamoured of a shadow. Thought had 
 not made him a dreamer. Despite his still-hard- 
 ening fastidiousness and his morbid sensitiveness 
 to outline and colour, if he loved, he would love 
 a body, not a dress ; a head, not a bonnet ; a soul, 
 not a demeanour ; a person, not an apparition. His 
 love would be not for the girl whom he wooed, but 
 for the wife whom he won. He might — and let 
 us hope he would — conclude his matrimonial cam- 
 paign by the manifestation of most prodigal tender- 
 ness ; but he would certainly commence it with the 
 most collected conviction. He would not, boy-hke
 
 132 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 pine for the lips he had never kissed ; but he would 
 never, having kissed, boy-like desert them. 
 
 Then what were his convictions? They were 
 unformed, but they were in embryo. The silent 
 influence, so trusted in by matrons, was working its 
 way. He had got his cage, but within no bird 
 was singing. The little wicket was ajar, the seed- 
 box was untouched, the lithe-necked water-flask 
 was empty. Would not a cageling be well ? 
 
 And where was such to be found? In what 
 woods, if not of Alwoodley ? 
 
 But had he not been told, this very day, that the 
 principle of submission would extend even to abstain- 
 ing from marriage from one loving and loved ? ' 
 Could he love ? 
 
 Even if he could, would he here be loved ? 
 Both affirmed, was it not absolutely certain that 
 abstention would in this case be enforced, even if 
 by no more compulsory means, by the principle of 
 submission ? 
 
 True : but quite apart from the influence of his 
 cottage, and of Miss Chesterton's charms, he was 
 keenly interested in her situation. He had wrought 
 himself up to silent but not less deep indignation at
 
 OPPOSITION. 133 
 
 the domestic despotism which bound her. He had 
 half pledged himself to undertake her emancipation. 
 But how was he to complete that emancipation, 
 except by making her his wife ? 
 
 Whereat, the obstacles above recounted again 
 cropped up, bringing smaller but scarcely less 
 pertinent ones in their train. 
 
 Nothing, however, like a difficulty for strength- 
 ening a determination. 
 
 Mind : Mortimer was far from determined in the 
 matter. Only — he would entertain it. The diffi- 
 culties, I suppose, likewise. 
 
 Emancipation ! Where are the winged sandals, 
 where is the magic wallet, where the invisible- 
 making helm ? Ah ! I fear the nymphs are dead. 
 This is the industrial age. But, poor and classic 
 Mortimer, you ought to remember that, even in 
 the mythological, the Perseus who saved and mar- 
 ried Andromeda was Perseus Aurigena ! * 
 
 * Fair readers are not so intimately acquainted with mytho- 
 logy as were their sisters of the last century ; such learning not 
 beiQg considered ' proper ' in these decent days. It is therefore, 
 perhaps, requisite that I should inform them that Perseus was the 
 son of Zeus and Danae, and that he acquired his surname of 
 Aurigena from the fact of the former having divinely visited the 
 latter in the form of a shower of gold.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 The Whigs had taken nothing by the Dissolution. 
 Parliament reassembled. An Amendment was 
 proposed to the Address, and carried. Sir Robert 
 Peel was summoned by the Crown to form a 
 Cabinet, and was fronted by a defeated and dis- 
 organized party. The Opposition benches were in 
 a minority of ninety. But on those benches were 
 Mr. Dyneley and Grattan Horncastle. The Friend 
 of the People had not succeeded in exciting the 
 interest or conquering the cupidity of the electors 
 of Pocketford. But everybody who had a grudge 
 to pay, everybody who could be cajoled by tact, 
 everybody who could be influenced by exuberant 
 youth and hearty manners, had conspired and 
 succeeded in returning at the head of the poll 
 the new and energetic member for Veerborough. 
 Had such a victory been won when the House was 
 sitting, it would at once have given the winner a
 
 OPPOSITION, 1'65 
 
 parliamentary status not to be attained by years 
 of business-like toil within its walls. Even hap- 
 pening as it did, in the conflicting turmoil of a 
 general election, it made Grattan Horncastle at 
 once a man of mark. 
 
 ' Didn't I say so ? ' went about exclaiming Guy 
 Bracebridge, now in immense feather. * Didn't I 
 tell you fellows he would get in ? Wouldn't get 
 in ! As if I didn't know he'd get in. Yes, and 
 you'll see what he'll do now that he has got in. 
 Money from the party ! A likely story.' And so 
 on, da capo, as we had it before. 
 
 Mortimer went up to town on purpose to con- 
 gratulate his friend, and in the presence of Brace- 
 bridge had the whole story of the contest from the 
 conqueror's lips. This was lively as the battle 
 itself had been ; and success appeared to leave 
 Horncastle what he was before it — a man of the 
 most cordial and unaffected manners, most genial 
 friendliness, and most cheerful activity. When the 
 matter had been thoroughly talked over, and con- 
 gratulations iterated and reiterated, Horncastle 
 inquired if Mortimer had seen Mr. Dyneley. 
 
 *No, not yet. I saw that he had to stand a
 
 136 AN artist's proof. 
 
 I 
 
 contest. I know he did not expect anything of the 
 kind ; for the last time I was with him before he 
 left town, he told me that he should have a quiet 
 walk over.' 
 
 ' Who was it ran against him ? ' asked Brace- 
 bridge. 
 
 ' Heaven knows ! A poor fellow of the name of 
 Tuck, an out-and-out Radical, a Friend of the 
 People, and that sort of thing. I got hold of his 
 address in the same paper which contained my 
 cousin's. And, by Jove! he polled seventy or 
 eighty votes; which, in a constituency of two hun- 
 dred and sixty, where a man fancies himself 
 Sultan, is a decent minority.' 
 
 ' Do you think Mr. Dyneley cares about it ? ' 
 asked Horncastle. 
 
 ' As I tell you, I have not seen him since. But 
 if he not only does not care about it, but is not 
 furiously savage, I shall wonder. It would not be 
 like him, if he were not.' 
 
 ' But,' said Horncastle, ' what could make 
 Luck—' 
 
 * Tuck,' said Mortimer. 
 
 * Then, Tuck — what could make Tuck go on
 
 OPPOSITION. 137 
 
 such a fool's errand as that ? He surely had not a 
 chance against your cousin ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! ' said Bracebridge ; ' why, they sent him, 
 of course. The Party — your Party — sent him ; of 
 course they did. A man would not be such an ass 
 as to go without backing of some sort.' 
 
 ' Do you think so ? ' 
 
 ' Why, of course. You know, Dyneley, your 
 cousin has not been voting very straight of late ; 
 and they were mad with him.' 
 
 ' I shouldn't wonder,' said Mortimer. * What 
 do you think, Grattan ? ' 
 
 ' It's difficult to say. However, if they did, they 
 have not got much by their move ; Mr. Dyneley 
 is safe enough where he is.' 
 
 * Yes ; but a man does not like being opposed 
 by the Party which he has on the whole supported 
 for fifteen or twenty years. If they did it, it was 
 a dirty trick.' 
 
 ' Yes — a very dirty trick ; and one my cousin 
 would not be likely to forgive in a hurry.' 
 ' When are you going to see him ? ' 
 
 * Yes — old fellow ! when are you going to see 
 him? You ought to go and see him — see him
 
 138 AN artist's proof. 
 
 often. Egad ! if I had such a chance, I would 
 always be seeing him. Just give me the chance : 
 that's all — that's all. See him ! But if I had a 
 cousin or an anybody with as much money and 
 influence, he wouldn't see me : I know he wouldn't. 
 Now, he wants to see you. Some fellows have 
 luck : / haven't. Luck ! why — Um ! I wish / had 
 such a chance ; that's all — that's just all. When 
 are you going to see him ? ' 
 
 ' As soon as he gets back : indeed, I must go 
 down to Pall Mall now, and find out if he has 
 returned. If so, I shall go west, and look him 
 up.' 
 
 The moment he had gone, Horncastle said : 
 ' The fact is — only mind, you never let it out, 
 or at any rate never on any account say that you 
 heard it from me — but the fact is, the Party did 
 send down Tuck. They were so mad with Dyneley 
 for some of his recent votes, and felt so uncertain 
 of his future ones, that they thought it worth try- 
 ing if they could not throw him out of his seat. 
 Don't tell Mortimer; and mind, you never tell 
 anybody / said so.' 
 
 Mortimer dined the next day with his cousin.
 
 OPPOSITION. 139 
 
 and was regaled with another budget of elec- 
 tioneering talk. Old Dyneley was furious upon 
 the question of Tuck's opposition. The fellow was 
 a low knave, a scoundrel, an impertinent interloper, 
 a scurrilous brute (some very pretty things had 
 been said and printed and sung about the lord of 
 the manor), a foul-mouthed, unprincipled vagabond, 
 pandering to the lowest passions of the mob, a 
 greasy stump-orator (old Dyneley had not the copia 
 fundi very strikingly), and so on. And if he 
 thought, for a moment, that his own Party had sent 
 down the fellow — which of course he could not 
 credit — but if he thought they had given the ruffian 
 the slightest encouragement, by this and by that 
 and by ever so much more, he would make them 
 smart for it ; he would show them, not only who 
 was master at Pocketford, but who was master also 
 of his own votes in the House of Commons, and 
 who could bring influence to bear in other boroughs 
 now returning Whigs. To all which Mortimer 
 replied that he knew nothing ; that he could not 
 think people were such fools as not to see that 
 nobody had any chance against him at Pocketford ; 
 but that the opposition there had been vexatious.
 
 140 AN artist's proof. 
 
 Vexatious ! Yes ; and exceedingly expensive to 
 him. Vexatious, and unprincipled, and uncalled 
 for, and unwarranted, and everything. Such words 
 as these, at least, old Dyneley had in plenty, when 
 his audience was select, and there was nobody 
 minded to reply. 
 
 It was some weeks before Mortimer again saw 
 Bracebridge ; and when they met, their first talk 
 was of course about their friend. 
 
 ' Well, how is he getting on ? ' asked the former, 
 who, from habitual absence from town, now saw 
 much less of Horncastle than did the other. 
 
 'Getting on! Well, I scarcely know; I can 
 scarcely ever get to see him. He has got into his 
 new chambers, and I have been in them twice : 
 twice, that's all. They are much better than his 
 old ones, much better ; as they ought to be — ought 
 to be ; considering what he pays for them. You're 
 surety to the Inn for the rent, are you not ? ' 
 
 * Yes ; he wrote to me in the country, and asked 
 me if I would be one, and said that you were going 
 to be the other. Of course, I was very glad.' 
 
 ' Glad ! yes, glad — I should be glad — and am 
 glad, am glad — if I were like you ; which I'm not.
 
 OPPOSITION. 141 
 
 Of course I told him I would be the other. I 
 wonder they would have me as surety, considering 
 I have not paid my own last half-year's rent.' 
 
 ' I suppose it is more a form than anything 
 else?' 
 
 * Is it, though ? It's no form, I can tell you. 
 Ask old Bunting, Q. C, if it's a form. They 
 brought an action against him and sold him up, 
 that's what they did ; and I tell you what — Horn- 
 castle's a very clever fellow, a devilish clever fellow 
 — you know that — yes, and / know that, / know 
 that — but it '11 take a devilish lot of cleverness to 
 go on long as he's going on.' 
 
 ' As how ? ' asked Mortimer. ' I am sure he is 
 not extravagant — he has not one expensive habit.' 
 
 ' No ; but he must live, and he must pay some- 
 body. Somebody : I don't mean to say he must 
 pay everybody — / don't pay everybody ; but he 
 pays nobody — nobody. Now, a man may be a 
 devilish clever fellow, but he can't go on paying 
 nobody — nobody at all ; which he does. It's all 
 very well to get into Parliament, and he's very 
 much to be admired for getting in — I don't deny 
 it — though he may thank me for it, though he
 
 142 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 doesn't know it, or pretends he doesn't know it — 
 pretends he doesn't ; but he knows it, he knows it — 
 it's all very well ; but though a Member of Parlia- 
 ment can't be arrested, he must pay somebody, or 
 answer their letters — answer their letters at any 
 rate — and he doesn't.' 
 
 ' Have you seen him lately ? ' 
 
 ' Seen him ! I can't get into his chambers. He 
 pretends he's not there ; but of course I know he's 
 there. As if I didn't know that ; of course I know 
 he's there. You remember, he never used to open 
 his door, in the old chambers, without looking 
 through that little window to see who it was. 
 Now, he can't see who it is till he has opened the 
 door; and so he doesn't open it at all — at all. 
 / know why he doesn't open it : he daren't open 
 it — daren't open it. Not that I think he cares 
 much — indeed, he doesn't care a d — n, — just not 
 a d — n, that's all — about his duns ; only he doesn't 
 want to be bothered. See him ! I've seen him 
 twice, perhaps. The rooms are very nice, but 
 they're just as much of a litter as the others were. 
 But haven't you seen them ? ' 
 
 * No ; I called once, but he was not in.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 143 
 
 ' There ! Didn't I tell you ? No ; and you 
 won't find him in : but he's in, sure enough — only 
 he doesn't choose to open. I don't mean to say 
 he wouldn't open if he knew it was you ; but then 
 he doesn't. How can he? And I go, and /don't 
 see him. Nobody sees him.' 
 
 To the vulgar objectors who had never believed 
 in Horncastle's return, over whom honest Guy had 
 crowed so lustily, and who now asked him how it 
 was that nobody ever saw him, and that nobody 
 could get into his chambers, and that a lot of duns 
 were always hanging about his staircase, Brace- 
 bridge discoursed in a very different strain. 
 
 ' Not get into his rooms ! What did they want 
 to get into his rooms for ? Horncastle was now a 
 Member of Parliament : a busy man, and he could 
 not be bothered with every fellow who wanted to see 
 him. Of course, hundreds of people wanted to see 
 him. A few of them might be duns. What then? 
 Most people had duns. Duns wanted to see Jmn 
 (Bracebridge). Oh, and they might see Am, they 
 did see him ; and what good did it do them ? They 
 might see him as much as ever they liked. He 
 was not going to sport his oak, if they thought fit to
 
 144 AN artist's proof. 
 
 come all together in a deputation. But he was not 
 in Parliament. Egad ! he wished he were. If he 
 had only the chance ; but with Horncastle it was 
 different. Couldn't pay his bills ! Not pay his 
 bills ! Why, he thought they said the Party had 
 paid his electioneering expenses. Why did they 
 not pay his bills, then ? Tell him that.' And Guy 
 put them down, and crowed over them bravely all 
 round ; but with Mortimer it was another story. 
 
 * Duns ! He may well have duns. Where he 
 gets any money at all, I can't tell. His cousin ! 
 Why, a maltster : why, it's absurd. Everybody says 
 that the Party paid his electioneering expenses. 
 Why, of course they did. It's very well for him to 
 tell you that they didn't ; but he doesn't tell me 
 that. He doesn't tell me anything. He knows it 
 would be no use, for I know how his expenses were 
 paid. Why, they were paid through Mumford and 
 Brown. Why was he so anxious for me to intro- 
 duce him to those wretched people, the Culletons, if 
 they were not ? Well now, shall I tell you some- 
 thing ? You remember our talking aboui the man 
 who went down to oppose your cousin ? ' 
 
 ' Tuck.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 145 
 
 * Yes, Tuck. Well, Horncastle told me — mind, 
 you must never tell anybody that it came from him 
 — Horncastle told me that he knew that the Party 
 had sent Tuck down to Pocketford.' 
 
 ' You don't say so ? ' 
 
 * But they did. Horncastle told me that. Well 
 now, if he knows it, does it not prove that he must 
 be pretty well in wnth the Party, himself? Why, of 
 course, they paid his expenses ; but they won't pay 
 any more : they won't pay his bills, he may be pretty 
 sure.' 
 
 Poor Guy ! If he said an Important thing by 
 accident, he never knew it, and immediately dri- 
 velled off to some other immaterial matter which 
 had been longer on his mind and oftener on his 
 lips. It will be remembered that Horncastle had 
 particularly insisted on his not mentioning to Mor- 
 timer what had passed between them, about the 
 Friend of the People ; but Horncastle knew Brace- 
 bridge through and through, and could not have 
 doubted that he would let the secret out at an early 
 opportunity. 
 
 ' By Jove ! how savage my cousin would be if 
 he knew it. He has said enough about it already.' 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 14G AN artist's proof. 
 
 ' Don't tell him ; or, if yon over do tell him, mind 
 you never let him suppose that it came originally 
 from Horncastle.' 
 
 ' Of course, I would not mix Horncastle up with 
 it, on any account ; but I declare I think he ought 
 to know.' 
 
 ' So do I. It was such a shabby trick.' 
 
 ' Desperately shabby. I am going to my cousin 
 shortly, to Northumberland. He has a shooting there.' 
 
 ' That's right, old boy. Yo7i stick to your cousin ; 
 that's what youwe got to do. Ah \ if / had such a 
 chance ! but I haven't.' 
 
 ' It will be rather late in the year, and dreary ; 
 but he seems particularly to wish to have me there, 
 and I suppose I must go.' 
 
 ' Go ! Of course you must go. I wish / could 
 go. How long will you stay there ? ' 
 
 ' I don't think I shall be south again much before 
 Christmas.' 
 
 ' That's right. You stay with your cousin. Why 
 don't you get him to put you into Parliament? 
 Horncastle says you ought to go into the House, 
 and he's right, there. Ah ! I wish J could get into 
 the House ! that's all. Send us some game, old boy.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 147 
 
 ' With pleasure ; I won't forget. Good-bye then.' 
 And the friends separated after a conversation more 
 important than either of them thought for. 
 
 Mortimer lingered at Gracewood as long as ever 
 he possibly could, and periodically haunted the 
 avenues of Alwoodley, till the first autumnal tints 
 began to show strongly on the leaves. Mr. Dyneley 
 became pressing for his presence. Still he lingered, 
 but he lingered in vain. Many a sweet sober after- 
 noon glided by in the umbrageous intricacies of the 
 Chase ; but the flutter of a grey riding-habit came 
 no more. Thrice he had called at the Priory, and 
 thrice had been admitted. Once indeed he had been 
 asked to dinner ; but, for any converse that passed 
 between him and Miss Chesterton, he might as well 
 have been dining at the Antipodes. Their eyes 
 met oftener, perhaps, than heretofore ; but another 
 pair was too dexterously turned from one to the 
 other, for the meeting to be, each time, more than 
 momentary. He thought that both host and hostess 
 were more cordial than they had shown themselves 
 for many months ; but the cordiality of the first was, 
 he knew well enough, only the reflection of the 
 cordiality of the second; and the cordiality of the
 
 148 AN artist's troof. 
 
 second was evidently much less owing to her 
 having ceased to regard him as abnormal and 
 therefore dangerous, than to the conviction that 
 against such danger she could effectually guard. 
 With Mortimer's mood of mind, it took little 
 to make him suspect that she was desirous of 
 showing how very little she feared, however much 
 she objected to him. Long before it had ever 
 entered his head to connect Miss Chesterton, even 
 vaguely as he connected her now, with his own 
 possible future, he had imagined, rightly or wrongly, 
 that Mrs. Thatchley had imputed to him such a 
 design, and had manoeuvred steadily, though un- 
 necessarily, against it. Now that he had more 
 than once confessed to himself how charming the 
 daughter was when unrestrained, how infamous 
 was the persistence with which that restraint was 
 organized and maintained, how brave a conquest it 
 would be to enfranchise her, and how difficult it 
 would be to accomplish that enfranchisement with- 
 out a union, whose realization however on the other 
 hand would be still more difficult, it was not likely 
 that he would be slower to impute to Mrs. Thatch- 
 ley suspicion of his ideas and determination to
 
 OPPOSITION. 149 
 
 balk them. Her conduct justified his belief then, 
 and it justified bim now ; but now it had the effect 
 of aggravating and provoking ; before, it had only 
 slightly disgusted him. Then, it was a stupidity ; 
 now, it was something very like a challenge. If he 
 was supposed to have accepted it, he was certainly 
 getting the worst of the encounter. 
 
 This fairly represents the state of things as it 
 appeared to him, and the corresponding state of 
 his own mind. What was likely to be the result ? 
 More, or less, interest in Miss Chesterton ? Stronger, 
 or fainter, inclination to think that it would be 
 right chivalrous work to unfetter this poor victim ? 
 Greater, or smaller, tendency to become convinced 
 that, unfettered, she would make him a bright, 
 loving, intelligent wife ? And from all this would 
 there ensue a weaker, or fiercer, resolve to face 
 the difficulties and have a throw with them ? The 
 student of human nature will be at no loss for 
 a reply. 
 
 If he was really ready to try a throw with that 
 sturdy duenna, he had as yet perhaps not met 
 with a positive fall, but had at any rate gained not 
 an inch on his lithe and obstinate opponent. It is the
 
 150 AN aetist's niOOF. 
 
 last night, the very last chance for ever so long, and 
 he knows it. He must positively travel north, the 
 day after to-morrow. For all that, he has to be 
 content with a placid ' Good-bye ' all round, and a 
 parting shake of the hand from Miss Chesterton, 
 exceedingly friendly if you will, but — exceedingly 
 unfruitful. He must go into winter-quarters. 
 There can be no more campaigning till the spring. 
 
 But Time, if we did but know it, is a kind and 
 considerate, if only sleeping partner, who never 
 withdraws his capital from our concern, yet demands 
 but an inappreciable share in the profits. So 
 though Mortimer trudges over moor and fell, 
 through tangled bracken, stout heather-clumps, and 
 swollen peat-streams, cursing villanous saltpetre, 
 and settiug down your keen sportsmen as but very 
 sorry company, this same benevolent Time seems to 
 be doing him a good turn or two. The circle at 
 Sleuthmere Cover found him more entertaining 
 than he found them ; and Mr. Dyneley would not 
 hear of his departure. He was very good talk, 
 they all thought ; and he never vexed any of them 
 by making a very big bag, or bringing home a 
 bursting net. From this prolonged residence under
 
 OPPOSITION. 151 
 
 his cousin's roof, he acquired more thorough know- 
 ledge of his ways, and especially of those, previously 
 alluded to, which were known to old Dyneley's 
 intimates hut completely hidden from the rest of 
 the world. But though not much to Mortimer's 
 taste, they were ways which, fortunately, women 
 easily forgive, and men, unfortunately, esteem not 
 to require forgiveness at all. Indeed, Mortimer 
 was not amused ; but he could not well proclaim 
 himself bored, and so had to remain where he 
 was. 
 
 But one sharp Sunday afternoon, as the good 
 folks at Beadon were coming out of church, the 
 mistress of the Priory seized upon Mr. George 
 Forrester in a more than usually determined 
 manner, asked for his arm, and walked off with 
 him bodily. She soon commenced the attempt 
 to possess him mentally also. 
 
 ' How is it, George,' she began, ' that we have 
 seen so little of you of late ? ' 
 
 The charge was true. But Forrester did not 
 any the less affect, as men invariably affect on such 
 occasions, to pooh-pooh it. Had he been there less 
 of late? Really, he did not think so. Perhaps,
 
 152 AN aktist's peoof. 
 
 he had not been quite so often ; but it was a busy 
 time, and — and — and — 
 
 ' And nothing, my dear George. Now, you 
 know what I say is true. You have not been to the 
 Priory much recently, and I want to know why.' 
 
 ' Well, even if it be true that you have not seen 
 me quite so much, there is no reason for it, I ana 
 sure ; no reason at all' 
 
 ' If there is not, it is very strange. For both 
 myself and my brother have noticed it, and have 
 talked it over three or four times. You know how 
 fond we both are of you, and how delighted always 
 to see you. And we have missed you, and noticed 
 your absence I say — yes, and talked it over. Of 
 course Isabelle has not said much about it, as of 
 course it would not be proper for her to do. But 
 she did say, when I asked her the other day, if she 
 did not think it strange we had not seen you for 
 ten days, that you certainly used to come more 
 frequently.' 
 
 'Did she really?' said poor baited George, 
 trying to laugh, but succeeding only in a very weak, 
 silly manner. 
 
 'She did indeed, and I am not surprised. Of
 
 OPPOSITION. 153 
 
 course, she must have noticed it. Now, my dear 
 George, I think it is time that I should tell you 
 that I and my brother have all along imagined 
 that you were thinking of Isabelle. Indeed, we 
 could not help thinking so. You have come so 
 often, and have been so friendly, and altogether 
 behaved in such a manner as to leave that im- 
 pression. I feel I am justified in asking you if 
 such are or are not your intentions ? In fact, it is 
 time that we should know.' 
 
 There was no loophole of retreat. If he said 
 that he had no such intentions, he saw plainly 
 enough what would be his fate. There was another 
 alternative certainly, about which he must indeed 
 have been a fool if he supposed there need be any 
 fear. Still he hummed and hawed, and hesitated, 
 and sprawled about every plank she threw out to 
 him, without ever getting nearer to land. At last, 
 it came out. Incoherently ; but this was the gist 
 of it. He had entertained such intentions, but — 
 he had abandoned them. 
 
 From bad to worse. As if this would save him. 
 He must have been a double-distilled blockhead, 
 if he imagined that he would be able to ride off on
 
 154 AN artist's proof. 
 
 this avowal. It only prompted further questioning. 
 He would have to explain his explanation. It was 
 mighty hard work ; awfully disagreeable. But, it 
 had to be done. 
 
 It amounted to this. He had, one day some 
 little time ago, taken courage, not to propose to 
 Miss Chesterton, but to say one of those stupid 
 stock tentative things with which your ordinary 
 lover breaks ground. She had taken it up at once. 
 She had appealed to his loyalty, he said. She 
 concluded that he was ben-inning to care for her. 
 She begged — she implored — him not to do so. 
 Why, he had asked ? Frankly, she had answered, 
 because she did not nor ever could in the slightest 
 desfree think of him as more than friend. If he 
 would be this to her, she would be grateful for 
 ever. 
 
 And what had he done ? 
 
 He had responded to her appeal. Loyally had 
 he replied. He had promised to be her friend. 
 
 ' O George ! how stupid of you ! indeed, how 
 wrong of you ! How wrong to say anything to 
 Isabelle before speaking to me or to ray brother. 
 You see what you have done. It is not irreme-
 
 OPPOSITION. 155 
 
 diable, but it is annoying in the extreme. She is a 
 mere child, not fit to be consulted in such matters. 
 It was very wrong of you — exceedingly wrong of 
 you. Indeed, I feel very angry.' And the poor 
 fellow felt more uncomfortable by a good deal, even 
 than when Miss Chesterton had pulled him up in 
 his first attempt at sentimental bolting. 
 
 ' However,' she went on^ ' we must make the 
 best of it. You have done a very stupid thing, 
 and a very wrong thing ; but it is done. But you 
 must attach no further importance to it. Isabelle 
 is a mere child. Come just as you came before, 
 and it will be yet all right.' 
 
 Forrester had something to say, evidently ; but 
 he was not a good hand at saying anything quickly, 
 and a still worse hand at saying it quickly when it 
 was not very agreeable to say. Mrs. Thatchley, 
 however, gave him no opportunity of saying it at 
 all. They were approaching the Priory, and she 
 halted for Mr. Chesterton and Isabelle to join 
 them. 
 
 So that it seemed as though Time had at least 
 been trying to do Mortimer a good turn in his 
 absence. The converse held in Alwoodley Chase
 
 156 AN artist's proof. 
 
 had borne fruit of some sort. Miss Chesterton had 
 followed his advice, and the immediate result was 
 as favourable and decided as, had he known it, he 
 could possibly have anticipated. But what would 
 be the final result, was yet another matter. His 
 opponent had met the move, when it came, with 
 marvellous dexterity. It was the first little advan- 
 tage he had gained over her. She seemed quite 
 determined, and not altogether unable, to counter- 
 vail it. For the present, too, she had command of 
 the position. He no more knew that the move 
 suggested by him had been played, than she knew 
 by whom the move just played had been suggested. 
 But she had become fully aware of its importance, 
 and had plenty of time to counteract it. 
 
 Mortimer had calculated, in his parting conver- 
 sation with Guy Bracebridge, that he should not be 
 in the south again much before Christmas. But 
 Christmas came, and the Sleuthmere carousals at 
 Yuletide were a pretext for still longer detaining 
 him among the north-country sportsmen. He had 
 to stay with the best grace he could. An event, 
 too, had occurred which, while it made hira still 
 more anxious to depart, rendered it still more
 
 OPPOSITION. 157 
 
 impossible for him to manifest an unwillingness to 
 stay. What this was will be best described in the 
 first interview, after his return, with Grattan Horn- 
 castle. This did not take place till February. 
 
 He had twice attempted, but in vain, to get at 
 him. To his knocks at the door of the new cham- 
 bers came no reply. 
 
 ' It's not a bit of use,' said Bracebridge, ' not a 
 bit. If you really want to see him, you must 
 write ; and then — even then —you must not be 
 sure that you will get any answer. I can't get to 
 see him ; nobody can get to see him ; nobody. 
 To tell you the truth ' — and here his maimer 
 assumed a solemnity almost too comic for Mor- 
 timer's gravity — ' it's my opinion he's married. 
 Married. That's my opinion.' 
 
 « To whom ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, God knows to whom. To whom ? That's 
 another matter. But you mark my words. Horn- 
 castle's married. Married. Well — that's viy 
 opinion,' 
 
 ' But what makes you think so ? ' 
 
 ' Think so ! I don't think so ; I'm sure of it. 
 Sure of it. There ! Why, of course, he's married.
 
 158 AN ARTISTS PEOOF, 
 
 Where he was, or what he was doing all the Long 
 Vacation — yes, and since, and since — / don't know. 
 No, and nobody knows — nobody. But the first 
 time I got into his rooms after the Long — and 
 devilish hard work I had to get in, I can tell you, 
 devilish hard work — the very first time — never 
 since, mind you, never since — the very first time, I 
 saw what I say is his wife ; his wife — of course 
 she's his wife : but, at any rate, a girl, and a 
 devilish clever girl, I can tell you. He said she 
 was a near connection of his, who was stopping 
 with her aunt, who was also in town, for a short. 
 time. For a short time. But the aunt wasn't 
 there. Of course there's no aunt. A near con- 
 nection of his, and she had come to dine with him ! 
 Dine with him. And I dined with him. Such a 
 dinner as you never saw. Oh — but you know Horn- 
 castle. Well — such a dinner. I've never seen her 
 since. Indeed, I've never been able to get into his 
 chambers since : not get into them. But I saw 
 quite enough to know that she's his wife. Why, 
 of course she's his wife.' 
 
 ' But what was she like ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, very nice — very nice. When I say very
 
 OPPOSITION-. 159 
 
 nice, I don't mean she was anything very extra- 
 ordinary — very extraordinary : but nice. Nice. 
 And clever ! Ah ! I can tell you she's as clever 
 as Horncastle himself; and that's saying a good 
 deal. If she's not married to him, never believe 
 me again ; that's all. Why, of course she's mar- 
 ried to him.' 
 
 ' But you say you never saw her there but once.' 
 ' No ; that's just it. I never saw her there but 
 once, because I've never — well, twice, perhaps, 
 twice — been in his rooms since. But I know 
 she's there. Everybody knows she's there. Every- 
 body.' 
 
 ' But does everybody say she is his wife ? ' 
 ' No, Everybody says she's not. But then 
 they haven't seen her ; and I have : / have. 
 And they don't know Horncastle; and /do: / 
 do. They said he wouldn't get in for Veerborough.' 
 Poor Guy forgot that he, too, had always main- 
 tained to Mortimer that Horncastle would not get 
 in. ' Tfiey said that. But / knew he would get 
 in. What do they know about it? Well, I may 
 be wrong. May be, I say. But I'm not. You 
 mark my words if I am. You'll see ; you'll see.'
 
 160 AN artist's proof. 
 
 ' But what could induce him to marry her ? I 
 suppose she has no money ; at any rate, not a 
 fortune. And Horncastle is not the man to do 
 such a foolish thing, particularly at present, when 
 he must want money himself,' 
 
 ' Want money ! I should think he did want 
 money. Of course, she hasn't got any money. But 
 what of that? She's a devilish clever woman, I 
 can tell you ; and I've no doubt she's very useful 
 to him. If she hasn't any money — which she hasn't 
 — she gets him some, or, what's the same thing, 
 just the same thing, saves it for him. She cooked 
 that dinner. Of course, she cooked that dinner. / 
 know that. Why, she said she did, or as much. 
 As much. Depend upon it, she always cooks his 
 dinner, and does a dozen things for him. A dozen 
 things. I know what a clever woman can do for 
 a fellow. Ah ! I wish I had one to do so for me. 
 And fellows say she's not married to him ! But 
 they haven't seen her ; and / have. / have. And 
 / know whether she's not married to him. Mind 
 you, I don't say to them that he's married to 
 her. I say nothing to them. Nothing. They 
 say that he's not married to her ; and I say
 
 OPPOSITION. 1(J1 
 
 nothing. But 1 know whether he is or not ; that's 
 all.' 
 
 It was quite evident that Guy's facts were as 
 much exhausted as his conviction arising from theui 
 was unshaken. Mortimer took both for what he 
 thought they were worth, and satisfied himself with 
 following his odd friend's advice, and writing to 
 Horncastle and asking for an appointment. The 
 ansv/er came at once : — 
 
 ' My dear Boy, — I am delighted to hear you 
 are in the south again. I am most anxious to see 
 you. Come to my rooms either to-night or to- 
 morrow, at half-past eight. — Yours ever, 
 
 'Grattan Horkcastle.' 
 
 Mortimer had not yet gone do^vn to Gracewood, 
 but was still in town ; so that night, after dinner, 
 punctual to the hour appointed, he mounted Horn- 
 castle's staircase, to meet with as cordial a welcome 
 as one man ever received at the hands of another. 
 
 ' Well, old fellow, what news ? ' 
 
 ' Great news ! ' said Mortimer. ' My cousin has 
 given me fifteen hundred a-year, and is ready to 
 strain every nerve to get me into Parliament.' 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ' Splendid, ray dear fellow ! Magnificent ! Nothing 
 could be better. The very thing. The thing I 
 urged all along to you. He was sure to do it. 
 But tell me, what has been the arrangement ? ' 
 
 ' How do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Who has given way — he or you ? ' 
 
 ' He, to be sure. But the whole thing is the 
 result of an accident. You remember our talking 
 about the opposition raised against my cousin at 
 the General, and my telling you how mad he would 
 be?' 
 
 ' Yes ; perfectly.' 
 
 ' Well, now, you must not be angry with old 
 Bracebridge — ' 
 
 ' Not a bit. What is it ? ' 
 
 ' He told me what you had told him about your 
 knowing that Tuck was sent down by the Party.' 
 
 ' .Just like him. He can keep nothing.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 163 
 
 ' I never intended to say anything al)out it, though 
 / was not told it in confidence.' 
 
 ' But I trust you did not mention my name ? ' 
 ' Of course not. Bracebridge told me I must not 
 do that, and I should have known as much as that 
 without his telling me. However, I had nearly for- 
 gotten all about it when, a few weeks ago, some 
 of the men staying at Sleuthmere began chaffing 
 my cousin on the subject after dinner. I thought 
 it a good opportunity of telling him what I con- 
 sider a disgraceful thing for your people to have 
 done.' 
 
 ' So it was — for them to do. Well ? ' 
 ' He took it very well at the time ; but when we 
 were alone the next day, he opened out to me, 
 and asked me if I was quite sure. I said I was 
 sure as a man well could be ; that I had it on 
 authority, at once good and with no motive to 
 deceive.' 
 
 ' But did he not want to know the authority ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; but I told him I could not possibly tell 
 
 him, and he was satisfied. But his rage ! By 
 
 Jove ! Did I care to go into the House ? he asked. 
 
 He knew my political principles, and that they were
 
 164 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 not quite the same as his, but that was no matter. 
 He would get rae in the very first opportunity, and 
 I was to l)e on the look-out.' 
 
 ' Excellent ! Splendid ! What a lucky thing ! ' 
 
 ' If I get in, it will be a man lost to your side, 
 and a man gained to the other. We shall sit facing 
 each other, Grattan.' 
 
 ' Oh, that's nothing. There are only two sides, 
 and a fellow must sit on one or the other; and 
 parties, and cries, and principles change so. Who 
 knows but what we may sit on the same side before 
 long ? But what about the money ? ' 
 
 ' That was done at the same time. He said he 
 knew I should require a decent income, and that, 
 if I thought it enough, he would allow me fifteen 
 hundred a-year from this out.' 
 
 ' Really, he is a brick, is the old boy. I don't 
 think he likes me very much. He's always very 
 civil in the House, and when we meet ; but he has 
 never asked me again since you took me to dinner, 
 you remember ? ' 
 
 ' What of that ? I dare say he does not much 
 care for you. But then, rich men usually do not 
 like to see people get on without the influence of
 
 OPPOSITION. 165 
 
 money, as you are doing. It rather strikes at their 
 own merits.' 
 
 'Just so. But, as you say, what does it matter? 
 I am delighted — delighted, my dear boy. You 
 must take to politics in earnest, and rush to the 
 front. As I have often told you, you are really — 
 without humbug — the cleverest fellow I know, and 
 you ought to do wonders.^ You are the very man 
 for the House. Your power of language, your 
 original views, your — Oh, my dear fellow, it's 
 splendid. We must pull together, even if we do 
 continue to sit on opposite sides. Like the Dioscuri, 
 sir, we'll leave the marks of our hoofs on the capitol ! ' 
 Words do not and cannot be made to express the 
 buoyant elasticity with which those sentences were 
 uttered. There was about Grattan Horncastle's 
 ordinary manner a calm yet cheerful confidence that 
 vexed some, convinced many, but impressed all. 
 But when, retaining the confidence, he threw aside 
 the calmness for an almost boyish fervour, which 
 seemed even still more natural, there was some- 
 thing about him irresistibly winning. Mortimer 
 liked him infinitely above all the men of his ac- 
 quaintance. Indeed, Horncastle was probably the
 
 166 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 only man whom he could be said to love. I do not 
 think that he was in the slightest degi-ee moved 
 thereto by his friend's frankly-outspoken and often- 
 repeated admiration, though it is scarcely likely that 
 he was not agreeably and affectionately influenced 
 by knowing that Horncastle fully appreciated him. 
 Women can gain men's love by flattering them. 
 Men can only hope, by tKe same means, to retain it. 
 
 ' And what are you going to do ? You must put 
 yourself into communication with the proper people. 
 You know who are the Conservative agents.' 
 
 ' Yes ; my cousin told me, and advised me to call 
 and state my views.' 
 
 ' Of course you must. And I will manage some- 
 how to get one or two men on that side to speak 
 about it. We are in a miserable minority now, and 
 I shouldn't wonder if the Tories are not so circum- 
 spect and keen as they would be if they were not in 
 such strength. But they will be delighted to have 
 you in, I am sure. You see about it at once. You 
 will remain in town now, of course ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I cannot do that. 1 shall be a good deal 
 backwards and forwards. I prefer being at Grace- 
 wood, and really think it the best place for me for
 
 OPPOSITION. 167 
 
 the present. I can study more quietly there ; and 
 I have a great deal to read up before being fit for a 
 senator.' 
 
 ' Oh, that's soon done.' 
 
 ' Not so soon. Besides, I have another motive. 
 I am going to tell you a secret, in strict confidence, 
 that I have not yet mentioned to a soul.' 
 
 'Yes?' 
 
 'There is a girl, a Miss Chesterton, about ten 
 miles from my place, exceedingly charming. I 
 know her people very well, though I do not see 
 much of her, and of course have not seen anything 
 of her or them for the last four months. I don't 
 mean to say, mind, that I am desperately in love 
 with her, or, indeed, in love with her at all. It 
 would be funny if I were, for I have never been 
 alone with her but three times, and nothing affec- 
 tionate has ever passed between us that I know of. 
 But I like her very much, and think well of her, 
 and am considerably interested/ 
 
 This sort of talk, I am well aware, will be to 
 some silly men and to most sensible women rather 
 offensive. The former I need not notice. But 
 I would gently tell the latter that they must be
 
 168 AN artist's proof. 
 
 good enough to bear with that division of our sex 
 who are not given to crying for the moon, when 
 they have once got out of long clothes. This 
 division does not consist, I pray them to believe 
 me, of disappointed cynics, disciples of the Ex- 
 change, cold calculators, and hard-hearted egotists, 
 who are ignorant of, and insensible to, the charm of 
 emotional passion. It contains some right honest 
 fellows, with hearts pretty much in the ordinary 
 place ; who take a generous estimate of the value of 
 sentiment ; who would not for worlds banish out of 
 life sunsets, or smiles, or any other sweet thing ; who 
 can work hard, contend with difficulties, love well 
 and truly and right on to the last, and whose arms 
 the best women that ever lived might fare worse 
 than to feel clasped firmly about them. Only they 
 are not moonstruck. Endymion was a lucky fellow, 
 but there has never been but one such that I have 
 heard tell of ; and they for their part are going to 
 try stoutly for what earthly thing they can reason- 
 ably hope to get, but not to rave about it overmuch 
 before they have got it. When it is got, the good 
 Gods will be thanked duly, and perhaps a little 
 moderate raving done too.
 
 OPPOSITION. 169 
 
 Mortimer, then, belonging to this veteran division, 
 and not being a sheer raw recruit, went on thus- 
 wise. 
 
 ' Very much interested in her. It certainly is 
 rather a difficult matter to make up one's mind 
 about a girl whom one never sees except in the 
 presence of other people, and those people deter- 
 mined to prevent her from displaying herself in 
 her natural colours. Now, Mrs. Thatchley is the 
 very devil, and that's all about it. She has brought 
 up the girl infernally, simply ; regularly drills her, 
 and supervises her, and watches her to this day as 
 though she were nine instead of nineteen. That 
 is why I so seldom see her ; and when I do see her, 
 it is to very little purpose. But what I have seen 
 of her when alone, joined to the interest I take in 
 her confounded position, makes me very — well, yes 
 — very fond of her.' 
 
 ' Is she fond of you ? ' asked the other. 
 * * I have scarce a right to form an opinion.' 
 
 ' Well, but of course she is.' 
 
 ' Ah ! that is our way. We get into the habit of 
 presuming that women are fond of us. All that 
 I know is, they want her to marry somebody else —
 
 170 AN artist's proof. 
 
 a very good fellow, but a muff — and she tells me 
 she never will. Her marryuig me, supposing that 
 I made up my mind to go in for it, would be 
 objected to strenuously, or would have been, by her 
 parents. But they are like the rest of the world ; 
 and I cannot help thinking that a seat in the 
 House, and fifteen hundred a-year would smooth 
 away a good many difficulties. Now you know 
 another reason for my being so much pleased with 
 my cousin's offer, and for my wish not to be too 
 much away from Gracewood.' 
 
 They both were standing up, and Horncastle was 
 walking about. Indeed, he was never completely 
 at rest, save under compulsion. So that, had 
 Mortimer been watching his face — and it never 
 entered his head to do anything of the kind — 
 he would not have been able to see the expression 
 which, at that moment, came over it. Suddenly 
 he turned. 
 
 ' Has she any money ? ' 
 
 'Not a farthing, I should think. Of course, I 
 know nothing ; but 1 should not suppose old Ches- 
 terton could give her anything, or even leave her 
 much.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 171 
 
 ' Not a fortune, then ? ' 
 
 ' Most certainly not.' 
 ' ' Ah ! my dear fellow ! a mistake, a regular mis- 
 take. Here you have got a start, the finest start 
 in the world, and you are going to handicap your- 
 self in the most unnecessary and ruinous manner. 
 I tell you plainly, you ought to be Prime Minister 
 some day ; and there's no earthly excuse for you, 
 if you are not. What is there to prevent you? 
 Nothing but an unwise marriage. If you only 
 keep yourself free to make full use of your oppor- 
 tunities, and stick to it and to your cousin, he will 
 increase your allowance, and tinally leave you all 
 his fortune. By the time you are fit and have 
 just pretentions to be a Secretary of State, he must 
 go in the ordinary course of things. And then 
 you will have ten or fifteen thousand a-year, and 
 an excellent chance of going in for the Seals. 
 Fifteen hundred a-year is a very nice thing, no 
 doubt. But if you marry now — unless the woman 
 has a large fortune — she will not assist and can 
 only hamper you. And by the time you fall into 
 your cousin's fortune, you will scarcely have made 
 your start, much less conquered all your difficulties
 
 172 AN aktist's peoof. 
 
 this side the winning-post. It would be death, my 
 dear fellow — death ! ' 
 
 'You considerably overrate,' said Mortimer, 
 ' both my powers and my opportunities, though 
 I never affected to think meanly of the former, 
 and now fully see the excellence of the latter. 
 A much less dazzling future than the one you 
 paint would, I think, prove that I had made a 
 satisfactory use of both. But taking either view, 
 your more extensive or my more limited one, I do 
 not see that the income which I shall at once 
 possess, will not suffice to carry it out.' 
 ' As a bachelor, perhaps,' 
 
 ' Yes, or as a married man. The world has 
 gone temporarily — I cannot believe it will prove to 
 be permanently — mad in its pursuit of display. 
 The rising to the surface of so many people whose 
 early days were spent in obscurity, the sudden 
 accession of inordinate wealth to those who were 
 once acquainted with penury, joined to their con- 
 sciousness of inability to shine socially by any 
 personal gifts — these are sufficient to account for 
 the disreputable rivalry in expenditure which is the 
 characteristic feature of modern Western civiliz-
 
 OPPOSITION. 173 
 
 atlon. Many of those who, easy from birth in 
 their circumstances and furnished by their educa- 
 tion with worthier means of becoming distinguished, 
 ought to know better than to join in the vulgar 
 struggle, are too weak, or themselves too empty- 
 headed to attempt to stem the current. Therefore 
 they swell it. But what is the duty of the man 
 who is neither particularly empty-headed nor par- 
 ticularly weak ? It is clear that his duty is to 
 confront it ; actively, where he wisely can ; but 
 passively, always.' 
 
 'At his peril, mind you.' 
 
 ' Personal peril,' answered Mortimer, fully seizing 
 the drift and force of the remark, but exemplifying 
 the principle for which he was contending, by the 
 way in which he replied to it — ' personal peril 
 usually accompanies the persistent pursuit of duty ; 
 and, no doubt, a man who even quietly sets himself 
 against the social torrent of his time runs the risk 
 of being swept either with it or out of it. Rusticus 
 expectat dum defluat amnis. Pardon the novel, 
 since spontaneous, application. The man of simple 
 manners wisely waits till that current has gone by, 
 and better times shall come.'
 
 174 AN artist's proof. 
 
 * But are you ready,' asked Horncastle, ' to be 
 swept out of the stream and left standing in some 
 stagnant shallow till a change, not likely to come 
 in your time, shall arrive ? ' 
 
 ' Quite ready, if it be necessary ; but your 
 remark has forced me, in ray reply, a little away 
 from what I was urging. I said it was a man's 
 duty to stem actively where he could, and passively 
 when he could not, the moneyed phrensy which is 
 carrying away the body and making sad havoc with 
 the brains of the time. I believe it can be done, 
 by moderately strong men, even without exorbitant 
 risk. I, at least, intend to try. I will succeed 
 legitimately, or not at all ; and I would no more 
 accept the favour or servility of politicians offered 
 by reason of my wealth, than for the same reason 
 the cringing of lacqueys; and he who wins, in a 
 contest against the vices of his age, leaves virtue 
 a better name, since a better chance, with the age 
 that comes after. A man who leaves such a legacy 
 can afford to die poor.' 
 
 ' Admirably true, and admirably put,' answered 
 the other, who never contradicted whom he intended 
 to convince ; ' and were you to remain single, your
 
 OPPOSITION. 175 
 
 doctrine would not only be noble and even plausible, 
 but perfectly practical. As long as you continue 
 a bachelor, you can resist your century, and yet 
 command it. Look at me! Not much luxury, 
 here. No one can accuse me,' and he laughed, 
 ' either of vying with or even yielding to the pluto- 
 cratic practices of our golden age. And I intend 
 to succeed.' 
 
 Bracebridge's theory rushed to Mortimer's mind, 
 and he saw the opportunity of putting a leading 
 question, with the remark — ' Without marrying ? ' 
 But he was too delicate, and let it pass. Horn- 
 castle continued : 
 
 ' / intend to succeed. But who asks where I 
 live, and how I live ? A few inquisitive people 
 perhaps may, but their curiosity is of little moment. 
 If 1 get on, it will become greater and of somewhat 
 more moment. Let us hope that by that time I 
 shall be better able to satisfy it ; but even then, 
 as long as I do not set up an establishment, I can 
 preserve moderation in my expenses, without sub- 
 jecting myself to criticism or disadvantage. But 
 you ! You have one establishment already, and you 
 will, if you marry, at once want another — a town
 
 176 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 one. And then think of your habits, your tastes, 
 your terrible fastidiousness. See there ! Yester- 
 day's newspaper makes me a very tolerable table- 
 cloth, and my menu requires no painting. I have 
 no eye, ear, touch, ever on the alert for something 
 inharmonious. Many shallow people would taunt 
 you with the remark that you, with your rage for 
 the agreeable, are the last person who ought to 
 complain of luxury and expenditure. The taunt 
 R'ould be stupid and unjust. I know that taste and 
 display are as different in their cost as in their 
 character. The first can be gratified with a very 
 moderate income. Still, nothing would compensate 
 you for not having it gratified, and your income 
 would, at present, be suflacient for the purpose ; 
 but in making those two ends meet, most of your 
 time and consideration would necessarily be ex- 
 pended. Supposing that you found, by indulging 
 at once in ambition and a wife, that your means 
 were wholly demanded for the sheer necessities of 
 both, what then? An entourage without grace 
 would fill you with disgust. I verily believe that 
 you would shrink from a seat on the Treasury 
 Bench to-morrow, if it were covered with a wrong-
 
 OPPOSITION. 177 
 
 coloured velvet; and were you to find that the 
 necessary expenses of a seat in the House interfered 
 with the refringing of your curtain, I am sure you 
 would abandon the reconstruction of the finances of 
 an empire in order to adjust the aesthetic economy 
 of a cottage. My dear Mortimer, you know I 
 speak the truth.' 
 
 What a wonderful fellow ! There were other 
 arguments which came into his head, and which 
 other men would have been sure to urge. He 
 took good care not even to hint at them. That 
 divisions are influenced by expensive entertain- 
 ments, wavering votes decided by an oblong card, 
 damaging philippics relegated to drawers at the 
 bidding of a judicious invitation, cabinets saved by 
 a pudding, and empires ruined by a sauce, he knew 
 or believed as thoroughly as most men ; but, unlike 
 most men, he would have bitten out his tongue 
 sooner than have allowed it to urge such arguments 
 to Mortimer. He knew it would have been to 
 throw up the cards. To tell Mortimer that he 
 must have money in order to provide for salacious 
 senators the apparatus of Persia, for their wives 
 the approach to successive salons, for their daughters 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 the matrimonial sweepstakes of the Dance, that he 
 would have to subscribe to everything which had 
 the courage to call itself a charity, and contribute 
 to testimonials to every man who wanted a character 
 — to tell him these, would have been to pi'ovoke a 
 thunderous silence or a hailstorm of scorn. To 
 suggest to him the adoption of the vices of his 
 neighbours would only infuriate his moral sense, 
 and so obscure his judgment. To point out to him 
 the necessary consequences of his own virtues, was 
 to soothe and flatter the first without abandoning 
 influence over the second. 
 
 ' There is much in what you say,' answered 
 Mortimer, ' and I do not fail to give it weight. 
 Still, whilst clinging, as cling I must, to my idea 
 of having one's artistic sense satisfied at the least 
 possible expense, I am not at all sure that a wife — 
 properly chosen — would not promote rather than 
 encumber the process.' 
 
 ' Perhaps ; but not the ambition, my boy — not 
 the ambition. I do not use the word to you in its 
 vulgar sense ; I speak of the first — not last — in- 
 firmity of noble minds. And, mark me — nay, you 
 know it — drenched with artistic dews as is your
 
 OPPOSITION. 179 
 
 nature, you are also capable — indeed, not only 
 capable, but cut out for action. Does not a per- 
 sonal capacity entail a public obligation ? I think 
 you may properly ask yourself that question, too, 
 and will readily pardon me for suggesting it.' 
 
 Too readily. It was not often that Mortimer 
 had the gratification of hearing his friend prate of 
 the moral instinct or anything akin. I wonder if 
 it astonished him to hear it now. Probably it 
 pleased him too much to excite marvel, much less 
 suspicion. 
 
 ' But action — permanent, fruitful action — will be 
 impossible, on your chimerical terms. You do not 
 want to be only a passive, sleepy politician ; you 
 would surely strive to be a beneficent statesman. 
 In trying to carry out your views — your profound 
 social views, shared in by so few — can you afford 
 to fling aside the adventitious aids which the loftiest 
 virtue has hitherto deemed it honourable to accept ? 
 Obstacles there will be in plenty. You cannot 
 afford to discountenance natural allies. No, no ; 
 no wife at present, except with money. I do not 
 ask you — Heaven forbid ! — to marry anyone whom 
 you do not love. I do not even ask you not to
 
 180 AN artist's proof. 
 
 marry some one whom you do love. You confess 
 that you are not in love with Miss Chesterton. I 
 implore you not to take the unnecessary trouble to 
 become so. Attend to your election at present. 
 That won, then — To arms ! — but not those of a 
 woman ! You will make rapid way. Everybody 
 will admire you, and everybody's admiration will 
 only the more thrust you upon the affection and 
 interest of your cousin. In due time, as I say, you 
 will have more of his great wealth, and finally all. 
 And then, my boy, marry whom you like. But not 
 now ; not now. It would be ruin.' 
 
 So spoke one, and so the other. Incapable as 
 was Mortimer of calculating on Mr. Dyneley's 
 death, or even on a larger usufruct of his fortune 
 during life, he was equally incapable of not seeing 
 the arguments that might be drawn from such 
 presumptions, especially when they were put by so 
 deft a dialectician as Grattan Horncastle. Ambition 
 is more catching than is usually supposed, though 
 the infection, owing to the weakness of the subject, 
 is often but transitory. When, however, a powerful 
 nature is superadded to proximity of age and of 
 friendship, the virus is much more likely to seize
 
 OPPOSITION. 181 
 
 swift hold and maintain longer dominion. Proximus 
 ardet. When Horncastle was in one of his 
 blazing fits, it was difficult for Mortimer not to feel 
 all aglow. 
 
 Still, this latter part of their conversation had no 
 conclusive issue, and was only closed by Mortimer's 
 renewed injunction of secrecy. 
 
 * I have really been very egotistical. Tell me 
 now something of yourself. How have you been 
 getting on ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, splendidly ; but for the most part quietly. 
 I had invitations down to Whigham, and to Whip- 
 ford, and to Telldeep, and one or two other places 
 during the autumn. Everybody was immensely 
 civil. Since then, I have been here, reading up, 
 as you perceive, on every subject under the sun.' 
 
 There was no mistake about it. The room, 
 though a large one, was almost impassable for 
 pamphlets, blue-books, newspapers, journals, reports, 
 evidence before this commission and that commission, 
 statistics, returns, letters, everything that can be 
 written or printed, tumbled together anyhow. But 
 that all were important, Mortimer felt sure ; and 
 that Horncastle made use of all was evident bv
 
 182 AN aetist's fkoof. 
 
 the loose but numerous sheets of foolscap covered 
 with his notes, matted among the tangled heap of 
 chaotic information. It was a huge storehouse of 
 facts, and was quite cosraical enough for its prac- 
 tical possessor. 
 
 ' Every subject under the sun.' And he plunged 
 his arm into what would have seemed to anybody 
 else a lottery, but from which, at every plunge, he 
 pulled up the thing he named. ' Board of Trade. 
 Hop Plantations. Evidence before the Charity 
 Commissioners. Sugar in Bond. Incidence of 
 Indirect Taxation. Railway Powers. Everything, 
 sir ! and in admirable order.' And he gave a 
 hearty, broad-chested laugh, in which Mortimer 
 less noisily, but most cordially joined. 
 
 ' By the way, old boy, do you mind — / don't 
 mind asking you, now that you're a millionaire, 
 though there is not the slightest risk — do you 
 mind backing a bill of mine for three hundred 
 pounds ? ' 
 
 * Not in the least, if it be all right.' 
 
 'Yes, it's all right. I owe this fellow some 
 money, arising out of election expenses and one or 
 two other things, and I cannot give it him in cash
 
 OPPOSITION. 183 
 
 just now. My uncle in the north has been very 
 kind ; so I don't like to ask him for more. I can 
 pay it when it is due. Reasonable interest, con- 
 sidering. Only six.' 
 
 ' All right. Very happy.' 
 
 And Mortimer signed, and went. 
 
 ' Mind, you're up soon, and write to me. Write 
 beforehand, and make an appointment. A lot of 
 fellows are always coming with letters and plans 
 and petitions, and I want to work. So I always 
 keep my door hermetically sealed.' 
 
 *So says Bracebridge.' 
 
 Horncastle laughed. He was standing at the 
 door, letting out his visitor. 
 
 ' Poor Bracebridge ! A capital fellow. But 
 then he would always be here. I see him often. 
 But you — you always drop me a line, and then 
 you'll be sure to find me in. You know how 
 delighted I always am to see you. Good-by, old 
 fellow ; good-by ! Many thanks.' 
 
 The outer door slung to with a reverberating 
 noise, and through an inner one instantly slided a 
 woman — young, comely, and sensibly clad. 
 
 'Was it Mortimer Dyneley, Grattan? was it?
 
 18-1 AN artist's proof. 
 
 It was ! Oh, why did you not let me see him ? I 
 am so anxious to see him. What a delightful 
 voice he has ! What a shame not to let me 
 see him ! ' 
 
 ' Another time, Nelly ! ' And he wound his arm 
 round her waist. ' Another time, and you shall 
 see him. But we had so much to say, and of so 
 much importance, I thought you were better out of 
 it. But it's all right ; the train is fired.' 
 
 ' The Election business ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, right as the mail.' 
 
 She clapped her hands, sedate as was her 
 appearance and otherwise her manner. 
 
 ' Capital. Oh ! do tell me all about it.' 
 
 ' Well, Mortimer told his cousin about the oppo- 
 sition got up at Pocketford ; and old Dyneley is 
 furious, and is going to put him in somewhere.' 
 
 'Famous! You always succeed;' and she pushed 
 back his hair and kissed his forehead with a kiss of 
 intimate belief. ' You always — always succeed.' 
 
 ' Yes ; but better still. His cousin has given 
 him fifteen hundred a-year.' 
 
 ' Glorious ! It must be all right now.' 
 
 ' Of course it is.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 185 
 
 * Well, and anything else ? ' 
 
 ' No — nothing else. Surely, that is sufficient.' 
 
 * Yes, indeed, amply sufficient.' 
 
 Not a word, then, to her about Miss Chesterton ? 
 It seems not ; but remember, did not Mortimer 
 tell him that^ in strict confidence ? Pray do him 
 justice. 
 
 ' Now for some tea, old girl ; and hold up 
 bravely. It has taken eight months to effisct this 
 little stroke ; but it is effected, you see.' 
 
 * Of course it is ; and you know I never doubted 
 but that it would be. Hold up ! Did you ever see 
 me down ? ' 
 
 'Never. You are the bravest Nelly that ever 
 was ; ' and he returned her kiss. ' See ; I must 
 polish off this report. By the time tea is ready, I 
 shall have finished.' 
 
 In a moment, he was deep in his work ; and she, 
 though making due preparations for their meal, was 
 as silent as a mouse.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Mortimer was once again at Gracewood, and alone. 
 Winter was over certainly, but spring had not yet 
 come. Trying equinoctial time, when the balance 
 of sleep and of waking is so evenly kept, when the 
 rights of torpor and growth are too evenly adjusted, 
 and one almost turns back to the hard and sharp black 
 frost, seeing that the soft green leaves are so slow 
 to arrive. Gratifications are becoming few, just as 
 wants are growing large. Man's animal strength 
 waxes vigorous, and his palate keen but choice. 
 Though the trusty gun must hang over the mantel- 
 shelf, and there is no wild winged thing to spread 
 upon the board, yet spring chickens are scarce in 
 the farm -yard, and the glib salmon is still dear in 
 market overt ; whilst boating is as yet bitter cold 
 work, and galloping in the teeth of an east wind 
 seems like courting ingratitude. A detestable
 
 OPPOSITION. 187 
 
 time all over, making women look pinched, and 
 men irritably fretful. 
 
 The impatience, evoked at this season by the 
 laggard progress of the year, extends to the feelings 
 touching any other advent desired but delayed. 
 Mortimer was terribly under its influence. The 
 buds would not burst round his cottage, no borough 
 open to a d^sh would become vacated, and no face 
 peeped through the bare brown branches. So, in 
 inverse proportion, was the hurry in his heart, for 
 the pink blossoms, for the free and independent 
 constituency, for the golden hair and lithe little 
 foot. 
 
 One of these would not be sufficient. Indeed 
 two of the three would not be enough. He must 
 have them all. The spring must shake all its 
 wilful tresses loose, the magic letters must be added 
 to his name, and then he might discover his fair and 
 unforgotten enchantress, with some hope of propiti- 
 ating her Gorgon. Without the sunny inducements 
 of the first, the artist's nature could not well assume 
 the lover's ; and without the solid advantages of the 
 second, he would probably assume it to very little 
 purpose.
 
 188 AN artist's proof. 
 
 So Grattan Horncastle had not convinced him? 
 Scarcely. Action was well, and what he wanted ; 
 but the ' calm grace ' could not be abandoned. He 
 had not thought himself sufficiently restless, to need 
 the repose often found in action by those who, 
 through reflection, have become not wiser, but only 
 more bewildered. Meditation had led him up to 
 the desire for constructive energy. Energy was the 
 natural growth, not the unnatural refuge, from 
 meditation. So that there was no necessity for his 
 abdicating the majestic throne of the one in order 
 to be permitted to mingle in the arena of the other. 
 The impartiality of the young Commodus might 
 be rivalled without at all sharing in his degrada- 
 tion. 
 
 Yet even in the equal struggles of the amphi- 
 theatre, the imperial purple should be seen hanging 
 at least over the bench behind him. What availed 
 all the past, if, in the manly contest, the practical 
 effort were not informed and guided by the dex- 
 terous spirit of contemplation. He was anxious to 
 prove himself a craftsman ; but not by ceasing to 
 be an artist, and an artist as much in his life as in 
 his work. To construct elaborate arguments, sum
 
 OPPOSITION. 189 
 
 them up In polished perorations — nay, then to era- 
 body them in intelligible and beneficent legislation, 
 even this would not have contented his scheme, if 
 his own personal existence were compelled to be 
 careless and chaotic ; disfigured with debts he 
 could not pay, and choked by demands which he 
 could not discriminate and reduce to order. With 
 every passion for rule, he would not consent to ride 
 a whirlwind. 
 
 Could the individual life be really artistic and 
 complete, unless partially domestic? A man may 
 still remain a man without becoming either a 
 soldier, a senator, or a poet. But without a wife ? 
 without children ? It is not to be human. Indeed, 
 such cannot properly be classed in the animal 
 kingdom. A man is compelled, by no law, to 
 be a demigod ; but, by every law, he must not 
 cease to be a mammal. 
 
 And this money question, upon which Horncastle 
 dwelt with so much insistance ? Look what he had 
 done at Gracewood with his five hundred a-year. 
 Surely, three times that amount, spent in the same 
 spirit of search for beauty and of scorn for ostenta- 
 tion, would bear him in Parliament, with a wife by
 
 190 AN aiitist's peoof. 
 
 his side, and all the sweet attendant consequences ; 
 and if he found it would not, well — politics might 
 be foregone. But the rigorous law of harmonious 
 grace could never be outraged. 
 
 Yetj'no politics, no wife ; or not the wife too long 
 considered to be suddenly set aside. 
 
 In that case, both. 
 
 Such were Mortimer's reflections, uttered to no 
 one, and therefore reported in the thinking-aloud 
 form as above. Good reasoning or ill, it was his 
 own, and it satisfied him. Upon it he was pre- 
 pared to act. 
 
 The first time he called at Beadon Priory, the 
 Chestertons were not at home. The second time he 
 called, they were in London. He concluded that 
 they had gone up to town for the day, and asked no 
 further questions, only thinking himself, as he rode 
 home, a very unlucky fellow. In ten days he called 
 again. Confound it ! he would see them. ' They 
 were in London.' Again in London ? No ; still in 
 London ; they were staying there. AVould they be 
 there long ? The servant really did not know. 
 
 When it did not blow, it rained ; and when it did 
 not rain, it blew ; when he was not blinded with dust.
 
 OPPOSITION. 191 
 
 he was splashed with mud ; when not splashed with 
 mud, then blinded with dust ; and the flowers would 
 not come, and Gracewood looked perfectly horrid, 
 and Mortimer began to think that Horncastle was 
 right, and that for the present he would be much 
 the best in London ; so thither he went. 
 
 Once there, he was more at ease. He kept 
 himself very quiet ; saw this person and that about 
 election prospects, industriously waded through 
 blue-books, and recreated himself of an evening, 
 when he could, at the Opera. Parliament was 
 sitting, and indeed considering the startling finan- 
 cial plans which Sir Robert Peel had just unfolded 
 to the new House of Commons, in that year of 
 grace 1842, It had no more regular or sedulous 
 attendant than Grattan Horncastle. Mortimer had 
 given up his chambers in the Temple, and had 
 taken lodgings at the west end. Thither Horn- 
 castle said it was quite convenient for him to come, 
 and that he would so spare his friend the long east- 
 ward journey. He was always in the highest 
 spirits, always thoroughly ' up ' in the last question, 
 and despite his youth and recent entry of the House, 
 always baiting somebody on the Treasury Bench.
 
 192 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 He was immensely anxious that Mortimer should 
 get returned, and occasionally struck out pleasantly 
 against any scheme of matrimony. Upon this sub- 
 ject, at present, Mortimer said little. 
 
 Bracebridge, also, of course he saw, and with 
 him had much the same sort of talk as when they 
 last met. As for Guy himself, of course everything 
 was going to the dogs fast. Nothing would turn out 
 right. He was the unluckiest beggar that ever 
 was. That fool, his father, was a greater idiot than 
 ever ; and that scoundrel, his brother, had been 
 pestering his life out. Horncastle ! Oh, Horn- 
 castle ! he never saw him — never ! He was a 
 devilish clever fellow, and seemed to be making a 
 stir in the House, and that sort of thing. But 
 nobody could get at him, and nobody could get his 
 money ; and everybody was talking, and he had not 
 a chance of getting in for Veerborough again, and 
 so on. He was delighted at Mortimer's pros- 
 pects, and if he had only such a chance — but he 
 hadn't. Brave, simple, very badly-treated Guy. 
 
 Standing one night at Her Majesty's, between 
 the acts of the opera, with his back to the orchestra, 
 and meanwhile using pretty freely his double-
 
 OPPOSITION. 193 
 
 barreled lorgnette, Mortimer espied, a considerable 
 way up among tbe tiers, the clear outstanding face, 
 with the aureole of golden tresses, of no other than 
 Isabelle Chesterton, and the Gorgon, and the old 
 boy. He could not run upstairs to them now, for 
 everybody was sitting down again, and the curtain 
 was just about to rise on Atto Secondo. But when 
 it again fell, he marked the box and hurried off 
 to it. 
 
 He was surprised at his reception. It was 
 positively cordial. True, he had not seen them for 
 nearly six months ; but he felt pretty certain that 
 an absence of sixty would not have made that saint 
 in whalebone relax to such an extent without some 
 motive. Mr, Chesterton seemed really pleased to 
 see him ; and the young larly, who looked still more 
 lovely with her superadded half year and evening 
 toilette, was as affectionate as is possible to one 
 whose words are forced to be circumspect. 
 
 ' I suppose you have just returned from the 
 north,' said Mrs. Thatchley. 
 
 ' Oh, dear, no ! I have been back some two 
 months — indeed, more. I have been three weeks 
 in town ; and I must have been at Gracewood some 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 AN artist's proof. 
 
 five or six. I called at the Priory three times ' — 
 with a hasty glance at Miss Chesterton, who met it 
 with one equally discreet — 'but was never fortunate 
 enough to find you at home. Your servant said 
 that you were in London ; but I concluded that you 
 had gone up for the day, or at most for a day or 
 two.' 
 
 Mortimer spoke most frankly, and really meant 
 no more than he said. Any taunt was quite out of 
 his thoughts. But Mrs. Thatchley's own conscience 
 immediately suggested a defence to an accusation 
 that had not been made, and certainly was not 
 intended. 
 
 ' Well, you see, a young girl must have some 
 acquaintance with London life, and with the world 
 generally. We are very quiet ; but still I aod my 
 brother think it desirable that Isabelle should have 
 the advantage of a little town society, and the Opera 
 and concerts, and such like. As the phrase is — she 
 is being brought out.' 
 
 Though Mortimer had not considered that their 
 presence in London, though it surprised, needed to 
 be explained, umch less defended, to him, he could 
 not fail to he amazed at this new state of things, more
 
 OPPOSITION. 195 
 
 especially when it was accounted for in such alto- 
 gether novel language. Was this Puritanism in 
 undress, or what? It had been his misfortune to 
 have to listen by the hour together, when his legs 
 were stretched under the oak dining-table at 
 Beadon, to straight-laced dissertations, on the vanity 
 of Hfe, on the emptiness of urban pleasures, on the 
 one thing necessary, on the frivolity of London girls, 
 on the modesty which was so requisite to a maiden, 
 and which could be maintained only under the 
 lindens, and to kindred homilies on analogous topics. 
 Here was a wondrous revolution ! What mighty 
 causes had set it goins:? The fact that Miss 
 Chesterton's manner, for all the change of scene, 
 was precisely the same as it used to be, only added 
 to the perplexity of the riddle. This, however, was 
 not the moment for seeking a solution. 
 
 'I am delighted to hear it,' he answered, bow- 
 ing low. ' But I am obstinate enough to stick 
 to my old cries, and am not at all inclined 
 to lower my banner. / do not like London, and 
 I neither much admire nor much reverence its 
 pursuits. But nobody can know their worse than 
 worthlessness till he has tried them. The convic-
 
 196 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 tion which arises from anything but experience is 
 every day liable to be shal^en : by a change in the 
 wind, by an acceleration of the blood, by many and 
 indeed any trivial causes. Miss Chesterton would 
 probably go on believing that the pleasures of a 
 capital are the sweetest of all, so long as she had 
 not for herself discovered that they are the most 
 insipid.' 
 
 This sounded very much like a set speech : and 
 there can be very little doubt that Mortimer meant 
 every word of it to tell somewhere. The young 
 lady never offered to take her eyes off him the whole 
 time he spoke it ; and the older one seemed as 
 though she did not quite know where to put hers. 
 
 'You are rather severe, Mr. Dyneley, but you 
 cannot expect a girl whose feelings are perfectly 
 fresh, to regard scenes that are new to her with the 
 disgust of one who has lived among them all his 
 life.' 
 
 As this was not a reply to his former remark, he 
 did not think it necessary to retort. What he had 
 previously said was intended for Miss Chesterton, 
 and for nobody else. She had heard it, and that 
 was enough.
 
 OPPOSITION. 197 
 
 ' So you are going to be very gay ? ' 
 
 ' Pretty well. We have a great many invita- 
 tions, all of which, of course, we cannot accept. 
 We are going to a large party at Mr. Sleeper's 
 to-morrow. Do you know him ? ' 
 
 ' By name only. Everybody, I take it, has that 
 much acquaintance with him.' 
 
 ' I thought you knew everybody : and he is such 
 a great man.' 
 
 ' Far from it. My acquaintances never were 
 many ; and they have a tendency to become fewer 
 rather than to increase.' Really he was very dis- 
 agreeable to-night. Even Miss Chesterton half 
 thought so. ' Are you going to remain in town all 
 the season ? ' 
 
 ' All the season, Mr. Dyneley ! Of course 
 not. We shall stop for a large garden-fete 
 given by Mr. Sleeper, on the 10th of May ; and 
 then I think we shall go home. Shall we not, my 
 dear ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, I think so. I think we must,' answered 
 ' my brother,' waking himself up to coincide with his 
 sister as positively as was wise for him ; knowing 
 that he would have to change his opinion, if she
 
 198 AN artist's proof. 
 
 changed hers. ' I think we must return home by 
 then.' 
 
 The music was about to recommence. He must 
 return to his stall. They would be happy to see 
 him, and gave their town address. Thanks. He 
 would call. He made his adieux, stared hard at 
 Miss Chesterton, who stared back hard at him, and 
 bowed himself out. 
 
 At the end of the opera, he saw Mr. Dyneley 
 in the entrance-hall. 
 
 'Hallo! Mortimer! You never came up to my box.' 
 
 ' I did not see you.' 
 
 ' I dare say not, you rascal. I saw you, though, 
 and in a box with a very pretty girl.' 
 
 ' Isn't she ? ' said Mortimer. 
 
 ' Wonderful ! Do you know her well ? Who 
 is she ? ' 
 
 ' A Miss Chesterton. I know her people pretty 
 well. They live near me in the country.' 
 
 ' Oh, indeed. Any election news ? ' 
 
 * Nothing quite definite. But we have settled 
 on three or four places which they tell me can be 
 fought with a fair chance of success, should a 
 vacancy occur in any of them.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 199 
 
 ' Well, you cannot do more than that. Only 
 keep a sharp look-out, and run no risk of defeat. 
 We must beat the scoundrels. I'll pay them off, 
 you'll see. Good-night.' 
 
 Mortimer was going. 
 
 ' Heh ! Mortimer.' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' By-the-way, I have told my lawyer, when he 
 sends you the half-year's cheque on the 21st, to 
 draw it according to the new arrangement — seven 
 hundred and fifty, you know.' 
 
 ' Many thanks.' 
 
 ' All right. Good-by, my boy.' 
 
 And the streets soon were cleared. 
 
 Mortimer was not long in calling, as he had pro- 
 mised. But the calls in London were almost as unsa- 
 tisfactory as in the country ; and he soon discovered 
 that the people to whose houses Mrs. Thatchley 
 was taking Isabelle, were quite outside his ac- 
 quaintance. He was not keen enough to care to 
 get to know tliem ; and had he so cared, time 
 would have been required for the purpose. As far 
 as he could gather, they seemed to be new rich 
 people, who were being brought prominently into
 
 200 AN artist's proof. 
 
 social notice by the great railway mania which had 
 by this time fairly commenced. The Mr. Sleeper 
 whom they had mentioned was distinguished in this 
 rapidly increasing tribe. Mr. Chesterton's ac- 
 quaintance with the great plutocrat arose out of the 
 Board Meetings of a Company of which he had 
 recently become a Director. And hence also fol- 
 lowed his social relations with the set amongst 
 whom Mortimer found that his wife and daughter 
 were moving. 
 
 Sleeper was certainly a great man in the only 
 sense understood by a century wherein Cato and his 
 conquered cause would have cut a very sorry figure. 
 Sleeper was a successful man. He had originally 
 kept a public-house, which was quite as successful 
 as any of the larger schemes which later on he took 
 under his protection. Its very success was the cause 
 of his abandoning it : for were there not other and 
 larger lands to conquer ? He sold the goodwill of 
 it for a respectable sum ; but his successor had not 
 his dexterity, nor Mrs. Sleeper's plump hands to 
 pass about the pots, and was speedily ruined. But 
 before this last had destroyed by his want of ability 
 the business which Sleeper had created, Sleeper
 
 OPPOSITION. 201 
 
 had still more splendidly succeeded in another. 
 From pewter to iron is a short stride enough. And 
 the man who had been the great Boniface of his 
 province, was shortly heard of as the great Vulcan 
 of his nation. At first providing but the material, 
 he soon provided the capital out of which railways 
 were to be made. The use of all opportunities 
 gave him continual fresh ones ; till the very men- 
 tion of his name suggested three millions of money. 
 He was not a bad fellow, and he really was not a 
 swindler. He had made all his money by getting 
 the better of his neighbour, but never by what is 
 considered cheating him. He had found, not made, 
 the ethics of his time ; and in the strictest accord- 
 ance with them, he had turned them to exceeding 
 profit. He had won his earlier position by being 
 intensely keen-fisted ; his later and present position 
 he maintained by being quite as intensely open- 
 handed. He was a wise man and a philosophic, 
 and had no vulgar preference for stinginess, and no 
 sentimental one for generosity. He had not been 
 parsimonious from meanness, and he was not now 
 prodigal from benevolence. His money he had 
 made by saving ; but by spending he had acquired
 
 202 AN artist's proof. 
 
 his position. His views were not quite so large 
 as his vvealth, and he judged his neighbours by him- 
 self. I cannot say that he seriously wronged them. 
 
 He had the finest house in a district of London 
 which was then rapidly approaching completion, 
 and which is now the abodes of the blessed. But 
 seven miles from town he had a palace, and to the 
 palace was attached a garden that had jaundiced 
 half even the territorial aristocracy of the land. 
 Thither, these flocked in crowds, and at their heels 
 the less noble but equally welcome commonalty of 
 the realm. Sleeper was not yet a peer ; but to do 
 him justice, if he strove for the smiles of the class 
 which he had almost reached, it was not for the 
 purpose of sneering at the class which he had almost 
 quitted. He was so rich and so much courted, 
 that he could positively afford to tolerate his own 
 antecedents ; and he had succeeded too thoroughly 
 not to know that nobody must be despised. Your 
 wise lion has a great regard for mice. 
 
 Everybody was there on the 10th of May, 1842. 
 Some very queer form of Dissent had originally 
 held Sleeper in its communion, and still pointed to 
 him as its production and its support ; but bishops
 
 OPPOSITION. 203 
 
 — especially English bishops — are proverbially 
 tolerant, and the Bench was largely represented. 
 The dispossessed heirs of conquered Eastern pro- 
 vinces displayed upon their persons and on those 
 of their suite the more than imperial fortunes 
 which they had received in compensation for their 
 superseded sway. Ambassadors from Asiatic isles 
 hitherto known but to schoolgirls, but now first 
 commencing to be recognized by statesmen, brought 
 their dusky faces and placid though inquisitive eyes 
 into the cosmopolitan crowd. Young orators were 
 being complimented for their speeches ; young 
 beauties for the splendour of their charms ; old 
 dowagers for the mamificence of their toilettes. 
 There were gems and intaglios, and medals and 
 autographs, for learned or assuming dilettanti ; old 
 masters and old wines for connoisseurs ; the last 
 water-colours and the most cooling draughts for the 
 more effervescing of the community. A Princess 
 of the Blood walked through. Two Members of 
 the Cabinet remained to the very last. The mem- 
 bers of the Press, from the well-lined editor to the 
 lean and almost-slippered reporter, found an equal 
 and honourable reception. Some said that it was
 
 204 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 owing to Sleeper's good-breeding; others, to his 
 tact. It might be attributed to either ; but it cer- 
 tainly was sufficient to justify the creditable imputa- 
 tion of both. All agreed that wit had never been so 
 witty, beauty so beautiful, and splendour so splen- 
 did, as in this signal gathering at Notable House. 
 
 Mortimer (whatever his object) had taken the 
 trouble — in this case but slight — to get an invi- 
 tation. Mr. Dyneley was there ; so was Grattan 
 Horncastle ; as were indeed full two-thirds of the 
 Commons' House. Not among the latest to appear 
 were the Chestertons, whom Mortimer, shortly after 
 his own arrival, espied, and at once went to salute. 
 A dress, simply but flawlessly made, of white muslin 
 sparingly sprinkled with green sprays, and a bonnet 
 whose colours accorded strictly with the rest of her 
 attire, did sufficient justice to the unostentatious 
 though remarkable beauty of the fair child from 
 Beadon. Mortimer had just passed on from ex- 
 changing the first few words with his country 
 friends to equally empty but equally required inter- 
 change of nothing with others of the shifting crowd, 
 when he came upon Mr. Dyneley. 
 
 ' Well ; who is here, Mortimer ? '
 
 OPPOSITION. 205 
 
 ' Everybody, it seems. Do you remember ask- 
 ing me about a pretty girl that you saw me talking 
 to in a box at the Opera, one night ? ' 
 
 ' Perfectly. Is she here ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; and I want to introduce you to her father 
 and mother — or half-aunt in reality. They are close 
 to, somewhere; I only just left them. Can you 
 come, now ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, with pleasure.' 
 
 ' Please, be civil to them. I don't think the 
 mother likes me overmuch, and — ' 
 
 ' And you do like the daughter, eh ? ' 
 
 ' Well ; yes.' And he laughed. ' Should I 
 come and ask you for your blessing some day, you 
 must not be surprised ; so pay the old lady a little 
 attention for me. See ; here they are. Allow me 
 to introduce Mr. Dyneley, my cousin, of whom you 
 have heard me speak.' 
 
 ' Of whom I have heard many people speak,' 
 answered Mrs. Tbatchley. It was scarcely true, 
 though she might think it polite ; but even your 
 rigid Puritan, when she gets into society, is perhaps 
 not much more truthful than her neighbours. 
 
 After a few preliminary courtesies of much the
 
 206 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 same order as the above, Mr. Dyneley offered his 
 arm to Mrs. Thatchley, saymg that he would take 
 her to see a most remarkable collection of ancient 
 rings. Did she care for such things ? Of course, 
 for nothing so much. Mortimer would follow with 
 Miss Chesterton. Papa was discussing Stock with 
 somebody or other in an appropriate corner. Grate- 
 ful as was Mortimer for any kindness done to him, 
 he had never been able to feel genuinely warm 
 affection for his cousin ; but he thought he felt it 
 now. No amount of money will win our love. 
 The more indirect furtherance of our schemes is a 
 shorter yet surer cut to our hearts. Old Dyneley 
 was certainly behaving like a trump : he kept the 
 mother on his arm ; discoursed to her long if not 
 learnedly of gems and amulets, whose wearers were 
 long since dust ; stopped often to greet and even 
 to exchange words with his innumerable acquaint- 
 ances ; but never forgot the pleased matron on his 
 arm, and introduced her in passing to several social 
 celebrities, whenever the idle but to her delightful 
 formula could properly be applied. Ever and 
 anon she looked back, but always to see Miss 
 Chesterton immediately behind.
 
 opposiTiox. 207 
 
 The confidence acquired by these repeated ocular 
 trials, followed by ocular proofs of their faithful 
 proximity, joined moreover to the increasing in- 
 toxication of a pleasure she had never enjoyed 
 before, made her at last less mindful of her maternal 
 obligations. Moreover, when tents are many and 
 intricate, flowers in these, ferns in those, groups of 
 dancers in others, and there is an ever-movino^ 
 crowd to increase the facility, it is not difficult for 
 people temporarily to lose each other. So without 
 accusing Mortimer of intentional escape, and with- 
 out caring to defend Miss Chesterton against the 
 possible imputation of too easily submitting to being 
 lost, I simply chronicle the fact, that when, after 
 unpardonably long negligence, Mrs. Thatchley 
 looked round for the two whom she believed to 
 be in her train, they were no longer visible. At 
 first she was vulgarly solicitous. But old Dyneley 
 had a quieting way with him ; and as a Duke 
 came up at the moment, he presented her to his 
 Grace, and so removed her anxiety. His Grace 
 said something courteous— he was one of our sweet- 
 est gentlemen — and passed on; but a succession 
 of notables helped to maintain the fascination
 
 208 AN artist's proof. 
 
 under which the liberated Calvinist agreeably 
 laboured. 
 
 Azaleas are lovely plants to look on, especially 
 when they are seven feet high ; but the purpose for 
 which at present we most admire them is that of 
 forming a most convenient and agreeable screen to 
 the whispers of the Lost. 
 
 *The very first opportunity,' Miss Chesterton 
 was saying, ' I followed your kind counsel im- 
 plicitly, feeling how good and judicious it was. 
 He behaved just like what you said he was — a 
 loyal gentleman. Had it been possible to love 
 him, I must have loved him then.' 
 
 ' And you did not.' 
 
 * Impossible. After that, he did not come to the 
 Priory so often, till, no doubt, it came to be re- 
 marked ; and I rather suspect, though I know 
 nothing, that mamma must have spoken to him 
 on the subject. I cannot believe that, after his 
 generous promises to me, he would ever of himself 
 have mentioned the suliject to her or anybody.' 
 
 * But what makes you think that Mrs. Thatchley 
 spoke to him ? ' 
 
 ' Because she very soon spoke to me. Indeed,
 
 OPPOSITION. 20!) 
 
 because of all that has followed. It would be idle 
 and affected to pretend ignorance, when I have 
 been too much interested for my guesses not to 
 be pretty correct; and are we not pledged, Mr. 
 Dyneley, to frankness ? ' 
 
 ' The old bond,' said Mortimer ; ' let it never be 
 broken.' 
 
 ' Be it so, gladly. Then may I tell you of what 
 ensued, not in its miserable details — they would 
 sound too mean and vulgar — but in its broad 
 features. What indignities have I not suffered ? I 
 was accused of — I know not what; of urging Mr. 
 Forrester on ; of wringing from him an avowal ; of 
 wounding bis feelings ; of outraging the respect 
 due to my own ; of unfilial conduct ; of unwomardy 
 conduct.' Mortimer's heel was crushing a deep 
 dint into the gravelly soil. ' Poor Mr. Forrester 
 was driven up to me again — not in words, but in 
 appearance — to his shame and to ray misery ; till, 
 at last, I think he must have declared he would go 
 forward no further. I had told them from the first 
 that, be the consequences what they might, I would 
 never yield on that or any similar point. How 
 obedient I could be on all other points, they had 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 had some experience to enable them to decide. 
 The battle— or scarcely the battle, the determined 
 siege and the determined defence — lasted four 
 months more.' 
 
 ' And is now over ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; that siege is over for ever, I think.' 
 ' Has another commenced, then, or is it medi- 
 tated ? ' 
 
 ' Not that I know of.' 
 
 ' What w^as Mrs. Thatchley's special object, do 
 you think, in trying to force George Forrester upon 
 you ? Pardon me ; he is well off, I suppose, but 
 he cannot be very rich.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not. But he is suiEciently — ' she 
 paused, as though she did not like the word — 
 ' sufficiently rich, and he is very, very manageable.' 
 ' And you think that to have been the moving 
 cause of her wishes ? ' 
 
 ' One of the causes. Perhaps the other you 
 have already named. But power — and especially 
 power over me — is her mania. To subdue and 
 control, direct and regulate vie, has been the one 
 steadily pursued purpose of twelve years. Dear 
 papa yielded to her at once, and very likely, with-
 
 OPPOSITION. 211 
 
 out suffering from the surrender. I resisted ; 
 resisted outrageously, ^ I have long since — so 
 long since, it seems — told you. The history of 
 that resistance you know. Having beaten or 
 appeared to beat me, she was not and is not 
 likely to abandon the fruits of her victory with- 
 out a struggle.' 
 
 ' A conquest,' said Mortimer, ' as inglorious as 
 it was deplorable. But Mrs. Thatchley is surely 
 very religious ? ' 
 
 ' Very. I hope you will understand me when I 
 say that that makes matters infinitely worse. I 
 find that when people can bring forward religious 
 sanctions for their personal whims, they are pro- 
 portionately obstinate in being disagreeable.' 
 Mortimer laughed, and exclaimed : 
 ' Excellent ! You have had plenty of time for 
 thinking it all out ; and you have arrived at some 
 very subtle, but, I believe, very sound conclusions. 
 But is this new movement a religious movement? 
 What sanctions are there for bringing you into this 
 mundane vortex about which you and I have heard 
 some terrible things said, in our time ? And what 
 is the personal whim that has suggested the adven-
 
 212 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 ture ? I confess I have been and am considerably 
 puzzled.' 
 
 The sweet and usually reposeful face broke into 
 sunny merriment. 
 
 ' I did not mean you to continue my illustration 
 so far ; but it was tempting. To tell the truth, I 
 am almost as much puzzled as you can be. But I 
 have read that when a general loses a battle, if he 
 be skilful, he takes up a different position. The 
 last engagement was a defeat ; so you see a cam- 
 paign is to be tried upon new ground. I can make 
 nothing more of it.' 
 
 ' Your explanation is plausible, but scarcely 
 sufficient. I would suggest that, it having been 
 discovered that you have a will of your own on 
 one subject, you are being allowed a larger field 
 for choice.' 
 
 ' Choice ! That is quite out of the question.' 
 
 ' I do not mean to say that your choice would be 
 necessarily accepted. Though Mrs. Thatchley 
 may have become convinced that you will retain 
 a right of veto on her choice, and will so no longer 
 seem to exercise it, she will of course retain her 
 right of veto upon yours. Still it is wise and
 
 OPPOSITION. 213 
 
 exceedingly good generalship to allow you ap- 
 parently larger latitude in the hope that you will 
 choose rightly, as long as your choosing wrongly 
 can always be prevented.' 
 
 ' I had not thought that out. But I am inclined, 
 at once, to believe that you have made even a 
 better guess than I have.' 
 
 ' We are probably both not far wrong. And are 
 you happier ? ' 
 
 'Happier!' she said, and the old sad-solemn 
 tone came back. ' Can there be happiness without 
 liberty ? ' 
 
 There was a pause ; the first in the conversation 
 of to-day : a pause such as, ever and anon, used 
 to occur in their communes in leafy Alwoodley. 
 Such pauses are more eloquent and more dangerous 
 than a score of insinuating speeches. 
 
 They had been sitting. They rose, and he 
 offered his arm, which she took. 
 
 ' Liberty ! ' he said. The word had been so 
 exclusively in his mind, though full five minutes 
 had elapsed since she uttered it, that he took it up 
 as though, that moment, it had dropped from her 
 lips. ' Liberty ! That is a cure in which few
 
 214 AN artist's proof. 
 
 people believe. Still, if it be not the panacea, we 
 are doomed to endure our diseases. Perhaps it is 
 a kill-or-cure treatment — ' 
 
 ' In either case,' she said, interrupting him with 
 pathetic intensity — 'in either case it would be 
 welcome.' 
 
 He looked into her blue eyes, just moist with a 
 mist that was forbidden to trespass and tremble 
 into tears. He pressed her little rounded arm 
 softly but sympathetically to his side. The mag- 
 netism of the moment compelled her to reflect it, 
 though with one far gentler. 
 
 ' Cara mia^ he said, ' let us see if we cannot 
 cure and save you too.' 
 
 She smiled gratefully. 
 
 'You have proved my excellent counsel. You 
 will find it more difficult to be my physician.' 
 
 ' I think I see Mrs. Thatchley.' 
 
 ' Then let us go to her, please.' 
 
 ' Certainly ; we will go at once.' 
 
 As he spoke, a familiar hand was on his shoul- 
 der. 
 
 ' I wondered I had not seen you.' 
 
 ' Hah ! Grattan ! How are you, old boy ? Allow
 
 OPPOSITION. 215 
 
 me to introduce my most intimate friend, Mr. 
 Horncastle.' 
 
 The three pushed on, and together joined Mrs. 
 Thatchley, to whom also Mortimer introduced his 
 friend. If any storm had been gathering in her 
 breast, she lulled it till it could break more fittingly. 
 Though society cannot bestow a sweet temper, it 
 sometimes compels an approach to good manners. 
 Mortimer took her in hand, leaving Horncastle to 
 talk with the young lady. 
 
 'Your cousin is charming. I never met so 
 agreeable a man. He has only just left me. 1 
 suppose he is very kind to you.' 
 
 ' So kind,' said Mortimer, frankly, ' that I owe to 
 him everything material that I possess.' An ex- 
 cellent opportunity had occurred for his telling her 
 what he so much desired that she should know, and 
 he did not let it pass. ' Evei'ything material. And 
 he has only just recently trebled my income and 
 offers to defray all my expenses if I choose to conte^t 
 a borough.' 
 
 ' Really ! And do you purpose doing so ? ' 
 
 ' The very first opportunity. I am very anxious 
 to be in the House of Commons.'
 
 21G AN artist's proof. 
 
 Did the thrust tell ? It is easier to prevent a 
 prejudice than to remove it. Mrs. Thatchley had 
 formed her opinion of Mortimer Dyneley two years 
 ago and more, when he was a vounci; fellow with a 
 small cottage, and whilst she had but a vague if 
 indeed any notion of his relations with his cousin. 
 At that time she had made up her mind that, 
 though he was but very moderately provided for 
 and terribly orin;inal and unmana2;eable, he enter- 
 tained notions of some day marrying Isabella ; 
 and she had equally made up her mind that 
 Isabelle should be married to George Forrester, 
 who was exceedingly well off and as docile as a 
 spring. She made her estimate of Mortimer 
 accordingly, and imagined and represented him as 
 dangerous in order to prevent him from being so. 
 Had he been poorer at the time, she would pro- 
 bably not have discovered his faults. Had he been 
 richer, she would certainly have forgiven them. 
 But as she felt that his income was perhaps large 
 enough to justify him in being a pretender, and yet 
 most certainly not large enough to induce her to 
 acknowledge him as a rightful claimant, she was 
 mighty quick in picking some most objectionable
 
 OPPOSITION. 217 
 
 flaws in his title. And though perhaps his increasing 
 substance might cover a multitude of faults that her 
 original charity could not, it was scarcely to be 
 expected that the announcement of his improving 
 fortunes would completely and at once obliterate 
 the hostile impression formed when they were low, 
 and maintained whilst they offered to rise no higher. 
 Altogether, truth would perhaps be satisfied by 
 stating that since her interview to-day with his 
 cousin and his own skilful declaration to her of his 
 real position, she thought he had greater merits 
 than she had hitherto discovered. 
 
 ' Do you remain much longer in town ? ' 
 ' No ; we go home on Monday, and shall hope to 
 see you shortly.' 
 
 ' Thanks ; that you shall certainly do.' 
 Horncastle looked as though he was moving 
 away. But before he walked on, he stopped to have 
 a few words with Mrs. Thatchley, during which 
 Mortimer managed to say to Isabelle : 
 ' You go home on Monday ? ' 
 ' I believe so.' 
 
 ' I shall be in the Chase on Thursday.' 
 She answered him only with a slight inclination
 
 21G AN artist's proof. 
 
 Did the thrust tell ? It is easier to prevent a 
 prejudice than to remove it. Mrs. Thatchley had 
 formed her opinion of Mortimer Dyneley two years 
 ago and more, when he was a vounc; fellow with a 
 small cottage, and whilst she had but a vague if 
 indeed any notion of his relations with his cousin. 
 At that time she had made up her mind that, 
 though he was but very moderately provided for 
 and terribly orifjinal and unmanageable, he enter- 
 tained notions of some day marrying Isabelle ; 
 and she had equally made up her mind that 
 Isabelle should be married to George Forrester, 
 who was exceedingly well off and as docile as a 
 spring. She made her estimate of Mortimer 
 accordingly, and imagined and represented him as 
 dangerous in order to prevent him from being so. 
 Had he been poorer at the time, she would pro- 
 bably not have discovered his faults. Had he been 
 richer, she would certainly have forgiven them. 
 But as she felt that his income was perhaps large 
 enough to justify him in being a pretender, and yet 
 most certainly not large enough to induce her to 
 acknowledge him as a rightful claimant, she was 
 mighty quick in picking some most objectionable
 
 OPPOSITION. 217 
 
 flaws in his title. And though perhaps his increasing 
 substance misfht cover a multitude of faults that her 
 original charity could not, it was scarcely to be 
 expected that the announcement of his improving 
 fortunes would completely and at once obliterate 
 the hostile impression formed when they were low, 
 and maintained whilst they offered to rise no higher. 
 Altogether, truth would perhaps be satisfied by 
 stating that since her interview to-day with his 
 cousin and his own skilful declaration to her of his 
 real position, she thought he had greater merits 
 than she had hitherto discovered. 
 
 ' Do you remain much longer in town ? ' 
 ' No ; we go home on Monday, and shall hope to 
 see you shortly.' 
 
 ' Thanks ; that you shall certainly do.' 
 Horucastle looked as though he was moving 
 away. But before he walked on, he stopped to have 
 a few words with Mrs. Thatchley, during which 
 Mortimer managed to say to Isabelle : 
 ' You go home on Monday ?' 
 ' I believe so.' 
 
 ' I shall be in the Chase on Thursday.' 
 She answered him only with a slight inclination
 
 220 AN artist's proof. 
 
 unless old Dyneley would give you a handsome 
 thing in marrying. You get on very well with him, 
 but you cannot be sure that your wife would. At 
 the best, it is introducing into the problem of life 
 another perplexity. You hold your hand, and your 
 tongue too, old boy.' 
 
 ' It's no use, Grattan. You know how little 
 impression you made on me before ; and you are 
 less likely to make any now. Indeed, I more than 
 hinted to ray cousin to-day of what was possibly 
 coming. I hope to meet her in Alwoodley Chase 
 again next Thursday ; and, in the meantime, I shall 
 think the matter well over.' 
 
 ' Think it over ; but think also of what I have 
 said. Love is short ; a career, long. Don't ruin 
 yours for a boy's fancy. When do you leave 
 town ? ' 
 
 ' To-morrow ; so as,' and he laughed, ' to give 
 myself plenty of time for reflection. Good-by.' 
 And he made his way towards the exit. Before 
 reaching it, he stumbled on Mr. Dyneley. 
 
 ' Hallo ! Mortimer. Your friends are charming 
 — particularly the young lady. I have asked them 
 to dine at Richmond on Saturday week.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 221 
 
 ' They told me they were going home on Mon- 
 day.' 
 
 ' So they are. But they have promised to come 
 up on that day on purpose. You must be of the 
 party, of course.' 
 
 'With infinite pleasure. You are much nearer, 
 I can tell you, to being asked for your blessing than 
 you were even five hours ago. I feel I am fasci- 
 nated.' 
 
 Old Dyneley laughed. 
 
 ' Your friend Horncastle is a much pleasanter 
 fellow than I imagined. I confess I did not take a 
 fancy to him when you brought him to dinner. But 
 he is really a very agreeable, intelligent man, and 
 made a capital speech the other night in the House. 
 He is very intimate with you, is he not ? ' 
 
 ' He is my most intimate friend. He invariably 
 consults me, and I consult him, on everything.' 
 
 ' I should think you could not have a shrewder 
 adviser. Well then — Saturday week.' 
 
 ' Yes, Saturday week at Richmond. What 
 hour ? ' 
 
 ' Seven. Good-night.' 
 
 ' Good-night.'
 
 222 AN artist's proof. 
 
 And Mortimer went off. A few minutes later 
 Mr. Dyneley met Horneastle. 
 
 ' Can I give you a lift in my brougham back to 
 town, Mr. Horneastle? ' 
 
 ' Thanks ! You are very kind.' 
 
 * It is a good hour's drive ; when were you think- 
 ing of going ? ' 
 
 ' I am ready now.' 
 
 ' Very well, then let us go.' 
 
 ' Will that do, G rattan ? ' 
 He read it carefully, and handed it back. 
 ' Bravely, Nelly. You have not signed it, have 
 you?' 
 
 ' No ; you said I must not.' 
 
 ' Quite right. Now for the address.' 
 
 ' Are you ready ? ' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Thatchley.' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' The Priory.' 
 
 ' Yes.' 
 
 ' Beadon.' 
 
 ' Beadon. Is that all ? '
 
 OPPOSITION. 223 
 
 ' That's all.' 
 
 ' Shall I run out and post it .'' ' 
 
 ' No, there's no use posting it to-night ; it's after 
 eleven. Besides, let me see, they don't go home till 
 Monday. If we post it on Sunday, it will be soon 
 enough. Better she should receive it down in the 
 country.' He threw down the note. ' There, Mis- 
 tress Nelly ! You cannot do a friend a kinder turn 
 than to save him from his own stupidity.' 
 
 ' And ourselves, too,' she added, nestling her 
 head in his bosom. 
 
 ' And ourselves too, old girl. We will win yet, 
 will we not ? ' 
 
 ' You will,' she said. 
 
 ' But the triumph shall be common. Do you 
 doubt it?' 
 
 ' Sometimes ; but not when I am lying here.' 
 
 And the great city was locked fast in sleep.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Mortimer had returned into the country to find 
 , the year no longer hesitating. All doubts were 
 over, for mid-May had brought its blossoming 
 enfranchisement. Neither the bloom nor the foli- 
 age was perhaps so extravagant as the twelvemonth 
 back, now recalled and pleasantly remembered. 
 But it was full English springtide, and the world 
 had grown young, and the woods were paradise. 
 
 There was nothing to disturb him now. He 
 shared the rejuvenescence of the year. All his 
 plans were in full bloom, and auspicious winds were 
 blowing, which fairly promised them a fruitful 
 maturity. Sleeper's garden-fete had been a tre- 
 mendous godsend. It had given him the opportu- 
 nity of learning from Miss Chesterton's own lips 
 how thoroughly his advice regarding George For- 
 rester had succeeded ; how that obstacle, at least, 
 had been honourably and finally removed ; and of
 
 OPPOSITION. 225 
 
 guessing to what extent its removal, and the manner 
 of its removal, had made Mrs. Thatchley more 
 amenable to ordinary motives, and more tolerant of 
 his own pretensions. It had afforded him an excel- 
 lent occasion for a long conversation with the young 
 lady which, commencing by being somewhat prac- 
 tical, ended by being somewhat sentimental. It 
 had enabled him to follow up the announcement to 
 him of poor Forrester's disaster with the announce- 
 ment to Mrs. Thatchley of his own ameliorated 
 prospects, and of fortifying the assertion by intro- 
 ducing to her their promoter. He had enjoyed the 
 satisfaction of seeing that promoter — the man most 
 willing, as he was the most likely and best able, to 
 assist him — cheerfully act up to his request of 
 endeavouring to win the person whom he now most 
 desired to propitiate, and apparently and strikingly 
 succeed in the endeavour. Believing his cousin 
 not the man to make any great personal sacrifices 
 for him or anybody else, he was gratified to think 
 that Mr. Dyneley was favourably impressed with 
 the people, and especially with the young lady, with 
 whom he had also had the opportunity of averring 
 to his cousin that he meditated seeking the closest 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 alliance. And finally, it had given him the pros- 
 pect of a meeting with Miss Chesterton on Thurs- 
 day, and the certainty of meeting her on the Satur- 
 day following. Grattan Ilorncastle, too, who 
 would do anything on earth for him, had at last 
 been treated by his cousin with marked cordiality, 
 and had heard from Mr. Dyneley himself how 
 thoroughly Mortimer's career was his study and 
 his hope. 
 
 No wonder, then, that Gracewood seemed to him 
 lovelier than ever. The roses had made tremen- 
 dous running up the green trellis-work since the 
 preceding year ; fresh gravel had been put down 
 upon the paths ; new trees, planted during the 
 autumn, now for the first time justified his foresight 
 and discretion ; all the plants were bedded out ; 
 and the lawn, short and close, looked as green as 
 the slippery moss of some Naiad's watery nook. It 
 wanted but one thing to make it pei'fect — a foot 
 smaller and a tread softer than his own. 
 
 He was now too happy, and felt himself too much 
 master of the position, to be impatient. Even 
 should he ride the Chase to-day alone, he should 
 come home and smoke his tchibouk very peaceably.
 
 OPPOSITION. 227 
 
 And even should he meet in the Chase her whom he 
 undoubtedly went to seek, he was by no means bent 
 upon more than gracious converse. There was no 
 special need for hurry. A declaration such as he 
 had now almost determined upon making must be 
 spontaneous, and must for its opportunity depend 
 largely upon circumstance. Besides, sufficiently 
 fond as he had become, and sufficiently resolved as 
 he was on the liberation, of Isabelle, he would not 
 be sorry to acquire, through delicious delay, a more 
 intimate acquaintance with her nature, and a truer 
 knowledge of the obstacles which even yet un- 
 doubtedly surrounded her. 
 
 There was still another question which he tried 
 to entertain as little as possible, but which was not 
 absent from his mind. Though it was impossible 
 for him to doubt that she had for him, as her friend, 
 a remarkable attachment, was it at all sure — not 
 that she already consciously loved him : that he was 
 not vain enough to imagine, nor exacting enough to 
 expect, but — that her love would be startled into 
 life at sound of his? Intentional conquests of affec- 
 tion probably make men conceited ; the unsought- 
 for acquisition of it only leaves them passively con-
 
 228 AN artist's proof. 
 
 fident. Mortimer had never yet attempted to 
 conquer easy or difficult hearts, but had in his 
 time received the sweet spontaneous homage of a 
 fair number of gentle breasts. So that, though 
 it was impossible for him to be very diffident, he 
 had no cause for being vainglorious. He acknow- 
 ledged to himself that it was quite possible that 
 Isabelle Chesterton might not be brought to love 
 him, but it must in honesty be owned that he 
 thought the odds were considerably in his favour. 
 
 Nor did he blink the old difficulty, now as he 
 thought rendered slighter, but still unquestionably 
 in existence, of Mrs. Thatchley's prejudices. Sup- 
 posing that Dante should again prove right, that 
 Amor a nullo amato amar perdona, and that so the 
 utterance of his heart should strike a loving response 
 in that of Isabelle, still parental sanction might be 
 withheld, and parental opportunities, if not parental 
 authority, would be sufficient to perplex if not to 
 dissipate this amatory dream. With regard to 
 Isabelle 's declaration, made months ago, that she 
 would obey in everything but attempted compulsion 
 to an obnoxious union, and therefore would submit 
 to the veto upon a desired one, Mortimer had really
 
 OPPOSITION. 229 
 
 no anxiety. He knew himself and Isabelle Ches- 
 terton well enough to be satisfied that, if she really 
 came to love him, she would follow his will to the 
 death. He would then tell her that a veto, in such 
 case, it was duty to disregard. 
 
 Still, it might be a duty to disregard, but what 
 would be the power to avoid it ? Was he prepared 
 to use stratagem and force combined? If his 
 cousin backed him — unquestionably. 
 
 I am not going to stop to argue whether or not 
 this be sound social morality, though it was his, 
 and it is also mine : for he is in the saddle and 
 away. 
 
 It was one long galop through perfume ; nor, 
 once in the heart of the Chase, had he long to wait. 
 He scarcely expected that she would be able to 
 come, but bright and clear, against the bushy trees 
 and the farther outline, was the long stride of the 
 welcome roan, and the floating hair of the desired 
 one. Old Jeff trotted swiftly but sedately behind. 
 
 ' It is time fortune turned,' he said, warmly 
 greeting and greeted. ' Oh, the long months, that 
 seemed such laggards ! ' 
 
 ' How long were you in the north altogether ? '
 
 230 AN aetist's peoof. 
 
 ' Four months ; and then two more here, whilst 
 neither you nor the leaves would come.' 
 
 ' Are they not beautiful ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; both ! ' he said, raising his hat. ' Permit 
 me to admire your new habit ; though I have not 
 forgotten my friaress grey. This is the result of 
 your coming out ? ' 
 
 She remembered the explanatory speech at the 
 Opera, and laughed. 
 
 *How do you like my friend, Grattan Horn- 
 castle ? ' 
 
 ' The old bond ? ' she said, inquiringly. 
 
 ' The old bond, always and for ever.' 
 
 ' Then, not overmuch.' 
 
 ' You surprise me.' 
 
 ' Of course, I have seen but little of him. But, 
 you know, it is difficult for women not to make rapid 
 judgments ; and, as I am pledged to frankness, I 
 am obliged to enunciate mine. But I grant, that as 
 you like him so much, there is every chance of my 
 being wrong.' 
 
 ' He is exceedingly clever.' 
 
 ' Very, I should think.' 
 
 ' And a thorough gentleman.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 231 
 
 ' Quite so,' she said. 
 
 ' He is immensely attached to me.' 
 
 ' If he be, that is not any fault in my eyes.' 
 
 ' Do you think he is not ? ' 
 
 ' Honestly, I had not considered it ; but I should 
 think — yes, he must be very fond of you. He has 
 the highest, and I have no doubt, the justest, esti- 
 mate of your abilities.' 
 
 ' What is his fault, then ? ' 
 
 ' I have not analyzed him, and so am not prepared 
 to stand so terrible an examination. I can only 
 give you my general impression, resulting in a very 
 indefinite idea. But I think I should object to him 
 on the score of — am I right in calling it ? — worldli- 
 ness. He seems to me to imagine that people — 
 you, of course, among the number — ought to live 
 for the sole purpose of succeeding.' 
 
 ' In a man, that is scarcely a fault.' 
 
 ' Is it not ? ' 
 
 And there was silence. At last — 
 
 ' And Mr. Dyneley ? Did you like him better ? ' 
 
 * I said just now that women cannot avoid making 
 rapid judgments ; but I really made none concern- 
 ing him, excepting that he was very kind.' 
 

 
 232 AN aktist's proof. 
 
 ' I am punished for talking about other people. 
 They are at all times but a vulgar subject.' 
 ' You are not offended, Mr. Dyneley ? ' 
 ' My dear Miss Chesterton, no ! I meant what 
 I said : namely, a rebuke to myself. This is better 
 than Notable House.' 
 ' Infinitely better.' 
 
 ' Tell me ; do you return from London caring 
 more, or less, for it than when you went ? ' 
 
 ' So much less that I should have some difficulty 
 in telling you how much. I had a little curiosity 
 to see it : it is quite satisfied. I do not care if I 
 never see it again.' 
 
 * You are content to stay at Beadon ? ' 
 ' It is better than Bond Street.' 
 ' As long as the domestic conditions are the same 
 in both.' 
 
 ' Precisely ; but let us not talk of them, except 
 when I am in any special trouble, and I come to 
 you to help me.' 
 
 ' Good. I am glad you agree with my estimate 
 of the comparative merits of town and country. I 
 am not, as you know, what is usually called a 
 religious man ; but if you are tolerant enough — as
 
 OPPOSITION. 233 
 
 I am sure you are — to let me talk about religion, I 
 I think that, now-a-days, the really religious life is 
 almost impossible in cities. And a man who is not 
 or does not desire to be religious, is either very 
 wicked or very mad.' 
 
 ' God seems more about one here.' 
 'And it is not only that. In modern cities, men 
 seem so strong, such marvellous results are produced 
 by human means and human co-operation, such 
 hold have we of cause and effect, such obedient and 
 mighty mechanism at our command, that God 
 appears at best as a Sunday superfluity.' 
 ' How true ! ' 
 
 'And that is terrible. In the country, on the 
 contrary, He so evidently moves the leaf, directs 
 the cloud, clothes the grass, touches the plumage, 
 dwells in the sunrise and the sunset, and pervades 
 the starlight night, that it is precious difficult to 
 forget Him. Even when in the town we struggle 
 to effect good, the good done seems almost our own. 
 With our own hands we distribute the bread ; but 
 the stealthy shooting of the stalks obeys the sunshine 
 and the rain.' 
 
 ' Yet, you are going to be more in town. Mr.
 
 234 AN artist's proof. 
 
 Horncastle told me that you are to enter the House 
 of Commons.' 
 
 * I intended to tell you that myself.' He was as 
 careful to say nothing to her of his tripled income, 
 as he had been careful to say just enough about it 
 to Mrs. Chesterton, ' He has anticipated me. 
 Are you glad ? ' 
 
 * Very, if you are ; but this will force you to 
 spend a great deal of time in London.' 
 
 ' Say, altogether a third of the year. I hope that 
 is not enough to wean me from the silent significance 
 of the fields, or to make me neglect their meaning. 
 If I thought so, I would never leave them.' 
 
 ' Yet you are ambitious. So at least Mr. Horn- 
 castle says ; more than you seem to be.' 
 
 ' And he would have me more so . . . Can you 
 clear that ? ' 
 
 He pointed with his whip to some large rough 
 felled trees ahead, which completely stretched 
 across the path. If not, we must turn. 
 
 * Oh, I am sure I could.' 
 
 * Don't try, if you have any doubt. Wait. I 
 will see what it is like.' And] he was over. ' Oh, 
 it's nothing.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 235 
 
 The roan obeyed her hand and foot. But just as 
 he was going to take his spring, a blackbird, calling 
 as it went, darted out of the copse, and flew across 
 the path. The roan shied and swerved ; but she 
 kept him to his timber, and over he went, sending 
 out a ringing thump as he did it.' 
 
 ' Bravely done. Quite right not to let him take 
 advantage of his natural enough shy ; but he caught 
 his hind heel a good crack as he went over.' 
 
 Old Jeif trotted up and touched his hat. 
 
 * Ar, that's bad ; shoe nearly off. I said he 
 wanted them seen to ; but Miss Isabelle would 
 come out, Mr. Mortimer,' touching his hat again re- 
 spectfully, but Mortimer thought rather knowingly. 
 ' I feared there'd be something like this, miss.' 
 
 Old Jeff was so infallible, and so conceited about 
 his infallibility, that he was terribly mortified a shoe 
 should come off at all, particularly in the presence 
 of Mr. Mortimer, of whose good opinion he was 
 specially jealous. ' It never happened afore, did it, 
 miss ? ' 
 
 'Never, Jeff; nor does it matter now, does it, 
 Mr. Dyneley ? ' 
 
 ' It is very nearly off altogether,' Mortimer an-
 
 236 AN artist's proof. 
 
 swered. ' I am sure it is not Jeffs fault, but mine, 
 for taking you over that clumsy thing.' 
 
 * There's a woodman's place, three quarters of a 
 mile off, as I know.' Then, musingly, ' I could 
 take him there, Mr. Mortimer. The shoe '11 last 
 while we get home, so and it's properly hammered 
 to, for a time.' 
 
 ' But we can all ride there,' said Miss Chesterton, 
 ' can we not ? ' 
 
 ' Well, we could, miss ; but the short cut's a 
 precious bad 'un for you to go, and your habit, 
 miss ; and the long 'un 's a good mile and three 
 quarter. That it is, sir ! ' Mortimer was off horse- 
 back in a moment. 
 
 ' Yes ; let Jeff take him and bring him back as 
 quickly as possible. It will save time. Permit me. 
 And he placed himself to assist her in dismounting. 
 
 A woman instinctively obeys most men, when 
 they command and give her no time to think. 
 Mortimer had not given her a second ; and prece- 
 dent assisted instinct in this case to prompt obe- 
 dience. She dropped lightly to the ground. 
 
 ' Be as quick as you can, Jeff,' she said. 
 • ' Yes, miss ; ' but as he rode away, he muttered
 
 OPPOSITION. 237 
 
 to himself. ' Not quicker than need be. If he 
 don't do it now, he don't mean to do it at all, and 
 I give him up ; but trust Mr. Mortimer, or I'm no 
 judge. He'll do it now or — so, lass, quiet then ; ' 
 and the rest of his speech was spent upon the mare 
 he himself was riding. 
 
 Special interpositions of the gods are not the 
 creed now-a-days, and will certainly not be pleaded 
 for here. But a wise old Father, who probably 
 could not, at the time in which he wrote, comprehend 
 the full force of his apophthegm, has said : Ordin- 
 atissimum est minus interdum ordinate fieri. The 
 extraordinary is no violation, but rather a most 
 intimate part, of the ordinary. And so, though as 
 old Jeff said, 'it had never happened afore,' the 
 fact of a shoe being nearly knocked off happening 
 now, need not lead us to worship and give thanks 
 to any particular divinity. 
 
 On the left side of Mortimer quietly walked his 
 own bay mare, and on the right equally quietly, 
 Isabelle Chesterton. But it is one thing to be 
 riding with a girl through silent immemorial woods, 
 with a groom at the proper conventional distance 
 behind, and quite another to be walking with her
 
 238 AN artist's proof. 
 
 tinder sweet leafy boughs, with no groom or other 
 human presence anywhere near. Azaleas, even 
 when they are seven feet high, afford no analogy. 
 The tiny feet, peeping out measuredly, one after 
 the other under the riding-skirt raised by the little 
 hands in the straw-coloured gloves, — the lissom 
 figure, all undulation, where every line was a curve, 
 — the pink-budded lips, the smooth, rounded cheek, 
 and swerving chin, the blue eyes and black lashes, 
 — the summer tresses, and the soft permeating 
 voice — all were so close to him that in their proxi- 
 mate presence he positively almost forgot his own. 
 He certainly was strangely silent ; and when at 
 last she said — 
 
 ' Don't you think so ? ' 
 He was forced to exclaim — 
 ' Think what ? Pardon me. I declare I did 
 not hear what you said.',' 
 
 * Don't you think that you will find yourself 
 gradually more and more drawn by the strong 
 influence of ambition into the turbulent town, and 
 weaned from nature in your own despite ; so gra- 
 dually that you will not be alarmed, and will there- 
 fore never think of resisting ? '
 
 OPPOSITION. 2*69 
 
 ' Possibly. But," then, our bond must tell In 
 my favour. Then, you will have to help me, to 
 warn me, to liberate me from a tyranny almost as 
 deplorable as that of which you are the subject. 
 You will do so ? ' 
 
 ' If I can : if I have room to reach you. But 
 that is improbable.' 
 
 His manner suddenly lost all tinge of absence. 
 He spoke rapidly and with earnest warmth. 
 
 ' You must have room. It can be endured no 
 longer. The forms of a too polite civilization make 
 what fetters still remain only the worse to bear, and 
 the more difficult to break. But shame on us if, 
 hampered by the polished conventionalities of our 
 time, we shut our eyes to rocks and have no strong 
 hands to set the captive free.' He halted and let 
 the mare freely crop, as she had long been striving 
 to snatch at, the tufts of longer grass. ' I ivill 
 emancipate you. But I can give you liberty only 
 through the amulet of love. Isabelle ! will you be 
 my wife ? ' 
 
 She turned so pale that, from dread almost as 
 much as from tenderness, he stretched his arm 
 towards her. She almost dropped into it, and, as
 
 240 AN artist's proof. 
 
 if from faintness, laid her head upon his shoulder, 
 and closed her eyes. He bent down, and softly 
 kissed them both. 
 
 * Tell me, sweet, do you love me ? ' 
 The face turned over, and was hidden in his 
 breast, and the little arms crept slowly up around 
 his' neck. She was sobbing. The mare looked up 
 and stretched her head towards them till she 
 touched the golden hair which alone was visible. 
 
 ' See ! It is not I only who am waiting for an 
 answer.' 
 
 She looked up. She had sent back the tears. 
 He wound his arm round her head, and kissed her 
 on the mouth. ' I seal the bond of frankness. So 
 tell me, darling, if you have loved me before 
 to-day.' 
 
 ' If I have, Mortimer, at least not consciously. 
 I have always thought of you as something distant, 
 and as belonging to everybody : to me only when I 
 needed you. Much, I suppose, as we regard the 
 sky or sunlight — very dear, but very far off, and a 
 common possession. But now that you have de- 
 scended — ' and she smiled with infinite sweetness. 
 ' Now, you do love me.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 241 
 
 Again she tried to bury her face away from him. 
 But in vain. The first kisses of love are its bap- 
 tism ; and Mortimer seemed to be a believer in 
 immersion. 
 
 She soon perceived, however, that a drenching of 
 another kind seemed to be in store for them. A 
 soft south wind had brought an array of clouds in 
 its train, and the first small drops were falling. 
 At the same moment, the thud of hoofs on the turf 
 could be heard distinctly, and Jeff came trotting 
 rapidly towards them. 
 
 ' I'm back quickly, miss ; quicker nor I should 
 have been, but for the storm that's blowing 
 up.' 
 
 ' Is it going to be very bad ? ' 
 
 'There'll be a sharp rainfall, sir, and that afore 
 Ions;.' 
 
 ' You had better go, darling,' he whispered 
 Isabelle. ' We shall meet at Richmond, on Satur- 
 day. Whatever happens, make an opportunity for 
 a good talk, at least. We can then arrange every- 
 thing ; and I will then not delay speaking frankly 
 to your papa.' 
 
 He raised her into the saddle, retaining — as old 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 AN artist's proof. 
 
 JefF noticed — her hand in his. ' Good-by, then, 
 darling, till Saturday, and God bless you ! ' 
 
 ' Good-by, my love! ' 
 
 Her whole soul seem gazing on him from her 
 eyes. 
 
 ' He's done it, I'll bet a thousand,' said old JefF 
 to himself, as he rode after her. ' He's done it, or 
 eyes aren't eyes no longer ; no, nor hands neither.' 
 
 They rode fast, and Isabelle got but a very slight 
 wetting. As Jefi helped her off, she said — 
 
 ' I may trust you, JefF? ' 
 
 ' Trust me, miss ! Bless your sweet heart, 
 miss ! Yes, you may trust me. And, look you, 
 miss ! If it comes to more than this, you may 
 more than trust me. If it comes to — well, to 
 awk'ard business, Miss Isabelle, you may depend 
 on old JefF — that you may.' 
 
 ' It will not come to that, JefF' 
 
 ' Let's hope it won't. Only if it does — that's 
 all.' 
 
 These were the only words he had ever had with 
 anybody except himself on the subject. But with 
 himself he hatl had a good many, particularly when 
 he smoked his pipe before going to bed. And he
 
 OPPOSITION. 243 
 
 knew, to say the least, quite as much about Miss 
 Chesterton's position as if she had made him in- 
 stead of Mortimer her confidant. His opinion, too, 
 was quite as strong. He had similarly debated 
 with himself, though in a rougher and less dialec- 
 tical fashion, which way lay his duty in the matter. 
 He was Mr. Chesterton's servant certainly, and it 
 was Mr. Chesterton's money that he took and was 
 thankfal for every Saturday night. But it was not 
 for money that he had served him all these years, 
 but for love ; and he was going to serve him for 
 love still. He knew well enough what his old 
 master would have done if the dear dead mistress 
 had been alive, or the new one had not come and 
 set things all topsy-turvy. And as for the money, 
 why, it was surely Miss Chesterton's before it was 
 hers ; and Miss Chesterton had the best right 
 to it still. Howsomever, Miss Chesterton should 
 marry whom she liked, if he could bring it about ; 
 particularly when it was as clear as two gate-posts 
 that she wanted to marry as likely a young fellow 
 as ever vaulted into a saddle. This was all Jeff's 
 reasoning, whatever you may think of it. 
 
 When he got into the stable-yard, he was sur-
 
 244 AN artist's proof. 
 
 prised to see the under-groom washing the carriage- 
 horses' legs. 
 
 ' Why ; has Ae been out ? ' 
 
 ' Ay, sure enough ; I've been driving the mis- 
 tress.' 
 
 ' You\e been driving the mistress ! Well, that's 
 a nevsr go. Where to ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, a short way round the Chase. Only a 
 drive.' 
 
 ' Um ! Well, I never knew her let anybody 
 drive her but me, afore. It's a new turn, this is. 
 There'll be none of the old 'uns left, soon.' 
 
 It was pelting with rain, now : Mortimer arrived 
 at Gracewood, drenched to the skin. What mat- 
 tered it ? He had done the best day's work he 
 had ever done in his life, and was mightily pleased 
 with himself A gentle but continuous fall was 
 still going on, when he had finished dinner ; but it 
 was a mild, warm evening for May, and the air 
 was only the more scented for the showers, and 
 he sat comfortably smoking within his open study- 
 door. 
 
 So he had taken the irretrievable step. It had 
 been done spontaneously enough, and as he thought
 
 OPPOSITION. 245 
 
 with every adjunct that, had he had the ordering 
 of them, he could possibly have desired. That, as 
 the blue wreaths of smoke curled about his head, 
 he abandoned himself for a considerable time to 
 delicious dreaming rather than to rigid reflection, 
 need neither be denied nor excused. It was the 
 first luxury of the sort he had ever granted him- 
 self; and no boy of nineteen ever revelled in it 
 half so freshly and fully. He allowed every move- 
 ment of her hand, every inflection of her voice, 
 every change in her colour, to pass again before his 
 eyes. He recalled all her words ; he recalled all 
 his own : but, most of all, he saw the little, golden 
 head upon his shoulder, the long-lashed, quietly- 
 closed eyes which he had kissed, and felt the soft 
 arms creeping up about his neck, till his lips had 
 frankly alighted upon hers. Ah ! here was the 
 difi^rence. He did love her now. There was no 
 going back, no weighing of consequences. Diffi- 
 culties might be entertained, but only in order to 
 be conquered, not for the purpose of striking a 
 balance. An irreversible decision had been taken. 
 He had kissed her; he had pressed her to his 
 heart. She was his, and he hers, now and for ever.
 
 246 AN artist's proof. 
 
 And the summer-rain fell, and the latakia trailed 
 away, and he felt very, very happy. 
 
 By degrees, the indulgence in sweet, sensuous, 
 innocent reminiscences of the day's novel delights 
 wore itself away ; and his thoughts travelled to 
 speculations only just less agreeahle and productive 
 of joy. Now, for the first time, he fully felt the 
 desirability and promised satisfactions of an active 
 career. Life could not be all love, anymore than 
 it ought to be all ambition : it must consist of and 
 be justified by both. Much, indeed everything, 
 domestic that had hitherto claimed his attention, 
 and occupied a considerable portion of his time, 
 would be handed over to a sweet another, whose 
 tastes were surely as exacting as his own. It was 
 utterly impossible that a girl should have a form 
 so faultless, a face so deftly proportioned and so 
 kindly coloured, a manner so replete at once with 
 sparkle and repose, a voice so carefully modulated, 
 without having also in external things a rage for 
 artistic subordination thus remarkably manifested 
 in herself. Nature surely produces no such ano- 
 malies. Freed from personal supervision of trivial 
 but to him all-important details of domestic economy,
 
 OPPOSITION. 247 
 
 he would have Increased leisure for manly lahours 
 and fruitful intellectual toil. He was not ^oins; 
 into the House from social vanity or mere want 
 of the appearance of an occupation ; he would be 
 a working member, by degrees he trusted a speak- 
 ing and originating member. Grattan Horncastle, 
 doubtless, had talked wildly ; still, he would make 
 the best use of his gifts, and take results as they 
 came. In his attempts, quite as much as in his 
 success, if success should come, the bright blue 
 eyes kissed so lovingly would look their sweet 
 encouragement. Really, he was the luckiest fellow 
 in the world. 
 
 And, so helped, he could teach the luxurious 
 spendthrifts around him the lesson which he had 
 tried to impress upon Horncastle it was the duty 
 of upright, thoughtful men to urge upon an osten- 
 tatious generation. He should of course remain at 
 Gracewood, and rent in town during the Session 
 8 house quite large enough for their wants and 
 wholly responding to their tastes. Big dinners and 
 crowded receptions were the tricks of people who 
 did not know what else to do with themselves, or 
 the contemptible artifices of shallow charlatans who
 
 248 AN artist's proof, 
 
 purchased notoriety by extravagance, and tem- 
 porary successes by the coarsest kind of bribery. 
 His private life should at least be his own ; his 
 public would belong to his country ; but he would 
 never seem to be a patriot by ceasing to be a 
 husband. His wife should not be degraded into 
 an election agent ; nor the smiles which he wanteo 
 for the solace of his heart be prostituted to pro- 
 curing unworthy means of intoxicating his head. 
 If, in the fullness of time, his countrymen should 
 see fit to appreciate his labours, and offer him the 
 guerdons for which he would scorn either to pay 
 or to intrigue, he would accept the agreeable 
 prize at their hands all the more gratefully that 
 they had not wrung from him the sacrifice or pro- 
 fanation of his home. If, as perhaps there were 
 now-a-days some slight ground to fear, the highest 
 triumphs of Parliamentary Government could be 
 obtained only by turning one's drawing-room into 
 a market-place, he would at least have the satis- 
 faction of knoviring that, having done his duty 
 abroad, he would always find pleasure ensconced 
 at home. Keenly alive to the claims of the country, 
 they were preposterous and unnatural when they
 
 OPPOSITION. 249 
 
 trespassed on the claims of the hearth; and he 
 would never consent to be no longer the darling 
 of his wife, even to become the darling of a 
 nation. 
 
 These were big thoughts ; but there were smaller 
 and surer ones to support them. The kindness of 
 his cousin, whom now he had begun really to love, 
 would not slacken in its energy, and would, if 
 needed, be increased in its force. Without dwelling 
 on Horncastle's, to him, disagreeable speculations, 
 he would be ungrateful to doubt that Mr. Dyneley, 
 who now gave him everything he required, would 
 give him what little more could, under any emer- 
 gency of family or other uncalculated expense, 
 ever be needed. He had youth, health, spirits, 
 ability, convictions, competency, and love. With 
 such a stock-in-trade, could life possibly be a 
 failure ? 
 
 There was but one single difficulty, and that so 
 small as scarcely to be regarded. Mr. Chesterton 
 might possibly object to Mortimer's union with 
 his daughter. Supposing that he did so at 
 first — and it really was not easy to see how with
 
 250 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 any face he could — the objections would with a 
 little patience be smoothed down. He asked for 
 nothing from old Chesterton but his daughter ; and 
 he was well aware that much more than the 
 daughter old Chesterton had not got to give ; and 
 if kept to his objections, and at last driven to a 
 refusal by his sister — well, Gordian knots, when 
 they cannot be untied, are usually cut ; and he 
 would certainly cut that one. He would marry 
 Isabelle Chesterton with her parents' consent, if he 
 could get it; if not, then without. On Saturday 
 he should see Isabelle, and all that part of the 
 transaction must be coolly and carefully discussed. 
 It was a pity that it had begun raining so inoppor- 
 tunely, and that they had not had time to-day for 
 a little more talk ; yet, after all, it was perhaps 
 better that the first sweet commune should have 
 been entirely devoted to sentiment. The day after 
 to-morrow, business should have its turn. At last 
 he went to bed, and slept the sleep of the un- 
 disturbed. 
 
 The next morning, there was a pile of letters on 
 the breakfast-table. He read them as they came.
 
 OPPOSITION. 251 
 
 At length, as he took up one of them, he 
 , thought : 
 
 ' From my cousm, surely ? He never writes ; 
 but this is our crest on the seal.' He broke it, 
 and read : 
 
 ' My dear Mortimer, — Mr. Pollard, of the 
 firm of Salvin, Pollard, and Salvin, has just been 
 with me, and tells me that a vacancy is going to 
 occur at Drummington. Gotthup is on his last 
 legs, and has made up his mind to accept the 
 Chiltern Hundreds. The cat is not yet out of 
 the bag ; but it will be in a day or two, and our 
 people will be sure to run a man. It is all- 
 important that you should take advantage of this 
 information, and the couple of days' start it gives 
 you ; therefore go down to Drummington at once, 
 as soon as you can get your things into your port- 
 manteau. 
 
 ' I am very sorry we shall not have you 
 with us at Richmond on Saturday ; but Pollard 
 tells me that it is a splendid chance for you. 
 So, if politics really be your game, make the
 
 252 AN ARTIST'S PROOF. 
 
 most of it, and lose not a moment. I give you 
 carte blanche as to money. Spend discreetly, but 
 win. 
 
 ' Messrs. Plaisted and Flower are the local agents. 
 Put yourself in communication with them on your 
 arrival ; they will direct you. 
 
 ' With best wishes, I am, my dear Mortimer, 
 ' Yours affectionately, 
 
 ' Roger Dyneley.' 
 
 'Hang it! that's a nuisance. But there is no 
 help for it : I must go. And yet I don't know. I 
 declare I think, on the whole, it's wonderfully 
 fortunate. It is true I shall not see Isabelle on 
 Saturday, and there will be a little delay in doing 
 anything further. But then — if I get in for Drum- 
 raington before I go to old Chesterton, I shall be 
 much more likely to be well received. Nothing 
 could be better.' He rang. ' Put up my things as 
 soon as possible, and let the cart be round in three- 
 quarters of an hour. I am going away for two or 
 three days — very hkely for more. Anything wanted 
 before I go ? '
 
 OPPOSITION. 253 
 
 ' No, sir.' 
 
 * Very well. Then, in three-quarters of an 
 
 hour.' The servant went away with his order. 
 
 ' Now for a sood breakfast, and then off. I feel 
 
 game for anything : for nothing more than for an 
 election contest. That over, vive V Amour ! '
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 Bradshaw was not then the important and intri- 
 cate volume which it has since become. There 
 were schemes of railway without end before Parlia- 
 mentary Committees ; but branch lines were as yet 
 utterly unknown, and main ones were far from uni- 
 versal. Gracewood was only six miles from an iron 
 route to London, and after a three-quarters of an 
 hour'g drive, Mortimer was whirled — or rather 
 engines being slower then, soberly but sufficiently 
 rapidly conveyed — up to the metropolis. Here he 
 had to change stations and wait five hours before he 
 could start for his borougli. Drummington was 
 sixty good miles from a main line ; so it was the 
 close of the following dav before he reached his 
 destination. 
 
 The landlord of the ' Constitution ' inn was de- 
 lighted to see him ; but nobody else appeared to 
 take any particular interest in his arrival. Indeed,
 
 OPPOSITION. 255 
 
 with the exception of the waiter, two or three 
 ostlers, and three or four idlers, who had evidently 
 been ostlers once and unable to degrade themselves 
 to any ignobler occupation, were haunting the 
 places where their honour died, there was nobody 
 about to become aware that such an important per- 
 sonage as our traveller was on the spot. Where 
 were the free and independent electors, for whom 
 he had the previous night, when he had necessarily 
 halted in his journey, written out his terse and epi- 
 grammatic address ? Where were the printers to 
 put it up in type ? Where were the enlightened 
 burgesses, for whose approaching edification he had 
 evoked and turned over and polished and turned 
 over again, both in railway carriage and in post- 
 chaise, those thrilling periods which he was already 
 almost bursting to deliver ? Echo did not even an- 
 swer where. Even echo was silent in that desolate- 
 looking, shabby-faced town, True, it was eight of 
 the post-meridian clock ; but it was quite light and 
 pleasant enough this May night for folks to congre- 
 gate and gossip, if there were such things in Drum- 
 mington as folks at all, which Mortimer began to 
 doubt.
 
 256 AN aetist's peoof. 
 
 Dinner, a good, substantial, provincial dinner, was 
 brought up, and that made matters look a little 
 brighter. Whilst disposing of its steaming courses, 
 Mortimer began to break ground with the waiter. 
 The waiter, however, had been at the Constitution 
 but ten days, came from the other side of the 
 county, and knew nothing of Drummington but what 
 he had gathered since his arrival. 
 
 ' I've seen a good many queer places, sir ! and a 
 good many stupid ones ; but this here Drumming- 
 ton is the queerest and the stupidest I've ever served 
 in. You're the first gentleman — the very first — as 
 has been since I arrived. I don't like a place where 
 there's always such a hurry and a skurry as one 
 doesn't know whether one's on one's head or one's 
 heels ; but I do like a little company just for a 
 change.' 
 
 ' So you know nothing about the people here ? ' 
 said Mortimer, who wanted information, and not, 
 as the waiter seemed to suppose, mere talking 
 to. 
 
 ' It's my opinion, sir, as there's nothing to know 
 about 'em, just nothing. Nobody never seems to 
 be a stirring, nowhere — except it be of a Friday —
 
 OPPOSITION. 257 
 
 and I've been here only one Friday — and that, I 
 suppose, because it's what they call market-day.' 
 
 As a matter of course, the landlord, a portly, 
 easy-going old fellow to look at, came in after 
 dinner to inquire how his guest had fared, and to 
 praise some eighteen-hundred-and-eleven port that 
 had been in his cellar ever since he had had the 
 Constitution, and that was getting on fast — slowly, 
 Mortimer thought he ought to have said — to three- 
 and-twenty years. 
 
 The vaunted vintage was produced, and was pro- 
 bably what it professed to be. The first glass was 
 pushed across to mine host, who wished the cus- 
 tomary country compliment. 
 
 ' Thanks ! the same to you. Three-and-twenty 
 years ! That's a long time. You ought to know 
 Drummington pretty well by this time.' 
 
 ' Know it ! Bless your heart, sir — asking your 
 pardon. — Now it is a good glass o' port, isn't it, 
 sir, and no mistake.' 
 
 * Excellent.' 
 
 ' Ay, that it is ! Know Drummington ? yes, and 
 every mother's son in it, as I know my own — which 
 I suppose is no other than myself, and I ought to 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 AN artist's proof. 
 
 know him, sir, oughtn't I?' and the rosy old boy 
 laughed at what he seemed to consider a joke, but 
 what sounded to Mortimer, who was waiting for 
 other information, like the statement of a rather 
 perplexing pedigree. 
 
 ' Who is your Member ? ' asked Mortimer, with 
 well-assumed innocence. 'I suppose you send a 
 representative to Parliament? ' 
 
 ' Representative ! We send two, sir ! And one 
 o' them, I don't mind saying, whether I should or I 
 shouldn't, wouldn't be there now if it hadn't been 
 for Geoffrey Phillitupp, of the Constitution. May- 
 hap you don't know him ; but if you do, you ask 
 old Mr. Gotthup, who brought him in at the head 
 of the poll not only last summer but in the year '39, 
 when we'd as stiff a fight as was ever heard tell of 
 in these parts, and, I believe, in any other, let 'em 
 be where they will or how they will.' 
 
 Mortimer inwardly congratulated himself upon 
 the readiness with which he had jumped at the 
 mention of the eighteen-hundred-and-eleven, and 
 thought that, under the circumstances, he could not 
 do better than replenish Master Geoffrey's empty 
 glass.
 
 OPPOSITION. 259 
 
 * No more, I thank 'ee, sir ! just one glass for 
 hospitality's sake, you know, and as it only be to 
 show that one don't shirk the liquor one gives to 
 one's patrons. Well, if I must, I must. And 
 here's your worship's health again, sir, and many 
 of them.' 
 
 * A first-rate glass of port,' said Mortimer. ' It 
 does the Constitution infinite credit. I suppose you 
 drink a fair lot of this in election time ? ' 
 
 'Not much o' this, sir, not much o' this; but 
 a good lot o' rougher stuff. They aren't very 
 partic'lar in their palates, aren't the chaps we have 
 about the place then. No, no ; I never had this 
 up ' — and he held it up to the light, perhaps as 
 much to show that it was nearly finished, as to 
 prove the maintenance of its colour — ' except for 
 Mr. Gotthup himself and his partic'lar friends.' 
 
 ' Is he a young man ? ' inquired Mortimer, who 
 felt himself rapidly becoming an instinctive diplo- 
 matist. 
 
 * No, he's not young ; though I don't like to say 
 he's old, neither. Now, I dare say you may be 
 thinking that /'m old, because I'm mayhap forty 
 years older — asking your pardon for the liberty —
 
 260 AN artist's proof. 
 
 than you are. But / don't think I"m old ; / don't 
 feel old.' 
 
 ' No, and you don't look it.' (Really, Mortimer 
 ought to have been an attache, after all.) 
 
 ' There ! everybody says I don't ; and I don't 
 think I do, neither. But as I was saying, I might 
 call Mr. Gotthup old, seeing as he's ten years older 
 than I am myself; but I don't suppose he thinks 
 himself old. He's a good bit over three-score-and- 
 ten, for all that.' 
 
 ' He must be a hale old fellow to have stood a 
 contested election, only last summer.' 
 
 ' Ay, and won it too. Between you and me, I 
 don't think as he'd have stood again, but for the 
 other side giving out that he was too old to be 
 member any longer. But as soon as he heard that, 
 if he didn't buckle to in earnest, never mind what I 
 say, again.' 
 
 ' And he has no thought of resigning ? ' 
 
 ' Resigning ! Resigning ! after such a tough set- 
 to as the last? I should think not, indeed! At 
 any rate, /'ve heard nothing about resigning. And 
 if anyone did hear, I should think the person as 
 ought to hear first 'ud be them as put him where
 
 OPPOSITION. 261 
 
 he is. And them 's no other than your servant, 
 who drinks your health again, and the same to you, 
 sir. Resigning ! It's my opinion we could fight it 
 over again and win easier next time. I hope your 
 worship's a Tory ? ' 
 
 ' O yes, I'm a Tory and no mistake,' said Morti- 
 mer, ' and here ' — filling his companion's glass 
 again ; ' here is good luck to the old cause, when- 
 ever and wherever it is fought.' 
 
 ' Hear, hear, to that, say I, sir, and to your 
 worship, too. Would you like to look at the 
 county paper ? ' Drummington, though nowise en- 
 larged since, has now got two papers of its own. 
 'It's the right colour, 'and was only published this 
 morning.' 
 
 Mortimer would like to see it very much. It 
 was brought and soon disposed of; its columns 
 consisting chiefly of monstrous births, the price of 
 clover, madrigal concerts, premature gooseberries, 
 and very stale jokes. So Mortimer was left to 
 quiet evening meditation. 
 
 It was evident that nothing had oozed out as 
 yet at Drummington concerning Gotthup's intended 
 vacating of the seat. This was all to the good.
 
 262 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 He had wisely abstained from asting any questions 
 about the lawyers to whom his cousin's letter had 
 directed him. These he could not possibly see 
 before the next day ; and meanwhile it was desir- 
 able that he should not arouse suspicion by im- 
 prudent inquiries. He had been circumspect enough 
 in the conversation with the landlord, and had at 
 least learned from him this consoling fact that, if 
 the Election had to be fought over again, it was the 
 opinion of Geoffrey Phillitupp, who certainly ought 
 to know, that the Conservatives would have a larger 
 majority than even on the occasion of the last con- 
 test. One seat had always been held by the Tories ; 
 the second one it was that had been a subject of 
 contention for years. At present, the blue flag 
 held undivided sway over the little borough. But, 
 as Mr. Dyneley's letter had said, the Whigs would 
 be sure, on the occurrence of a vacancy, to make a 
 stout fight in order to return the second man. 
 
 Cheered by the landlord's confident conversation 
 on the subject, but unwilling to commit the in- 
 discretion of renewing its discussion, Mortimer, 
 having exhausted the newspaper to its last adver- 
 tisement, and too much disillusioned by the first
 
 OPPOSITION, 263 
 
 sight of Drummlngton to devote any more time to 
 the composition of speeches which, it seemed to him, 
 there would be nobody to applaud, wandered about 
 the room in search of stray literature. He had 
 extracted all the amusement that was to be had out 
 of the mail-coaches, and winners of the stakes, and 
 smirking young women with their wo-begone lovers, 
 that pictorially embellished the walls, and proceeded 
 across the room to where, on a huge sideboard, 
 were two big volumes. One was the History of 
 England, which, on internal inspection, proved to 
 be a backgammon board. The other was a series 
 of numbers of the ' Gardener's Chronicle,' in which 
 the Almanac and a Weather Prophecy — repeated 
 in each number — were the principal contents. In 
 the hurry of departure from Gracewood, he had 
 quite forgotten to order any books to be put in his 
 portmanteau ; so that he was forced to eke out the 
 contents of the ' Chronicle ' as long as ever he 
 could. But at last, he closed it. There was not 
 another book in the room ; and if there had been, 
 it would probably have been of a kind that, after 
 his just-concluded researches, he would not have 
 felt much inclined to peruse. But all at once he
 
 264 AN artist's proof. 
 
 discovered that there were mines of reading lore 
 which he had neglected. There was a whole 
 library of literature on the windows. Most of 
 it was hieroglyphic, so that a good deal of time 
 might be spent in deciphering it. Some of it, too, 
 was copiously illuminated It consisted chiefly of 
 History, and that of a personal character ; chro- 
 nology cutting an important figure in the record. 
 It was largely annotated ; the commentators mani- 
 festing a livelier, if not a finer wit than is usually 
 associated with dryasdust labours. Some panes 
 were perfect palimpsests, over the original manu- 
 scripts of which more recent enthusiasts had 
 written their journals and opinions. But even 
 the recondite collection of monographs was at last 
 exhausted ; and there was nothing left for Morti- 
 mer to do but — think. 
 
 Whereupon he began thinking that a most merry 
 dinner had that day been eaten at Richmond, and 
 that it would have been a great deal better fun 
 there than at Druramington. Doubtless, there had 
 been some delightful boating at Twickenham and 
 Teddington Lock. He looked at his watch. At 
 that moment the party would probably be eating
 
 OPPOSITION. 265 
 
 strawberries on the balcony, or wandering in twos 
 and threes over the flowery slopes of the Star and 
 Garter, in the more sylvan retirement behind, or by 
 the sweet-flowing, rippling water's edge, below. 
 Confound it ! it was too bad ! He wondered how 
 Isabelle would be dressed. If she would look as 
 lovely as she looked in her riding-habit on Thurs- 
 day afternoon, in the Chase ; if she would enjoy her- 
 self, as of course he should like her to do ; or if her 
 pleasure would he spoiled by his absence, which he 
 should also rather like ; if the Gorgon was crowing 
 over his absence, or if she was trying to worm out 
 of his cousin some statement of his prospects ; if he 
 should have sate next to Isabelle if he had been 
 there ; and if he should have succeeded in slipping 
 with her under the trees and having it all out ; 
 what he should exactly have said to her ; and 
 finally, if he should have had the opportunity of 
 again kissing those fragrant lips ; or rather, finally^ 
 if he should have contrived to ride back to town 
 with her in the same carriage ? And having failed 
 to answer any of these questions fully to his satisfac- 
 tion, he ' confounded it ' again, and after another 
 inspection of the palimpsests went to bed.
 
 266 AN artist's proof. 
 
 The ' boots ' had gone over, the waiter said, to the 
 Post-office, and had brought back one letter — one 
 only. It was all right. It was for Mortimer, and 
 from Gracewood, where, of course, he had left the 
 address of Druramington. The envelope was simply 
 the cover for a letter forwarded. This was from 
 Horncastle. It ran thus : — 
 
 ' My dear old Boy, — I hear it whispered in 
 the House, sub rosd, that one of the seats at Drura- 
 mington will shortly be vacated. Old Gotthup, who 
 stood last year only for pique, is dreadfully bad 
 with gout, and must accept the Chiltern soon. It 
 is said that he is on the point of doing so. I have 
 no more positive information on the subject than 
 this ; but I feel confident that it is a borough where 
 you would have a first-rate chance of winning, if 
 your Party back you, as they will be sure to do. 
 There is no overpowering local influence, the free- 
 men being too numerous for that.. 
 
 ' If I were you, I would see your cousin at once, 
 and talk it over with him. I daresay it would cost 
 a good round sum, especially if — as you may count 
 upon — our side start a man against you.
 
 OPPOSITION. 267 
 
 'You will see the necessity of burning this, and 
 of not mixing up my name with the transaction. 
 Nothing but my friendship for you would induce 
 me to give you information which will be able to 
 turn to our disadvantage ; but we are in such a 
 miserable plight, that the loss or gain of one seat 
 can make no matter. 
 
 ' Anything I can do for you I will. Always, my 
 dear old boy, yours most faithfully, 
 
 ' Grattan Horncastle. 
 
 ' Temple, May 17, 1842.' 
 
 ' It's very well I came, after all. By Jove ! what 
 thundering good ham ! My cousin was not a 
 moment too soon. Something like a crumpet ! 
 Probably they have both heard it in the House from 
 the same source ; though, by the way, my cousin 
 says he heard it from Pollard. How mad old 
 Phillitupp would be if he knew I was before him. 
 Horncastle little thinks I am at Drummington 
 already. He cannot have seen my cousin, or he 
 surely would have told him. But my cousin goes 
 to the House so rarely. At any rate, this looks like 
 business. Sharp's the word. I must go and find
 
 268 AN artist's proof. 
 
 out Plaisted and Flower's offices. It will not do to 
 ask my friend here. I will wander about the place 
 till I find them. That won't take long, I expect.' 
 
 As he thrust the breakfast-table from him, rose, 
 and turned, he saw to his surprise the street any- 
 thing but empty. It was quite alive with people, 
 moving and in rather gay but certainly not market 
 attire. Then he noticed that the bells were ringing; 
 and he suddenly remembered that it was Sunday. 
 Travelling usually confuses one's accuracy as to the 
 calendar. It was perfectly evident that he could 
 not see Messrs. Plaisted and Flower that day, and 
 that it must be got through to the best of his ability 
 without the furtherance of any business-like views. 
 Yet, after all, it might be utilized. The inter- 
 vention of the Sabbath was not so unfortunate to 
 him after all. He could not have a more favourable 
 opportunity for taking stock of his future consti- 
 tuents than such as presented itself within the walls 
 of the parish church. Everybody seemed walking 
 in the same direction, and that direction the one 
 from which came the sound of bells. Dissent had 
 not yet gained a footing in Drummington. And 
 with the exception of a few Friends, who are not
 
 OPPOSITION. 269 
 
 more singular in their simple dress than in their 
 sweet habit of never introducing religious discord 
 along with their presence, all the Drummington 
 world and his wife held by the Establishment. As 
 might be at best expected under such circum- 
 stances, the arrangement of the parish church, its 
 services, its sermons, and its clergymen, were all 
 alike conventional and respectable, but not remark- 
 ably earnest either in appearance or in conduct. 
 Religious rivalry being absent, there was no motive 
 power beyond habit to prompt or foster ceremonial 
 observances. So that Drummington prayed reli- 
 giously at home on week-days, and was religiously 
 gathered together twice of a Sunday. It was not 
 particularly good, nor do I think that it was par- 
 ticularly bad. It thought itself, however, par- 
 ticularly righteous. Not getting himself put in 
 a prominent position, Mortimer could not hear 
 most of the prayers ; and though he heard all, he 
 could not understand any of the sermon. Most 
 people, however, are comforted by a great deal they 
 do not understand, and on the remaining half of 
 the congregation, on whom it did not act as an 
 actual soporific, it probably produced the effect of
 
 270 AN artist's proof. 
 
 a religious lullaby, analogous to the words-wlthout- 
 sense with which nurses quiet children. Mortimer 
 was not sleepy ; and by the time the sermon had 
 come to a close, had formed a rather unfavourable 
 opinion of the people whose suffrages he was shortly 
 to court. They were very ugly, to begin with ; 
 and to go on with, they were in a constant state of 
 oscillation between nod and yawn. Very probably, 
 they were much in the open air and worked very 
 hard all the week. So that now, when they had 
 nothing particular to do and very little oxygen to 
 breathe, like the poor cab-horse taken out of the 
 shafts, they broke down. There were a great many 
 children who, if they happened to oversleep their 
 parents, got well shaken when these awoke ; and 
 when they were fairly roused, spent the interval 
 between that siesta and the next in the vain attempt 
 to make up their minds which foot should have 
 precedence of the other. The women were gaudily 
 dressed, and the men were ominously stolid. The 
 vanity of the first might be counted on and turned 
 to good purpose in the contest ; but how were these 
 last to be influenced ? His Election Address, as it 
 stood at present, would be simply unintelligible;
 
 OPPOSITION. 271 
 
 and the speeches, such as he would naturally deliver, 
 would be but little more appropriate. Then he 
 gained comfort by the reflection that, say what he 
 would, it would be fully as comprehensible to them 
 as this morning's sermon ; and was there any reason 
 to think that the reverend gentleman was usually 
 more clear than to-day ? He remembered the ' omne 
 ignotum^ principle, and took heart. But for all 
 that, he felt rather disgusted. There was this balm, 
 however, for his honour. The spirit of the con- 
 stitution held that a man was the representative of 
 the whole nation, not the delegate of the con- 
 stituency with which his name happened to be con- 
 nected. Hence if the stupidity of Drummington 
 could momentarily be galvanized into suflScient en- 
 lightenment to elect Mortimer Dyneley for its mem- 
 ber, he would find in the Hall of St. Stephen's a 
 more congenial forum for the exercise of his powers. 
 Whereupon he perceived that morning service was 
 over, that everybody was awake now, and that he 
 must depart with the crowd. The young women 
 nudged each other's elbows, and simpered and whis- 
 pered ; but beyond this delicate attention, he man- 
 aged to elude much notice, and got back to the inn.
 
 272 AN aktist's proof. 
 
 In the afternoon he explored on foot the country 
 round about, taking as companion the landlord's 
 uewfoundland. Four hours' rambling gave him as 
 low an opinion of nature as of humanity in the 
 quarter to which it began to appear to him he had 
 been banished. It was flat, with very few trees, 
 and no streams to speak of at all. It was tolerably 
 well cultivated ; and that was the most that could 
 be said for it. About a mile-and-a-half from 
 home he was caught by rain. This did not distress 
 him. Indeed he turned it to good account. The 
 changing of all his things gave him a sense of 
 novelty, which he very much began to want, and 
 also afforded him an excuse for ordering a fire. 
 This was further justified by the night closing in 
 determindly wet, and endued things within with 
 a soul of comfort which he had not been able to 
 discover in things without. The dinner was not 
 amiss ; and another bottle of the thirty-year-old 
 port gave a becoming finish to the entertainment. 
 
 He asked if they could lend him a book or two. 
 The request brought up Mr. Phillitupp himself, 
 with a volume of ' Blair's Sermons,' ' Zimmerman 
 on Solitude,' ' The Urn, a Poem,' ' The County
 
 OPPOSITION. 273 
 
 Directory,' and profuse apologies for the meagre 
 character of the Constitution's library ; excusing 
 the inn on the ground that gentlemen who came to 
 it generally went to bed early, and did not seem to 
 care much about reading. Mortimer avoided any 
 more conversation as much as possible. For he 
 felt that if he did begin talking, he would let out 
 his unfavourable impression of Druinmington ; an 
 act of indiscretion which he must eschew, and 
 which would best be evaded by silence. He cer- 
 tainly had another bad evening of it. 
 
 There were no letters for him the next morning. 
 As soon as be could start with the likelihood of 
 finding lawyers at their work, he set oiFin search of 
 the Firm from whom he would hear definitely what 
 he was now so anxious to know. 
 
 Drummington, though not densely populated, 
 covered a good deal of ground. The streets were 
 wide ; so that, in going down one side, he could 
 form no notion of who lived on the other. Then, 
 shops and residences, and offices, seemed all on 
 very good terms, and were jumbled together in a 
 friendly manner. At last, however, at the corner 
 of a by-street, he saw a brass plate, which did not 
 
 VOL. I. . T
 
 274 AN artist's proof. 
 
 mark Messrs. Plaisted and Flower's offices, but 
 intimated where they were to be found. This was 
 at the bottom of a silent court-yard. Here, 
 within a large square-paned window, visibly sate 
 a clerk with his elbows on a huge sloping desk, and 
 the fingers of his outstretched hands touching each 
 other at the tips respectively. His lips were pushed 
 out as though he were whistling, though whistling 
 he certainly was not. On seeing Mortimer ap- 
 proach, he leaped nimbly from his perch, went to 
 the door and received him with courteous 
 obeisance. 
 
 ' Can I see Mr. Plaisted ? ' 
 
 ' I am sorry to say you cannot, sir ! Mr. 
 Plaisted very rarely comes to the office : very 
 rarely ; and we are not expecting him just at 
 present. Will Mr. Flower do equally well?' 
 
 ' Equally well,' said Mortimer ; ' he is here, I 
 suppose.' 
 
 ' No, he is not here, at present ; and I don't think 
 there is any chance of his being here to-day. He 
 may be here to-morrow, and is certain to be here (m 
 Wednesday.' 
 
 Mortimer both looked and expressed annoyance.
 
 OPPOSITION. 275 
 
 ' I am exceedingly sorry, sir ! Can / do any- 
 thing for you ? I shall be very glad to do what- 
 ever I can.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; but I fear you would not be 
 able to do what I want. No : I must wait to 
 see Mr. Flower. Can he not be communicated 
 with ? ' 
 
 ' He can. Indeed I will write to him with 
 pleasure. But as he is at Bletchley — you know 
 Bletchley ? ' 
 
 ' No, I do not. Indeed I never heard of it 
 before.' 
 
 ' Ha ! you do not know these parts, perhaps ? ' 
 
 ' Not in the least,' said Mortimer. 
 
 ' Well, Bletchley is the other side the county, 
 about thirty-five miles off, where we have another 
 office ; Mr. Flower always spends Mondays there. 
 He would not receive my note before to-morrow. 
 So that, even if I write — which I will do — it will 
 not be able to bring him here before Wednesday, 
 on which day he is quite sure to make his appear- 
 ance, in any case.' 
 
 Had Mortimer been alone, I fear he would have 
 said something more monosyllablic. As it was, he
 
 276 AN artist's pkoof, 
 
 answered that it was a desperate nuisance, but that 
 
 he supposed it could not be helped. 
 
 ' I fear not, sir. I will write, and should Mr. 
 
 Flower fortunately turn up to-morrow, can I com- 
 municate with you ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; I am at the Constitution. You know 
 
 it, of course ? \ 
 
 * Perfectly well. I will make a point of coming 
 
 over myself, and letting you know, the moment that 
 
 he arrives.' 
 
 Neither civility nor inconvenience could be more 
 extreme. One day for certain, and another for 
 as good as certain, had to be spent in this de- 
 testable hole, devoid of books or other interest, 
 surrounded by a singularly unpicturesque country, 
 and in which, as he now discovered, there w.:s not 
 even the mild refuge of fishing. He imagined he 
 wanted a great many things which he certainly did 
 not require, and so made as many useless pur- 
 chases in as many different shops as he could think 
 of or discover ; consoling himself with the reflection 
 that he was thereby commencing, as sensibly yet as 
 discreetly as possible, his electioneering campaign. 
 The second day he even went so far as to eat stale
 
 OPPOSITION. 277 
 
 buns and stain himself all over with ginger-beer at 
 the pastry-cook's, and to buy a heap of fusty scents 
 at the chemist's, where he had the only real conver- 
 sation of the day. As he had taken a couple more 
 long strolls with the dog, Geoifrey Phillitupp had 
 made up his mind and communicated to his neigh- 
 bours that mind, that the stranger had come to look 
 over the neighbourhood with a view to choosing 
 the best route for a railway, and that the snort of 
 the much talked-of steam-horses would soon be 
 heard in steady-going Drumraington. The civil 
 clerk called on Tuesday afternoon to say that Mr. 
 Flower had not come ; and on Wednesday morning, 
 when Mortimer's patience was completely ex- 
 hausted, to say that he had, and would be most 
 happy to see Mr. Dyneley. The knowledge of 
 Mortimer's name augured well. 
 
 Mr. Flower was of middle age, and was far too 
 business-like to be either very vulgar or very gen- 
 tlemanly. At any rate he was straightforward and 
 to the purpose. 
 
 * I perceive I have the pleasure of speaking to 
 Mr. Mortimer Dyneley ? ' 
 
 Mortimer signified assent.
 
 278 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 ' And that you have come to Druramington with 
 a view of some day representing it in Parliament.' 
 
 ' Quite so : indeed, soon.' 
 
 ' I have gathered as much from a letter — this is 
 it — from Messrs. Salvin, Pollard, and Salvin. As 
 you know, probably as well as I do, they are the 
 central political agents of our party.' 
 
 ' Just so.' 
 
 ' Of course, we are guided by them, ultimately, 
 in the selection of whom they think the likehest man 
 to stand for Drummington. And I am glad to be 
 able to say that they think you in every way most 
 eligible.' 
 
 Mortimer bowed slightly. • 
 
 ' But, of course, the information they act upon is 
 obtained through us. In this case, they inform us 
 that they have heard that Mr. Gotthup is on the eve 
 of resigning his seat, and at the same time write to 
 us to learn what we have heard. Now — ' 
 
 ' Mr. Dyneley — my cousin, I mean — tells me in 
 his letter that he heard it from Mr. Pollard.' 
 
 ' Really. In this letter — you see, there it is — 
 they say that Mr. Pollard heard it from Mr. 
 Dyneley. That, however, is unimportant. There is
 
 OPPOSITION. 279 
 
 an error on one side or the other. But — as I was 
 going to say — so far ice have heard nothing of it, 
 though it is the likeliest thing in the world.' 
 
 ' / have heard of it from another and an inde- 
 pendent source.' 
 
 ' I have no doubt : and as I said, I think it ex- 
 ceedingly probable that your information is correct. 
 Only, so far we have heard nothing down here. 
 After the receipt of this letter in which, as you 
 I)erceive, your merits are strongly stated and your 
 claims insisted on, we shall make it our duty to find 
 out the real state of the case as soon as possible, 
 and you may rest assured that, in the event of an 
 election, we will do everything in our power to 
 secure your return.' 
 
 ' Thanks, And you will be good enough to con- 
 sider yourselves as my agents in the matter.' 
 
 ' We shall be most happy.' 
 
 ' What do you advise my doing at present ? ' 
 
 ' Well, just at present, nothing. Mr. Gotthup is 
 in town, and we must manage to get at his inten- 
 tions as well but as delicately as possible.' 
 
 ' That will occupy some time ? ' 
 
 ' A little. But we will write to London at once,
 
 280 AN artist's peoof. 
 
 and set other inquiries on foot. In the ordinary 
 course of things, we shall know for certain in a week 
 or ten days. And even if — as is, I grant, improba- 
 ble — your information should prove to be not quite 
 correct, there is no use blinking the fact that a va- 
 cancy in Drummington, either by retirement or — or 
 death — must occur eventually. Your chance — in- 
 deed I regard it as a certainty — will then come. 
 And it will be none the worse for your having seen 
 the place and got some notion of it beforehand. 
 What do you think of it already ? ' 
 
 ' Externally, it is not very captivating to a visitor : 
 nor is the scenery around strikingly romantic. But 
 I have no doubt that it has merits which endear it 
 to a resident, and which I shall discover when I 
 become its representative.' 
 
 ' That is just it ; but I have no doubt you feel it 
 dull at present.' 
 
 ' Do you consider I ought to remain here till you 
 can obtain definite information on what now appears 
 to be doubtful ? ' 
 
 ' Here, or in the neighbourhood.' Mortimer 
 looked rather blank. ' You see it is a considerable 
 journey from London here and back.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 281 
 
 ' It took me two days to come.' 
 
 ' And it would take you two to return, and two 
 more to come here again, in case it turned out, as it 
 probably will, that your immediate presence will be 
 required. It seems a pity to leave the vicinity under 
 the circumstances. If you are really very much in 
 earnest in this matter, I should advise you to remain.' 
 
 ' Very well : I will take your advice.' 
 
 ' Of course, as I said, you can do nothing in the 
 meanwhile towards forwardins; vour views. For the 
 very same reasons which make it desirable that you 
 should be on the spot the moment that the vacancy 
 becomes a certainty, make it equally desirable that 
 you should not give the other side the slightest in- 
 timation of your intentions. So far you have not 
 aroused their suspicions. My clerk tells me that 
 you are supposed to have come for the purpose of 
 mapping out a line of railway.' 
 
 Mortimer laughed. Mr. Flower continued. 
 
 ' You will but encourage that opinion, and I 
 should think, most agreeably spend the short inter- 
 val which must necessarily elapse before our next 
 interview, by an incursion into the next county. 
 Do you know it ? '
 
 282 AN artist's proof. 
 
 ' Not at all. But I have often heard of its beau- 
 ties.' 
 
 ' You care for natural scenery ? ' 
 
 ' For nothing so much.' 
 
 ' In that case you will be delighted, and I cease 
 to pity you.' Mr. Flower did not know Morti- 
 mer's more special cause for irritation at being kept 
 away from home. ' You have a real treat before 
 you. Give yourself a week — that you may safely 
 do — and then return to Drummington.' 
 
 ' By that time, you feel confident that you will be 
 in a position to enable me to commence my canvas, 
 or to desist from it altogether at present? ' 
 
 ' Quite so. If Mr Gotthupp really resigns, we 
 will get you up a committee at once, and fight what 
 I feel confident would be a winning battle. If you 
 will do me the pleasure of calling at my house, which 
 is rather more than three miles off, I am sure Mrs. 
 Flower and my daughters will be delighted to see 
 you. I cannot offer you conveyance. I always walk, 
 both from choice and for health's sake. But if — ' 
 
 ' I will certainly call,' said Mortimer, who was on 
 his good behaviour. ' It will give me great plea- 
 sure.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 283 
 
 ' I fear we have nothing to offer you in com- 
 parison with the temptations of the next county ; 
 but if you think of staying in the neighbourhood, 
 we will do our best to make the delay as little tire- 
 some as possible.' 
 
 Mortimer drove up that afternoon to Prospect 
 House, and saw Mrs. Flower and her three 
 daughters. They were good, kind, stupid, worthy 
 people, with whom he conversed for an hour and a 
 half, learning many useful particulars about the 
 route, which, at first sight of them, he instantly 
 made up his mind to take. They lent him a guide 
 book, and two or three pocket volumes of the 
 classics from their papa's library, and sent him 
 away very grateful but rather bored. They for 
 their part thought him ' delightful.' Of course he 
 did not tell them the object of his visit to Drum- 
 mington, beyond stating that it was on business. 
 Whether they worried it out of their parent on 
 his reaching home that evening, I do not know ; 
 but they were certainly all curiosity, and would 
 prove stanch allies at the election for Drummington, 
 come when it would. 
 
 Nighby shire, as everybody knows, has from time
 
 28-^ AN artist's proof. 
 
 immemorial been the haunt of artists and seekers 
 of the beautiful. Under ordinary circumstances its 
 varied bounties of hill and vale would have filled 
 Mortimer with undisturbed delight. Even as it was, 
 his week was one of enjoyment. Still the vulgar' 
 anxiety which is caused by having to wait, con- 
 siderably marred his pleasure. Ever and anon, a 
 commanding headland, a stretch of undulating 
 woods, or a wild expanse of scarcely broken heather, 
 could make him forget all personal concerns. But 
 even the very beauty or quiet of some secluded 
 prospect would suggest a ready comparison with 
 Alwoodley Chase ; and a pair of dark-lashed deep- 
 blue eyes, that seemed to want him, would intrude 
 between his own and the luxuriant expanse. Still, 
 that was mawkish, and he flogged the unworthy 
 sentiment aside. He had kissed her ; he had called 
 her his darling ; he had heard her call him her 
 ' love.' She was his. He was quite secure of her. 
 Their sweet secret was all their own. What were 
 a few days ? What was a fortnight ? Nothing. 
 Especially when the delay that irritated him would 
 irritate her also, and make her long for and love 
 him all the more, just as it forced him more and
 
 OPPOSITION. 285 
 
 more impatiently to yearn for lier delicious presence. 
 No harm could come of the interval. Good was 
 silently working through the fruitful fretfulness 
 which begets a more intense and more deeply 
 conscious affection. At any rate, he could do 
 nothing. He had quite made up his mind to see 
 Isabelle again before he addressed himself to her 
 father ; and equally to address himself, when the 
 time came, not by letter, but orally. The same 
 held good of his cousin. Whether he liked it or 
 not, wait he must. 
 
 The rural week passed away, and Mortimer was 
 again driving into Drummington. Descending from 
 the chaise at the doors of the Constitution, he left 
 his things to the care of the waiter, who hurriedly 
 pushed arm through coat-sleeve and rushed to 
 welcome him, and walked straight to the office of 
 Messrs. Plaisted and Flower. The latter gentleman 
 was there to receive him. 
 
 'Well?' said Mortimer. 
 
 ' Well,' said Mr. Flower, ' we cannot make out 
 whether Mr. Gotthupp intended a fortnight ago, 
 when he was suffering from a severe fit of gout, to 
 accept the Chiltern Hundreds or not ; but we have
 
 286 AN artist's proof. 
 
 learned that he is now much better, and that for 
 the present he declares his intention of dying in 
 harness.' 
 
 ' The devil ! ' 
 
 ' Very annoying, is it not ? — very annoying. We 
 can only say, on our parts, that we shall be delighted 
 to follow out the instructions of the Party, when a 
 vacancy does occur ; and as for myself, Mr. Dyne- 
 ley, if you will permit me to say it, what I have 
 seen in our interviews will make me only still more 
 enthusiastic in your cause, if you ever see fit to 
 stand for Drummington.' 
 
 The following night, Mortimer arrived in London, 
 in time to dine comfortably, and to hear, from a 
 stall in Her Majesty's, the last two acts of the 
 ' Barber of Seville.'
 
 CILVPTER XI. 
 
 The next morning Mortimer started off betimes to 
 see his cousin and unfold to him the bursting of the 
 Drummington bubble. Of course, Mr. Dyneley had 
 done it all for the best .; and Mortimer was on his 
 way not to blame but to thank him. Gratitude 
 would be most pleasingly manifested by a simple 
 narration of the fortnight's doings. He would also 
 take the opportunity of declaring definitely his views 
 with regard to marriage, and of narrating, should the 
 occasion seem propitious, what had passed between 
 him and Miss Chesterton. He would also probably 
 learn from his cousin more than he knew already 
 of how Mrs. Thatchley was disposed towards him. 
 
 Mr. Dyneley was out of town ; but where, nobody 
 knew. He had been away for more than a week. 
 Indeed, Mortimer's last letter to him from Nighby- 
 shire was lying, along with several others, unopened 
 on the library table. Mortimer left another note, 
 expressing disappointment at not finding tjim at
 
 288 AN aetist's proof, 
 
 home, and a great wish to see him as soon as con- 
 veniently might be. 
 
 The next visit was to Grattan Horncastle, whose 
 door in the Temple was, as Bracebridge expressed 
 it, hermetically sealed. All the thumping in the 
 world was of no avail. However, at four o'clock 
 that afternoon, in the lobby of the House, Mortimer 
 saw his friend, and had a long talk. 
 
 ' I did it for the best. I wrote as soon as ever I 
 heard of the report.' 
 
 ' And by the time I received your letter, I was 
 already at Drummington ; so that you need not re- 
 proach yourself with sending me on my fool's errand. 
 It was a letter from my cousin which started me. ' 
 
 ' Really ! That's good at any rate, in this way, 
 it shows that he is not only anxious about your in- 
 terests, but fully alive to any opportunity through 
 which they may be forwarded. But the fact is, no- 
 body can ever be certain of the truth of reports 
 which are always flying about the House. I heard 
 the report of Gotthupp's resignation from two or 
 three men, all likely to know ; and he certainly was 
 suffering from a terrible fit of gout at the time.' 
 
 ' So I bear.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 289 
 
 * It will carry him off some time, and probably 
 before very long. And if nothing else turns up in 
 the meantime, you can ultimately stand for Drum- 
 mington, and your visit will be all to the good. At 
 least, you have lost nothing by going.' 
 
 ' Nothing that cannot still be got. For all that, hav- 
 ing to go was a greater nuisance than you imagine.' 
 
 He took Horncastle's arm affectionately and con- 
 fidentially. 
 
 ' See — let us first get out of the crowd. You re- 
 member my telling you at Sleeper's garden-fete, 
 that I should probably meet Miss Chesterton a few 
 days after.' 
 
 * Yes : perfectly.' 
 
 ' And I did. I went without any predetermined 
 intention of engaging either myself or her, or indeed 
 of doing more than feeling and breaking ground. 
 But as luck would have it, one of her horse's shoes 
 came off, or loose at least, and she had to dismount 
 and wait with me till her groom rode off and got it 
 seen to. And, hang it ! she looked so beautiful, 
 and the circumstances were so favourable, and the 
 conversation somehow so naturally led up to it, that 
 I_well— ' 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 AN artist's proof. 
 
 * That you proposed to her ? ' 
 
 ' If you like the phrase : I don't. I told her I 
 loved her. And, by Jove ! the sweet little fairy hid 
 her face in my bosom, and — at any rate, old boy, 
 the trick's done ; and I am only waiting for a fair 
 opportunity to square matters with old Chesterton.' 
 
 * You have not seen him then ? ' 
 
 ' No, nor anybody else. You know I received 
 ray cousin's letter the very day after I met Isabelle, 
 and started for Drummington on the Friday morn- 
 ing. On the Saturday, there was a dinner at Rich- 
 mond, given by my cousin — you were not there, 
 were you ? ' 
 
 ' No,' said Horncastle ; ' I was not there.' 
 
 ' But the Chestertons were, or were invited. I, 
 of course, was to go. A tremendous shower of 
 rain put a premature ending to my interview 
 with Miss Chesterton on the Thursday ; so that 
 nothing beyond — what was very pleasant, old 
 boy—' 
 
 ' I don't doubt it.' 
 
 ' Nothing beyond avowals of love, &c., passed 
 between us. I intended to have a good talk with 
 her at Richmond, and then have it all out with her
 
 OPPOSITION. 291 
 
 father. You may judge how mad I was when I 
 found that I could not possibly be there and could 
 not communicate with her, either ; and how dis- 
 gusted I feel at having been all this time at that 
 infernal Drummington for nothing. I am going 
 down to Gracewood at once, and over to Beadon 
 at the first opportunity. I shall try to have a talk 
 with Isabelle first ; but if the opportunity does not 
 come soon, I must speak to her father. I wanted 
 to see my cousin and tell him ; but he is out of 
 town, and his people don't know where he is. I 
 suppose 7/ou have not seen him ? ' 
 
 ' No ; he has not been in the House for the last 
 ten days, at least.' 
 
 ' I wonder where the deuce he can be, or what he 
 can be doing ? ' 
 
 Horncastle laughed. 
 
 ' Where he is may be difficult to find out ; but it 
 is not so difficult to guess what he is doing. Old 
 age has not tamed his youthful spirits, and doubtless 
 he is occupied with matters about which secrecy, 
 even to locality, is very desirable.' 
 
 ' I suppose so,' said Mortimer. ' I am very sorry ; 
 I saw enough when I was in the north. I wish he
 
 292 AN artist's proof. 
 
 had even the poor excuse of being younger. How- 
 ever, it is not my affair. I should like to see him, 
 though.' 
 
 ' Which you will, shortly, no doubt. As you 
 say, his conduct is not your affair ; and, indeed, he 
 is as discreet as a rich man well can be. His ways 
 are known only to his intimates, and a few curious 
 fellows like myself.' And again he laughed. * I 
 really like him very much. If you only stick to 
 him, as you are doing now, he will be the making 
 of you ; and before very long, you will make these 
 walls ring with your speeches. Confound it ! I wish 
 old Gotthupp would go off the hooks. I am dying 
 to see you in the House. I will keep my ears open, 
 and let you know if anything is stirring. There's 
 the Division bell. Will you wait till the Division 
 is over ? ' 
 
 ' No ; I must be off now ; but I shall be in town 
 again very soon, probably. Seen Bracebridge ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; yesterday.' 
 
 ' Same as ever, I suppose ? ' 
 
 ' Just. Going to the dogs, as usual. Good-by, 
 my dear fellow. Write.' 
 
 ' Good-by.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 293 
 
 And Mortimer hurried away from the lobby. 
 As he was passing through Westminster Hall, the 
 folding doors leading to the Law Courts hard by 
 were swinging to and fro, and suitors, attorneys, and 
 counsel hurrying backwards and forwards. He had 
 scarcely thought to himself, 'I wonder if I have 
 time to go and see old Bracebridge,' when Guy's 
 face, laden with an important look not usual with it, 
 peered out among the legal crowd. Mortimer 
 seized him by the arm. He turned. 
 
 ' Who would look for you here ? Oh, but I 
 suppose you've been to the House. Why don't you 
 come and see a fellow when you are up in town ? ' 
 
 'I only arrived last night. I have been on an 
 electioneering expedition, which has ended — for the 
 present — in smoke.' 
 
 < Where ? May I ask ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; but don't say anything about it. To 
 Drummington.' 
 
 * To Drummington I What the deuce to do at 
 Drummington ? There isn't a vacancy. 
 
 * But one was expected.' 
 
 ' By whose resigning ? By Langford's ? * 
 
 * No ; by the other member — old Gotthupp.'
 
 294 AN artist's proof, 
 
 ' Gotthupp ! Why, who ever told you that ? 
 I'm sure such a notion has never entered his head. 
 I've known Latimer Gotthupp, / have, ever since I 
 knew anybody. Why, he is godfather to that 
 scoundrel, my brother — godfather. Of course he 
 doesn't take any notice of the fellow now — not noiv. 
 But he used — he used ; and I — why, / am as inti- 
 mate with him as anybody is, and I've never heard 
 him hint at such a thing. Look here ! I was with 
 him no later than — but it's absurd ; that's the word 
 — absurd ; simply absurd. Who told you ? ' 
 
 * I heard it first from my cousin ; then I heard it 
 from Horncastle.' 
 
 ' Oh, Horncastle ! Then you may be sure it 
 isn't true. How was he likely to know ? Tell me 
 that ! Was there the slightest likelihood he should 
 know ? ' 
 
 ' No doubt he heard it in the House.' 
 
 ' Heard it in the House ! I dare say he did hear 
 it in the House. But what of that ? ' 
 
 ' But then, my cousin heard it too.' 
 
 ' Then he heard it in the House too, probably. 
 How do you know he did not hear it from Horn- 
 castle ? Look here, old fellow ! Horncastle's a
 
 opposiTioisr. 295 
 
 very clever fellow ; he's too clever — too clever. 
 Don't you mind too much what Horncastle says.' 
 
 ' But I am sure he would do anything in the 
 world for me ; and I am immensely fond of hira.' 
 
 ' Fond of him ! So am I ; I'm fond of him. I 
 should think I was fond of him. I should like to 
 know who can pretend to be more fond of him than 
 the person who put him where he is ; which / did, 
 though he mayn't know it, or pretend he doesn't 
 know it — pretend he doesn't. But he knows it. 
 Yes ; and I know it. But he won't be there much 
 longer if he doesn't mind what he's about. Every- 
 body's talking about him — everybody.' 
 
 This was poor Guy's old mania, which always 
 raised the same smile on Mortimer's face. Guy 
 was far too much in earnest, however, to see it. 
 
 ' He pays nobody — nobody. I don't allow it to 
 anybody else, but it's true ; I know it's true. And 
 then there's that woman — his wife. Of course, he's 
 married to her. He's a clever fellow, a very clever 
 fellow ; but if he can go on long as he's going on 
 now, he's a cleverer fellow even than I imagine him 
 to be.' 
 
 ' 1 have just this moment seen hira.'
 
 296 AN aetist's proof. 
 
 ' Seen him ! / never see him. Nobody ever 
 sees him, unless they see him in the House. He's 
 always there, I know.' 
 
 ' And he always ought to be,' said Mortimer. 
 
 ' Yes, but— ' 
 
 And Bracebridge went off into another long lugu- 
 brious rigmarole which need not be set down. In 
 his heart of hearts, which he always opened to 
 Mortimer, he entertained the gravest fears for their 
 friend. Before the world, which was really saying 
 all the kind things v\hich he repeated, he defended 
 Horncastle unflinchingly, and still cracked him up 
 to the skies. The honest fellow would have done 
 anything on earth for Grattan. But he could 
 neither comprehend nor approve much of Grattan's 
 conduct ; and his knack of seeing the dark side of 
 the future, and of believing that ' the dogs ' were 
 the natural bourne of most earthly wayfarers, led 
 him always to express himself to Mortimer in the 
 above desponding language. He was sanguine 
 enough about Mortimer's prospects, and whilst re- 
 gretting and still continuing to ridicule the fruitless 
 visit to Drummington, was delighted to hear that 
 Mr. Dyneley, however ill-informed, had instigated
 
 OPPOSITION. 297 
 
 the journey. Guy Bracebridge thoroughly believed 
 in Mortimer and Mortimer's future, not on account 
 of his abilities, or for any special merits he might 
 possess — though Bracebridge was quite alive to 
 them — but because he had a cousin at his back 
 with ten or fifteen or twenty thousand per annum. 
 Poor Guy's great trouble all his life had been want 
 of money. He certainly had not been a very suc- 
 cessful man. And it was only natural that he 
 should attribute his failure rather to want of money 
 than to want of anything else. He judged other 
 people fairly enough by himself. He felt confident 
 that, with a little money, he could have cut a very 
 respectable figure in the world ; and he did not feel 
 the slightest confidence in anybody else's cutting it 
 without. If anybody contrived to do so, all Guy 
 could say was that he was a devilish clever fellow, 
 and that he would advise people to wait and see the 
 end of it. On any score, success under such cir- 
 cumstances was too improbable to be taken into 
 account. So that he regarded the luckless re- 
 turner from Drummington, whom very few people 
 had ever heard of, as a much greater hero than the 
 sitting member for Veerborough, who was in pretty
 
 298 AN artist's proof. 
 
 nearly everybody's mouth, but who was said to be 
 also in pretty nearly everybody's debt. 
 
 ' And what are you doing here ? ' Mortimer asked. 
 
 ' Oh, some infernal reporting. But what can a 
 fellow do? It's beastly work that I have, and 
 devilish bad pay.' How honest he was ! ' I've 
 been wanting Horncastle to get me into the staff 
 of the " Oriflamme ;" but I don't think he has the 
 time or will give himself the trouble to do it. At 
 any rate, he hasn't done it.' 
 
 Horncastle had not tried : but for a very simple 
 reason. He knew well enough that if he tried till 
 doomsday he would never succeed in getting Brace- 
 bridge on to any such organ, except to be quietly 
 let down again. Horncastle was willing enough to 
 help Bracebridge when he could do so without in- 
 juring himself; in this case, he would not have 
 avoided the latter in uselessly attempting to accom- 
 plish the former. 
 
 ' I wish you were in, old boy. I know you'd give 
 a fellow a lift.' 
 
 * Wait till I am in,' said Mortimer. 
 ' Oh, you are sure to be in. But Drummington's 
 no use, no use at all. Something else'U turn up.
 
 OPPOSITION. 299 
 
 You stick to your cousin, and you re all right. Ah ! 
 if I had such a chance ! ' 
 
 ' Well, good-by. Can I do anything for you ? ' 
 ' Nothing, old fellow, thanks. I shan't forget 
 the fifteen pounds on the 24th. Shall I pay it into 
 your bank ? ' 
 
 ' If you like. I don't want it at present.' 
 ' Not now that you've got such a lift' He re- 
 ferred to his friend's increased income. ' But I'll pay 
 it in. If I find I want it again later, I'll ask you.' 
 ' Do so ; you know I am always delighted.' 
 That night there was a fierce debate in the 
 House, which lasted till nearly three hours after 
 midnight. Grattan Horncastle took a prominent 
 part in it, and more than ever established a repu- 
 tation among his enemies for want of modesty, 
 among his friends for possession of ability. He 
 was accompanied as far as Charing Cross by 
 two or three of those who had sided with him in 
 debate, and then proceeded alone along the Strand 
 to his chambers in the Temple. He entered them 
 as quietly as key and foot can enter ; but an ear 
 was listening, and a heart waiting, for his return. 
 * Did you get a chance of speaking, Grattan ? '
 
 300 AN artist's proof. 
 
 ' Yes ; I caught the Speaker's eye at a most 
 favourable moment, when the House was very full, 
 and produced the best effect, I believe, I have yet 
 produced.' 
 
 * And they received your speech well ? How 
 long was it ? ' 
 
 ' About forty minutes.' 
 
 ' I hope it will be reported at length, to-morrow.' 
 
 * You must not be disappointed if it is not : it 
 takes some time to establish oneself thoroughly.' 
 
 * O but, Grattan dear, you are established. 
 Tell me, has anything gone wrong? you look 
 thoughtful.' 
 
 * Yes ; something has. I had forgotten all about 
 it in the interest of this Question ; and it only now 
 recurs to me. I have seen Mortimer Dyneley.' 
 
 * Well ? ' She sat up anxiously in the bed. 
 
 * I fear your letter missed fire altogether.' 
 ' You don't say so ! ' 
 
 ' At least, it failed to prevent what I so much 
 wished to prevent.' 
 
 ' Did they meet, then ? ' 
 
 * Yes ; he saw her on the Thursday in Alwood- 
 ley Chase.'
 
 OPPOSITION. 301 
 
 * And what occurred ? ' 
 
 * Everything. The avowal both of his love and 
 of hers.' 
 
 * Oh, what a pity ! But were they alone ? ' 
 
 * Yes ; for a time. Her horse cast a shoe, and 
 the groom had to leave them together long enough 
 for the mischief to be done.' 
 
 ' And there was a regular love-scene ? ' 
 
 * I fear so, from what Mortimer said, and the 
 way in which he spoke this afternoon.' 
 
 * I am grieved.' 
 
 ' And so am I. Heaven knows I love Mortimer 
 vastly, and would do everything to save him from 
 pain.' 
 
 She leaned her chin upon her hand, her elhow 
 resting on the bed. 
 
 ' Are you sure it is not too late to save yourself 
 from something worse ? Having succeeded so far, 
 he may gain his point.' 
 
 * So he may, Nelly ; though I was not thinking 
 of that. I was thinking of the pain he will suffer 
 now, if he does nut. If I could only have pre- 
 vented their meeting on Thursday, everything 
 might have gone right; now, something must go
 
 302 AN artist's proof. 
 
 wrong. But I ara awfully tired ; I must think it 
 out to-morrow, and see what is best to be done.' 
 
 The young vivacity of the year had gone. June, 
 in spite of her flowers, is a sober though a comely 
 matron, by the side of exuberant but transitory 
 May. Gracewood looked lovely. It was all per- 
 fume and colour ; blushing with roses, and fragrant 
 with the bloom of laurel and elder. It was a time 
 for deep, judicial thought, when one's judgment is 
 liable to be warped neither by leaps of the vernal 
 blood, nor jaundiced by the insidious discolorations 
 of autumnal despondency ; a time when one can 
 look things fairly in the face, acknowledge facts, 
 and be not disheartened by them, nor yet by them 
 be beckoned illusorily out of one's legitimate path. 
 It is essentially a self-sufficient period, beautiful 
 enough to provoke no retrospect, steady enough to 
 suggest no anticipations. It is the one peculiar 
 season in which the Present gets fairly treated. 
 
 Calmly regarding his position, Mortimer was 
 satisfied. His cousin had not as yet succeeded in 
 procuring him a seat in parliament ; but he had 
 tried, and so given the best proof of his excellent 
 intentions. In financial matters, intention had
 
 OPPOSITION. 303 
 
 ripened into act : and he could now regard himself 
 as the possessor of a clear fifteen hundred a-year. 
 Isabelle Chesterton had avowed her love for him. 
 And her parents, who could not, even if they would, 
 prevent her union with him, had lately manifested 
 more propitious sentiments in his regard. These 
 were more likely to wax than wane when they knew, 
 as perhaps from his cousin they already knew, the 
 reality of his position. So he plucked off the dead 
 roses, seemed very well contented, read a few pages of 
 the De Officiis, and ordered his mare to be saddled. 
 He had been over to the Priory once, but in 
 vain ; and to-day again he was disappointed. The 
 first time, they were not at home ; to-day they were 
 away from home, but were expected back the day 
 after next. It was now more than a month since 
 the important parting in Alwoodley Chase ; and he 
 began to be uncomfortable as to what Isabelle would 
 think of his absence, supposing, as was not impro- 
 bable, that she had not heard of his forced journey 
 to Drummington. Yet surely, she would have heard 
 of that at the Richmond dinner ? Not so surely. 
 Mr. Dyneley might have thought it discreet to say 
 nothing about the borough ; and so they all might
 
 304 AN artist's proof. 
 
 still be In ignorance of his earlier movements. He 
 called a third time ; and again they were not at 
 home. June was positively over ; and he had not 
 succeeded in seeing them. Neither had he heard 
 anything of his cousin. He had not again been in 
 town himself, it is true. But he had again written, 
 saying that he very much wished to see Mr. Dyneley, 
 and that he would go up to London specially, if he 
 were sure that Mr. Dyneley would be there. At 
 last he received a kind note, without address, but 
 bearing a post-mark of the Midland counties, in 
 which Mr. Dyneley said that he had only just re- 
 ceived Mortimer's card and last two letters, but 
 that he had heard before, and with great chagrin, of 
 the Drumraington business turning out a mare's 
 nest. He told Mortimer not to mind, but to keep 
 up his spirits and wait for the next opportunity : 
 adding that he regretted he should not be in town 
 for three weeks, but that theu he should be delighted 
 to have a talk with him upon any matter that might 
 require discussion, and would then give it every at- 
 tention. If it were only a money matter, he gave 
 Mortimer full leave to act even without consulting 
 him.
 
 OPPOSITION. 305 
 
 Nothing could be kinder. But it was now the 
 middle of July ; and he was just where he had been 
 but very little later than the middle of May. Some- 
 thing must be done. He would go over to Beadon 
 just once more ; and if he were so unlucky as not to 
 find Mr. Chesterton at home, he would write and 
 ask for an appointment and an interview. As for 
 waiting now to see Isabelle again before he spoke to 
 her father, that idea must be abandoned. He had 
 been to the Chase over and over again, not only on 
 Tuesdays and Thursdays but on other days besides, 
 and all to no purpose. That confounded Drum- 
 mington — and be-somethinged to it — had upset all 
 his plans. He galoped over to the Priory. They 
 were not at home. Nobody ? No : nobody. He 
 returned home very savage, sate down and wrote to 
 Mr. Chesterton, saying that he particularly desired to 
 see him, and would be very much obliged if a time 
 could be named as soon as conveniently might be. 
 
 After a delay of five days, there came a note from 
 Mr. Chesterton, saying that he was so much occu- 
 pied and harassed with the business of the company 
 of which he was a director, that he really could not 
 give Mortimer an appointment at present, but that 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 AN artist's proof. 
 
 he would pay every attention to any written com- 
 raunication. There was no help for it ; it was now 
 two months since he had seen the daughter ; and 
 now that it was evident that he could not see her 
 again within any calculable period by any other 
 means, duty towards her exacted of him that he 
 should communicate with her father. He wrote as 
 briefly and simply as possible. This was the letter : — 
 
 ' Dear Mr. Chesterton, — During the last six 
 weeks, I have been most anxious, and have made 
 every effort, to see you. As you cannot give me, 
 what I should have preferred, a personal interview, 
 and as I must no longer be silent on the subject 
 which has caused me so much to desire it, I write 
 to inform you of my love for your daughter. 
 
 ' I believe that you will consider me in a position 
 to marry ; and can only trust, that, being satisfied 
 on that point, you will be satisfied on others about 
 which it less becomes me to speak. With kindest 
 regards, 
 
 ' I am, dear Mr. Chesterton, 
 
 ' Yours very sincerly, 
 
 ' Mortimer Dyneley.*
 
 OPPOSITION. 307 
 
 He felt that the subject was one upon which it 
 was most difficult to write, and that his letter fully 
 reflected his distaste for penning it. However, he 
 could not invent a better. So he sent it off, and 
 waited as patiently as possible for a reply. It came 
 in a couple of days in the shape of a letter from 
 Mrs. Thatchley, which ran thus : 
 
 ' Dear Sir, — My brother has shown me your 
 letter, and has desired me to answer it. 
 
 ' I am sorry to be obliged to remark, that your 
 interview with Miss Chesterton in Alwoodley 
 Chase, communicated to us by you neither before 
 nor since, has not prejudiced either myself or my 
 brother in favour of the claims put forward by 
 your letter. 
 
 'But as you therein allude to your being in a 
 position to marry, and yet I have always under- 
 stood from yourself that your income was dependent 
 on the liberality of your cousin Mr. Dyneley, we 
 both think that our natural doubts as to its pre- 
 carious character had better be entirely removed 
 before any further question be entertained. 
 ' I am, dear sir, yours sincerely, 
 
 ' Sarah Thatchley.'
 
 308 AN artist's proof. 
 
 Mortimer had pretty decent command over him- 
 self ; but he tore the letter into shreds almost before 
 he had read it, and made no attempt to reconstruct 
 and re-examine it. Its purport, however, he had 
 thoroughly grasped. 
 
 There was nothing in it to discourage, but every- 
 thing in it to irritate him. I think that, at that 
 moment, he almost hated the woman who had 
 written it. That his income was good, and would 
 be made secure and entirely his own, probably she 
 knew quite as well as he did ; but it was the letter 
 of a woman who, whilst she nowise means to with- 
 hold her daughter, intends to part with her on the 
 severest and most humbling; terms. She had made 
 up her mind that the girl must go ; but the man 
 to whom she w^ent, no less than the girl herself, 
 should bend suh hastd, should pass under the yoke. 
 She would be master to the very last time Isabelle 
 went through the threshold of home, and as far 
 beyond it as she could contrive ; but — and Morti- 
 mer's rage vented itself in the most unusual form of 
 a savage oatn — he would take mighty good care 
 that, from that moment, she should serve as bitterly 
 as she had swayed.
 
 OPPOSITION. 309 
 
 How had she got to know about the interview in 
 Alwoodley Chase? Surely old JefF, who, he was 
 quite sure, was devoted to Isabelle, and always 
 seemed very fond of him, had not been so un- 
 necessarily officious as to volunteer any information 
 on the subject? True, she might have cross- 
 questioned and wormed it out of him. As for 
 Isabelle voluntarily saying anything about the 
 matter, that he could not believe for a moment. 
 Besides, the letter spoke of only one interview. 
 And if JefF had been her informant, or Isabelle had 
 been tormented into a confession, either would have 
 had to speak of more interviews than one. It was 
 probably the last meeting to which she referred. 
 Anyhow, it was quite evident that she was aware 
 of something that had passed — 'what, or how much, 
 it was useless to conjecture — and Isabelle would be 
 the sufferer accordingly. All this time — all these 
 two months and more — during which she must have 
 been wondering what had become of him, mar- 
 velling that the lips which she had permitted con- 
 tact with hers should be so silent, and pining to 
 know what next, the poor girl had doubtlessly been
 
 310 AN artist's proof. 
 
 vulgarly bullied, and subjected to the ignominy 
 and torture of even more than the usual domestic 
 despotism. Reproaches had probably freely min- 
 gled with this cruel imprisonment. He felt as if 
 he could have leaped into the saddle, dashed off 
 to Beadon, torn her out of her foul infernal den, 
 and carried her off before their very eyes. His 
 poor sweet ! to be trampled on so ! 
 
 It was no use, however, remaining in this state of 
 mind. So, after several quick pacings backwards 
 and forwards across the lawn, he sat down and 
 wTote to his cousin. Mr. Dyneley's letter had said 
 that he should not be in London again for three 
 weeks ; and of these, two yet remained. So there 
 was nothing for it but to write the following letter, 
 and to put 'To be forwarded at once ' on the 
 envelope, in the hope that it would reach him be- 
 fore his return. If it did not, Mortimer would 
 back it up in person, at the end of the fortnight 
 
 ' My dear Cousin, — Your kindness to me has 
 been so great and so consistent, that, unable to await 
 your return to London, I write this letter (which.
 
 OPPOSITION. 311 
 
 I trust, will be forwarded to you) without any mis- 
 
 giving. 
 
 ' I have already more than hinted to you of my 
 affection for Miss Chesterton, whom I presented to 
 you, you will remember, on the occasion of Sleeper's 
 garden fete. I have avowed my feelings to her 
 fatlier, and have received in reply a request, na- 
 tural enough, that I should satisfy him as to the 
 nature of my income. I have never hidden from 
 him or from anybody that it arises entirely from 
 your generosity ; being only too delighted that 
 the world should be aware of my obligations to 
 you. 
 
 ' But it is not surprising that Mr. Chesterton 
 should, though / cannot, regard and call pre- 
 carious, an income which depends wholly upon your 
 free will and kindness. Am I then asking too much 
 of you, in seeking to be able to give him what I by 
 no means require for myself, a satisfactory security 
 for its permanence ? That assured, I have no doubt 
 that he will sanction a union most anxiously desired 
 by me. 
 
 ' I shall thus be indebted to you for the two
 
 312 AN artist's proof. 
 
 greatest of earthly blessings — freedom of action, 
 and the wife of my choice. 
 ' I am, my dear Cousin, 
 
 ' Gratefully and affectionately yours, 
 
 ' Mortimer Dyneley.' 
 
 The fortnight was passing away, and no letter 
 came in reply. It was clear that Mr. Dyneley had 
 not left orders for his letters to be forwarded. 
 Horncastle's suspicions were evidently correct. 
 The wily but persistent old sinner was out on some 
 little reputable expedition, in which complete 
 secrecy was necessary for his respectability. It 
 vexed Mortimer to think that one to whom he owed 
 so much, and from whom he was now awaiting 
 more — one, too, of kindred blood to his own — should 
 be the slave of habit so inconsistent and incongruous 
 with his age. That the heart of pure, sweet Isabelle 
 should be kept on the stretch by a delay dependent 
 on such habits, was more than he could bear to 
 dwell upon. Indeed, he was in that anxious state 
 that he could think of nothing for any length of 
 time. But for the horrible delay that had taken
 
 OPPOSITION. 313 
 
 place already, and for the consciousness that every 
 day in which nothing was done was a day more of 
 trial to one now grown infinitely dear to him, he 
 could have waited patiently enough. About the 
 nature of his cousin's reply, there could be no doubt. 
 Mr. Dyneley would of course settle upon him at 
 least the fifteen hundred a-year already allowed, 
 and this — or most of it — he would see should be 
 settled on himself and Isabelle jointly. If the letter 
 would only come. On the 1st of August it did. 
 These were its contents : — 
 
 ' My dear Mortimer, — I have only this day 
 received you letter, to which I reply at once. 
 
 'That you fully appreciate what you are good 
 enough to call my kindness, I never for a moment 
 doubted ; but ray interest in you is greater and 
 more serious than you probably imagine. 
 
 ' You will do me the justice to own that, whilst 
 endeavouring to promote your views and to further 
 your prospects, I have never manifested any desire 
 to interfere with your movements, or to dictate to 
 you any special line of conduct. Unseemly guid-
 
 314 AN artist's proof. 
 
 ance of your judgment I have never ambitioned, nor 
 do I ambition it now, 
 
 ' But the genuine interest which I have in your 
 career prompts me to take upon myself to counsel 
 you at the present moment ; and I think that the 
 proofs w^hich I have given, and still desire to give, 
 of that interest, justify me in my pretensions. 
 
 ' When you spoke to me, as you recall to my mind, 
 at Mr. Sleeper's garden-party, of the possibility of 
 your marrying, the occasion was too informal, and 
 your remarks were apparently too little serious to 
 attract, or at any rate to retain, my attention. But 
 now that you write in a strain too grave to be mis- 
 taken for anything but earnest, I feel bound to tell 
 you frankly, and at once, that I strongly deprecate 
 any thought of marriage upon your part just yet. 
 You are only twenty-six years of age, and are on 
 the very starting-point of a political career, which I 
 expected, and still expect, to add lustre to the name 
 we bear in common. But I will confess that the 
 discovery that, at a moment of such public import 
 to yourself, you should find time or temper to enter- 
 tain projects of an altogether foreign and more
 
 OPPOSITION. 315 
 
 trivial nature, has somewhat disappointed and 
 alarmed me. 
 
 'This disappointment and alarm it is in your 
 power to banish ; and I cannot doubt that you will 
 speedily do so. The education which your father 
 gave you was quite calculated to equip a gentle- 
 man, and I need not hesitate to say that the result 
 has justified the means employed. But it did not 
 and could not impress you with the necessity of" 
 concentrated work, without which success — especially 
 in politics — is absolutely impossible. 
 
 ' Set aside then, for the present, plans which are 
 both premature and inopportune. At a later 
 period, when you have convinced me that your 
 desire to distinguish yourself is as great as your 
 capacity, I shall not hesitate not only to settle upon 
 you the income which you at present enjoy, but also 
 to render it more proportionate to your probable 
 requirements ; and be sure that I will never let 
 slip an opportunity of seconding efforts which are 
 the chief interest of my life. 
 
 • I am, my dear Mortimer, 
 
 ' Your affectionate cousin, 
 
 * Roger Dyneley.'
 
 316 
 
 AN AETISTS PEOOF. 
 
 This was not a letter that could be torn, with an 
 oath, into shreds. It was so kind that it all but 
 brought the tears into Mortimer's by no means 
 lachrymose eyes. But it was no less a nuisance, and 
 must no less be encountered with immediate rejoinder. 
 On the whole, it was perhaps as well that he had 
 not, in his first letter, stated all that had occurred ; 
 but he must state all now. An arrow — the best 
 feathered of arrows — yet remained in his quiver, 
 and he must speed it straight. By means of it he 
 would alter the scoring of the game altogether. 
 He sat down at once, and wrote — 
 
 ' My dear Cousin, — I never was so much 
 touched by anything in my life as by your kind- 
 ness. It goes straight to my heart, and has com- 
 pletely won me. And I do not hesitate to declare, 
 on my honour, that were my feelings only in debate, 
 I should send you at once an absolute compliance 
 with your wishes. 
 
 ' But I did not tell you in my former letter what 
 I must now tell you in this — that I have formally 
 avowed to Miss Chesterton my affection, and have 
 received from her the strongest proofs of hers which
 
 OPPOSITION. 317 
 
 a girl before marriage can bestow. However much 
 you may blame me, I certainly never dreamed, after 
 what little passed between you and me on the sub- 
 ject on two separate occasions, that you would have 
 any the slightest objection to my marrying. Had I 
 so imagined, I would have consulted you oflBcially ; 
 and on hearing from you opinions expressed as 
 strongly as you express them now, I give you — as I 
 say — my word of honour, that I would have impli- 
 citly deferred to them. 
 
 ' As it is, my honour is unfortunately engaged 
 elsewhere. This, I am sure, is dear to you. Nor 
 will you, I am convinced, fail to give weight to the 
 feelings of her with whom my own are now so inti- 
 mately connected. 
 
 ' My dear Cousin, have faith in me. It would 
 be impossible to exaggerate the desire which 
 I have for a political career, any more than the 
 gratitude I feel to you for making such open to me. 
 Marriage shall not distract but rather concentrate 
 my energies. I am awfully grieved to have to 
 ask you to make this sacrifice of your opinions, 
 when I should without demur have made sacrifice
 
 318 AN aktist's proof. 
 
 of my feelings, had I not irretrievably involved 
 those of another. 
 
 ' Gratefully and affectionately yours, 
 
 'Mortimer Dyneley.' 
 
 In the absorbing interest which his cousin's letter 
 had excited, he had answered it in the above terms 
 without noticing that there were yet three or four 
 letters for him to read. They were none of them 
 important ; but one of them was at least agreeable 
 and welcome. It was from Grattan Horncastle. 
 
 ' Dear old Boy, — Bracebridge and self are 
 going to take holiday and come down to you. We 
 shall be with you by dinner-time, to-morrow. Seethe 
 the kid and uncork the Massic. 
 * Yours ever, 
 
 ' Grattan Horncastle.' 
 
 *I don't see,' Mortimer was saying to himself, 
 ' what better letter I can devise than the one I 
 have written. But two heads are better than one, 
 and to-nisfht there will be three. I will wait and
 
 OPPOSITION. 319 
 
 take what I very rarely take — advice. Both would 
 do anything on earth for me. One already knows 
 most of the circumstances, and the other might as 
 well.' He rang. ' I expect two friends to-night ; I 
 wish dinner to be particularly good.' Alone again. 
 'They could not have come at a better time. 
 I am not a bad )iand at solitude ; but I declare 
 I feel anything but fit to be alone. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 lOKBOM : PBIKTED 151 W. CLOWES AND SOXS, STAMFOltD STKBF.T, 
 AND CHARING CROSS.