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 i
 
 EGBERT AIXSLEIGH.
 
 ROBERT AINSLEIGH 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 LADY AUDLEY'S SECRET' 
 
 ETC. ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LOisDON 
 JOHN MAXWELL AND COMPANY 
 
 4 SHOE LA2sE, FLEET STREET 
 1872 
 [All nghts reserced]
 
 PUBLISHER'S NOTICE. 
 
 The earlier portio7is of this uwk appeared anonymously during tJie 
 year 1868-9 in the *■ Belrjravia ' Magazine, under the title of 
 
 BOUND TO JOHN COMPANY; 
 
 OR, THE 
 ADVENTURES AND MISADVENTURES OF ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 The present conclusion of the Story, including the lohole of the Third 
 Volume, is now 2^rinted for the first time. 
 London: April, 1872.
 
 
 
 .r 1 
 
 TO 
 
 CAPTAIN JOHN WILLIS, 
 
 OF 
 CARDIGAN; HOrSE, RICHMOND, SURREY, 
 
 THE author's 
 ESTEEMED FRIEND AND NEIGHBOUR,
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 J. My First Home .... 
 II. Pastoes asb Masters . 
 III. I AM Curious about the Past . 
 
 lY. I AM INTRODUCED TO MY BeXEFACTRESS 
 
 Y. I Rise in the World. 
 Yi. I Fall in Loye .... 
 Yii. How I became an Orphan . 
 YHi. I Fall into Disgrace. 
 
 IX. I GO TO London .... 
 
 X. A Dangerous Companion . 
 XI. "We Plight our Troth 
 
 XII. I AM Trapped by a Traitor 
 XIII. I begin my Apprenticeship . 
 xiY. Mt Honourable Masters . 
 
 XY. Providence sends me a Friend . 
 xYi. Mr. Omichund, the Company's Agent 
 XYii. Bad News from Home . . ' . 
 
 I 
 9 
 3^ 
 50 
 63 
 72 
 
 87 
 III 
 140 
 167 
 
 185 
 199 
 221 
 
 251 
 267 
 286 
 304
 
 EGBERT AINSLEIGH, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MY FIKST HOME. 
 
 My earliest recollections are of a scene which through- 
 out an eventful life has heen, and to the end of life 
 will remain, in my esteem the brightest region of this 
 various and beautiful world. From Indian forests, 
 from the shores of mightier rivers, under the light 
 of larger stars, my thoughts have flown back to the 
 streams and woods of my early home, and taken 
 shelter there, as young birds return to the nest they 
 have been too eager to abandon. 
 
 I was bom in London, in the year 1731, but of my 
 birthplace or of those who watched my cradle I have 
 no recollection. My first babyish steps trod the soft 
 turf of a gentleman's park in Berkshire — a domain so 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 large, that in my childish ideas the world beyond its 
 boundaries must needs be very narrow. Deep in the 
 heart of this sylvan scene there was a gamekeeper's 
 cottage, and to the gamekeeper's honest wife I owed 
 those maternal cares which transformed a sickly infant 
 into a sturdy lad. 
 
 Until my tenth year this cottage was my only home ; 
 Jack Hawker, the gamekeeper, his wife, and their 
 little girl Margery, my only friends. Nor did I sigh 
 for other companionship or a more agreeable abode. 
 The low plastered cottage, the slanting thatched roof, 
 pointed gables, and small casement windows, cur- 
 tained with roses and honeysuckle, appeared to me 
 the perfection of a dwelling-place. It had been called 
 the warrener's lodge in the old times, when the skins 
 of rabbits and conies were employed for the costume 
 of English knights and squires, and the rabbit-warren 
 was a feature of great importance in a gentleman's 
 estate. It still stood on the border of a great warren, 
 the safe-keeping whereof was one of my foster-father's 
 duties. 
 
 This tranquil home I loved with all my heart, and 
 my little sister Margery — for by that tender name I 
 had learned to call her — I regarded as the dearest of 
 created beings. With her I spent my days, wander-
 
 MY FIRST HOME. 3 
 
 ing hand-in-hand among the fern and underwood, 
 knoTN^ng the progress of time only by the different 
 wild-flowers which the changing seasons gave us. 
 
 Nor did we lack companions and playfellows in our 
 childish sports. The sylvan depths we inhabited were 
 alive with wild creatures that had grown almost tame 
 in this deep solitude. Mild-eyed fawns watched us 
 gravely while we played ; squirrels leaped and frisked 
 before us, no more conscious than ourselves of life's 
 realities ; partridge and pheasant, blackbird and 
 thrush, fluttered the young fern in the bright days of 
 early summer ; and in the shadow of a copse that 
 was purple with hyacinths the rabbits swarmed thick 
 as Virgil's famous bees. 
 
 This was my world from my first hours of infantine 
 consciousness until my tenth birthday ; and bitter was 
 the stroke which ended this phase of my life. On 
 the knees of the keeper's wife I had uttered my first 
 prayer ; in the brawny arms of the keeper I had been 
 carried before I learned to walk. The first syllables 
 which my Ups had shaped were those that called these 
 good creatures Mammy and Daddy. I was but just 
 old enough to perceive the progress of events when 
 little Margery's baby-face first beamed upon our family 
 circle, and from that hour I had tenderly loved the 
 
 B 2
 
 4 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 fair-haired baby, who grew betimes into my sister and 
 companion. 
 
 In those early years of my life I tasted perfect hap- 
 piness ; and not to the lips of many children is that 
 cup offered. Over the fairest childhood there is gene- 
 rally some shadow — sickness or change of fortune, a 
 cross nurse or a careless mother. But in the humble 
 home where I was reared, there was no skeleton lurk- 
 ing in secret cupboard. The keeper and his wife were 
 young, honest, and healthy. They loved each other 
 fondly, and had affection to spare for the foster-child 
 that came to them before their own. For these good 
 creatures life was not to be all sunshine ; for them, as 
 for me, there were to be trial and tempest and gloom ; 
 but the halcyon days of their existence were these 
 which I shared with them, — a period of calm and pure 
 delight, which was destined to haunt me in many a 
 scene of horror and death, in many an hour of heart- 
 sickness and despondency. 
 
 My pleasures in these days were of the simplest. 
 To trudge beside the keeper on his morning round ; 
 once, on a rare occasion of never-to-be-forgotten de- 
 light, to watch with him in the moonlit woods for 
 midnight snarers of hare and pheasant ; to ride to the 
 market-town with mammy in a lumbering cart, which
 
 MY FIRST HOME. 5 
 
 tlie good soul sometimes drove; to hunt for mushrooms 
 in the dewy mornings ; to pick blackberries in Octo- 
 ber, and to roast chestnuts with Margery among the 
 ashes at Christmas, — these were the chief excitements 
 of my childhood. 
 
 Neighbours we had none. The nearest village was 
 seven miles away from us. The nearest habitation 
 was the great house in the centre of the park; a 
 mansion of the Elizabethan era, encircled by a broad 
 moat, and approached by a gi*im arched gateway 
 that belonged to a much earlier period. 
 
 The fairy tales which I had heard at this time must 
 needs have been few ; yet I never beheld this gloomy 
 gateway, flanked by its twdn gothic towers, nor did I 
 ever peer into the dark still water of the moat, with- 
 out some vague sense of the supernatural, some 
 instinctive feeling of awe, which was stronger even 
 than my curiosity. 
 
 The dreary quiet of the place, the long rows of 
 shuttered casements, the absence of sound or move- 
 ment on the terraces and in the courts, the massive 
 towers, and the iron-clamped gates, which seemed no 
 more likely to be opened than the black doors of the 
 mausoleum in the park, — were indeed calculated to 
 inspire unwonted thoughts in the breast of childhood.
 
 € EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 Wlien I was old enougli to be curious, I questioned 
 my good-humoured daddy, and lie freely imparted 
 all he knew about the mansion which filled me with 
 such wonder. 
 
 He told me that house and park and woods, and 
 the little church within the park-walls, where there 
 was service on alternate Sundays, all belonged alike 
 to his mistress, Lady Barbara Lestrange, who lived 
 in foreign parts, whither her husband, Sir Marcus 
 Lestrange, had been sent ambassador. 
 
 * Which be a kind o' king in its way,' added the 
 keeper, with the pride of a faithful servant, whose 
 master's honours are in some sort his own. 
 
 * And does no one live at the great house now, 
 daddy?' I asked. 
 
 " No one but old Anthony Grimshaw and his wife, 
 and a couple of women servants. A rare starched 
 gentleman is Tony Grimshaw, and has been house- 
 steward to my lady and my lady's father these thirty 
 years. They do say as Mrs. Grimshaw' s a brimstone ; 
 but she have always been kind to me and my wife, 
 and 'twould come ill from me to say aught agen her. 
 Madge was housemaid up at the great house afore I 
 married her, in the old earl's time ; and she's owned 
 to me that Mother Grimshaw was a bit of a scold.
 
 MY FIRST HOME. 7 
 
 She was Martha Peyton then, and own-maid to Lady 
 Barbara, and they say as she must have frightened 
 old Tony into marrying her. But she's been kind to 
 us in the hard winters ; and when Sissy was born, 
 she sent us groats and wine and tea, and such-like 
 fal-lals ; so we'll let bygones be bygones, Kobin.' 
 
 * And has Lady Barbara been kind to thee, daddy?' 
 I asked. (We "thee'd" and "thou'd" each other in 
 these parts ; but I shall take no pains to reproduce 
 the patois of the county, which I have indeed in some 
 part forgotten, having heard and conversed in many 
 strange languages since I first learned my native 
 tongue from honest Jack Hawker, my foster-father.) 
 * Has she been kind to thee, daddy ? ' I reiterated. 
 
 * Ah, Eobin, kind enough in the way of fine folks 
 like her. She brought thee to my -wife to nurse, 
 and has paid me handsomely for thy bite and sup.' 
 
 This was not the first time I had heard that I 
 was but an alien in the home I loved so dearly. 
 
 * She brought me, daddy ! Where did she bring 
 me from?' 
 
 * From London, Kob ; where thou wouldst have 
 starved, poor orphan, but for her. The Lord knows 
 where my lady found thee ; but she was ever chari- 
 table and kind to the poor. Thou wert the sickliest
 
 8 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 infant ever these eyes looked upon, and thou must 
 thank my wife Madge that thou art alive to-day.' 
 
 * I wish thou wert my real father, daddy,' I said. 
 Whereon sturdy Jack Hawker snatched me up in 
 his great arms and covered me with kisses. 
 
 * So do I, little one,' he cried, with an oath ; * but 
 wishing won't make thee mine ; and some day my 
 lady will come and take thee away from daddy and 
 mammy.' 
 
 This set me blubbering, and the good fellow had 
 hard work to comfort me. His forebodings were too 
 quickly realized ; for within a year of this time my 
 pleasant childish life came to a sudden close, and I 
 began the world.
 
 CHAPTER n. 
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 
 
 I HAD been gathering sticks in the woods with 
 Margery one bright October afternoon, and came 
 home loaded, with my little sister trotting merrily 
 by my side, both of us happy in the consciousness 
 of deserving mammy's praise for our labours. We 
 came bounding into the cosy little kitchen ; but 
 finding no one there, threw down our burdens, and 
 went in search of mammy. "VTe paused, awe-struck, 
 on the threshold of the parlour, that sacred Sabbath 
 chamber, where portraits of King William and Queen 
 Mary hung on each side of the chimney-piece, and 
 where an earthenware pot of fresh flowers always 
 adorned the somewhat cheerless hearth. In this 
 room, so rarely used as to be in a manner a chamber 
 of mystery, we beheld mammy seated in solemn con- 
 verse with a stranger ; a thin, pale-faced woman, 
 dressed in black, and of a severe aspect ; a woman
 
 10 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 whose face had been ploughed and ravaged by that 
 dire scourge of those days, the small-pox, and at 
 sight of whom little Margery uttered a faint shriek 
 of terror, and immediately turned and fled. Not so 
 myself, who stood transfixed by the strange vision. 
 
 ' Is that the boy ? ' demanded the stranger sternly. 
 
 My foster-mother faltered an ajffirmative. 
 
 * Come hither, boy,' said the stranger ; and I 
 obeyed with fear and trembling. 
 
 Upon this she began to question me. 
 
 * Wliat is your name ? ' she asked. 
 
 * Eobin,' I mumbled. 
 
 * Eobin what ? Nothing but Kobin, poor cast- 
 away !' 
 
 She shook her head in a dismal manner, and 
 groaned aloud. I think it was the first groan I had 
 ever heard, and the sound appalled me. 
 
 * Eobin is but a vulgar name for Eobert,' she said. 
 * Can 3^ou read, Eobert ? ' 
 
 I stared on hearing myself addressed by this new 
 name. 
 
 * Is the boy an idiot ? ' cried the grim stranger. 
 
 * My name is Eobin,' I answered ; * and I know 
 nowt o' reading.' 
 
 This was true. In the circle in which I had lived.
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 11 
 
 reading and writing were unknown accomplish- 
 ments. 
 
 The stranger shook her head again, more dismally 
 than before. 
 
 *It is time you were taken in hand, Master 
 Robert,' she said ; and I hated her forthwith for this 
 persistent alteration of my name. * Would you like 
 to live in a big house, and learn to read and write ? ' 
 
 *I'd rather stay 's^'ith daddy and, mammy,' I 
 answered, sidling up to my foster-mother, who 
 rewarded me with a silent hug. 
 
 ' And grow up a very heathen in the darkness of 
 ignorance,' said the stranger. * Happily for you, 
 Master Eobert, Providence does not permit us to 
 choose our own paths, or few among us would be 
 snatched from the burning. I have had a letter 
 from my lady bidding me take you to live at the 
 great house, where my good husband will undertake 
 your education.' 
 
 The whole of this speech might have been spoken 
 in a foreign language for any comprehension I had 
 of its meaning, except so far as it conveyed to me 
 the one direful fact that I was to be separated from 
 those I loved. I began to cry, and little Margery, 
 who had crept back to the doorway, curious to
 
 12 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 observe the stranger, came running into the room, 
 and flung her arms round my neck. Her affection 
 conquered her terror of the grim stranger, and she 
 looked defiance at the dame as she clung to me. 
 
 ' Naughty 'ooman shan't take 'oo, Eob,' she cried ; 
 but her mother interposed, and laid a firm hand on 
 the dear innocent's lips. 
 
 * We shall be very sorry to lose him, madam,' she 
 said gently ; ' he has been like our own child ; and 
 I wish my lady had given us longer notice before 
 she took him away.' 
 
 ' Hoity toity ! ' cried the dame indignantly ; ' my 
 lady thought she had to do with sensible people. 
 You could not suppose you were to keep this boy all 
 his life. He has to learn how to get an honest 
 livelihood, that he mayn't be a burden on Lady 
 Barbara to the end of the chapter, as some folks I 
 would rather not mention were a burden upon my 
 lady's father. He comes of a bad stock. Mistress 
 Hawker ; and running wild in the forest won't mend 
 him.' 
 
 On this the keeper's wife hugged me closer to her 
 honest heart. 
 
 * There is not a better child in Berkshire,' cried 
 the tender soul, with some warmth.
 
 PASTORS AN'D MASTERS. 13 
 
 MsLTgery, perceiving, as by instinct, that I liad 
 been maligned, clung about me the closer; and 
 thus bound together by grief and affection, and 
 encircled by the mother's fond arms, we defied the 
 intruder. 
 
 ' I don't come of a bad stock, and I ain't a burden 
 upon any one ; and I don't want to live at the big 
 house with the nasty black water round it ; and I 
 don't like you, because you're ugly; and I won't 
 leave mammy and daddy.' 
 
 *I wish you joy of your nurse-child, Margery 
 Hawker,' cried the stranger, getting up from her 
 chair in a great passion, and stalking to the door. 
 * His manners and his learning do you credit ; and 
 I'm sure my lady will be vastly pleased with you 
 when she hears the good effects of your care.' 
 
 My foster-mother pleaded pardon for my innocence 
 and ignorance, in a great fright, for Mrs. Grimshaw 
 held a sceptre of regal sway at Hauteville Hall, 
 during the prolonged absence of Sir Marcus and my 
 lady. Margery and I were sent from the room in 
 disgrace, and retired to weep together in the kitchen, 
 where I plighted my youthful troth to the sweet 
 young damsel, and swore that none but she should 
 be my wife.
 
 14 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 * I'll never go to the big ugly house, Sissy/ said 
 I ; * but we'll be married, and live in the woods 
 with the squirrels, and have nuts and berries for 
 our dinner.' 
 
 * Yes ; but some night we should die of hunger, 
 and the robins would cover us with leaves; and 
 mammy and daddy would be sorry,' cried Madge, 
 who had heard the story of the Children in the 
 Wood. 
 
 After this there came a few more careless days, 
 during which Margery and I gathered wood in the 
 forest, and hunted for nuts in the hazel-copses, and 
 forgot that there was such a creature as black-robed 
 Mrs. Grimshaw upon this world. Then came a 
 bleak, bitter morning, when my foster-mother 
 dressed me in my best clothes, and kissed and 
 cried over me before she handed me to the 
 executioner. 
 
 The executioner was a small sickly-looking man, 
 dressed in a suit of chocolate-coloured cloth, and 
 wearing a carefully-powdered wig. This gentleman 
 I was told was Mr. Grimshaw, and to him, as to his 
 stately spouse, I was to pay all possible respect. 
 
 * You'll let him come to see us sometimes, won't 
 you, sir ?' asked the keeper's wife piteously, * He's
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 15 
 
 teen with us over nine years; and it's a sore 
 trouble to lose him.' 
 
 * So it be, wife, a sore trouble,' growled the 
 keeper. — * Thou'lt think on us sometimes, won't 
 thee, Rob ? ' 
 
 * Ay, ay, he shall think of you, and come to see 
 you too,' repHed the chocolate-coloured gentleman 
 good-naturedly. 
 
 Even this little speech inclined me to prefer Mr. 
 Orimshaw to his respectable consort. 
 
 * Thou'lt mind thy book, Robin, and do as thou 
 art bid,' urged my foster-mother; 'and thy new 
 friends will love thee ; and thou'lt come to see thy 
 old friends sometimes.' 
 
 'Every day, if they'll let me,' I answered, sob- 
 bing. 
 
 After this there were many embraces and many 
 tears, until Mr. Grimshaw grew impatient, and said 
 we must be gone. So I tore myself away from those 
 dear souls, who had made my childhood happy, and 
 put my hand into that of the house-steward. 
 
 The day was bleak and wintry, and we trudged off 
 at a good rate among the crisp fallen leaves. I 
 looked back at the keeper's cottage. Ah, dear home, 
 mine no longer ! How many years were to pass
 
 16 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 before I should inhabit any other dwelling which I 
 could dare call by the fond name of home ! Man- 
 sion and palace, tent and dungeon, were to be my 
 habitation in the shifting scenes of life ; but long 
 and far were to be my wanderings before I rested 
 again beside so cheery a hearth, or among friends so 
 dear. 
 
 The walk from the keeper's cottage to the Hall 
 was a long one, and I had ample leisure in which to 
 observe the countenance of my new guardian as I 
 tramped by his side among the drift of withered 
 leaves and the fallen fir-cones which I had gathered 
 so merrily but yesterday with little Margery. It was 
 not a hard or sour face at which I looked ; and with 
 the quick instinct of childhood I divined that this 
 gentleman in the chocolate- coloured coat would be 
 my friend. I pushed my hand a little farther into 
 his, and drew closer to him as we walked on. For 
 a long time we walked in silence, but by-and-by the 
 old gentleman looked down at me with a curious 
 glance. 
 
 ' You are but a little chap to begin your schooling,* 
 he said ; ' but I see you are no fool, and I think you 
 and I may get on well enough together.' 
 
 After this he questioned me for some time about
 
 PASTORS X^B MASTERS. 17 
 
 my past life and its simple pleasures, and conversed 
 ^ith me kindly until we came to our destination. 
 We did not pass beneath the shadow of the great 
 gothic archway ; that ponderous gateway had not 
 been opened since Lady Barbara Lestrange's last 
 residence at Hauteville. We crossed a narrow stone 
 bridge of modern construction, which spanned the 
 moat upon the inferior side of the Hall, and entered 
 the house by a little door, the key whereof my com- 
 panion took from his capacious pocket. 
 
 Within, I saw shadowy stone passages that seemed 
 endless, innumerable doors of darkest oak. The 
 silence and gloom of the place were awful to my 
 childish mind. I clung closer to Mr. Grimshaw, and 
 shuddered at the echoing noise of our footsteps on 
 the smooth stone flags. We crossed a gi'eat hall 
 where tattered rags of many-coloured silks hung 
 from the vaulted roof, and where shone upon me, for 
 the first time in my life, the splendour of an old 
 stained-glass window. 
 
 The floor of this chamber was of alternate squares 
 of black and white marble. The ejffigy of a mailed 
 knight, bestriding a plumed war-steed of painted 
 wood, shone in the rainbow light from the great 
 window ; and at the opposite end of the hall a stair- 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 case, with elaborately-carved balustrades in black 
 oak, led to a gallery wliicli made tlie circuit of the 
 roof. 
 
 At tbis cliamber I gazed with delight and wonder, 
 and for the moment forgot my awe of the gloomy 
 house. From the hall my companion led me into a 
 long saloon, with ten windows, overlooking a small 
 Italian flower-garden, within the moat : and from 
 this we passed to another long room, where I beheld 
 more books than I could have supposed were 
 contained in all the world, seeing that one volume — 
 a clumsy leather-bound ' breeches ' Bible — com- 
 prised the keeper's entire library. From wall to 
 ceiling this long and lofty room was lined with 
 Yolumes, for the most part in handsome, though 
 somewhat sombre, bindings. Wings had been con- 
 structed, abutting into the room, for the accommoda- 
 tion of more books ; and these abutments divided 
 the spacious apartment into pleasant nooks and 
 retiring-places, where I thought it must needs be 
 very agreeable to sit on a bright summer day, 
 when the flowers in the pleasaunce were all in 
 bloom. 
 
 * See, Master Robert,' said my new friend. * You 
 open your eyes wide at the sight of so many books.
 
 PASTOES AND MASTERS. 19 
 
 What would 3'0ii say if I told you that I had read 
 them every one, or, at any rate, know the contents of 
 every one — from the hig brown folios down yonder 
 to the smart little duodecimos on those narrow shelves 
 near the ceiling ? I was my late lord's librarian as 
 well as his house-steward, and all these books are 
 still in my care, and are likely to be till I die : and 
 then I know not how it will fare with them, for 
 books are like children, and must be cared for by 
 those that love them." 
 
 He hurried me from the library — where I would 
 fain have stood gaping longer — by a small door 
 almost hidden between two book-cases. This door 
 led us away from the light and the sunshine into a 
 dark and narrow passage, at the end of which 
 Mr. Grimshaw opened another door, and pushed me 
 into a square oak-panelled room, where I beheld the 
 black- robed woman whom I had seen at the keeper's 
 cottage. 
 
 She was sitting at a table working, with a great 
 wicker-basket before her. She laid down her work 
 as we entered, and gazed upon me with menacing 
 eyes. 
 
 My heart sank as I encountered those searching 
 glances. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 * So, Master Kobert, you have come at last. I 
 began to think that you and my husband were lost 
 in the woods.* 
 
 I almost wished that this misfortune had befallen 
 us, as I quailed beneath Mrs. Grimshaw's stern 
 gaze. Surely the berries and the robins and the 
 brief summer-day life of children abandoned in the 
 forest would have been better than existence shared 
 with Mrs. Grimshaw. 
 
 ' Now, Master Kobert,' said that lady, * this is 
 where you are to live until you go out into the world 
 to earn your own bread, which will be as soon as you 
 are old enough to turn your hand to an honest trade, 
 or sit upon a junior-clerk's stool in a merchant's 
 office. You are to live with me and my husband, 
 and to learn what he teaches you, and to do as I bid 
 you, or it will be the worse for you. And mark you, 
 young gentleman, there is to be no gadding about 
 the park, or sneaking down to John Hawker's 
 cottage, to waste your time among vagabonds and 
 idlers.* 
 
 She spoke to me as if I had been fifteen years old 
 instead of ten. But there was one part of her speech 
 I understood well enough. 
 
 * My daddy is no vagabond,' I cried indignantly ;
 
 PASTORS A^'D MASTERS. 21 
 
 * and this gentleman said I should go and see 
 him.' 
 
 * Ay, ay, I promised as much as that,' answered 
 Mr. Grimshaw with an apologetic air. * Hawker 
 and his wife seemed so sorry to lose the boy, and the 
 hoy cried at leaving them ; and I could not well ayoi d 
 promising ' 
 
 ' You're a fool, Anthony Grimshaw,' cried his wife 
 angrily. 
 
 She rang a hell, which was promptly answered by 
 a plump rosy- faced woman in a mob-cap and big 
 white apron. 
 
 ' This is the young gentleman, Betty,' said Mrs. 
 Grimshaw ; ' take him to his room, and see that he 
 washes his face and hands before he comes back to 
 dinner.' 
 
 The maid led me off through the dark passage 
 and up a narrow wooden staircase, into a small 
 whitewashed chamber, neatly but poorly furnished. 
 This room she told me was mine ; and as it was 
 superior to any chamber in Jack Hawker's cottage, 
 I felt somewhat proud of the proprietorship. 
 
 * Has Mrs. Grim been unkind to you, boy ? ' asked 
 Betty, as she scrubbed my face, exhibiting a merciless 
 prodigality in the matter of soap.
 
 22 ROBERT AIXSLEIGH. 
 
 ' Mrs. Grim ? ' 
 
 ' Pshaw ! Grimsliaw, child. We call her Mrs. 
 Grim for short. The name fits her to a T ; hut 
 Mrs. Brimstone would be still better ; for brimstone 
 she is, and brimstone she ever will be. Has she been 
 scolding you ? * 
 
 ' She has not been very kind,' I answered, whimper- 
 ing. 
 
 ' No, and it ain't in her nature ; so don't expect 
 it. She was turned sour close upon twelve years 
 ago, when a fine gentleman that she'd have given 
 her eyes for laughed and talked and made a fool of 
 her with his pretty speeches and pretty looks, and 
 then walked off and forgot all about her. I hiow / 
 She took the small-pox after that, and lost her 
 beauty, which was never much to my mind, and 
 that didn't mend her temper. She hasn't had a civil 
 word for anybody since then; and how old Grim 
 could have been such a fool as to marry her, unless 
 she frightened him into it, I can't think. But he 
 did ; and now she's turned methody, and is always 
 going after preachings at the places round about, 
 and leads us all the life of dogs.' 
 
 Thus did Mrs. Betty give vent to her opinions 
 while engaged with my toilet ; and it is to be observed
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 23 
 
 that from tins time forth I became the habitual 
 recipient of confidences ill adapted to my tender 
 years. People who have but few companions ■s\4th 
 whom to converse will find relief in opening their 
 minds to a little child ; and whether it was Anthony 
 Grimshaw who dilated on the history of the house 
 he served, or Mrs. Betty who reviled her mistress, 
 I listened with equal patience, and with no small 
 interest ; and being henceforth cut off for the most 
 part from intercourse with children, and denied all 
 childish sports, I acquired a gravity and a curious 
 spirit not common to my age. 
 
 When Betty had scrubbed and brushed me into a 
 becoming state of redness and stiff'ness, she con- 
 ducted me back to the oak parlour, where I dined in 
 state with my new guardians, attended on by Betty 
 in a clean white apron. 
 
 Mrs. Grimshaw found a great deal to say about 
 my boorish demeanour, and the ill-use I made of 
 knife and fork, the former of which I was indeed 
 accustomed to use with a freedom and a dexterity 
 unknown in polished cu'cles. The dinner was of 
 the plainest, but seiTed with much neatness ; and 
 after the cloth had been removed Mrs. Grimshaw 
 kept the obsequious Betty employed for a quarter of
 
 24 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 an hour in polisliing the wahiut-wood table on which 
 we liad dined. 
 
 Even after this operation Betty was not free to 
 depart, for Mrs. Grimshaw bade her seat herself at 
 a respectful distance, in order to hear the conclusion 
 of a sermon, one-half of which she had been edified 
 by upon the previous day. 
 
 ' And I hope you feel some inward benefit from 
 Mr. Whitefield's precious eloquence, Betty,' said Mrs. 
 Grimshaw\ * I grieve to say there are some rocky 
 hearts upon which the blessed seed falls in vain ; 
 some heathenish minds that prefer to pore over any 
 dusty rubbish in a foreign language, rather than to 
 hear the voice of the mighty Judge calling sinners 
 to judgment.' 
 
 Her looks were directed at her husband during 
 the latter part of this speech, and he, by his answer, 
 acknowledged that it was levelled at him. 
 
 * Why, truth to tell, Martha,' he said, ' there may 
 be some that are not inclined to stand before Mr. 
 Whitefield for judgment. If I am to be brought to 
 believe that one section of mankind is destined for 
 grace, and the rest doomed to perdition unspeakable, 
 and that our good works and gentle deeds in this 
 world shall avail us nothing with Him who promised
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 25 
 
 His blessing in excliange for a cup of cold water 
 given to His disciple, I will be taught by Calvin at 
 first hand, and not Mr. Whitefield at second hand. 
 We have the Genevese edition of John Calvin's 
 works, in twelve folio volumes, in the library yonder ; 
 and I can read the " Institutes " for myself if needs 
 be. But it has been my custom to smoke my pipe 
 on the terrace after dinner for the last five-and-thirty 
 years of my life ; and with your leave, wife, I shall 
 continue to do so, till pipe and I go out together.' 
 By this I perceived that old Anthony Grimshaw was 
 not completely under his wife's dominion. 
 
 *Will you come with me. Master Bob?' he 
 asked; and I sprang up, eager to follow him. 
 
 Mrs. Grimshaw groaned aloud. 
 
 *The boy will stop, for the profit of his sinful 
 soul,' she said in a tone of command. * Sit down 
 over against Betty, child.' 
 
 I seated myself meekly, while Mr. Grimshaw 
 lighted his pipe, and went out by a half-glass door 
 that opened on the terrace — a noble promenade going 
 all round the house, and bordered on this side by a 
 bank close planted with evergreens sloping to the 
 broad moat. 
 
 Then began the reading of Mr. Whitefield's
 
 26 BOBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 sermon, which was performed in a hard, harsh voice 
 by Mrs. Grimshaw. Of the sermon I know no more 
 than that it was of appalling and threatening import, 
 and that it seemed to my childish ears interminable. 
 Betty yawned more than once ; and on one occasion 
 I saw her on the point of sinking into a peaceful 
 slumber ; but she caught herself up with an effort, 
 and stared at her mistress with unblinking eyes 
 when that lady turned her gaze towards the hand- 
 maiden. When the discourse was at last ended, 
 Betty declared herself beyond measure edified, but 
 seemed, nevertheless, somewhat glad to withdraw. 
 
 Mr. Grimshaw had passed the window several 
 times during the pious lecture, and appeared at the 
 glass door, still smoking, a few minutes after it was 
 over. 
 
 *May I go to the gentleman, ma'am?' I asked ; 
 and Mrs. Grimshaw having nodded assent, I ran out 
 and put my hand into that of her husband, who 
 received me with a kind smile. 
 
 *I like you so much,' I said, ' because you're kind, 
 like daddy, though you don't speak like him.' 
 
 From this time forth Anthony Grimshaw and I 
 were fast friends ; and the old man's gentle treat- 
 ment enabled me to endure his wife's harsh usage
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 27 
 
 with all clue meekness. Her conduct never varied. 
 Stern and sour in her bearing towards all her little 
 world, her manner to me betrayed an aversion which 
 she would fain have concealed. Hard, bitter, and 
 implacable as my own evil fate, she cast her venge- 
 ful shadow across my boyhood ; and if she could 
 have prevented the sun from shining on me, or could 
 have stunted my growth and wasted my flesh by the 
 influence of her baleful gaze, I believe she would 
 have exercised her evil power. It was not till later 
 that I obtained the key to the mystery of her feel- 
 ings with regard to me. She had, happily, little 
 opportunity of doing me harm, for I was entrusted 
 to her keeping by a mistress whom she feared, and 
 whom self-interest compelled her to seiwe with sub- 
 mission and fidelity. She could, however, make my 
 life more or less uncomfortable by small cruelties 
 and petty slights, by cold looks and bitter words ; 
 and this privilege she exercised without stint. Had 
 it not been for her husband's kindness I might have 
 fared ill in that splendid mansion, where I was a 
 humble and nameless dependent ; but his goodness 
 to me never wavered, nor did his protection ever fail 
 me in the hour of need. 
 
 My first night in my lonely chamber was a very
 
 28 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 sad one. In my dreams I went back to the 
 warrener's lodge and the dear souls I loved; but 
 even in those dreams the bitter sense of separation 
 clung to me, and I felt that I saw the familiar faces 
 across an impassable gulf. 
 
 My studies began on the next day, in the parlour 
 where Mrs. Grimshaw sat at work ; and I felt her 
 eyes upon me while I was being initiated into the 
 mysteries of the alphabet by my friend Anthony. 
 From this time my life became an unvarying routine. 
 Early breakfast in the oak parlour, a walk with Mr. 
 Grimshaw about the house or in the wide-flagged 
 quadrangle, where a Hercules and his club held 
 guard over a vast marble basin which had once been 
 the glory of the place. Then back to the oak parlour 
 for lessons, which lasted till the early dinner. Then 
 Mrs. Grimshaw's lecture from the last-published 
 pamphlets of Wliitefield or Wesley, or some minor 
 lights of the new nonconforming church, and Betty's 
 smothered yawns, and Anthony Grimshaw's figure 
 passing to and fro before the windows, and my own 
 weariness always in precisely the same measure. At 
 six we drank tea; a solemn ceremony, in the 
 gentility whereof Mrs. Grimshaw took much pride. 
 At half-past eight she read prayers to her husband
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 29 
 
 and myself, and to the three servants of the gi-eat 
 melancholy house, — Betty, a buxom girl called 
 Martha, and a rheumatic old woman, who lived in 
 some stony obscurity in the kitchens, and rarely 
 quitted her lair except for this evening ceremonial. 
 
 After prayers I was hustled off to my chamber by 
 Betty, while my guardians supped together in grim 
 state. I should often have gone to bed hungi-y if it 
 had not been for Betty, who brought me a hunch of 
 bread and a basin of milk, which I ate and drank 
 seated on the edge of my bed with more enjoyment 
 than I ever derived from the ceremonial meals in 
 the oak parlour. On Sundays there were no lessons, 
 but there was chapel — to my youthful mind a far 
 greater trial. Mr. Grimshaw went on alternate 
 Sundays to the little church in the wood, and to have 
 gone thither with him would have been happiness 
 unspeakable to me, for at this time-honoured taber- 
 nacle I should have met Jack Hawker and his ^\•ife, 
 and dear little Margery. But here Mrs. Grimshaw 
 had a convenient opportunity for exercising her 
 tyranny, and avenging that unconscious sin which I 
 had committed against her by coming into this 
 bleak world. So she ordained that I should accom- 
 pany herself and the two maids to the meeting-
 
 30 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 house at Warborougli, — a stifling upper room, little 
 better than a loft, in which the Kev. Simeon 
 Noggers, an awakened tailor, held forth every Sun- 
 day to a select congregation of Wesleyans. In this 
 airless chamber I underwent the tortures of a weekly 
 suffocation while the Kev. Simeon pounded his deal 
 reading-desk and exhorted his fellow- sinners, from 
 the blackness of whose guilt he appeared to derive 
 a dismal satisfaction. From that respectable teacher 
 I learned that it was rather advantageous for the 
 soul to be dyed of the darkest hue, in order that 
 its renovation might be the more astounding. 
 There I heard no exhortations to the weak and 
 wavering ; no friendly counsel for the small debtor, 
 whose payments were but a little in arrear, and who 
 needed only a steadfast endeavour to set his affairs 
 in order and regain a solvent condition. The 
 Eeverend Simeon addressed his flock as if con- 
 vinced that they were so many fraudulent bankrupts, 
 conscious that they could never pay a shilling in the 
 pound, and rather to be congratulated than other- 
 wise on their ignominious insolvency. 
 
 ' Believe !* cried the awakened Noggers, 'and prove 
 your faith as I do, not as St. Paul did. Prove it by 
 long prayers and reiterated invocations, in which the
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 31 
 
 reverent address of tlie Christian to his Lord is super- 
 seded by a blasphemous familiarity ; prove it by 
 bowlings and beatings of the breast, by upturned eye- 
 balls, and solemn shakings of the head, and arrogant 
 condemnation of all mankind except the elect of 
 Warborough.' 
 
 This was the gist of Mr. Nogger's teaching, which 
 I heard during the ten most impressionable years of 
 my life, and which did much to make me in early 
 manhood a disciple of Bolingbroke and Hobbes. It 
 fell to my lot in after years to hear both "Wesley and 
 "Whitefield, and I then perceived the difference be- 
 tween a man of original mind and deep-rooted con- 
 victions, and the ignorant imitators who assume his 
 functions without one of the gifts that have quahfied 
 their master for his of&ce. I know that to that good 
 man John Wesley there came much trouble and per- 
 plexity from the ill-advised officiousness and spasmodic 
 industry of some among his followers. Doubtless he 
 found other labourers better fitted to work with him 
 in the vineyard ; and it must never be forgotten that 
 the uprising of the sect which bears his name has 
 done much to arouse the sluggards of the Established 
 Church, who had sore need of some revolution to 
 awaken them from their guilty slumber.
 
 32 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 For nearly ten years my life at Hauteville was all 
 of the same pattern ; my studies laborious, my plea- 
 sures of the rarest. Indeed, the only holiday I knew 
 in these days was an occasional visit to Jack Hawker's 
 cottage, and Mrs. Grimshaw took care that I should 
 not often enjoy this happiness. The distance was 
 long, and my task-mistress contrived to find reasons 
 for refusing me the leisure required for such a visit. 
 It was only when Anthony Grimshaw interfered in my 
 behalf that I was allowed the privilege of an after- 
 noon's holiday. Dearly, then, did I love the long 
 walk through the park, the cosy supper by Jack 
 Hawker's hearth, and the return in the dewy moon- 
 light to the great enchanted castle, which, even after 
 years of residence, still retained for me something of 
 its awful charm. 
 
 Although to the last degree monotonous, my life 
 during these years was not unhappy. In Anthony 
 Grimshaw I had a true friend, and such a tutor as 
 few prosperous young noblemen of my day could have 
 boasted. From the hour in which he first introduced 
 me to the hieroglyphics of the English alphabet to 
 the proud day in which he smiled upon my success- 
 ful rendering of a love-ditty by Kochester into Ana- 
 creontics in pure Greek, he made the steeps of
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 33 
 
 Parnassus easy, and the waters of Pieria sweet for 
 me. It was a delight to him to have some one to 
 whom to impart his ripe store of history and legend, 
 and he found me a willing and enraptured listener 
 to that cherished lore. I knew every biography in 
 Plutarch, and every adventure of Ulysses, before I 
 could read the easiest page in my spelling-book ; and 
 I was lured on through the slough of despond which 
 the juvenile student must pass, by the knowledge that 
 the great brown-backed folios in the library contained 
 innumerable stories delightful as those my master 
 told me. The time came when very few of the 
 brown-backed volumes contained any mystery for 
 me, and when I could read alike easily in English, 
 French, Italian, and Latin ; and from that time 
 forth my chief pleasure was found in the long library, 
 where I used to spend my leisure hours curled up in 
 one of the deep-recessed windows, with a folio on my 
 knees. 
 
 The noble Elizabethan mansion was a source of 
 perpetual pleasure to me. The great empty rooms 
 reverberated with the echo of my footsteps as I roamed 
 at large, with my tutor's official bunch of keys in my 
 pocket. The veiy poetry of ghostliness pervaded 
 those spacious untenanted chambers. All was swept 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 S4 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 and garnished ; there was no trace of dust, no token 
 of neglect ; but the emptiness was none the less 
 dismal. The house had the unmistakable air of a 
 long-deserted habitation. All the brightness had 
 faded from curtains and carpets, the gilding was tar- 
 nished, the paint was worn and dull ; the stillness of 
 rooms that had once been noisy with the bustle and 
 grandeur of state-reception and familiar assembly was 
 more oppressive than the solemn calm of a church- 
 yard. But to me there was a subtle delight in that 
 dead calm, that utter stillness. My imagination ran 
 riot in those empty chambers. At will I peopled 
 them with the shade of the mighty dead. The Virgin 
 Queen revisited the house where she had been gor- 
 geously entertained by the first Baron Hauteville ; 
 and I saw her in all her great littleness, the cjmosure 
 of statesmen and flatterers, philosophers and syco- 
 phants, lovers who never loved her, courtiers who 
 dared not trust her, ambassadors who registered her 
 every look and word for swift transmission to their 
 masters, spies who watched in the Stuart interest, 
 and hungered for the hour when this great queen 
 should be dust. Swift passed that radiant vision of 
 queenly grandeur and human weakness, and lo ! the 
 rush and terror of civil war. Buffets ransacked of
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 35 
 
 their gold and silver store ; plate melted, or sold to 
 foreign Jews ; trusty captains playing at hide-and- 
 seek in chimneys and secret closets ; Cromwell's grim 
 soldiers battering at the gates. A sudden cry of 
 horror through the land ; halls hung with black ; 
 bells tolling slow and solemn in the wintry morning, 
 and England kingless. 
 
 Again the scene changes, and it is the garish 
 summer noontide of the Restoration. 
 
 * Room there for my Lord Rochester ! ' cried the 
 lackeys by the great gilded doors of the white and 
 gold banquet-hall ; ' way there, knaves, for his grace 
 the Duke of Buckingham ! ' and athwart the slanting 
 shaft of motes dancing in the sunshine came the 
 shadows of Wilmot and Yilliers, in their silken 
 embroidered suits of French make, with long curling 
 perukes and ribbon-befringed jerkins, stars and 
 orders blazing on their breasts, and a languid light 
 in their eyes. As I sat by the cold empty hearth, 
 and mused, with dreamy gaze fixed on the opposite 
 doorway, the room grew crowded with the notabili- 
 ties of the Restoration ; I could almost hear the 
 fluttering fringes and sword-knots of those butterfly 
 lordlings ; but with a thought they vanished ; and 
 here was hook-nosed William, grave and silent as 
 
 D 2
 
 86 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 his mighty ancestor ; and courteous St. John, and 
 brilliant Harley, and anon all the wits and beaux, 
 generals and statesmen, who embellished the reign 
 of dull Queen Anne. 
 
 Not alone with the great whom I had read of did 
 I people those desolate rooms. At my bidding 
 other shadows grew into life. From the canvas on 
 the walls of picture-gallery and saloon, the images 
 of the dead descended to walk again in the rooms 
 they had inhabited living. Hautevilles of the 
 Elizabethan age, and Hautevilles of the Kestoration ; 
 Hautevilles who fought in the low countries with 
 Marlborough, and sat in the senate with Harley: 
 about th'Ose, of whose histories I then knew so little, 
 I dreamed my dreams. This dark cavalier had 
 loved and won that fair-haired maiden with tender 
 blue eyes and simple pastoral dress ; that smooth- 
 faced boy-soldier had wooed and been scorned by 
 the haughty damsel with eagle glance and towering 
 headgear. 
 
 For each of these pictured faces I wove my little 
 romance, but was not the less eager to extort some 
 details of their actual lives from my kindly tutor. 
 
 I often plied him vnth questions about the dead- 
 and-gone masters of that deserted house ; but with
 
 PASTORS AND MASTERS. 37 
 
 varying success. He was no gossip or scandal- 
 monger; and, indeed, was so complete a student, 
 that he thought more of a rare edition of an original 
 classic, or a translation of the sixteenth century, 
 than of all the changes and chances of the age in 
 which he lived. An occasional Postboy kept him 
 apprised of the conquests our arms achieved abroad, 
 and the difficulty our ministers found in agreeing at 
 home. But he thought more of the Philippics of 
 Cicero than of a smart attack from the opposition, or 
 a scathing reply from the polished chief of the famous 
 Broad-bottom Administration ; and was far better 
 acquainted with the politics of the Pompeian party 
 than with the objects and opinions of the minority 
 at Westminster. Sometimes I was happy enough to 
 find him in a communicative mood ; and then I took 
 care to improve my opportunity.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 I AM CURIOUS ABOUT THE PAST. 
 
 The time came when anxiety to know the story of my 
 6wn birth grew keener than my interest in the day- 
 dreams with which I was wont to beguile my hours of 
 solitude. It was on this subject that I questioned 
 Anthony Grimshaw as we sat together in the library 
 one bleak March evening, when the wind blew 
 hoarsely in the great oaks and beeches across the 
 moat, and the wood-fire burning on the low hearth 
 made a cheery glow in the spacious room, gleaming 
 now on the russet and crimson bindings of the 
 books, now on the stout beams and carved oak bosses 
 of the ceiling. 
 
 I was nineteen 3-ears of age, and older and graver 
 than my years by reason of the monotony of my life 
 and the gravity of my companions. It was not the 
 first time I had questioned Anthony Grimshaw upon 
 the subject of my own history.
 
 I AM CURIOUS ABOUT THE PAST. 39 
 
 * I think you know more than you choose to tell,' 
 I said. 
 
 * Nay, Robert, I know nothing. I may have my 
 suspicions. But what good would it do for me to 
 talk of such fancies ? It might be but to mislead 
 you. All I know is that Lady Barbara brought you 
 here one winter's night in the first year of her 
 marriage. She trayelled in a postchaise with her 
 maid — a Frenchwoman, whom she engaged on her 
 marriage, my wife speaking no language but her own, 
 and being therefore unadapted for residence abroad 
 with an ambassador's lady, — lea\-ing Sir Marcus in 
 London, where he was busy with public matters, she 
 said. You were a baby of less than a year old, and as 
 sickly an infant as ever surrived infancy. She sent 
 for Martha, who had been married to me but a few 
 months, and told her that she meant to adopt the 
 child, having Sir Marcus's permission for so doing; 
 which well she might, seeing that she was an heiress 
 and a beauty, and might have married much higher 
 if she had so chosen.' 
 
 ' And she gave your wife no account of my birth ? ' 
 I asked. 
 
 ' None that I ever heard. But Martha Grimshaw 
 can keep a secret. I know she has her suspicions,
 
 40 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 which jump with mine ; and that's why she has not 
 heen as kind to you as I should have wished. There 
 was a gentleman once lived in this house whose fate 
 it was to carry mischief and misfortune with him 
 wherever he went.' 
 
 ' Who was that gentleman ? * 
 
 ' Roderick Ainsleigh, the only son of my late lord's 
 only sister, Lady Susan Somsrton, and Colonel Ains- 
 leigh, a brave soldier and a dissipated spendthrift, 
 whom she married against the earl's wish, and with 
 whom her life was most miserable. She died young, 
 while the colonel was abroad with his regiment, leaving 
 an only child but just nine years old. This was the boy 
 Roderick. Lord Hautevills brought him here directly 
 after the mother's death ; and the next post from the 
 low countries brought home news that the colonel 
 had been killed at the head of his regiment. He 
 had ever been as reckless of his life as of his fortune, 
 and had been oftener under fire than any other man 
 of his age and standing. Thus you see the boy 
 was doubly an orphan.* 
 
 'Poor child!' 
 
 * 'Tis natural you should pity him, lad ; but that 
 double bereavement was the most fortunate event in 
 Roderick Ainsleigh's life. The earl, my late master,
 
 I AM CURIOUS ABOUT THE PAST. 41 
 
 one of the noblest and best of men, had loved his 
 only sister with extreme tenderness and devotion. 
 Her death and the death of her husband threw the 
 boy entirely into his uncle's hands. My lord loved 
 the child at once for the mother's sake ; and the 
 boy's handsome face and winning manners did the 
 rest. Those soft pleasing manners disguised as 
 proud a heart as ever beat in human breast ; but I 
 think my lord loved the boy all the more for his daring 
 spirit. It was only in after years that he found how 
 hard it is to govern a stubborn will, even when self- 
 interest is at stake.' 
 
 ' Was the boy happy here ? ' 
 
 * He had reason to be ; for if he had been the 
 earl's son and heir he could not have fared better, or 
 been treated with greater honour by all who lived in 
 the house and all who came to it. I was his first 
 schoolmaster, and taught him just as I have taught 
 you. Often when you and I have been sitting side 
 by side in yonder window — 'twas on that very spot 
 Roderick and I used to sit — I have fancied I was 
 twenty years younger, and that 'twas Roderick Ains- 
 leigh I was teaching. But he was neither so diligent 
 nor so obedient a pupil as you, Robert. His mind 
 was quick enough, and he would work hard enough
 
 42 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 sometimes, in his own impetuous way. But it was 
 all by fits and starts — blow hot, blow cold. I had 
 another pupil who very often shared Mr. Roderick's 
 lessons, and that was Lady Barbara Somerton, my 
 lord's only child ; and it was not long before I dis- 
 covered that the two young people loved each other 
 with an affection that was something more than mere 
 cousinship. Lord Hauteville liked to see them to- 
 gether, and was pleased to find his daughter desired 
 to be wiser than most young women of her age. ** I 
 would have thee as clever as Lady Mary Wortley, or 
 Mde. de Sevigne, Bab," he used to say. One day he 
 broached the subject of the liking between his daughter 
 and his nephew, and told me that nothing w^ould 
 please him better than to see his sister Susan's son 
 master of Hauteville. "I don't care to think of a 
 stranger cutting down the old beeches, or clearing 
 the plantations that you and I planned when we were 
 boys together, Tony," he said. " And, tie up the 
 estate as I may upon my daughter, I can't tie up 
 every old tree and every footpath in the wood. And 
 I like to think the place will be the same for years to 
 come, when my old bones are mouldering in the 
 vault yonder, which it might if one of my own flesh 
 and blood were master. A stranger has no feeling
 
 I AM CURIOUS ABOUT THE PAST. 43 
 
 for old timber. Roderick ought to love every tree, 
 for he has almost grown up in the park and woods." ' 
 
 * And was Mr. Eoderick Ainsleigh very fond of his 
 cousin ? ' I asked. 
 
 *He seemed to love her as dearly as she loved 
 him ; and I don't suppose it was all seeming. He 
 went to Cambridge when he was nineteen, and I was 
 proud to think that he was a better mathematician 
 than most men of thirty, and would do wonders ; 
 but he got into a bad set at the University, and gave 
 himself up to the wild pleasures of that place, which 
 is within a ride of Newmarket, that infamous semi- 
 nary of iniquity and ill-manners. Nothing but 
 trouble ensued from Mr. Ainsleigh' s residence at 
 Cambridge. He incurred debts which would have 
 been heavy had he been Lord Hauteville's sole 
 heir; and my lord paid them, but not without 
 protest, and some ill blood between the uncle and 
 nephew. His visits here were few and brief, and it 
 was evident to all of us that Lady Barbara resented 
 the evil courses into which he had fallen. When he 
 came he brought with him college-friends, wild young 
 fellows, who attended all the fairs and races round 
 about, lamed my lord's hacks and hunters, and turned 
 the heads of half the servant-maids at Hauteville.'
 
 44 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 ' He must have been a base ungrateful fellow,' I 
 cried indignantly. 
 
 ' Ungrateful he most assuredly was. Whether he 
 was by nature base, or only reckless and extravagant 
 under the influence of ill-advisers, I cannot tell. As 
 a lad I loved him dearly, in spite of his wilfulness ; 
 but when I saw the unhappiness caused by his con- 
 duct as a young man, I was inclined to doubt whether 
 he had ever been worthy of the afibction we all 
 lavished upon him. For four yeavs things went 
 on thus, with much trouble for the earl, of which he 
 made no secret, and profound sorrow for Lady Bar- 
 bara, who maintained a proud silence upon the subject 
 of her grief, but whose despondency was too obvious 
 to all who loved her, — except perhaps to the offender 
 himself, whom she treated with a haughty distance 
 which must have been to the last degree galling to 
 that proud spirit. He for his part affected an in- 
 difference to her ill opinion, and even told me in 
 confidence, that since his cousin had ceased to love 
 him, he cared not a doit how badly she thought of 
 him. I would fain have persuaded him that he was 
 still beloved, but he laughed me to scorn. '* Why, 
 she is kinder to her lap-dog than to me," he cried ; 
 *'and when I have essayed to obtain her pardon for
 
 I AM CURIOUS ABOUT THE PAST. 45 
 
 my manifold iniquities, she has received my apologies 
 with such hlack looks as speedily silenced me." One 
 day the storm, long threatened, burst in sudden fury. 
 There was a desperate quarrel between Lord Haute- 
 ville and his nephew, in which my lord reproached 
 Mr. Ainsleigh with his ingratitude, and reminded 
 him of his dependence. Roderick Ainsleigh was the 
 last of men to brook such humiliation. He boldly as- 
 serted his independence, and in proof thereof declared 
 that he would never again owe a favour to the kins- 
 man who had so degraded him. '* I would rather 
 take the king's shilling than eat the bread of depen- 
 dence," he said ; " and I thank your lordship for 
 reminding me that I have no right to the bounties 
 I have enjoj'ed at your hands. I blame my own 
 dulness for my having so long remained unconscious 
 of my abject position, and am glad to be awakened 
 to the truth, though the waking has been somewhat 
 rough. For the past I must remain your debtor, and 
 I confess the debt is a heavy one ; happily, the future 
 is my own, and I can promise that it shall cost you 
 but little." 
 
 * Upon this Mr. Ainsleigh flung himself out of 
 the room with such an air of offended manhood, 
 that my lord confessed he felt himself the aggressor.
 
 46 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 "He will come back, Tony," he said to me, when his 
 nephew had left Hauteville, which he did directly- 
 after the interview. " Sure, he knows I love him as 
 a son, and am but too weakly disposed to excuse his 
 errors, nor can I think that he has ceased to love 
 my little Barbara, though the two do not seem such 
 fast friends as they once were." ' 
 
 ' And did the young man come back ? ' I asked, 
 deeply concerned. 
 
 * Never since that day has Roderick Ainsleigh 
 crossed the threshold of this house. Whether he is 
 living or dead none here can tell, though there is one 
 who would, I doubt not, be glad to know the truth. 
 He went straight from here to Cambridge, and it 
 came to my lord's ears by-and-by that he had lost 
 money to his Newmarket friends, over and above the 
 debts my master had paid, and was in some sort a 
 defaulter. If he had come back I know he would 
 have been received with open arms; but my lord was 
 too proud to invite his return. He had left but a 
 year when his uncle died. The title died with him, 
 and Lady Barbara, as sole heiress, became mistress 
 of the estate. When her mourning was over she 
 went to London to visit the Honourable Mr. and 
 Mrs. Davenant, relations of her mother ; and while
 
 I AM CURIOUS ABOUT THE PAST. 47 
 
 residing with them she married Sir Marcus Le strange, 
 a widower of high .family and small fortune, but of 
 much political influence. She spent a few months 
 here with her husband soon after their marriage, and 
 then departed, to return no more except for that 
 flying visit when you were brought hither.' 
 
 ' But was nothing . more ever heard of Mr. 
 Ain sleigh ? ' 
 
 * No further tidings of that misguided young man 
 ever reached my ears, except one painful rumour, 
 which connected the flight of a clergyman's daughter 
 from her father's house near this place with the 
 name of Roderick Ainsleigh. How justly I know 
 not. Slander fattens upon the misdoings of the 
 absent. The young man was not here to defend 
 himself against these evil reports, and I doubt not 
 they had some influence with his cousin, Lady 
 Barbara.' 
 
 ' What was he like ? ' I asked ; ' I have seen no 
 picture of him in the house.' 
 
 * Ay, but his portrait was painted. It used to 
 hang above this chimney-piece, but it was taken 
 down and thrust away at my lord's desire when his 
 nephew had been some six months absent without 
 any sign of repentance. " Take that ungrateful
 
 48 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 boy's face from my sight," he^said; "it haunts me 
 like a bad dream." Would you Hke to see Roderick 
 Ain sleigh's likeness 7 ' 
 
 ' Yes, that I should, mightily.' 
 
 The old man crossed the room and opened a cup- 
 board in the wainscot beneath one of the windows. 
 
 ' Light a candle, Robert,' he called to me as he 
 groped on his knees before the opei cupboard.' 
 
 I took a candle from the chimney-piece, and 
 lighted it by the blaze of the wood-fire. 
 
 ' Bring your light here,' he cried ; and I went to 
 him, and held the flickering candle before a frame- 
 less picture which he held upright upon a table near 
 the window. 
 
 * 'Tis a good twenty years since that has seen the 
 light,' he said, wiping the dust from the mildew- 
 stained canvas. 
 
 It was the portrait of a man in the dawn of youth, 
 a dark handsome face with a bright smile, but a look 
 of indomitable pride in the eyes, which were black as 
 a Spaniard's. 
 
 ' Have you ever seen such a face as that, Robert? ' 
 asked my tutor. 
 
 * I can scarce tell,' I answered thoughtfully ; ' but 
 the features seem familiar to me.'
 
 I AM CURIOUS ABOUT THE PAST. 49 
 
 * Seem familiar ; q.y, lad, and so they must. 
 Think again, Bob. \Vhere have you seen that 
 face r 
 
 * In the glass !' I cried, with a great start. * 0, 
 for God's sake, Anthony Grimshaw, tell me the 
 truth, if you can ! — was Roderick Ainsleigh my 
 father?* 
 
 * In good sooth, Robert, I cannot tell. I have told 
 you all that I know. But you and my late master's 
 nephew are like as — I'll not say two drops of water, 
 for there is little waterishness in your dispositions — 
 you are as like as two flames of fire.' 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 I AM INTRODUCED TO :MY BENEFACTRESS. 
 
 I MIGHT have brooded long on Anthony Grimshaw's 
 strange revelation but for the rapid succession of 
 events which followed within a short time of the con- 
 versation I have recorded. 
 
 After an enchanted sleep of nearly twenty years 
 the castle in Hauteville woods suddenly awoke to 
 life, and the monotonous calm of our existence was 
 exchanged for all the stir and clamour which accom- 
 panies the sound of many voices, the tread of many 
 feet, and the bustling industry of a full household. 
 
 It was upon a lovely evening in June that the 
 spell which had so long held Hauteville Hall was 
 suddenly broken. Not a word, not a whisper of 
 rumour's busy tongue, had prepared my guardians 
 or myself for the startling transformation. Anthony 
 Grimshaw's indifference to the political events of 
 his own time had kept him ignorant of ministerial
 
 I AM INTRODUCED TO MY BENEFACTRESS. 51 
 
 changes at home, and of our diplomatic relations 
 abroad, or he might have apprehended the possibility 
 of Sir Marcus Lestrange's recall from Madrid, where 
 he had been our plenipotentiary for some years. 
 
 Mr. Grimshaw and I were walking on the terrace 
 in the pleasant summer sunset, while my tutor's 
 stern partner was occupied with her incessant needle- 
 work by one of the windows of the oak parlour. Her 
 sharp gray eyes watched us as we paced to and fro, 
 and I doubt not it vexed her to see us in such 
 friendly communion, as it most assuredly vexed her 
 to find me impervious to the . slights she put upon 
 me, and indifferent to her ill-will. Again on this 
 evening we talked of Koderick Ainsleigh, of whom 
 I had indeed often spoken since I had seen the 
 portrait hidden in the hbrary-closet. 
 
 * Surely there can be little doubt of his death,' I 
 said, ' or some tidings of him must have reached you 
 in all these years.' 
 
 * It would seem likely, unless he has gone to push 
 his fortunes abroad, as he may have done, under a 
 feigned name, perhaps. He was ever a rank Jacobite, 
 and got himself into no little trouble here and at 
 Cambridge on that score. It was his nature, or his 
 humour, to oppose those who loved him ; and as the 
 
 E 2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERS'JV
 
 62 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 earl was a stanch Hanoverian^ my young gentleman 
 must needs toss off his wine to the king over the 
 water. If he was living in forty-five, I would wager 
 he was amongst the rebel crew that disturbed peace- 
 ful Englishmen in that year. He loved fighting and 
 riot and intrigue, and would have refused to serve 
 the best of rightful sovereigns if there was but a 
 wrongful one to plot and fight for. I doubt there 
 are always a number of these rebellious spirits, these 
 innate revolutionaries, to create and foster rebellion. 
 Few men ever have life's highway made so smooth 
 and easy for them as it was made for Eoderick 
 Ainsleigh; but, you see, he preferred to scramble 
 through brake and brier, and lose himself in a forest 
 of guilt and sorrow.' 
 
 * You speak of him bitterly.' 
 
 * I cannot well refrain from bitterness, though I 
 loved the lad well, and took rare pride in his 
 teaching. But he broke my old master's heart, and 
 went near to break Lady Barbara's ; for I doubt if 
 all her fashion and grandeur at foreign courts have 
 ever made her as happy as she was in the old days, 
 when she and her cousin Eoderick used to study the 
 classics together, and stroll in the garden yonder on 
 summer evenings.*
 
 1 AM INTRODUCED TO MY BENEFACTRESS. 53 
 
 * She must have been very beautiful in those 
 days,' I said, ' if she was like her portrait in the 
 picture-gallery.' 
 
 * The portrait barely does justice to her features 
 and complexion. But there was a sparkling bright- 
 ness in her countenance which no painter could ever 
 seize. It was such a changing face. A landscape 
 in oils will give you the face of the country-side and 
 the steady sunshine of a midsummer noon, but not 
 the play and flicker of the light that comes and goes 
 upon the meadows twenty times in a minute. She 
 told her sorrow to no one when her cousin left 
 Hauteville, but the changeful brightness of her 
 beauty faded from that hour.' 
 
 * Was the marriage with Sir Marcus Lestrange a 
 love-match ? ' 
 
 *I doubt it. The Somertons are not given to 
 change ; and I do not think Lady Barbara could so 
 soon have forgotten her cousin. But she was alone 
 in the world, and an heiress, and doubtless felt her 
 unprotected position.' 
 
 We talked some time longer of the house which 
 my tutor had served so faithfully, and in the service 
 whereof he hoped to end his days. The sun sloped 
 westward behind a bank of foliage that looked black
 
 54 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 against that golden light. Patches of crimson lit 
 up the westward side of the great hrown trunks of 
 rugged elm and oak, and flashed still brighter on 
 the smooth silvery bark of the beeches. Belated 
 crows sailed across the tender upper gray, making 
 for their nests in the oldest elms. Thrush and 
 blackbird sang their vesper-hymn ; and pensive from 
 some mysterious thicket sounded the song of the 
 nightingale. The distant water-pools reddened in 
 the reddening sunlight, and the stillness and calm 
 glory that belong to this one hour alone possessed 
 our souls, as we stopped in silence to lean lazily 
 upon the marble balustrade of the terrace and watch 
 the sinking sun. 
 
 While we thus watched, a sound so unfrequent 
 as to be startling roused each from his reverie. 
 
 It was the sound of carriage-wheels — the wheels 
 of not one only, but several vehicles. Anthony 
 Grimshaw and I regarded each other in silent 
 amazement, and then the old man hurried to the 
 end of the terrace, whence he could obtain a view of 
 the broad gravelled drive leading to the great gates. 
 
 I followed closely on his heels, to the full as eager 
 as himself. 
 
 Three carriages were winding slowly up the hill ;
 
 I AM INTRODUCED TO MY BENEFACTRESS. 55 
 
 the foremost a handsome traYelling-chariot with four 
 horses and smartlj^-dressed postboys ; the two others 
 clumsier vehicles, each drawn by two horses. 
 
 * It must be Sir Marcus, or my lady ! ' cried 
 Anthony ; ' who else should come here with such a 
 train ? Run, boy ! bid Martha have the doors 
 opened, and the shutters in the library and saloon, 
 and a fire lighted in the great hall, for it strikes 
 deadly cold in summer-time. And tell Betty and 
 Sue to stir themselves. The carriages will be at the 
 gate in less than five minutes.' 
 
 * I'U open the shutters with my own hands ! ' I 
 cried, and ran off to the oak parlour, where I dashed 
 open the half-glass door, and burst into the room, 
 to the horror of Martha Grimshaw. 
 
 * What now, you unmannerly jackanapes ? ' she 
 asked. I told her who was at hand. She started 
 from her chair and stood before me, deadly pale and 
 trembling ; never had I seen her so affected. 
 
 * My lady! ' she exclaimed. ' It can't be.' 
 
 * But it is, Mrs. Grimshaw. Who else should it 
 be ? There'll be wax-candles wanted for the saloon ; 
 'twill be dark in half-an-hour. Shall I run and bid 
 them open the doors ? ' 
 
 * Yes, yes,' she answered in a strange, absent way ;
 
 66 ROBERT AIN SLEIGH. 
 
 and I left her still standing rooted to the ground, 
 with a scared, pale face. 
 
 By this I perceived that there was one person 
 in the world of whom the steward's wife stood 
 in awe. 
 
 The bell in the gothic archway sounded with a 
 great clanging stroke as I ran to call the maids. 
 Betty went flying to the gate, and Anthony Grimshaw 
 appeared at the same moment with a ponderous bunch 
 of keys, ready to perform his office of seneschal. 
 Susan, the second maid, went with me to open the 
 shutters of the great saloon. We lighted the wax- 
 candles scattered here and there in crystal candelabra, 
 and the feeble lights twinkled faintly in the dusky 
 chamber. I went on to the library to open the shut- 
 ters there, while Susan stayed behind to kindle the 
 logs on the wide stone hearth. I heard the sound of 
 several voices, and the echoing patter of high heels 
 on the marble floor of the hall ; and then from the 
 half-open door of the library I saw Mr. Grimshaw 
 usher the unexpected visitors into the saloon. 
 
 Two ladies and a gentleman followed him into the 
 dimly-lighted room. The ladies were so hooded and 
 muffled that I saw but little of their faces. One was 
 of a commanding figure, the other slender and grace-
 
 I AM INTRODUCED TO MY BENEFACTRESS. 0< 
 
 fill as the tall white lilies in the Italian garden. The 
 elder lady sank into an arm-chair, with a sigh of 
 fatigue, and flung oflf her black-silk hood and cloak. 
 Yes, this was my Lady Barbara, as beautiful as the 
 portrait with which I was so familiar, but of a more 
 developed and regal beauty. Her dress was of a dark 
 crimson brocade, her shoulders and arms veiled in a 
 cloud of black lace. She wore powder, which became 
 her admirably, and her full round throat, of marble 
 whiteness, was encircled by a broad band of black 
 velvet, clasped with a gem that seemed to emit a 
 brighter flame than any of the tapers twinkling against 
 the mirrors on the walls. Never, except in pictures, 
 had I seen a woman of rank, and for the moment the 
 vision somewhat dazzled my unaccustomed eyes. 
 
 The younger lady also removed her hood, and I 
 beheld a pale, fair face, framed by loose unpowdered 
 auburn hair. Such pale and fragile loveliness showed 
 poorly beside the blaze of Lady Barbara's beauty ; 
 but I felt rather than saw that this young lady was 
 beautiful. 
 
 The gentleman yawned aloud, and leaned with a 
 listless air against the carved-oak chimney, amusing 
 himself by kicking the smouldering logs with the toe 
 of his boot.
 
 58 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 * Damp wood, and a room that feels like a vault ; 
 and, I conclude, very small probability of supper. 
 You should really have written to apprise your people 
 of your coming, Lady Barbara.' 
 
 The speaker was a young man, tall, slim, good- 
 looking, and dressed in a suit of cut velvet, with point- 
 lace ruffles and cravat. He wore high riding-boots, 
 and a court- sword dangled at his side. My only 
 acquaintance with this species was derived from Pope's 
 Rdjye of the Lock, and this gentleman reminded me 
 of Sir Plume. 
 
 ' It was my humour to come unannounced,' replied 
 my lady somewhat haughtily ; and then she addressed 
 her steward, in a much sweeter tone. ' You will not 
 let us go to bed supperless, will you, Anthony ? ' 
 
 ' Indeed, no, my lady ; if a pair of chickens and a 
 dish of broiled ham, with strawberries from the gar- 
 den, and a bowl of cream from Betty's dairy, will 
 content your ladyship — and this gentleman.' 
 
 ' Nothing could be better, my good Anthony. But 
 you must not let our sudden arrival disturb you. We 
 have brought two coachloads of London servants, and 
 all they want is to be shown the way to the kitchen, 
 and the geography of larders, pantries, and still- 
 rooms, which, I remember, is rather intricate at
 
 I AM INTRODUCED TO MY BENEFACTRESS. 59 
 
 Hauteville. Sir Marcus will not be able to join us 
 for a week. Tbis lady is Miss Hemsley, my busband's 
 niece; and this gentleman is my stepson, Mr. Everard 
 Lestrange, But where is Martha ? I shall be glad 
 to see her, and to settle what rooms we had best 
 occupy.' 
 
 Mrs. Grrimshaw entered the saloon as her mistress 
 spoke. She had changed her black- stuff gown for 
 one of stiff rustling silk, and wore a frilled-muslin 
 handkerchief, fastened with a diamond brooch. Never 
 before had I seen her so attired. She saluted her 
 mistress with a profound curtsey, and bade her 
 welcome to Hauteville. 
 
 My lady acknowledged her compliments somewhat 
 coldly, as I thought. 
 
 * How is your charge, Martha ? ' she asked. ' Your 
 letters have been of the briefest, and gave me little 
 news of him.' 
 
 I knew it was of myself she spoke, and an irristible 
 impulse impelled me to approach her. There was a 
 kindness in her tone which incited my confidence. 
 * Here is a friend,' I thought. 
 
 I had just lighted a pair of wax-candles, in heavy 
 bronze candlesticks, which stood on a writing-table 
 by the hearth. With these in my hands I entered
 
 60 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 the saloon, and carried tliem to the table by which 
 Lady Barbara had seated herself. 
 
 * God, a ghost !' she cried, half- rising from her 
 chair, and looking at me with wide-opened eyes ; and 
 then sinking back into her chair, she murmured 
 faintly, ' You never told me he was so like. You 
 should have prepared me for this, Martha.' 
 
 ' My father would scarcely feel flattered by your 
 emotion, madam,' said Mr. Lestrange with a sneer. 
 
 *I have no secrets from your father, sir,' my lady 
 answered proudly; and the gentleman's sarcastic 
 smile vanished as she looked at him. 
 
 ' It is possible my jealousy is keener than my 
 father's,' he said, not without a certain significance 
 of tone. 
 
 Lady Barbara turned from him with an air of 
 supreme indifi'erence, and addressed herself to me. 
 
 ' Your face reminds me of the dead, sir ; but you 
 are not less welcome to me. What is your name ? ' 
 
 ' Robert, madam.' 
 
 ' What else ? ' 
 
 ' I have no other name, madam.' 
 
 *And you have never taken the pains to seek 
 one?' 
 
 * No, madam. When first I came to this house
 
 I AM INTRODUCED TO MY BENEFACTRESS. 61 
 
 Mrs. Grimshaw told me I was nameless. I have 
 asked no further questions.' 
 
 I might have added that I had heen reminded not 
 once hut twenty times a week of my abandoned 
 condition, and that such epithets as foundling, 
 beggar, castaway, and even coarser terms of re- 
 proach, were but too familiar to me. 
 
 * Indeed ! ' cried my lady, with a glance at Mrs. 
 Martha, which boded ill for that personage. * Mrs. 
 Grimshaw volunteered information upon a subject 
 of which she knew little. She is fond of giving 
 information.' This was said with a most bitter 
 emphasis ; and then, turning to me with a sweet 
 protecting smile. Lady Barbara continued : ' Your 
 name is Robert Ainsleigh, and you are my kinsman. 
 I fear you have had a somewhat desolate boyhood in 
 this deserted house ; but I placed you in the care of 
 my old friend Anthony, because I knew you would 
 find in him a kind friend and an accomplished tutor.' 
 
 *And I have found both, madam,' I answered 
 promptly ; ' as good a friend as a fatherless lad 
 ever knew, as patient and learned a master as ever 
 earned the affection of his pupil.' 
 
 * I am glad to hear you speak so heartily,' replied 
 my lady. * While I remain at Hauteville you
 
 62 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 will live with me and my family, and it will be for 
 yourself to determine your future career.' 
 
 She extended her hand, and I dropped on my 
 knee, as I raised the fair hand to my lips. 
 
 The gentleman lounging against the chimney- 
 piece gave a little sarcastic laugh. 
 
 * Egad, Lady Barbara, your country cousin is a 
 courtier by instinct. I warrant me he will soon eat 
 a toad with as good a grace as if he had hunted 
 tufts at the University and graduated at Leicester 
 House.' 
 
 I wondered at so much animosity from a. stranger, 
 but it has been my ill-fortune in life to find more 
 than one bitter enemy ready-made, like this, and 
 to receive direst injuries from those I have never 
 consciously offended.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 I RISE IN THE WORLD. 
 
 If in my childhood I had regarded Hauteville Hall 
 as a kind of enchanted castle of fairy legend, I had 
 still better ground for the pleasant fancy after the 
 coining of Lady Barbara Lestrange ; for my life un- 
 derwent a transformation as sudden and complete 
 as that which befalls the prince who, after pining for 
 years in the guise of some repulsive beast, is once 
 more restored to his own image, and finds himself a 
 prosperous and comely gentleman. As Robert the 
 Nameless, dependent on an absent lady's bounty, I 
 had endured extreme humiliation ; as Mr. Robert 
 Ainsleigh, my lady's cousin and favourite, I was 
 courted and flattered in a manner which at once 
 confused and amazed me. My late tyrant, Martha 
 Grimshaw, was of all people most obsequious ; and 
 I perceived that, in her fear of my lady's anger, she 
 would have stooped to any degradation in order to
 
 64 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 conciliate me. I received her advances with supreme 
 coldness, and took occasion to inform her that she 
 had nothing to fear .from my malice or to hope from 
 my regard. 
 
 ' It was my misfortune to live with you for ten 
 years,' I said ; ' and it is difficult for any man to 
 blot out the memory of so long a period ; but, so far 
 as it is possible, I will forget the slights you have 
 inflicted upon me, and the petty spite which has 
 influenced your conduct towards me from the day 
 of our first meeting. Your husband's kindness to 
 me has, however, been as unvarying as your own 
 harshness, and you may be secure that my respect 
 for him will prevent me from injuring you.' 
 
 Mrs. Grimshaw's dull gray eye shone with a pale 
 fire as she answered me. 
 
 ' I am much beholden to you, sir,' she said in 
 slow measured tones, 'that you should condescend 
 so far as to refrain from injuring me in the opinion 
 of my mistress, whose last caprice inclines her to 
 patronize you. You are as yet a stranger to the 
 whims and humours of a fine lady, and I scarce 
 wonder that your sudden elevation has turned your 
 head. It is a new thing for a penniless dependent 
 to be raised from the society of such low persons as
 
 I RISE IN THE WORLD. 65 
 
 my husband and mvself to the company of an earl's 
 daughter and an ambassador's son ; but I would have 
 you remember that it is easier to come downstairs 
 than to go upwards, and that you may some day 
 find yourself turned out of doors, as Mr. Roderick 
 Ainsleigh was before you.' 
 
 * My father was not turned out of doors!' I 
 cried angrily. 
 
 *Your father! Who gave you an earl's nephew 
 for your father *? Pray where is your certificate of 
 birth, or your mother's marriage lines ? You are 
 quick to boast of your father ; and I doubt not, if 
 he has bequeathed you his face, you have inherited 
 his wicked heart also.' 
 
 * Why do you malign him '?' I exclaimed ; ' he 
 never can have injured you.' 
 
 'Of course not,' cried Mrs. Grimshaw bitterly; 
 * what should there be in common between low-bom 
 dirt like me and such a gentleman as that ? Why, 
 nothing. But I tell you this, Robert Ainsleigh — 
 since it pleases you to borrow a bad man's name — 
 your father brought sorrow wherever he came, and 
 there were few who looked on his face who did not 
 live to rue having seen it J 
 
 The inconsequence of this speech mystified me, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 but I did not question Mrs. Grimshaw, who departed 
 malevolent as ever — more malevolent, if possible, 
 since I had repudiated her civilities. 
 
 In my new phase of existence, however, I saw 
 but little of the severe Martha. For me there was 
 to be no more of Mr. Whitefield's Calvinistic dis» 
 course, no more tracts of alarming import, no more 
 prim one-o'clock dinners in the oak parlour, no more 
 silent comfortless meals beneath the gaze of my 
 persecutor. 
 
 From the little whitewashed chamber at the top of 
 a narrow wooden staircase, where I had slept ever 
 since my first coming to Hauteville Hall, I found 
 myself transferred to an airy and spacious tapestried 
 apartment over the library, with an oriel window 
 looking on the Italian garden. A tailor from War- 
 borough came to take my orders for several suits of 
 the prevailing fashion, and Lady Barbara herself 
 assisted me to select patterns and colours, while Mr. 
 Snip waited respectfully with his pattern-book across 
 his arm. My mornings were still given to the 
 classics with my kind master, Anthony- Grimshaw ; 
 but after we had read an act of a Greek tragedy, or 
 the funeral oration of Pericles, or a dozen pages of 
 Tacitus, my tutor and I parted company; and unless
 
 I RISE IN THE WORLD. 67 
 
 I made it my business to join him as he took his 
 after-dinner pipe on the terrace, we saw no more of 
 each other till the next day. In short, I was now a 
 gentleman, and my sphere was the drawing-room, 
 where I sat by Lady Barbara's tambour-frame, or 
 hung over Miss Hemsley's harpsichord, as if I had 
 been to the manner born. How shall I describe the 
 kindness of my kinswoman, who, having chosen to 
 assume the care of my fortunes, was determined to 
 fufil her duty to the uttermost ! 
 
 * It seems cruel to have left you so long to languish 
 in this lonely place,' she said, during our first tete-a- 
 tete ; ' but I could not get Sir Marcus away from 
 Madrid, and it would have seemed ungracious to 
 leave him ; so I waited, almost hoping for some 
 breach between England and Spain, in order to bring 
 about my husband's recall. And then the years 
 slipped by so quickly. I knew Anthony would be 
 kind to you, and I did not think Martha would be 
 unkind, which I fear she was, though you refuse 
 to admit as much. In short, dear cousin, be- 
 lieve me, I was not so cruel as I must needs 
 have seemed.' 
 
 * You never seemed to me anything but my boun- 
 tiful benefactress and friend,' I replied ; ' I knew 
 
 F 2
 
 68 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 that I owed everything to you, and must have 
 perished hut for your charity.' 
 
 * No, Kobert, I will not have that word.' 
 
 *Nay, dear madam, there is no other fits your 
 goodness.' 
 
 And again my lady gave me her hand, which I 
 once more raised to my lips in grateful homage. 
 
 I was now installed as one of the family, with as 
 little sense of dependence as it is possible for a de- 
 pendent to feel. 
 
 I was agreeably surprised by the conduct of Mr. 
 Lestrange, who treated me with a cordiality which I 
 was far from expecting to receive from him, after his 
 supercilious tone on the night of our first meeting. 
 He was something of a fop and fine gentleman ; but 
 pronounced himself, nevertheless, delighted with the 
 park and woods, the noble trout- stream which inter- 
 sected the estate, and in which I was able to show 
 him the deeps and shallows, the shadowy inlets where 
 his fly might do most execution, and the reedy mar- 
 gins where he might be sure of a gigantic jack. He 
 sufiered me to do the honours of Hauteville, and 
 entertained me agreeably with his own adventures at 
 home and abroad, which he was never tired of re- 
 lating. I discovered by and by that this gentleman,
 
 I RISE IN THE WORLD. 69 
 
 who was yet on the sunny side of his twenty- seventh 
 birthday, was past-master of the knowledge of evil, 
 and had long outlived his abhorrence of the vices 
 and his respect for the virtues of his fellow-men. 
 
 I did not, however, make this discovery immedi- 
 ately, being too much unused to the society of fine 
 gentlemen, and to the world in general, to be a 
 skilled observer. Little by little these things revealed 
 themselves to me ; and I had been some months 
 in Mr. Everard's company before I learned rightly 
 to estimate his civilities or to appreciate his value. 
 
 His father arrived at the Hall within a week of 
 Lady Barbara's advent ; and I was presented to that 
 important personage with all due ceremony. He 
 received me with a somewhat cold courtesy, and I 
 was quick to discover that my presence gave him 
 little pleasure. Toleration was, evidently, all I must 
 expect from him ; but the kindness of my benefac- 
 tress would have compensated me for worse treatment 
 from Sir Marcus ; and while I took care not to intrude 
 myself upon that gentleman, I rigidly refrained from 
 any attempt to conciliate his good graces. My grateful 
 affection for my protectress might be misinterpreted ; 
 for that I cared little ; but I was determined to eat 
 no toads for Sir Marcus Lestrange.
 
 70 ROBEKT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 Happily for me, however, the diplomatist was by 
 no means a domestic character. He spent the greater 
 part of his day in his study, and of an evening played 
 piquet with my lady in her dressing-room, while 
 Everard Lestrange, Miss Hemsley, and myself amused 
 ourselves in the saloon, or strolled on the terrace and 
 in the garden. He paid numerous visits to the seats 
 of the neighbouring nobility and gentry, travelling 
 sometimes as many as thirty miles to a dinner, and 
 altogether troubled us but little with his company. 
 He was an elegant and accomplished gentleman, of 
 about fift}^ years of age, in person much resembling 
 his only son, but of more perfect although colder 
 manners. Between himself and Everard there ob- 
 tained a stately politeness which did not betoken 
 a very w^arm affection. It was rather the manner 
 of skilled fencers on guard than of a father 
 and son. My lady told me in confidence that 
 Sir Marcus desired to see his son united in mar- 
 riage with Dorothea, or Dora, Hemsley, not only 
 the most amiable of women, but a considerable 
 fortune. 
 
 * Whether this will ever" come to pass I know not,' 
 she said in conclusion ; ' but I am bound to assist my 
 husband's projects. Dora is a sweet girl, and my
 
 I RISE IN THE WORLD. 71 
 
 only fear is that Everard should prove unworthy of 
 her.' 
 
 * They are not hetrothed to each other, are they, 
 madam ? ' I asked, perhaps more anxiously than the 
 circumstances warranted. 
 
 ' No, there has been no formal betrothal ; but 
 Dora can hardly be ignorant of her uncle's wish. 
 She was left an orphan five years ago, and since that 
 time has lived with me. I do not know what I should 
 do without her. I have no children of my own, you 
 see, Eobert. There is a little gi-ave in Spain that.I 
 cannot think of at this day without a heartache, 
 though it is fifteen years old ; but no child of mine 
 lived to call me mother. Yes, Dora is very dear to 
 me,' she added, abruptly changing the subject. 
 
 This confidence occurred within a week of Lady 
 Barbara's arrival. In after-days, when I had sufi'ered 
 a bitter pain and languished under the burden of a 
 secret sorrow, I could not help thinking that my 
 benefactress had told me these things thus early in 
 order that no peril might arise from my daily com- 
 panionship with Dora Hemsley. But there is ' one 
 disease against which antidotes and preventives are 
 administered in vain, and from this cruel fever I was 
 doomed to suffer.
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 I FALL IN LOVE. 
 
 During one of our earliest rambles in Hauteville 
 Woods, I introduced Mr. Everard Lestrange to the 
 warrener's lodge, where the travelled gentleman 
 soon contrived to make himself agreeable to honest 
 Dame Hawker and my sweet Margery, who had 
 blossomed into rare beauty in the calm solitude of 
 her woodland home. She was but just seventeen 
 years of age, slim and graceful as the young fawns 
 which had frisked around her and eaten from her 
 rosy palm. Her beauty was that of a true wood- 
 nymph, and had nothing in common with Dorothea 
 Hemsley's fair loveliness. Margery's- skin was a 
 pale olive, charmingly relieved by the deep crimson 
 of cheeks and lips. Her eyes were hazel-brown, 
 large, bright, and sparkling with the innocent viva- 
 city of a pure and fearless soul ; her hair also a rich 
 nut-brown, tinged with gold — waving rippling hair.
 
 I FALL IN hOVE. 73 
 
 which defied her girlish vanity when she wouki fain 
 have pinned and pinched it into some semhlance 
 of the two or three fashionable heads she saw at 
 church. 
 
 I had happened to tell my new acquaintance that 
 Jack Hawker was an excellent angler, and his 
 daughter skilled in the fabrication of a famous 
 trout-fly, whereupon Mr. Lestrange expressed him- 
 self eager to see my foster-father. 
 
 ' A very bower of Arcadia ! ' he cried, as we 
 approached the dear old white-walled cottage. ' And 
 so this is where you were reared? I declare, 
 Ainsleigh, you were a lucky dog to have a scoundrel 
 for your father.' 
 
 * Scoundrel or no scoundrel, as he was my father 
 I would rather you called him no hard names,' I 
 answered somewhat sullenly ; for I had no idea of 
 suffering this gentleman to throw dirt at Roderick 
 Ainsleigh' s grave. 
 
 We found the cottage tenantless. Jack Hawker 
 was doubtless absent on his rounds, and it was 
 market-day at Warborough, whither my foster- 
 mother went every week to make her purchases, 
 and dispose of small produce in the way of honey 
 and eggs, and vegetables from the fertile garden.
 
 74 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 The doors being all opened, in the sultry mid- 
 summer weather, we went into the kitchen, whence 
 we beheld as fair a vision as painter ever per- 
 petuated by the work of his brush. 
 
 At the end of a narrow garden-path, overarched 
 by the straggling boughs of elder, quince, and 
 hazel, stood Margery, in the centre of a little grass- 
 plot, with the sunshine on her loose uncovered hair 
 and light chintz petticoat. She was feeding her 
 poultry, which swarmed eagerly round her, and did 
 sturdy battle amongst themselves for the barley 
 which her pretty hands shook down on them from a 
 well-filled sieve. So busily was she occupied as 
 not to be aware of our approach till we stood within 
 a few yards of her ; and then it was a pretty sight 
 to see her bashfulness and sweet blushing confusion 
 when she glanced suddenly upward and perceived 
 us watching her. 
 
 She came and shook me by the hand, and 
 dropped a low curtsey to my companion. Her 
 manner towards myself had much changed during 
 the last year. She was no longer the familiar 
 foster-sister who had been wont to hold up her 
 rosy lips to receive the fraternal kiss, but a bashful 
 maiden, whose eyelids drooped when we met, and
 
 I FALL IN LOVE. 75 
 
 from whom I had sometimes trouble to extort more 
 than murmured monosyllabic replies to my talk, 
 yet who would by fits and starts be vivacious and 
 animated, playful and capricious, as some forest 
 elf. 
 
 This I took to be the natural shyness of maiden- 
 hood, that tender early dawn of life in which a 
 woman is wholly surprised and half-ashamed to 
 find herself beautiful and admired. 
 
 I requested Margery to show us some golden 
 pheasants of her own rearing, the feathers of which 
 were of inestimable value to the angler ; and she 
 conducted us to a roomy, rough wire cage, em- 
 bosomed among roses and seringa, proud to exhibit 
 her favourites. 
 
 After these had been duly admired, Mr. Lestrange 
 complained of thirst, and I begged a bowl of milk 
 for him ; whereon Margery led us to her mother's 
 dairy, a cool shadowy chamber paved with stone, 
 and odorous with the perfume of eglantine and 
 honeysuckle. 
 
 Here she made us welcome to such refreshment 
 as the place could offer, and we loitered for some 
 time drinking milk and eating cheesecakes of a 
 substantial quality. I was surprised to discover
 
 76 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 how quickly Everard Lestrange made himself agree- 
 able to the rustic girl, contriving speedily to en- 
 gage her in familiar conversation, and to amuse her 
 by his talk of London, that marvellous city of 
 which she knew less than she knew of fairyland. 
 
 We bade Margery good-bye, after she had pro- 
 mised to make us some flies against our next visit ; 
 and as we walked away from the cottage, my com- 
 panion complimented me upon my good fortune in 
 owning so lovely a foster-sister. 
 
 ' Methinks thou wert born under a lucky star, 
 Eobert,' cried the gentleman, in that affected style 
 which I found afterwards to obtain among young 
 men of his class. 
 
 * I do not know^ what you mean by good luck,' I 
 replied. ' I love my foster-sister dearly ; but I 
 consider it no special good fortune that she should 
 have grown up so handsome. Indeed, I doubt if 
 beauty is the best of gifts for a cottager's daughter.' 
 
 * Spoken like a true disciple of the saintly 
 Noggers of Brewer's Yard, Warborough,' cried Mr. 
 Lestrange with a sneer. ' Beauty is a delusion and 
 a snare, brother Jumper, — do you jump in Brewer's 
 Yard meeting-house, by the way, or do you belong 
 to the quieter folks who only preach and pray ? —
 
 I FALL IN LOVE. 77 
 
 yea verily, comeliness of visage is but a snare to 
 the wicked and a bait for fools ; and 'tis better to 
 be a flat-faced and pug-nosed damsel than a bright 
 woodland siren, with great hazel eyes, in which 
 the sunshine plays at bo-peep, and lips like ripe 
 cherries.' 
 
 I did not care to hear these florid compliments ; 
 and though at this time I knew but little of 
 Everard Lestrange, I resolved that I would take 
 him to Jack Hawker's cottage as seldom as pos- 
 sible. 
 
 * One would think, by your raptures, you had 
 fallen in love with my pretty sister,' I said, some- 
 what coldly. 
 
 * Why, thou simplest of rustics, such raptures are 
 the common language with a man of the world where 
 women are in question. We think and talk of them 
 in hyperbole, and the homeliest among them is angel 
 or goddess before marriage. It is only after the 
 honeymoon that we descend to the regions of fact, 
 and confess that Lesbia is a slattern and Marcella a 
 scold. As for your pretty woodland njTuph yonder, 
 it would fare ill with me should I lose my heart in 
 that quarter ; for so surely as I am a skilled observer 
 of womankind, hers is already forfeited.'
 
 78 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 ' To whom, pray?' 
 
 ' To you, Mr. Demure ; to 3^ou, who pretend to be 
 unconscious of your power. Did you mark how 
 ready the sly puss was to converse with me, and 
 how bravely her beautiful eyes met mine, stranger 
 as I am ? But at a word from you the dark lashes 
 droop, and the gipsy face reddens with a sudden 
 blush. I would forfeit my chances of favour with 
 the Duke of Newcastle to be in your shoes, were I 
 free to wish.' 
 
 I understood these last words to allude to his 
 relations with Miss Hemsley. I hastened to assure 
 him that he was mistaken as to Margery's senti- 
 ments. 
 
 * We regard each other as brother and sister, but 
 no more,' I said. ' I have watched her cradle many 
 a day when I was little more than a baby myself. 
 We were together for nearly eight years, — constant 
 playfellows and companions, — and the friendship 
 between us has never been interrupted.' 
 
 *And is that any reason she should not love you?' 
 
 * The strongest. I don't believe that love is ever 
 born of custom and affection. 'Tis the sudden sight 
 of a sweet strange face that first tells a man he has 
 a heart.'
 
 I FALL IN LOVE. 79 
 
 Mr. Lestrange stared hard at me, and I felt my 
 cheeks crimson under his gaze. 
 
 * And what sweet strange face has Mr. Ainsleigh 
 seen of late that has made him so wise ? ' he de- 
 manded with a sneer. 
 
 *I speak of love in the abstract,' I answered, and 
 hastily changed the conversation ; but on several 
 occasions after this I caught Everard Lestrange 
 watching my face with a somewhat unfriendly 
 expression upon his own. 
 
 ' The sudden sight of a sweet strange face.' The 
 words had escaped me unawares, and they hinted at 
 a secret scarce known to myself. 'Twas the pale, 
 white-rose face of Dorothea Hemsley that was in my 
 mind. 
 
 And she was to marry this cynical worldling, with 
 his sneers and affectations, because she had a for- 
 tune, and could advance her cousin's prospects ! 
 Remote and impossible a creature as she must ever 
 be for me, I could but lament that family interests 
 should assign her to so unfitting a partner ; and I 
 feared that so gentle a nature would never sustain 
 any contest with the will of others, should the young 
 lady's inclinations be opposed to the match. 
 
 This I had some reason to conclude was the case.
 
 80 ROBEKT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 I had seen Miss Hemsley and her suitor together, 
 and had seen on her part an avoidance which was 
 something more than maiden modesty. She was 
 polite and gentle in her demeanour towards her 
 cousin, as she was to the lowest vant in the 
 house ; hut I observed that she artfully eluded all 
 occasions of being alone with him. In order to do 
 this she sometimes invited my companionship, and 
 I was thus at an early stage of our acquaintance 
 drawn into a dangerous intimacy with her. She 
 volunteered to teach me chess, and instructed me 
 in the performance of the simple symphonies and 
 accompaniments to two or three easy bass songs by 
 Handel and Gluck. 
 
 That these favours bestowed on me were dis- 
 pleasing to Mr. Lestrange, I had, even at this 
 period, no doubt ; but he contrived to conceal his 
 anger, and treated his cousin and myself with 
 perfect amiability. 
 
 I found it no easy matter to keep my lady's step- 
 son from the warrener's lodge, where he managed 
 to make himself vastly agreeable to simple Jack 
 Hawker and his simple wife, who thought this 
 town-bred gentleman the most perfect specimen of 
 courtesy and good-manners. Margery brightened
 
 I FALL rS LO\'E. 81 
 
 at our coming, and seemed always alike delighted 
 to receive us ; nor was I well pleased to perceive 
 the rapid progress which Mr. Lestrange appeared 
 to make in her favour, since I had hy this time 
 become acquainted with the loose ideas and con- 
 temptuous opinions which he entertained of all 
 womankind, from the duchesses whose favours he 
 hinted at to the dairy-maids whose ruin he boasted. 
 Towards me my foster-sister's manner was shyer 
 and more subdued every time we met, but with 
 Everard Lestrange she gossipped and laughed with 
 perfect freedom. 
 
 This gentleman often rallied us upon our secret 
 attachment, and his jests covered the poor girl with 
 blushes and confusion, much to the amusement of 
 Jack Hawker, who saw no reason why his daughter 
 should be an unworthy alliance for Lady Barbara's 
 penniless protege. I had told my old friends at 
 the warrener's lodge nothing of my cousinship with 
 the mistress of Hauteville, and they still regarded 
 me as a nameless waif, dependent on the charity of 
 my noble benefactress. 
 
 I did not, however, continue to afford Mr. Le- 
 strange occasion for his broadly expressed insinua- 
 tions, which were embarassing to Margery, and to 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 82 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 the last degree painful to myself. As the summer 
 advanced I spent less time in the woods, and left 
 my lady's stepson to go fishing by himself, while I 
 read with Lady Barbara and Miss Hemsley in the 
 Hauteville library. My benefactress was well pleased 
 to resume her studious habits, and we formed a 
 little company of students, with Anthony Grimshaw 
 for our preceptor. Together we read Virgil, Dante, 
 and Tasso, and my lady was so good as to express 
 herself much pleased with my progress as a linguist. 
 
 ' The dear boy has a rare talent for languages,' 
 said my gratified master, * and we have worked hard 
 at the cultivation of foreign tongues, which of all 
 accomplishments is the most valuable for a man who 
 has to make his way in the world. For Greek and 
 Latin I will match Kobert against any lad of his 
 age; he knows Italian thoroughly, and is a fair 
 Frenchman ; and he has, moreover, a smattering 
 of Sanscrit, which may some day be useful to him.' 
 
 * I doubt whether his knowledge of Sanscrit will 
 ever serve him for much,' my lady answered, 
 smiling, ' unless he should have a fancy for ex- 
 tending his travels as far as the court of the Great 
 Mogul, or should turn Jesuit missionary and strive 
 to convert the heathens of Birmah or Thibet. But
 
 I FALL IN LOVE. 83 
 
 the habit of study is a good one, and I am proud to 
 think my cousin has been so diligent a pupil.' 
 
 While I did my best to improve Miss Hemsley's 
 Italian, which was far from equal to the obscurities 
 of Dante, that young lady was so kind as to 
 instruct me in the Spanish tongue, of which she 
 had made herself mistress during her five-years' 
 residence at Madrid. With this gentle instructress 
 I speedily mastered the soft, sleepy syllables of that 
 mellifluous language, and read Don Quixote in the 
 original before our studies were concluded. 
 
 For these studies Mr. Lestrange did not scruple 
 to avow his contempt. He quoted Moliere's 
 Femmes Sav antes, and christened my lady Belise, 
 and Dora Hemsley Armande. He spoke of us as 
 the Hauteville Blue-stocking Club, and suggested 
 that we should invite Lord Lyttleton and Mrs. 
 Montague to join the party. 
 
 I, for my part, was too happy to heed his sneers ; 
 days, weeks, and months slipped by, and I well-nigh 
 forgot that I had ever been solitary in that house 
 where my life was now so pleasant. My acquaint- 
 ance with Dora Hemsley had ripened into friend- 
 ship. She talked to me of my lonely boyhood, 
 of her own happy youth, watched over by beloved 
 
 G 2
 
 84 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 parents, and of the bitter grief that fell upon her 
 with the loss of them. She told me of Lady- 
 Barbara's tender kindness, and of the affection 
 which had gone so far to supply the place of the 
 lost. But of her uncle's desire to bring about a 
 marriage between herself and his son she never 
 spoke ; nor was she ever betrayed into expressing 
 any opinion respecting Everard Lestrange. One 
 day when Everard and she had been by chance 
 alone together for some minutes, I surprised her in 
 tears. Mr. Lestrange quitted the room by one door 
 as I entered by another, and I found Dora seated on 
 one of the window- seats, with her arms resting on 
 the broad stone sill, and her head and face hidden 
 in her clasped hands. I saw the tears trickling 
 between the slender fingers, and had not sufficient 
 command of myself to refrain from questioning her. 
 
 ' Dear Miss Hemsley,' I cried, ' for God's sake 
 tell me what distresses you ! ' 
 
 She lifted her head and turned her sweet face 
 towards me, bathed in t6ars. 
 
 * That I can tell to no one,' she answered; *I 
 have my secret troubles to bear, Mr. Ainsleigh, 
 though I am but just eighteen years of age ; and I 
 must endure them with patience.'
 
 I FALL IN LOVE. 85 
 
 I knelt at her feet, and begged her to believe that 
 if the sacrifice of my life could have served her I 
 would have freely given it. She turned her tearful 
 eyes towards me. 
 
 'Yes, Robert,' she said,. *^ I think you would do 
 much to save me from sorrow. But you cannot. I 
 must bear my burden.' 
 
 The sound of my Christian name spoken by her 
 lips thrilled my soul like a strange sweet music. 
 But at the same moment there came another sound 
 that startled me. 'Twas the stealthy opening of a 
 door. I looked up and saw Mr. Lestrange peering 
 in at us through a narrow opening, from the door- 
 way by which I had seen him leave the room. Our 
 eyes met, and he clapped-to the door ; but in that 
 one instant I had seen the expression of his face, 
 and never did I behold more malignity upon the 
 human countenance. 
 
 I would willingly have pressed Miss Hemsley 
 further, but she entreated me to refrain, and I left 
 her, sore distressed by her grief, and only able to 
 guess at its cause. 
 
 * Everard Lestrange has been urging his suit 
 with her,' I thought ; ' 'tis clear she does not 
 love him.*
 
 86 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 And then I suffered my fancy to beguile me with 
 a bright dream of what might have been if I had 
 not been a penniless dependent, and Miss Hemsley 
 a fortune ; and I cursed the wealth which made an 
 impassable barrier between us.
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 HOW I BECAME AN ORPHAN. 
 
 I WAS pacing the long corridor of the upper story 
 in a despondent frame of mind, when the door 
 of my lady's dressing-room opened, and Mrs. Grim- 
 shaw emerged, more than usually sour of \-isage. 
 
 ' You are wanted by my lady,' she said on seeing 
 me. 'I have been urging upon her that such an 
 idle Ufe as you are leading is not the way to fit a 
 young man for earning his livelihood, and she is so 
 good as to acknowledge the wisdom of my remarks.' 
 
 * You are very obliging wdth advice that has not 
 been incited,' I answered ; ' but since I doubt if you 
 have ever wished me well, I should be grateful if 
 you would abstain from all interference with my 
 affairs.' 
 
 I knew that whatever influence this woman 
 brought to bear upon my fate would be of an ad- 
 verse nature, and I could not patiently brook her
 
 88 ROBERT AIN SLEIGH. 
 
 tone of patronage and superiority. She gave me a 
 malignant glance, muttered something about a beg- 
 gar on horseback, and passed on, while I went to 
 Lady Barbara's dressing-room, a spacious and 
 cheerful apartment, hung with prints and chalk 
 drawings, and furnished with japanned cabinets 
 containing shells, dried flowers, Indian china, and 
 many valuable curios of the monster tribe. It was 
 the room my lady had occupied as a girl, and which 
 she preferred to any other apartment at Hauteville. 
 A large embroidered screen in tent- stitch, repre- 
 senting the meeting of Joseph and his brethren, 
 testified to her girlish industry ; and half a dozen 
 dogs of the pug species sprawling on a rug before 
 the sunniest of the windows, revealed the hobby 
 of her childless matronhood. 
 
 She was writing as I entered, but closed her desk 
 immediately, and looked up at me with an affection- 
 ate smile. 
 
 ' Sit you down here, Robert/ she said, pointing 
 to a stool at her feet ; and I seated myself there, 
 and took the hand which she offered me. Thus 
 grouped, we seemed like mother and son. 
 
 ' Robert,' she began presently, ' I think you know 
 that I love you.'
 
 HOW I BECAME AN ORPHAN. 89 
 
 * Yes, indeed, dear madam ; and your aftection 
 has made me very happy.' 
 
 * Will you cease to believe in that affection if I 
 should be obliged to make you unhappy ? ' 
 
 * I cannot believe that you will ever act un- 
 kindly.' 
 
 * Not willingly, Eobert, God knows. But you 
 remember what Shakespeare makes his Hamlet say : 
 we must sometimes ''be cruel, only to be kind." 
 Dear boy, I think we have all been too happy 
 here ; you and I and Dora Hemsley. Do you 
 remember vrhat I told you about Dora when we 
 first came ? '' 
 
 * I am not hkely to forget it,' I answered 
 gloomily. 
 
 'It was my manner of warning you, Robert. I 
 cannot thwart my husband's wishes with reference 
 to his niece and ward ; I cannot, Robert, even to 
 serve you. He was very generous when I asked 
 leave to adopt you, poor orphan child ; and it would 
 ill repay his goodness if you became the instrument 
 to bring about the disappointment of his favourite 
 scheme. He has set his heart upon his son's 
 marriage with Dora, and it must take place ; or, at 
 least, you and I must do nothing to prevent it.' 
 
 \
 
 90 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 * God forbid it should ever come to pass ! ' I 
 cried. 
 
 * Why, Robert, have you anything to say against 
 Everard Lestrange ? ' 
 
 * Not much, except that I do not like him ; and 
 I can scarce tell you wherefore. Non amo te, Sabidi, 
 nee possum clieere quare — ' 
 
 ' Heavens, how like that was said to your father ! 
 Ah, Eobert, I doubt you inherit his headstrong, 
 impetuous disposition.' 
 
 I smiled, remembering how quiet and submissive 
 had been my youth ; and yet I was inclined to doubt 
 whether under certain exceptional circumstances a 
 fiery spirit, to which I was at present a stranger, 
 might not reveal himself as my master. Surely if 
 for every man there watches and prays a good angel, 
 so each has his familiar demon, an invisible direc- 
 tor stronger than himself, who leads him where he 
 would not go, and urges him to deeds he would fain 
 leave undone. 
 
 ' Robert,' said my benefactress suddenly, after a 
 little pause, ' I have watched you and Dora together, 
 and I think it would be well for the peace, nay, 
 indeed, for the honour of both, that you should 
 part.'
 
 HOW I BECAME AN ORPHAN. 91 
 
 *I am ready, madam,' cried I, springing to my 
 feet with a start. ' I know that there is a gulf 
 between that bright angel and me. Send me away 
 this day — this minute. I am ready to go.' 
 
 I dashed a tear from my eyes as I spoke. My 
 lady watched me with a sad, perplexed face. 
 
 * Robert,' she cried, ' has it come to this ? ' 
 
 ' Yes,' I answered. ' Your warning has been for- 
 gotten ; I love her. I will not come between your 
 stepson and his fortune. I love her ; but I am not 
 so base a viper as to sting the breast that has 
 warmed and sheltered me. I will not bring trouble 
 on you, dear lady. From these lips Dora Hemsley 
 shall never hear that she is beloved. 0, let me go ; 
 let me leave this dear place, where for the last few 
 months I have tasted such dangerous, such fatal 
 happiness.' 
 
 ' Yes, Robert, you must go. It will be wisest 
 and best that you should begin life at once ; and 
 your future will be my care, dear boy, do not doubt 
 that. And so my gentle Dora has won your heart '? 
 'Tis but a boy's love, a brief fever, more easily 
 cured than you can believe while the disease rages. 
 But do you know, Robert, that I have heard of an- 
 other passion of yours ? '
 
 92 BOBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 ' How, madam ? ' 
 
 * That pretty brown-eyed girl at the warrener's 
 lodge, Margery Hawker — what of her, Eobert ? ' 
 
 ' She is my foster-sister, and as dear to me as 
 ever sister was to brother. Who told you she was 
 more than that. Lady Barbara ? ' 
 
 ' I have- been told nothing ; but I have had 
 hints.' 
 
 * Shame on the hinters, madam ! People who 
 mean well can afford to speak plainly. I can guess 
 who is at the bottom of this.' 
 
 ' Perhaps there are more than you think, Robert. 
 Do not be sa angry. If you have pledged your 
 heart to poor little Margery, keep your faith with 
 her. Better to have a peasant-girl for your wife, 
 than a guilty conscience and the bitter memory of 
 having broken an honest woman's heart..' 
 
 * I swear to you, dear madam, that Margery has 
 never been more to me than my foster-sister, and 
 never will be. I know that she is beautiful — 
 lovelier than Miss Hemsley, even ; but she has 
 never touched my heart, as one look of that young 
 lady's touched me on the first night of her coming 
 here. I think there must be some element of magic 
 in such spells, innocent as they seem.'
 
 HOW I BECAME AN ORPHAN. 93 
 
 * I cannot doubt you when you speak so boldly. 
 But 0, Robert, let there be no broken hearts — no 
 ruined lives. There has been too much of that 
 already.' 
 
 I looked at her wonderingly, and she answered my 
 inquiring glance. 
 
 * Your father's heart and mine, Robert — your 
 father's life and mine — both broken, both ruined, for 
 want of a little more candour, a little more patience, 
 a little more constancy. I loved him so dearly ! 
 Yes, that is why you are as dear to me as ever only 
 son was to doting mother. I cannot tell you how 
 happy we were as boy and girl together, or how de- 
 voted he seemed to me. I know that in those days 
 he was all truth, aU goodness. There was no hidden 
 evil in that proud young heart. He had his faults, 
 perhaps, but they were the failings of a knight-errant. 
 Who can say that Sir Philip Sidney was faultless ? 
 and we know that Raleigh was a sinner. His errors 
 were ever those of a great mind. God, how easy 
 it is for me to pardon and pity him now ; I who was 
 so unforgiving then, when my pardon might have 
 saved him ! When he came fi*om the University I 
 thought him changed, and there was one about me 
 who took care to call my attention to the change, and
 
 94 ROBERT AIN SLEIGH. 
 
 by-and-by to assign a cause for it. Martha Peyton, 
 now Martha Grimshaw, my conscientious, confiden- 
 tial, trustworthy maid, discovered an incipient intrigue 
 of my cousin's, and brought me speedy news of it. 
 Mr. Ainsleigh was always hanging about Parson 
 Lester's vicarage, she told me. Mr. Lester was a 
 hunting-parson, renowned for his knowledge of horses 
 and his veterinary skill, and this might fairly be the 
 magnet that drew Roderick to his house. But my 
 confidential maid would not have me think this. 
 Mr. Lester had an only daughter, a pretty, empty- 
 headed girl, and Martha hinted that it was for her 
 sake my cousin haunted the vicarage. I had seen 
 the girl at church, and had invited her to tea in my 
 dressing-room, and given her a cast-off gown now and 
 then, to the aggravation of my confidential Martha, 
 who was inclined .to be jealous of intruders. I knew 
 that Amelia Lester was weak, and frivolous, and 
 pretty, and I believed my informant. I had no civil 
 word for my cousin after this, and would hear neither 
 explanations nor apologies, which at first he fain 
 would have made. The breach grew wider day by 
 day. Robert, I was madly, wickedly jealous. I 
 hated my rival, my false lover, myself, the whole 
 world. One day I met Roderick and Amelia together
 
 HOW I BECAME AN ORPHAN. 95 
 
 in the park, the girl simpering and blushing under 
 her hat, my cousin with the conqueror's easy, self- 
 satisfied air. He did not even blush on meeting me, 
 but passed me by with a cool nod and smile of de- 
 fiance, while Miss Amelia dropped me a low curtsey, 
 with her eyes cast modestly to the ground. After 
 this meeting I scarcely deigned to speak to my cousin, 
 and suffered unspeakable torments with a haughty 
 countenance. Women have a genius for self-torture. 
 I would have given worlds to bring Koderick to my 
 feet, to be assured that I alone was beloved by him. 
 Yet I obstinately repelled his advances, and neg- 
 lected every opportunity of reconciliation.' 
 
 * Your mind had been poisoned, dear madam,' I 
 said ; for I knew but too well Mrs. Grimshaw's hard, 
 cruel nature, and could now perceive that her hatred 
 was a heritage that came to me from my father, 
 whom she had pursued with that fuiy which the 
 poets tell us to be worse than the hate of hell. 
 
 *Yes, my mind had been poisoned,' repHed my 
 lady ; ' my confidante, from pure conscientiousness, 
 no doubt — but there are no people can wound like 
 these conscientious friends — kept me informed of my 
 cousin's doings. His visits to the vicarage were 
 notorious. Miss Lester had boasted everywhere of
 
 96 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 her conquest. ' Everywhere' is a vague word ; hut I was 
 too angry, too miserahle, to insist upon particular??. 
 And then, was I not heiress of Hauteville? and 
 should my cousin affect the most ardent devotion, 
 how could I helieve him ? My confidante took oc- 
 casion to remind me of my wealth ; these prudent 
 people have such sordid notions. Had I known the 
 world then as I know it now, Kohert, I should have 
 valued your father so much the more for the pride that 
 held him aloof from me after my numerous repulses 
 had chilled and wounded him. But I believed myself 
 deserted and betrayed for a person whom I considered 
 my inferior ; and when my father's anger was aroused 
 by the discovery of certain debts which Koderick had 
 concealed from him, I made no attempt to act as 
 peacemaker. Then came a long and stormy inter- 
 view, whicTi resulted in my cousin's abrupt departure 
 from Hauteville, never again to sleep beneath this roof. 
 He w^ent without a word of farewell. My father 
 declared he would return, and I too hoped long in 
 the face of despair. Eobert, for me those were the 
 days of retribution. What a long heart-sickness, what 
 a weary agony ! For a year I listened and watched 
 for Koderick Ainsleigh's return. Every sound of a 
 horse's hoofs in the distance, every sudden stroke of
 
 HOW I BECAME AN ORPHAN. 97 
 
 the great bell, every messenger or letter-carrier who 
 came to this old place, raised hope that was awakened 
 only to be disappointed. My confidential maid fell ill 
 of the small-pox soon after my cousin's departure, but 
 that fatal malady passed me by, though I would fain 
 have courted any death- stroke. Within six months 
 of Roderick's disappearance Amelia Lester left her 
 father's house, secretly, as it was rumoured, though 
 the parson affected to know where she was. She 
 had gone to some relations in Somersetshire, he said, 
 and as no one but he had any right to be angry, the 
 assertion was suffered to pass unchallenged ; except 
 by Martha Peyton, who contrived to extort the truth 
 from a servant at the vicarage. The young lady had 
 been missing one morning, and the father had raged 
 and stormed for a while, and then had cursed her for 
 a worthless hussy, saying that no doubt she had run 
 after Roderick Ainsleigh, about whom her head had 
 been turned for the last three years. This was the 
 story Martha told me, and she wanted to bring the 
 vicarage servant to confirm it. I told her I required 
 no confirmation of my cousin's baseness, and that she 
 need trouble herself no more about my affairs. But 
 the blow struck none the less severely because I was 
 too proud to showthe pain. I was so steeped in misery, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 that my father's sudden death shocked me much less 
 than it would have done at any other time ; and when 
 it was suggested that I should visit an aunt in 
 London, I consented listlessly, with some faint sense 
 of relief in the idea of leaving Hauteville.' 
 
 * And there ^came no tidings of my father, even on 
 the death of his benefactor ? ' 
 
 * No ; but I have since had reason to believe that 
 Koderick attended his uncle's funeral. A figure in 
 a black cloak appeared among the group around the 
 mausoleum in the park. The funeral was celebrated 
 at night, and the stranger, who kept aloof from the 
 rest of the mourners, drew upon himself the notice 
 of the torch-bearers. One of these afterwards de- 
 clared that he had seen either Mr. Ainsleigh or 
 his ghost.' 
 
 * And did you never see him again, Lady Barbara? *" 
 ' Never, Eobert, never. No sign reached me to 
 
 tell if he were still amongst the living. I will not 
 enter into the manifold reasons that prompted my 
 marriage, which was not in any sense a love-match. 
 Sir Marcus knew that I had no heart to give, and 
 was content to accept my esteem and obedience. 
 Nor have either of us, I believe, had reason to 
 repent our union. Sir Marcus has ever proved a
 
 HOW I BECAME AN ORPHAN. 99 
 
 kind and indulgent husband, and my life has been 
 happier than that of many a woman who marries for 
 love. But I have not forgotten my girlhood, Robert, 
 and all my old hopes and dreams and troubles come 
 back to me when I look upon your face.' 
 
 She opened her desk and handed me an oval 
 morocco case, containing a miniature. I recognised 
 the countenance I had seen in the oil-painting 
 shown me by Anthony Grimshaw, that dark strongly- 
 marked face which bore so close a resemblance in 
 feature and complexion to my own. 
 
 'You grow more like him every day,' said my 
 lady. *That miniature was his only gift to me. 
 'Twas painted before doubt or anger had arisen 
 between us.' 
 
 'And did you never hear more of him, madam ?' 
 
 *Yes, Robert. Six months after my marriage a 
 letter reached me — a letter from my cousin Roderick. 
 It was long and wild, telling me how I had been 
 beloved, and how my coldness had angered that 
 proud heart. I have the letter in this desk, but 
 every word of it is burnt into my memory, in- 
 effaceable as the graver's work upon metal. *' If I 
 could not be happy with her I loved, I could at least 
 be wretched with one who loved me," he wrote ; 
 
 H 2
 
 100 ROBERT AIN SLEIGH. 
 
 **and I found a faithful creature, Barbara, who was 
 gladder to unite herself to my broken fortunes than 
 a wiser woman would have been to follow a better 
 man." And then my poor proud Roderick went on 
 to confess that he had fallen very low, so low that 
 his sole hope for the partner of his wretchedness 
 rested on my compassion. "And you showed a great 
 contempt for this poor creature once, Barbara," he 
 added.' 
 
 *He had married the parson's daughter, then V 
 *Ay, Robert, she was the sharer of his sorrows.' 
 *Will you let me see my father's letter, madam?* 
 My lady hesitated for some moments, and then 
 took the paper from a secret drawer of her desk. 
 
 * I know not whether I am wise, Robert,' she said, 
 * but perhaps it is best you should learn all that I 
 can tell you.' 
 
 She handed me the letter, written on tavern paper, 
 in a bold, clear penmanship, which was not without 
 some family resemblance to my own. 
 
 Together Lady Barbara and I read the faded lines : 
 
 *I stood amongst the crowd that watched your 
 wedding, cousin,' continued the writer, ' as I had 
 watched unseen on a former occasion. I needed not
 
 HOW I BECAME AX OEPHAN. 101 
 
 the confirmation of that ambitious alliance to prove 
 that you had never loved me. You but yielded to 
 your father's wish that his sister's son should share 
 his daughter's fortune, and were but too glad to 
 find an excuse for breaking my heart. Great 
 Heaven, what a wretch am I to reproach you ! — a 
 tavern-haunting, plotting reprobate to dare upbraid 
 my lord ambassador's lady because she is cold and 
 cruel, and severed from me by a gulf that fate, or 
 her pride, or my folly has dug between us ! Ah, 
 Barbara, I am very tired of this wearisome struggle, 
 this muddled dream of a drunkard, called life. If 
 I should make a sudden sinful end of it, wouldst 
 thou have pity on a poor faithful wretch starving 
 in a lodging near St. Bride's Church, Fleet Street ? 
 'Tis at a dyer's, 17, Monk's Alley, a narrow court 
 betwixt the church and the Temple — hard for a fine 
 lady's footman to find, but not beyond the ken of 
 charity. Go to her soon, Barbara Lestrange, if 
 thou wouldst have one poor woman and her infant 
 snatched from the many who perish unknown under 
 the gracious sway of our beneficent Hanoverian 
 ruler. A helpless woman and an infant cry to you, 
 cousin. The child is of your own blood. But the 
 messenger waits, and my paper will hold no more.
 
 102 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 I bribe him with my last sixpence to carry this letter 
 to St. James's Square. God grant he may be faith- 
 ful ! God grant Amelia and my child may find you 
 kind ! 'Tis perhaps the last prayer of your wretched 
 humble servant, 
 
 'KODERICK AiNSLEIGH. 
 
 * Rose AND Crown Tavern, Soho, 
 ' November, 16th, 1731. 
 
 * N.B. — Inquire for Mrs. Adams. I have spared 
 the pride of my family, and am only known to the 
 companions of my poverty as Robert Adams.' 
 
 ' As our evil fortune would have it — and there 
 seemed ever to interpose a cruel fate between Rode- 
 rick and me — I was away from London when this 
 letter was brought; and the shabbiness of the 
 messenger bespeaking no respect from the porter 
 who received it, the poor letter was laid aside with 
 bills and petitions, and other insignificant papers, to 
 await my return. The date of my cousin's appeal 
 was a week old when I received it, and, prompt as I 
 was to seek Monk's Alley, I was too late to see him 
 whose face I so longed to look upon once more. I 
 found only a dying woman — the very ghost of that 
 vain village beauty] whom I had known as Amelia
 
 HOW I BECAME AN ORPHAN. 103 
 
 Lester — and a sickly child. This poor wretched soul 
 was too far gone in fever to recognise me. She 
 raved deliriously of her Roderick, and it was piteous 
 to hear her imploring him to come back. Even in 
 this dying state she tried to nourish her child, until 
 the dyer's wife, a decent, charitable creature, who had 
 received no rent for many weeks, took the babe into 
 her care. For a week your mother lingered, Robert, 
 and I visited her daily, and gave her such succour as 
 was possible. She was past cm-e when I found her.' 
 
 * And had my father deserted her ? ' 
 
 * No, Robert. From the dyer's wife I learned 
 that your father had ever been kind to his companion 
 in misery. He had come home intoxicated some- 
 times, roaring tipsy songs about wine and women, 
 but had never been harsh to the poor soul, who 
 watched and waited for him and loved him with 
 unchanging fidelity. Sometimes he had stayed 
 at home gloomy and brooding for days together. 
 The woman believed that he had lived by writing 
 political pamphlets for the booksellers. Once he 
 had written something treasonable, and had been 
 threatened with a prosecution, and had lain in 
 hiding for several weeks. For a year and a half he 
 had lodged in this mean, stifling alley, in this bare.
 
 104 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 wretched garret, while all Hauteville, of which he 
 was to have been master, lay dark and empty and 
 desolate for want of him. There never was a stable- 
 help in my father's service lodged so meanly as his 
 once-beloved nephew. Ah, Robert, the thought of 
 this stung me to the quick. " Let him come back, 
 and I will share my fortune with him," I said to 
 myself, forgetting that my fortune was no longer 
 mine alone, and that I had given another the right 
 to counsel, if not to dictate, my disposal of it.' 
 
 * And he never came back?' I asked breathlessly. 
 
 * Never. He had been missing a week when I 
 found Amelia. He must have disappeared on the 
 very night when his letter to me was written. But 
 the dyer's wife was not alarmed. He had often 
 absented himself for two or three days at a time, it 
 appeared. Yet 'twas strange, she owned, so kind 
 a gentleman should desert a dying woman. He 
 might have been taken to some prison, for debt, or 
 libel, or treason. I caused the lists of every prison 
 in London to be examined, but did not find my 
 cousin. 
 
 ^ I sent my agent to the booksellers to inquire for 
 such a pamphlet-writer. One among them knew 
 him well as Mr. Adams of Monk's Alley, and had
 
 HOW I BECAISIE AN ORPHAN. 105 
 
 given him frequent employment, but had of late 
 found no work for him. The town was beginning 
 to tire of patriotism spiced with treason ; Church 
 and State had been reviled and ridiculed till not a 
 rag was left fi'om which to spin an essay. If a new 
 Butler had arisen to vniie a new Huclibras, the book 
 would scarce have sold. I knew by this that Rode- 
 rick's means of livelihood had failed him before he 
 had written to me ; and, taking this in conjunction 
 with that hint of a sudden sinful end to his 
 wretchedness, I could but fear that my unhappy 
 cousin had destroyed himself.' 
 
 * Was he so miserable as to commit that sin ? * 
 
 * No, Robert, he did not perish by his own hand ; 
 yet I know not if his end were less sinful. He fell 
 in a midnight brawl at the tavern where his letter 
 was written, and on the very night on which it was 
 dated — a most wretched, profligate haunt near Soho 
 Square. He had been buried ten days when my 
 agents traced him ; and so wretched is the manner in 
 which the poor and friendless are sepulchred in that 
 vast wealthy city, that when I fain would have had 
 the corpse exhumed, that I might look on the familiar 
 face once more, and convey the remains to some 
 more fitting resting-place, I was told that this was
 
 106 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 impossible. Into those festering charnel-houses 
 where the obscure dead are thrust it is death to enter ; 
 nor could the men who buried the nameless stranger 
 remember into which grave they had flung his un- 
 known remains. It was only by means of a letter 
 found upon him that my wretched cousin was traced. 
 This letter — addressed to Mrs.. Adams, of Monk's 
 Alley — had been preserved by the keeper of the 
 dead-house where the corpse was carried after the 
 miserable drunkards' brawl in which your unhappy 
 father perished. The man who slew him escaped in 
 the confusion that followed his death. I doubt not 
 that in such places they favour the escape of a mur- 
 derer rather than be called to bear witness at his 
 trial.' 
 
 *And the letter, dear madam — did that tell you 
 much?' 
 
 *But little. 'Twas only a few lines of farewell 
 to the unhappy Amelia. It convinced me, however, 
 that my cousin had left her with the intention of 
 never returning. He bequeathed her and his child 
 to my compassion. Whether he had indeed medi- 
 tated self- slaughter, as his letter to me hinted, or 
 whether he intended to seek new fortunes abroad, 
 when death by an assassin's hand overtook him, I
 
 HOW I BECAME AN OKPHAN. 107 
 
 know not. His aslies rest among the bones of 
 paupers in St. Anne's churchyard, Soho, in which 
 parish is the tavern where he fell ; and all that affec- 
 tion could do for his memory was to put up a 
 tablet in the church, inscribed with his name and 
 the date of his death.' 
 
 ' Affection for his memory- has done more than 
 that, dear lady : it has cherished his orphan son.' 
 
 * That is but a poor atonement, Robert, from her 
 whose pride helped to destroy him. If I could have 
 brought him back to life by the sacrifice of my own, 
 I would have done it ; but I could do nothing for 
 him, though but two short years before one word of 
 mine might have saved him. This is what makes 
 the burden of our sins so heavy — there is no un- 
 doing them. Pride is a luxury that is apt to cost us 
 dear, cousin.' 
 
 ' Did you find a certificate of my mother's mar- 
 riage amongst my father's papers, madam, which 
 I presume you examined ? ' 
 
 * No, Robert. I did indeed ransack an old leathern 
 portmanteau crammed with papers, and poor ragged 
 clothing, and tattered books. The papers were for 
 the most part rough proofs of pamphlets, and odd 
 pages of manuscript, so scored and blotted as to be
 
 108 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 almost illegible. Scattered amongst these were a 
 few tavern-bills, and notes from boon companions, 
 signed but with Christian names or initials, and all 
 bespeaking the wild reckless life of him to whom 
 they were addressed.' 
 
 * And there was nothing more ? ' 
 
 * Nothing. Any more important papers your 
 father had doubtless destroyed, not caring to leave 
 the evidence of his former estate behind him. As 
 he had suppressed his real name, it was natural 
 he should do away with all documents revealing it.* 
 
 ' I am sorry you can give me no record of my 
 mother's marriage,' I answered sadly. 
 
 Lady Barbara was silent, and I knew thereby 
 that she doubted whether any religious ceremonial 
 had ever sanctified the luckless union to which I 
 owed my birth. 
 
 I inquired presently where my mother was buried. 
 
 ' In the graveyard of St. Bride's Church, near 
 which she died,' replied Lady Barbara. ' Her father 
 had been dead six months when I discovered the 
 poor creature ; and to have carried her remains to 
 Pennington, where he had lived, would have been 
 only to cause scandal. It was better that the poor 
 soul should rest in the great city, where all private
 
 HOW I BECAME AN ORPHAN. 109 
 
 sorrows and domestic shipwrecks are ingulfed and 
 hidden beneath the stormy public sea.' 
 
 ' All that you did was for the wisest, dear madam,' 
 I replied, kissing the beautiful white hand which 
 was the bounteous giver of all my earthly bless- 
 ings. 
 
 * And now, dear Robert, I want to act wisely in 
 planning your future,' my lady said gently. * I 
 cannot give you a fortune, but I hope I may help 
 you to make one. I have concluded that with your 
 learning the Bar would be 3'our best profession ; and 
 I would have you proceed to London without delay, 
 and enter yourself at the Temple, where you can 
 study at your ease under the direction of a respectable 
 gentleman to whom I can recommend you, and of 
 whose kindness I have no doubt. I shall give you a 
 starting sum of two hundred pounds, and will give you 
 as much every year until your profession shall afford 
 you a comfortable liveHhood, since I wish you to 
 live like a gentleman, yet with strict economy. I 
 will not weary you with the hackneyed warnings 
 against the perils of London life, but I will only bid 
 you to remember the sad end of your father's reckless 
 career. If you will not take counsel from that awful 
 lesson, you will be warned by nothing. But I hope
 
 110 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 mucli from your love of learning, and the natural 
 steadiness of your disposition.' 
 
 How could I find words to acknowledge so much 
 goodness ! I knelt at my cousin's feet and kissed 
 the dear hands, which I bedewed this time with 
 grateful tears: 
 
 ' Come, come, Robert, you take these things too 
 seriously,' cried my lady, with affected gaiety. * Let 
 us talk of your journey. Foolish boy, I am in haste 
 to be rid of you ! Shall you be ready to leave us in 
 a week?' 
 
 * It is my duty to be ready whenever you please.' 
 
 ' Ah, Robert, do you think it pleases me to banish 
 you ? But Sir Marcus would have no mercy if you 
 came between him and his ambition. Yes, in a 
 week, dear child ; it will be best and wisest.' 
 
 I was still kneeling at the generous creature's 
 feet. She laid her hand lightly upon my hair, and 
 bent her stately head until her lips touched my 
 forehead ; and with a tender motherly kiss she 
 dismissed me.
 
 CHAPTER \T:II. 
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 
 
 'TwAS now late in October, and bleak autumn 
 winds were fast stripping tlie park and woods of 
 summer foliage. For some time past I bad seen 
 but little of Mr. Lestrange, who spent the greater 
 part of bis time out of doors, and left Miss Hemsley 
 free to follow her own pursuits, and to give as much 
 of her company as she pleased to Lady Barbara and 
 myself. She seemed happy with us, after a sub- 
 dued fashion of her own, but was never beguiled 
 into gaiety ; and I could not refrain from the idea 
 that her spirits were oppressed by the sense of a 
 bondage which she had not the courage to shake off. 
 Mr. Lestrange, for his part, appeared to take 
 little trouble to secure her good graces. He treated 
 her sometimes with a free-and-easy politeness, 
 sometimes with an ill-concealed anger; and bitter 
 and biting were the speeches which he occasionally
 
 112 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 addressed to her. His insults she received with a 
 nohle dignity ; and nothing could be more cold than 
 her acknowledgment of his compliments. 
 
 One day, in a moment of vexation against this 
 dear young lady, the gentleman was so ill-advised as 
 to betray his anger to me. 
 
 ' She hates me,' he cried savagely, ' and lets me 
 see that she hates me, and knows that I see it. 
 But what of that ? she will marry me all the same. 
 My father means it, and I mean it, and when the 
 time comes her whims and caprices will serve her 
 no more than the fluttering of his wings serves a 
 snared bird. Do you think that weak, timid crea- 
 ture would dare set her will against my father's — 
 her legal guardian, and trustee to her fortune — and 
 say no when he says yes ? 'Tis all very well to give 
 herself airs and graces with me, but she knows that 
 her fate is as fixed as if she had been bought in the 
 slave-market of Ispahan.' 
 
 * That is a hard way to talk of a woman whom you 
 pretend to love,' said I. 
 
 * Who says I pretend to love her ? I make no 
 pretence : but I mean to marry her. Mark that, 
 Mr. Ainsleigh, and let no puppy-dog who values his 
 ears come between her and me.'
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 113 
 
 Upon this we came to high words, and might have 
 perhaps proceeded to hlows, but were happily inter- 
 rupted before we arrived at that extremity. 
 
 I cannot describe the contempt which I entertained 
 for Everard Lestrange after this revelation of his 
 character. I held myself as much aloof from him as 
 possible, whereupon he affected to treat me with a 
 haughty distance, and took no pains to conceal the 
 fact that he considered me infinitely his inferior. 
 
 He had been absent from Hauteville several times 
 during the summer and autumn, having business 
 which compelled him to go to London, as he informed 
 us ; though I judged from his father's offended 
 manner on such occasions, that these visits were 
 by no means so necessary as Mr. Lestrange pre- 
 tended. 
 
 He was absent at the time of my confidential con- 
 versation with Lady Barbara, and did not return 
 until the next day, when he affected extreme surprise 
 on hearing of my intended departure. 
 
 * And are you going to mount a stool in a scrivener's 
 of&ce, or to try your fortune in trade, Master Bob ? ' 
 he asked, with a supercilious grin. 
 
 * Neither,' I replied ; * I am going to read for the 
 Bar.' 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 KOBEET AINSLEIGH. 
 
 ' Indeed ! with a view to becoming Lord Chancellor, 
 I suppose T 
 
 * With a view to doing my best to prove myself 
 worthy of the kindness I have received,' I answered. 
 
 ' Heavens ! what a starched prig thou art !' cried 
 Mr. Lestrange ; * but I'll warrant when once thou hast 
 thy liberty in London thou wilt waste more time in 
 taverns, and run after more milliner- girls than the 
 wildest of us. For a thorough-going rakehell I will 
 back Tartuffe against Don Juan, with long odds.* 
 
 Miss Hemsley also heard of my plans with sur- 
 prise; and I could not but think that her manner 
 betrayed despondency. Our Spanish studies were 
 abandoned. 
 
 * It is not worth while going on,' she said ; ' a 
 week is so soon gone, and you must have so many 
 preparations to make. I fear you will soon forget 
 your Spanish.' 
 
 * Never ; nor yet the kind mistress who taught me,' 
 I answered warmly ; and then we both stood silent, 
 confused, and downcast. 
 
 * I hope we shall see you sometimes in town ; we 
 are to spend the winter there, you know,' she said at 
 last.
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 115 
 
 ' I hope SO, dear Miss Hemsley.' 
 *But surely you will come often to St. James's 
 Square ?' 
 
 * If Lady Barbara bids me, I shall only be too 
 happy to come.' 
 
 * And you — my aunt' s cousin — will wait to be bid- 
 den? How ceremonious you have grown all at once!* 
 
 ' Life has pleasant dreams, dear young lady ; but 
 sooner or later the hour comes in which the dreamer 
 awakens.' 
 
 * What does that mean, Mr. Ainsleigh ?' she asked, 
 with a timid, half-conscious smile. 
 
 * It means that I have been too happy in this dear 
 place, and that the time has come in which I must 
 bid those I love farewell and begin the battle of life.* 
 
 With this I left her, having already said more than 
 I cared to say. 
 
 The first half of my last week at Hauteville passed 
 only too quickly. I packed my trunks, which were 
 amply furnished with the clothes supplied by the 
 Warborough tailor, and a box of books, chiefly neat 
 duodecimo volumes of the classics, which Lady 
 Barbara bade me choose from the library. 
 
 My good Anthony assisted me to select these, 
 and showed much regret at my approaching departure ; 
 
 I 2
 
 116 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 wliile his sour wife expressed only one sentiment, 
 and that a contemptuous surprise that a learned pro- 
 fession should have been chosen for me. 
 
 * I suppose you would rather starve as a fine gentle- 
 man than grow rich in a city warehouse,' she said. 
 
 * I prefer a profession which befits my parentage, 
 but have no more desire to become a fine gentleman 
 than I have present fear of starvation,' I answered 
 coldly. 
 
 * You carry yourself with a high spirit, Mr. Robert ; 
 but I have seen prouder spirits than yours brought 
 to the dust.' 
 
 As the time for my journey drew near, I bethought 
 me that I must bid good-bye to my old friends of the 
 warrener's lodge, and I blushed as I remembered 
 how small a place those kind, honest creatures had 
 of late occupied in my thoughts ; nor had I seen 
 them many times during the last few months, since 
 I had preferred to absent myself altogether from the 
 cottage rather than to go thither accompanied by Mr. 
 Lestmnge, whose manner of rallying me on a sup- 
 posed secret attachment between myself and Margery 
 was to the last degree unpleasant. 
 
 When my trunks were packed, and while Everard 
 Lestrange was in London, whither he had gone sud-
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 117 
 
 denly and in hot haste a day or two before, I walked 
 down to the dear old cottage where my childhood was 
 spent. I found my foster-mother alone at her spin- 
 ning-wheel, from which she rose to greet me. One 
 glance at the familiar face showed me that its natural 
 cheerfulness was exchanged for an anxious gravity, 
 which at once puzzled and alarmed me. 
 
 ' Oh, Robin, what a stranger thou art ! ' she cried, 
 as we shook hands. 
 
 * And even now I have but come to bid you good- 
 bye, dear mother,' 
 
 The good soul was gi-ieved to lose me, little as I 
 had of late done to prove myself worthy her 
 affection. She talked, however, of the wonderful 
 change of fortune that had befallen me, and rejoiced 
 in my altered prospects, even though good fortune 
 was to carry me away from old friends. 
 
 * I shall always remember thee a babe in my arms, 
 Robin,' she said tenderly. * I may call thee Robin 
 still, may I not ? though they tell me thou art 
 called Mr. Ainsleigh at the great house. Jack and 
 I always suspected as much.' 
 
 ' Suspected what, mother ? ' 
 
 * That thou wert Roderick Ainsleigh's son. Why, 
 thou hadst his very face from a baby ; and others
 
 118 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 suspected the same, or knew it, maybe. That is 
 why Martha Grimshaw has always hated thee.' 
 
 *Why should she hate me for being Koderick 
 Ain sleigh's son ? ' 
 
 'Because she loved Koderick Ainsleigh. Yes, 
 Kobin, I was house-maid at Hauteville Hall in those 
 days, and servants sometimes know more than their 
 betters. Martha Peyton was mad for love of Mr. 
 Ainsleigh, and was fool enough to fancy he loved 
 her. I'll not say that he did not make her a fine 
 speech now and then, or steal a kiss w^hen he 
 chanced to meet her in the corridor, but 'twas no 
 more than such court as any fine gentleman may pay 
 to his sweetheart's waiting-maid ; and Roderick 
 Ainsleigh had neither good nor evil thoughts about 
 Martha, who was no beauty at the best of times. 
 But she took it all seriously, and was always hang- 
 ing about wherever her lady's cousin was to be met, 
 and would run a mile to open a door for him ; and 
 when his marriage with Lady Barbara was talked of 
 in the servants' hall Martha would laugh and say 
 nobody would ever dance at that wedding. But one 
 day she said something to Mr. Ainsleigh that let 
 him know she thought he was paying serious court 
 to her, and he burst out laughing, and told her the
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 119 
 
 truth, — that he had giyen her kisses and compli- 
 ments and guineas because he wanted her good word 
 with her mistress. I came upon him in the corridor 
 as he was saying this, and saw Martha's face. 
 'Twas black as thunder. She stood fixed like a 
 statue on the spot where he left her, staring like one 
 that was struck blind or foolish, and after this time 
 I never saw her speak to Mr. Ain sleigh. If she met 
 him she dropped him a low curtsey, and passed on. 
 And I think from this time she began to plot mis- 
 chief against him. When she found she couldn't 
 have him herself, she was determined nobody else 
 should have him.' 
 
 * Why didn't you warn Lady Barbara ? ' 
 
 * I warn her ? Do you think she would have 
 suffered me to talk of her business ? and could I 
 turn informer against a fellow- servant ? You don't 
 know what the servants' hall is. Besides, I didn't 
 think Martha could do much mischief, though I 
 knew it was in her heart to try it. 'Twas only when 
 Mr. Ainsleigh went away that I knew there was real 
 harm done. Ah, Eobin, 'tis a hard world we live 
 in, and full of trouble ! ' 
 
 She gave a heavy sigh, and I saw her eyes fill 
 with tears.
 
 120 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 ' Yes, dear mother, for some of us ; but God for- 
 bid trouble should come to you.' 
 
 ' It has come, Robiu,' she answered, gazing at me 
 with an eager, scrutinizing look that I had never 
 seen in her face before. * I have but one child, and 
 to see her sad is the worst of sadness to me.' 
 
 * Margery sad ? ' cried I ; ' when last I saw her 
 she was as gay as a woodland fairy.' 
 
 ' When last you saw her ? Do you see her so 
 seldom, Robin ? ' 
 
 ' Except at church, I have not seen her for weeks. 
 You must not take it unkind that I have stopped 
 away ; I have had good reasons.' 
 
 ' Ay, Robin, good reasons I doubt not. But have 
 you never met Madge by chance in the woods all 
 this time ? She spends much of her time in the 
 woods. 'Tis hard to keep her indoors in fine 
 weather, and she is not so easily managed as she 
 once was. Oh, Robin, my child is wretched, and I 
 cannot find out the cause; and 'tis breaking this 
 poor heart ! ' 
 
 And here the good creature burst into tears. I 
 tried to comfort her, but her tears flowed only the 
 faster. 
 
 ' She is wretched, Robin, and will not tell her
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 121 
 
 mother the cause of her gi-ief. Oh ! if thou didst not 
 love her, why didst thou beguile and deceive her with 
 fine words and promises ? ' 
 
 * I beguile ! I deceive ! Mother, as God is my 
 judge, I have never spoken to Margery but as a 
 brother should speak to his sister. I* have never 
 loved her with more or less than a brother's affec- 
 tion, and I would not let the man live that should 
 deceive or TSTong her.' 
 
 * Ah, Robin, thou speakest fair, but I know the 
 child loves thee. Her father and I have joked her 
 about thee many a time, pleased to see her blushes 
 and smiles. We did not think thou couldst fail to 
 love her, and we did not know they would acknow- 
 ledge thee for Roderick Ainsleigh's son, and make 
 a fine gentleman of thee. Yes, Robin, she loved 
 thee better than a sister loves a brother, and I 
 thought she was loved in return ; others said as 
 much.' 
 
 ' What others ? ' 
 
 ' Martha Grimshaw and Mr. Lestrange. He told 
 me thou wert mad for her.' 
 
 * He told a lie. Those two are my enemies both, 
 and would be glad to do me a mischief. But, 
 mother, I do love my little foster-sister, and if it
 
 122 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 will ease your mind to see her my wife I will marry 
 her when you will. She is the loveliest creature I 
 ever saw, and might turn the heads of wiser men ; 
 but 'twas my fate not long ago to see a face that 
 bewitched me, and to give my love where it can 
 never be returned. Shall I waste my life in weeping 
 for a shadow? No, dear mother; give me Margery 
 for a wife, and I will work for her honestly, and be 
 as true a husband as ever woman had.' 
 
 * Nay, Robin, I will not beg a husband for my 
 daughter. Thou dost not love her as we thought 
 thou didst. 'Tis ourselves we must blame for 
 judging amiss. All I know is that the child has 
 some trouble on her mind, and I thought thou 
 might'st be at the bottom of it.' 
 
 Again she scrutinized my face with anxious looks, 
 and then turned away, shaking her head sorrow- 
 fully. 
 
 * There is something amiss,' she said, * but I 
 know not what.' 
 
 * You spoke just now of Mr. Lestrange,' said I. 
 * Has he been hanging about this place of late ? ' 
 
 * No, Robin ; I'll have no fine London gentle- 
 man about my place. He came two or three times 
 without you, but I gave him sour looks that told
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 128 
 
 him he wasn't wanted ; and the last time he was 
 here, full two months ago, he told me he was going 
 to London for the rest of the year.' 
 
 * And since then you have seen him no more ? ' 
 *No.' 
 
 * Yet he has not been all the time in town. He 
 has run backwards and forwards, but has spent 
 most of the time at Hauteville.' 
 
 I remembered his broadly-declared admiration of 
 the rustic beauty ; I considered his hideous code of 
 morals, and trembled for my innocent foster-sister. 
 
 * God defend her from such a libertine ! * I 
 thought, and blamed the selfishness that had kept 
 me so long away from the warrener's lodge. 
 
 I would fain have seen and talked to Margery 
 before leaving Berkshire, and so waited for some 
 hours in the hope that she would return, but she 
 did not come. Jack Hawker came home to his 
 supper, but his manner was cold and sullen, and I 
 perceived that some dark suspicion had turned the 
 hearts of these two friends against me. I left the 
 cottage at last, disheartened and uneasy, and re- 
 turned to Hauteville, there to spend a somewhat 
 melancholy evening with my patroness and Miss 
 Hemslev.
 
 124 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 The next day returned Mr. Lestrange, and soon 
 after Sir Marcus, who had been on a visit to a 
 nobleman's seat in the adjoining county. I spent 
 the morning tete-a-tete with Anthony Grimshaw, 
 while Lady Barbara and Miss Hemsley drove to the 
 nearest town to pay visits and make purchases. It 
 seemed sad to me to lose their company on this, 
 almost the last day of my residence at Hauteville ; 
 but I felt it was a fortunate accident which divided 
 me from Dorothea Hemsley. In her presence I 
 found it hard to fetter my tongue, and Lady Bar- 
 bara's reproachful looks often reminded me of my 
 imprudence. Soon, too soon, was I to be separated 
 from her for ever ; for I felt that, once away from 
 Hauteville, I should be as remote from her as if we 
 had been inhabitants of different planets. 
 g^ The day wore on ; we dined in stately solemnity ; 
 and I was pacing the terrace alone, awaiting a sum- 
 mons to take tea with the two ladies in the long 
 drawing-room, when I was accosted by a footman, 
 who came to inform me that Sir Marcus Lestrange 
 wished to speak with me in his study. It was the 
 first time he had ever sent for me ; but I concluded 
 that he was about to offer me some parting advice, 
 or to favour me with a valedictory address. I
 
 I FALL ES'TO DISGRACE. 125 
 
 therefore obeyed without any sentiment of uneasi- 
 ness, regretting only that if the diplomatist should 
 prove tedious, I might lose my privileged half-hour 
 with the ladies. 
 
 The study in which Sir Marcus spent so many 
 hours of his life was a dark and somewhat gloomy 
 oak-panelled apartment, furnished with bookcases 
 containing ponderous folios, and with numerous 
 oaken chests and iron cases, which I supposed to 
 contain papers. A carved-oak desk occupied the 
 centre of the room, and on this, though it was not 
 yet quite dark, some half-dozen candles were burn- 
 ing in a brazen candelabrum. 
 
 My patron was not alone ; a solemn assembly had 
 been convoked in haste, and I found myself placed 
 before these as a prisoner at the bar of justice. 
 Lady Barbara sat opposite her husband, pale as 
 death ; Miss Hemsley close beside her, with an 
 anxious, distressed countenance. Next to his father 
 stood Mr. Lestrange, and I thought he greeted me 
 with a glance of triumph as I entered the room. 
 At a respectful distance from the rest appeared Mrs. 
 Grimshaw, and I knew her presence boded ill to 
 me. 
 
 ' Mr. Ainsleigh,' began Sir Marcus, in a severe
 
 126 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 magisterial voice, * you have been rescued from ab- 
 ject poverty ; you have been received into this house 
 and liberally entertained for the last ten years of 
 your life ; you have enjoyed the education of a gen- 
 tleman, and, finally, you have been admitted into the 
 bosom of this family on a footing of equality, much 
 to my regret, and all by the charity of Lady Barbara 
 Lestrange yonder.' 
 
 ' No, Marcus,' said my lady, * I will not have it 
 called charity.' 
 
 * By what other name would your ladyship call 
 it ? What claim, legal or social, had your cousin's 
 bastard upon you ? ' 
 
 At sound of that bitter epithet, my lady winced 
 as if she had been struck. * It ill becomes you to 
 call him by so cruel a name,' she said ; ' we have no 
 knowledge that his mother was not lawfully wedded 
 to my cousin Roderick.' 
 
 * Have we any proof that she was ? Mr. Ains- 
 leigh's reputation is against the probability that he 
 would make an honest woman of a parson's run- 
 away daughter, who left her home to follow 
 him.' 
 
 * I cannot stay here, sir, to hear my mother be- 
 lied.'
 
 I FALL ISTO DISGRACE. 127 
 
 ' You will stay here, sir, as long as I please.' 
 
 * Not to hear you speak ill of the dead ; that I will 
 not suffer. I am fully conscious of the benefits I 
 owe to Lady Barbara, and thank her for them with 
 all my heart, and in my prayers morning and night ; 
 but I know not why I am called hither to be reminded 
 of my obligations, or what I have done to deserve 
 that they should be cast in my face with so much 
 harshness.' 
 
 ' You know not what you have done ! ' cried Sir 
 Marcus. * I suppose you are impudent enough to 
 pretend not to know that John Hawker's daughter 
 lias left her home secretly, as your mother left hers ? ' 
 
 'Indeed, I know nothing of the kind, nor do I 
 believe that it is so. I was at the wan-ener's lodge 
 yesterday afternoon, and heard nothing of this.* 
 
 * And the girl ran away last night. Oh, no doubt 
 you laid your plans wisely, and now you act astonish- 
 ment as naturally as Garrick himself. But Hawker 
 is in the steward's room ; you will look otherwise 
 when you see him.' 
 
 Here Miss Hemsley would fain have left the apart- 
 ment, but Sir Marcus forbade her. 
 
 * Indeed, sir, I have nothing to do with this,' she 
 said ; * I beg to be allowed to retire.'
 
 128 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 * No, Dorothea, I must bid you stay. This gentle- 
 man has been a favourite of yours, I hear ; it is well 
 that you should discover his real character.' 
 
 * sir, you are very cruel,' the girl murmured 
 tearfully. 
 
 ' If Margery Hawker has left her home. Sir Marcus,'' 
 I said, * there is no one will regret it more than I ,* 
 and there is no one less concerned in her leaving.' 
 
 ' What ! you will swear to that, I suppose ? ' 
 
 * With my dying breath, if needs be. Yes, at the 
 very moment when my soul goes forth to meet its 
 God.' 
 
 * I believe him,' cried Lady Barbara. * It is not 
 in my cousin's blood to tell a lie.' 
 
 'You will have cause to change your opinion 
 presently, madam,' replied her husband coldly ; and 
 then, turning to me, he went on, ' you are a per- 
 jurer and a blasphemer, sir, and your own hand is 
 the witness against you. Have you ever seen that 
 before ? ' 
 
 He handed me an open letter, written in a hand 
 so like my own, and with a signature so adroitly 
 counterfeited that I stood aghast, with the paper in 
 my hand, staring at it in utter bewilderment. 
 
 ' Come, sir, the play has lasted long enough, and
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 129" 
 
 'tis time you answered my question. I think you'll 
 scarce deny your knowledge of that handwriting.' 
 
 ' I know the handwriting well enough, Sir Marcus, 
 for it is the most ingenious forgery that ever was 
 executed ; but I never looked upon this paper before.' 
 
 * Great Heaven, was there ever such an impudent 
 denial ! And you protest that you never saw that 
 letter till this moment ? ' 
 
 'Never, sir.' 
 
 ' Perhaps you will be so good as to read it aloud 
 for the benefit of the company, especially for Lady 
 Barbara, who believes in your innocence ? * 
 
 * I am quite willing Lady Barbara should hear this 
 vile forgery, sir,' I replied, and then read the letter, 
 which ran thus : — 
 
 * Dearest iViARGERY, — For fear there should at last 
 be some mistake about the coach, I write in haste 
 to bid you remember that it leaves the "George" 
 at Warborough at nine o'clock at night. Your place 
 is taken, and you have nothing to do but alight at 
 the " Bull and Mouth " in the City, where you will ask 
 for Mrs. Jones, who will meet you there without fail. 
 She is a good motherly soul, and will take care of 
 you till you are joined by one who loves you better 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 than life, which will be in three days at latest. And 
 then, beloved girl, far from those new grand friends 
 who would divide us, I will teach thee how faithfully 
 this heart, which has long languished in secret, can 
 love the fairest and dearest of women. — Ever and 
 ever thy fond lover, 
 
 * Egbert Ainsleigh.* 
 
 * What think you now, Lady Barbara ? ' asked Sir 
 Marcus. 
 
 ' As I have a soul to be saved, madam,' cried I, 
 ' no word of that vile letter ever was penned by this 
 hand ! ' 
 
 * There are some folks to whom a false oath comes 
 easy, sir,' said the baronet. * You did not think 
 that letter would fall into my hands ; it was intended 
 for your victim, who would have cherished the pre- 
 cious paper, hidden against her heart, I dare swear. 
 Unluckily for you, the post played you false, and the 
 letter was delivered this morning, twelve hours after 
 the bird had flown. The wretched broken-hearted 
 father of this weak and wicked girl brought it down 
 to me, and calls upon me to punish the traitor who 
 has ruined his child.' 
 
 * That, sir, I trust you will do, if Providence helps
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 131 
 
 me to find him,' I answered, looking straight at Mr. 
 Lestrange, who received my gaze without flinching. 
 Was he not, by his own account, steeped to the lips 
 in vice, and past-master in the art of dissimulation ? 
 ' But as for that letter,' I continued, * I again protest, 
 and for the last time, that it is a forgery.' 
 
 * And pray, sir, is there any one so much interested 
 in your insignificant fortunes as to take the trouble 
 to counterfeit your handwriting ? ' 
 
 *It is always the interest of an enemy to work 
 mischief, sir ; and there are few creatures so insig- 
 nificant as to escape all enmity. Again, sir, self- 
 interest may have prompted the forging of that letter. 
 The traitor who is really concerned in the flight of 
 this dear girl would best escape the consequences of 
 his crime by shifting it upon the shoulders of an 
 innocent person.' 
 
 *I have not condemned you hastily, sir,' said Sir 
 Marcus. 'Here is a sheet of Spanish exercises in 
 your hand, with your signature scribbled at the 
 bottom of the page. I have carefully compared the 
 letter with this paper, and I find the signatures 
 agree to the most minute curve.' 
 
 * Conclusive evidence that the letter is a forgery, 
 sir,' I replied boldly. * Experts in handwriting have 
 
 K 2
 
 132 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 agreed that no man ever signs his name twice alike ; 
 there is always some minute difference. A will was 
 once pronounced a forgery upon that very ground — 
 the several signatures at the hottom of the several 
 pages were all precisely alike.' 
 
 'I see, sir, you have already learned to advance 
 precedents and argue like a lawyer. Perhaps you 
 will be less eloquent when confronted with the father 
 of your victim.' 
 
 Sir Marcus rang a bell, and ordered the servant 
 who answered it to send in John Hawker. There was 
 a dead silence while we waited his coming. I heard 
 the slow, shambling step of my foster-father on the 
 stone floor of the passage, and my heart bled for 
 him in his trouble. 
 
 He came slowly into the room, and stood amongst 
 us, with his bare head bent by the first shame that 
 had ever bowed it. 
 
 *Your foster-sou denies that he wrote the letter 
 which you brought me this morning. Hawker,' said 
 Sir Marcus, in his hard magisterial voice. 
 
 'I know naught of that, sir; I can't read wi-iting 
 myself. I took the letter to the parson at Penning- 
 ton, and he read it to me ; and when he came 
 to the name at the bottom, I'd as lieve he'd
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 133 
 
 put a knife through my heart as have read that 
 name to me.' 
 
 *It is clear that some person has tempted your 
 daughter away. Is there any one except Robert 
 Ainsleigh whom you could suppose concerned in her 
 flight?' 
 
 ' Nay, sir, the poor child had no acquaintance ex- 
 cept Robin yonder, and your son.' 
 
 * My son ! Do you pretend to rank my son 
 amongst your daughter's acquaintance ? ' 
 
 "Tis likely enough he'll do so,' cried Mr. 
 Lestrange, with a contemptuous laugh ; 'Ainsleigh 
 took me to his cottage once or twice to get some 
 artificial flies for our trout-fishing.' 
 
 'Ay, sir, and you came many times afterward 
 without Robin, and won all our hearts by your 
 pleasant familiar ways, till my wife bethought her- 
 self 'twas a dangerous thing to have a fine gentle- 
 man hanging about the place, and let you see that 
 you wasn't welcome any longer.' 
 
 * Why, fellow, it is three months since I crossed 
 your threshold.' 
 
 * And if you had crossed it but yesterday, Everard, 
 I do not suppose this man would dare accuse my 
 son,' exclaimed Sir Marcus indignantly ; ' and that
 
 134 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 in the face of a letter whicti proclaims the real 
 delinquent.' 
 
 * I accuse no one, sir,' replied Jack Hawker ; * I 
 only know that my child has left me and her mother, 
 and broken two loving hearts.' 
 
 On this I turned to my foster-father. 
 
 * John Hawker,' said I, * you yourself have had as 
 much hand in this miserable business as I have. I 
 have ever regarded your daughter as my dear foster- 
 sister, and my conduct to her has always been that 
 of a brother. I told your wife as much yesterday, 
 before this trouble arose; I tell you so to-day. 
 But if you can find her, and bring her to me, an 
 honest woman, I will make her my wife, and cherish 
 and honour her as such so long as I live ; though 
 I will hide from no one here that I have bestowed 
 my heart elsewhere, where I have no hope that it 
 can ever be accepted, and can never give her a lover's 
 passionate affection.' 
 
 * I protest that is an honest man's offer,' cried 
 Lady Barbara. 
 
 ' Ay,' sneered her husband, ' your hopeful 'protege 
 promises to marry the girl if her father can find her ; 
 rely on it, your honest man will take care she is not 
 found; that good motherly soul, Mrs. Jones, will
 
 I FALL rXTO DISGRACE. 135 
 
 know how to guard her charge. — And now, sir,' he 
 continued, addressing himself to me, * understand 
 that you are found out, and stand convicted under 
 your own handwriting, and that no cry of forgery 
 will serve you, however impudently persisted in. 
 You will therefore oblige me by quitting this house 
 to-night at your earliest convenience, and ypu will 
 further comprehend that Lady Barbara washes her 
 hands of you, and that any communication which 
 you may hereafter take the trouble to address 
 to her will be returned to you with the seal 
 unbroken.' 
 
 * Honoured madam, my dear kinswoman, does 
 this gentleman speak your will?' I asked, looking 
 straight at my benefactress. 
 
 'There are circumstances, Robert, in which a 
 woman's will must needs be that of her husband,* 
 Lady Barbara replied. 
 
 *In that case, dear madam, I submit. No uncon- 
 scious wrong which you may do me in the present 
 can cancel my debt of gratitude for the past. I was 
 doomed to leave this dear place. That I leave in 
 unmerited disgrace can add but one more pang to 
 the anguish of parting.' 
 
 I bowed low to my lady and to Miss Hemsley,
 
 136 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 and turned to quit the room ; but before going I 
 approached my foster-father. 
 
 * Jack,' I said, offering him my hand, 'you cannot 
 think me so base a wretch as this vile counterfeit 
 letter would make me? Shake hands, and bid me 
 God speed; and if it is possible for a man that's 
 ignorant of the town, I'll find your daughter.' 
 
 *Ah, Kobin, thou know'st but too well where to 
 find her. 'Tis thy name that's wrote at bottom 
 of the letter. The parson said so, and he'd not tell 
 a lie. I'll never shake thy hand again, Kobin, for 
 thou'rt a yillain ! ' 
 
 This stung me more sharply than the abuse of Sir 
 Marcus. I left the room hurriedly, ran to my own 
 chamber, and packed a portmanteau in haste with 
 my immediate necessaries. The rest of my luggage 
 was ready packed ; but this I left to be sent after 
 me, leaving it to Lady Barbara's pleasure whether 
 I had the things or not. 
 
 With the small portmanteau in my hand, I ran 
 downstairs. It was now dark ; the lamps were not 
 yet lit, and the great hall was but dimly lighted by a 
 wood-fire. I was leaving the house, when a door in 
 the hall was softly opened, and I heard my name 
 whispered.
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 137 
 
 It was Lady Barbara who called me. She was 
 standing just within the door of a small waiting- 
 room near the grand entrance, ordinarily used by 
 footmen and humble visitors. She took my hands 
 in hers and drew me hastily into the room, which 
 was lighted by one wax taper. Even in that dim 
 light I could see she had been weeping. 
 
 'Dear child,' she cried, 'it is hard to part with 
 you thus ; but our enemies are too strong for us, 
 and we must submit. My little child lies in the 
 cemetery at Madrid, and I am not allowed to cherish 
 my cousin's orphan son.' 
 
 * Oh ! dear madam, you do not think me guilty? 
 Say but that, and I am happy.' 
 
 * I say it w4th all my heart, Robert. The letter 
 is a forgery, and it is all a base plot against you, 
 because 1 am mistress of my own fortune, and 
 might bequeath it to you. "What do I say? My 
 husband is incapable of such infamy ; but there are 
 those who would hesitate at no ^dllany that would 
 bring them wealth and power. You are my adopted 
 son, Robert ; remember that. Nothing can sever 
 that tie between us — no, not even ill-conduct or 
 ingi-atitude of yours — for I am more charitable now 
 than I was when my pride slew your father. Do
 
 138 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 not answer me, I have but a few stolen moments to 
 give you. Take this note-book ; it contains all the 
 ready-money I can command to-night, and there is 
 a letter in it, a few hurried lines of recommendation, 
 which you will carry to Mr. Swinfen, of Paper 
 Buildings. You will go straight to London, and 
 you must write and tell me how things prosper with 
 you. Write to me under cover to Mrs. Winbolt, at 
 49 Long Acre — she is my milliner, and a good soul. 
 And now, good-bye. Stay, I am to give you this 
 from Dora : it is a book she has used for the last 
 five years.' 
 
 It was a shabby duodecimo volume, which I put 
 in my breast, too much moved for words. If it had 
 been some jewelled box containing the relics of St. 
 Peter, it could scarce have exercised a more healing 
 influence upon the sore heart that beat against it. 
 
 ' God bless her and you, dear cousin, and fare- 
 well ! ' and with this I wrung my kinswoman's hand, 
 and left her. 
 
 The autumn night was chill and bleak, and the 
 full moon rode high above the sombre leafless woods 
 as I left Hauteville. The little book in my bosom — 
 a Spanish translation of the Imitation of Christ — 
 and the memory of Lady Barbara's goodness were
 
 I FALL INTO DISGRACE. 139 
 
 the only consolers that I carried with me into the 
 world of which I knew no more than an infant. 
 Once, and once only, did I look back at the old 
 Elizabethan mansion, with lighted windows glowing 
 in the distance. God, how long before I was 
 again to look upon those walls ! \\Tiat perils by 
 land and perils by sea, what agonies of hope 
 deferred and dull despair, was I to suffer before I 
 revisited that familiar spot !
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 
 
 It was at the George Inn, Warborough, that I 
 spent the wretched night of my departure from 
 Hauteville; but not in sleep. Slow and dreary 
 were the hours, as I lay in a small room of the inn, 
 thinking of all I had lost, and the utter loneliness 
 of the life that lay before me. I had opened and 
 kissed Miss Hemsley's little Spanish volume, and 
 had striven to pin my mind to those pious sen- 
 tences of Kempis, or Gersen, or whoever else was the 
 saintly creature who had composed them. But my 
 spirit was too wide of that calm mystic region which 
 the recluse inhabited, and I could not yet bring my- 
 self to take comfort from a consoler whose experience 
 had so little in common with my own sorrows. I 
 could but lay the precious volume under my pillow, 
 as a charm or talisman, and then lie broad awake 
 thinking of my hard fate, which had from my very
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 141 
 
 cradle — nay, before my birth itself — made me a 
 mark for the poisoned arrows of hate. 
 
 I had not even so much curiosity as to open the 
 note-book thrust upon me by my generous mistress. 
 What cared I how rich or how poor I was to enter 
 on my strange, friendless life ? It was enough for 
 me to know that my dear benefactress still loved and 
 trusted me ; and this knowledge was more precious 
 to me than all the wealth of the Great Mogul, of 
 whom I had lately read in the Jesuit Bernier's 
 travels. 
 
 Before leaving Warborough I made all possible 
 inquiries about the missing girl for whose absence I 
 had been so unjustly blamed. After much ques- 
 tioning, and going from one person to another, I 
 found one of the hangers-on of the coach-3-ard, who 
 remembered to have seen Jack Hawker's daughter 
 leave by the night mail, so close-hooded that it was 
 only by accident he had caught a glimpse of her 
 face, which he remembered by having seen her at 
 market with her mother. He wondered what should 
 be taking the girl to London, and made bold to ask 
 her whether she was going out to service ; but she 
 had answered only by a shake of her head. 
 
 On this I went to the coach-office and questioned
 
 142 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 the clerk who booked the passengers' places; but 
 here I could discover nothing to cast light upon 
 Margery's departure. The places had all been en- 
 gaged by persons of the male sex, but the clerk 
 remembered one of these persons saying that the 
 single place he engaged was wanted for a young 
 woman. I sought in vain to obtain a description of 
 this man. The clerk could only tell me that he 
 looked like a gentleman's servant. 
 
 ' I suppose you know all the servants at Haute- 
 ville Hall by sight ? ' I said ; but the young man 
 replied in the negative. 
 
 'Was the man who took the place short and 
 stout, with reddish hair?' I asked. 
 
 ' I rather think it was some such person,' replied 
 the clerk ; ' but as I didn't observe him closely I 
 would scarce venture to be positive. He seemed in 
 amazing haste to be gone.' 
 
 The person I described was Mr. Lestrange's valet 
 and confidential follower ; for I could not but think 
 that gentleman was at the bottom of my foster- 
 sister's flight, and had forged — or ordered the for- 
 ging of — the letter which flung the guilt on me. I 
 had good cause to know him as an unprincipled 
 profligate, by the witness of his own lips; and I
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 143 
 
 had heard his broadly-declared admh-ation of Mar- 
 gery. Nor could I forget the malignant look which 
 he had given me when he surprised me on my knees 
 at Miss Hemsley's feet. To gratify his own wicked- 
 ness, and at the same time to ruin me in the esti- 
 mation of my Hauteville friends, would be a double 
 stroke of mischief to delight that cruel and trea- 
 cherous nature. 
 
 I arrived in London at dusk, and great was my 
 wonder at the vastness of the city; the gaudy, 
 painted signs of merchants and chapmen swinging 
 across the street; the sedan-chairs with running 
 footmen carrying flambeaux, which we met at the 
 court-end of the town ; the pitch-blackened heads of 
 the Scottish rebels rotting on Temple Bar; the 
 roar and turmoil ; the noisy hucksters and impudent 
 beggars who assailed the coach-door ; the newsboys 
 bellowing and blowing horns with as much excite- 
 ment as if the Pretender had again landed on our 
 shores, or the king been stabbed in his coach by 
 some Jacobite desperado. At any other time I 
 should doubtless have been both amused and de- 
 lighted by the strangeness of these things ; but my 
 heart was burdened with too many cares and troubles.
 
 144 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 and I looked upon all I saw as on the scenes that 
 pass before one's eyes in a dream — mere confused 
 pictures in which one has no part. 
 
 It was, of course, too late to deliver my letter of 
 recommendation to Mr. Swinfen, so I lay at the inn 
 where the coach stopped, and spent another sleepless 
 night in a stifling chamber, the one small window 
 whereof opened upon a covered gallery that ran 
 round the inner quadrangle of the house. The 
 strange noises, the brawling of some drunken 
 revellers in an apartment below, the arrival of pon- 
 derous waggons and coaches which lumbered into 
 the court-yard long before cock-crow, would have de- 
 prived me of slumber even if m}^ own uneasy 
 thoughts had not been sufficient to keep me awake ; 
 and at cock-crow began shrill cries and bawlings of 
 hucksters in the street without, mingled \\dth a con- 
 stant rumbling of wheels. 
 
 Never, I think, had I known the meaning of the 
 word solitude until that bitter morning, when I 
 seated myself in a darksome little den, or par- 
 titioned corner of the coffee-room, called a box, and 
 breakfasted alone in London. Crusoe on his desert 
 island had at least the animal creation wherewith to 
 consort ; but I, in all this vast metropolis, knew not
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 145 
 
 80 much as a dog. Nor did the friendly looks of 
 strangers invite my confidence. Roughness and im- 
 politeness marked the manners of all I had hitherto 
 encountered. Even the waiters seemed to regard 
 me with suspicious looks ; and I doubt not that my 
 gloomy face and dispirited manner were calculated 
 to inspire curiosity and disgust. The man who 
 cannot face the world with a smile is likely to be 
 suspected of having some sinister cause for his 
 despondency. I breakfasted quickly, and it was but 
 eight o'clock when I had finished — too early an 
 hour, most certainly, for a ceremonial visit to Mr. 
 Swinfen. Nor had I the smallest inclination to 
 explore the town, of whose wonders I had heard so 
 much. What are sights and wonders to the man 
 who has just been abruptly torn from all he loves ? 
 St. Peter's at Rome may be at his elbow, and he 
 will scarce raise his weary eyes to look at it. The 
 shadow of Pisa's leaning tower may slope across his 
 pathway, and he will hardly take the trouble to 
 glance from the shadow to the substance. I sat 
 listlessly, with my arms folded on the little table 
 before me, listening idly to the talk of customers 
 ordering breakfast, and waiters attending upon 
 them. 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 I had sat tlius for nearly an hour, when I be- 
 thought myself of Lady Barbara's note-book, and, 
 to while away the time, set myself to examine its 
 contents. It was a memorandum-book, originally of 
 some twenty pages, but all except three of these 
 had been torn out. One silken pocket was crammed 
 with bank-notes, which I unfolded, and found to 
 amount to near three hundred pounds. But in an- 
 other pocket there was something more precious 
 than these bills on the directors of the Bank of Eng- 
 land. This was an oval crystal locket, with gold rim, 
 containing a miniature likeness of my dear lady, 
 and a lock of dark hair, which I knew for hers. 
 Nor was this all the comfort hidden in the tiny 
 volume. One of the pages was inscribed with sen- 
 tences of hope and counsel in Latin and English, 
 hastily written for my consolation by the hand of my 
 dear benefactress : — 
 
 * SperatCf et vosmet rebus serrate secundis. 
 
 The Lord also will be a refuge for the oppressed, 
 a refuge in times of trouble. 
 
 Commit thy way unto the Lord. . . . Best in the 
 Lord and wait patiently for Him. 
 
 The wicked plotteth against the just.
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 147 
 
 The steps of a good man are ordered by the Lord : 
 and he delighteth in His way. 
 
 Though he fall he shall not be utterly cast 
 down : for the Lord upholdeth him with His 
 hand. 
 
 Tufortis sis animo, et tua moderatio, constantia, 
 eorum infamet injur iam.' 
 
 I was thus rich in money and in friendship ; and 
 I began to feel that to persist in a dull and obsti- 
 nate despair when so much yet remained to me 
 would be beyond measure sinful. How different 
 must have been my feelings if Lady Barbara and 
 Dora Hemsley had believed in my guilt ! as they 
 might reasonably have done, considering the inge- 
 nious evidence that had been contrived against me. 
 Kevolving this in my mind, I resolved to face my 
 position boldly, supported by the hope that my own 
 actions might be made to prove the falsehood of my 
 enemies. * I have my future all before me,' I 
 thought ; * and am my own master. Hitherto I have 
 been a child in leading-strings ; my manhood dates 
 from to-day, and it shall be my study so to plan 
 my life that treachery itself cannot assail it. I am 
 not of so proud a nature as my father, and I freely 
 
 L 2
 
 148 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 accept this money from the hands of the dear lady 
 to whom, under Providence, I owe my very life ; 
 nor is there any painfulness in the knowledge that 
 I am so much indebted to her. I have youth, 
 strength, and an excellent education ; and it must 
 go hard with me if with these weapons and a reso- 
 lute fortitude I do not conquer in the battle of life. 
 But I have first to learn something of the battle- 
 ground, of which at present I know no more than 
 a baby.' 
 
 I called for a newspaper, hoping therefrom to 
 learn something of what was stirring in this busy 
 city, to which I was so utter a stranger; but the 
 Daily Courant — a sheet which the waiter brought 
 me — gave little information on this head. It was 
 chiefly taken up by our foreign politics, the enor- 
 mous subsidies or gifts granted to the Empress 
 Queen and certain German princes ; by which it 
 appeared that Britain had been made to pay very 
 dearly for a peace that was worse wanted by her 
 allies than by herself. One paragraph that attracted 
 my attention was an account of a new colony that 
 had just been formed in Nova Scotia. Four thou- 
 sand persons, with their families, had lately em- 
 barked for this -wild, unknown region, tempted by
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 149 
 
 the liberality of the Government, which offered a 
 free passage out, and a freehold of fifty acres to 
 each settler, with ten years' exemption from all taxes. 
 
 * Why should I not go thither,' I thought, * and 
 flee like a new ^neas from the ashes of my Troy ? 
 In that new world, if I had no friends, I should 
 have at least no enemies, and I might make my- 
 self a name and a home amongst settlers as friend- 
 less as myself.' 
 
 The thought was but for a moment. What would 
 home or friends, or name be to me without Dorothea 
 Hemsley. 
 
 * Perish the thought of new lands across the sea,* 
 I said to myself ; ' I will stay in England and be' 
 near the dear girl I love, perhaps to serve her in 
 some hour when she may need the strong arm of a 
 faithful friend.' 
 
 To this bold outburst followed sudden de- 
 spondency. Alas, poor wretch ! should I be any 
 nearer Dora at London than at Nova Scotia ? She 
 was severed from me by a gulf more impassable 
 than that sea w^hich the American emigrants had 
 traversed under command of Colonel Cornwallis. 
 
 At noon I left the inn, and inquired my way to
 
 150 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 the Temple. Being now in a somewhat more hope- 
 ful frame of mind, I regarded the bustle of the 
 streets with curiosity, and was even amused by the 
 strangeness of all I saw. My way took me again 
 near the gloomy arch which I had ridden under in 
 the coach, and I looked up with a shudder towards 
 those ghastly severed heads which were impaled 
 there as bloody memorials of a nation's severity. I 
 could but think this dreadful exhibition eminently 
 calculated to keep alive the Jacobite feeling which 
 Lady Barbara had told me was by no means drowned 
 in the blood that had been shed since '45, and I 
 wondered much at the foolish policy which had 
 elevated traitors into martyrs. 
 
 I was much pleased with the tranquil and studious 
 air of the Temple, whose shadowy courts and solemn 
 squares seemed to me to bespeak it a retreat for 
 learning. I had yet to discover how such appear- 
 ances may deceive, and how many a shallow pate 
 drinks and games away existence in a suite of cham- 
 bers, the very atmosphere of which whispers of a 
 Bacon or a Selden. 
 
 Mr. Swinfen's apartments I discovered in a hand- 
 some row of houses commanding a view of the river, 
 on which I saw innumerable boats plying, and all
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 151 
 
 the pleasant water-traffic I had read of in the 
 Spectator. Towering grandly above all meaner 
 roofs I saw the noble dome of St. Paul's, and beyond 
 many spires and steeples dimly blue in the hazy 
 distance, for there was a notable difference between 
 the sky that overarched this city, and the clear ether 
 above Hauteville Woods. 
 
 The gentleman to whom I was recommended was 
 happily at home, and received me with much gracious- 
 ness. 
 
 * I would do a great deal to serve any relative of 
 Lady Barbara's,' he said courteously, after he had 
 read my patroness's letter; 'I knew her father, and I 
 remember her ladyship before she man-ied Lestrange. 
 She spent but one short season in London before 
 her marriage, and would have been one of the reign- 
 ing belles of that season but that she was too modest 
 to appear much in public. And so you are an 
 Ainsleigh ? Are you nearly related to that Roderick 
 Ainsleigh of whom Lord Hauteville was so fond?' 
 
 * I am his only child, sir.' 
 
 * Indeed ! I did not know he lived so long as to 
 marry.' 
 
 I felt my face flush at this. 
 
 * His marriage was an obscure one, sir, and he
 
 152 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 died in poverty. But for Lady Barbara's goodness 
 I doubt if I should be living to tell as much. I owe 
 everything to her.' 
 
 * And I am glad to see that you are proud to 
 acknowledge your indebtedness,' replied Mr. Swinfen 
 kindly. 
 
 After this he talked much to me, examining me as 
 to my education, and directing me in the course 
 which I should have to take in order to prepare for 
 entering the profession which had been chosen for 
 me. I will not linger over the details of this period 
 of my life, since the labour I devoted to the study of 
 the law was wasted work. The career which I thus 
 began was destined to have neither middle nor end, 
 but to be abruptly cut short almost at the outset. 
 Fate called me to a harder life than that of a law- 
 student, and it was my lot to play my humble part 
 in a more stirring drama than was ever enacted in 
 that grave sanctuary of legal lore in which I now 
 took up my abode. 
 
 My patron kindly sent one of his clerks with me 
 to hunt for a set of chambers suited to my purse and 
 position. 
 
 *You cannot practise too much economy at the 
 outset of your career,' said Mr. Swinfen, just before
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 153 
 
 he dismissed me. ' Advancement at the Bar is a 
 plant of slow gi'owth, and the man is lucky who, 
 after some eight or ten years' patient industry, can 
 command bread and cheese, and wear a decent coat, 
 l^ut if the struggle be a hard one, the prizes are 
 splendid ; and the man of parts who can dine on a 
 red herring and a dish of tea, or a fourpenny plate 
 of beef from the eating-house, may hope to mount 
 the woolsack. I trust you have an inward con- 
 Wction that you are destined to be Lord Chancellor, 
 Mr. Ainsleigh ?' 
 
 ' Indeed no, sir,' I answered, smiling. 
 
 ' Then I am sorry for it. Every man who passes 
 the Temple gate should say to himself, " Bacon, or 
 nothing!'" 
 
 ' And suppose it is nothing, sir ?' 
 
 * For such a man there is no possibility of utter 
 failure. In trying for the highest rung of the 
 ladder he will at least contrive to scramble to the 
 middle. But for the fellow who enters his name at 
 the Temple because it is a genteel thing to do, who 
 spends his nights at Yauxhall, and wastes his sub- 
 stance at cards and in cock-pits, and brings loose- 
 lived women to his chambers, and cheats his tailor 
 to sport a suit of cut velvet in the Ring, the road he
 
 154 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 travels is tile highway that leads to the dogs. I hope 
 you are not come to London to be a man of pleasure, 
 Mr. Ainsleigh ? ' 
 
 * I have little inclination for pleasure, sir, and not 
 a single acquaintance in this city.' 
 
 * So much the better,' growled Mr. Swinfen ; ' and 
 now go along with you, for I have half a dozen attor- 
 ney fellows waiting in the next room. My clerk will 
 find you decent chambers, and will see you safely 
 through the formalities of your entrance. Good-day, 
 Dine with me on Tuesday next, at four o'clock, at 
 my house in Queen Anne Street. I have a haunch 
 from a ducal demesne which will be in prime order 
 by that time, and you will meet some gentlemen 
 from whom a nod in public is a patent of social 
 standing for a youngster.' 
 
 I thanked Mr. Swinfen for his kindness, and de- 
 parted in company of the clerk, a decent elderly 
 person, who quickly found for me a couple of small 
 rooms in a house in Brick Court, which was after- 
 wards destined to become famous as the abode of 
 genius and poetry. The rooms were at the top of 
 the house, and commanded an extensive view of roofs 
 and chimney-pots ; but they were cheap, and of this 
 advantage I was fully conscious, as I was bent on
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 155 
 
 extreme economy in my management of Lady Bar- 
 bara's handsome gift. 
 
 When all preliminary ceremonies had been duly 
 gone through, at an outlay which absorbed a good 
 deal of my dear benefactress's money, Mr. Swinfen's 
 clerk left me, and as I stood alone in my somewhat 
 cheerless garret, I felt that now I had begun the world 
 in real earnest. 
 
 I sent to the city inn for my portmanteau, and 
 went out myself to purchase certain books which Mr. 
 Swinfen had informed me were necessary for me to 
 possess, at the same time that he offered me free use 
 of his own noble library of law-books, which he bade 
 me to convey to and fro from his chambers to my own, 
 as I needed them. 
 
 On the following Tuesday I dined at my patron's 
 house, amongst a party of gentlemen, the youngest 
 of whom was at least twenty years my senior. The 
 talk was of politics and of legal matters. I heard much 
 of the Duke of Newcastle and his brother, Mr. Pel- 
 ham, and of that rising politician, Mr. Pitt, then only 
 paymaster of the forces, but already exercising con- 
 siderable influence in the senate. There was also 
 much discussion of the great will case of Barnsley 
 versus Powell and others, that had been decided in
 
 156 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 the previous year, and the details of which had lately 
 been published by a bookseller in Fleet Street. To 
 this and all other conversation I listened with respect- 
 ful interest, pleased to hear the discourse of clever 
 members of that profession in which it was my earnest 
 desire to prosper. 
 
 And now began for me a life of the extremest lone- 
 liness. Secluded day after day in my garret-chambers 
 — waited on at rare intervals by a deaf old woman, who 
 came and went with a stolid mechanical air, and looked 
 at me with a dull unseeing gaze as she flourished her 
 well-worn broom or knelt to light my fire, as if scarce 
 conscious of my existence — I was little less remote 
 from the world than if I had been the pious inmate 
 of some cave hewn in the solid rock by one of lona's 
 early bishops. 
 
 On the days when I dined in hall I did certainly 
 exchange some civil commonplaces with my com- 
 panions at table, but these were would-be beaux, who 
 knew the town, and boasted loudly of their acquaint- 
 ance with fine gentlemen and their conquests among 
 fine ladies. I was indeed at once horrified and dis- 
 gusted by the tone in which these scoundrels talked 
 of women of quality, whom I have since discovered 
 they knew only by name. Sometimes towards evening
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 157 
 
 I found my spirits oppressed by an almost painful 
 sense of solitude. I felt a desire to hear my own 
 voice, nay, sometimes even a panic-stricken notion 
 that I had lost the faculty of speech, so strange 
 sounded the syllables when I tried to roll out a few 
 lines of Demosthenes, or demanded with Cicero how 
 it came to pass that, for the last twenty years, no 
 man had been my enemy who had not also shown 
 himself a foe to the republic. 
 
 On these occasions, when my eyes ached with long 
 hours of reading, and my head was heavy from the 
 continuance of study, I snatched up my hat, ran 
 downstairs, and went out in the fog and drizzling 
 rain, or in the bleak winter wind, to loiter in the 
 crowded streets, and amuse myself with the busy life 
 about me. And in this the hermit of London has a 
 supreme advantage over the rustic solitary. Friend- 
 less he may be, but never quite companionless, for 
 in every coffee-house or city tavern he can find com- 
 pany which, if not select, is by no means unin- 
 structive. While my legal education progressed 
 steadily in the solitude of my garret-chamber, the 
 streets and the humbler class of coffee-houses en- 
 lightened me as to the ways of the world. I learned 
 to talk politics, became vastly familiar with the affairs
 
 158 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 of the Prince of Wales and his party, railed against 
 the old king for his devotion to ugly women, reviled 
 the Duke of Cumherland, growled at the money taken 
 from us by the Prince of Wolfenbuttel, and eagerly 
 perused the adventures of the young Ascanius, a 
 romantic history of the Chevalier Charles Edward's 
 adventures in the year forty-five. I purchased 
 this luckless hero's bust in plaster, which was at 
 this time much sold in London. Indeed, so warm 
 were the feelings of this young prince's partisans, 
 that a wealthy squire in Staffordshire went so far 
 as to clothe a fox in scarlet military coat, and hunt 
 him with hounds clad in tartan. 
 
 I remembered what Anthony Grimshaw had told 
 me of my father's sentiments on this subject, and 
 was ah-eady at heart a staunch Jacobite. Nay, I think 
 the frequent sight of those ghastly trophies on Temple 
 Bar would in itself have been sufficient to inspire me 
 with sedition. But in the character and fortunes of 
 the Pretender there was an all-powerful magnet which 
 drew to him the youth of the nation. What generous 
 lad or sentimental woman would be faithful to an 
 elderly German"*ruler while the brave young heart of 
 an exiled prince was pining in obscurity, dependence, 
 and banishment ; and while the country from which
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 159 
 
 he was excluded seemed to have gained so little by 
 its ill-treatment of him ? 
 
 I had lived in London three months, and had eaten 
 my Christmas dinner at a tavern in Fetter Lane. 
 Once only had I heard from Lady Barbara, though I 
 had written to her at the milliner's address several 
 times. Her letter was long and kind. She gave 
 much comfort and wise advice, but, alas ! little news 
 of her whose name alone would to my eyes have 
 shone upon the page as if written in starlight. Of 
 my foster-father and his wife the charitable lady 
 wrote with deep tenderness. Nothing had been heard 
 of the poor runaway, and the hearts of father and 
 mother were all but broken. Lady Barbara had 
 been many times to see them. Sir Marcus and his 
 family were to come to London in January, and then 
 my dear benefactress said she would contrive to see 
 me, though it must needs be by stealth. 
 
 From this letter I derived new comfort ; to this 
 promised meeting I looked forward with eager hope. 
 Should I see her as well as Lady Barbara ? Alas ! 
 I knew that no good could come of any meeting 
 between us two. But none the less ^ager was my 
 longing — none the less sweet the dreams in which 
 sleep restored my lost happiness, and I fancied that
 
 160 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 Dora and I were seated side by side in the sunny 
 window at Hauteville, with our books about us, as 
 we had sat so often in the summer days that were 
 gone. 
 
 It was while I was looking forward to the arrival 
 of the family in St. James's Square, that a changes 
 took place in my mode of life, and the loneliness of 
 my humble chambers was exchanged for company 
 which I found sufficiently agreeable. 
 
 I had returned to my chambers late after treating 
 myself to a sight of Shakspeare's Romeo and Juliet, 
 which was then being played at the rival houses, 
 at one Garrick and Miss Bellamy, at the other Barry 
 and -Mrs. Gibber, on which the wits declared that 
 one saw at one house Romeo and Juliet, at the other 
 Juliet and Romeo. Several distinguished members 
 of Mr. Garrick' s company had withdrawn them- 
 selves to Covent Garden, and there had been com- 
 plaints made of him in a prologue, whereon Mrs. 
 Clive replied sharply in an epilogue spoken by her 
 at Drury Lane, and there was thus war between the 
 patent theatres. It was to see Garrick that I had 
 spent my shillings, and the delight afforded me by 
 that great man's genius had amply repaid me for my 
 extravagance.
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 161 
 
 It was black as Erebus on the staircase leading 
 to my garret, but I was accustomed to the crazy old 
 stair, and mounted quickly without tripping. But 
 close by my own door I stumbled against some heavy 
 body. 
 
 * Who is this ? ' I called out, sui-prised. 
 
 * A wretch who would be lying on a door- step in 
 the open street if he were not sheltered here. You 
 are new to London, Mr. Ainsleigh, and should have 
 some spark of charity's divine warmth yet left in 
 your heart. I crept here at dusk, thinking to find 
 you at home, and have lain here in hiding ever 
 since. Will you give me a supper and a night's 
 shelter ? ' 
 
 * I would rather give you the money to pay for 
 them,' I answered, * since you and I are strangers.* 
 
 * That is your true London charity — alms given 
 at arm's length,' replied the stranger with a sneer. 
 * I don't want your money, I want your friend- 
 ship.' 
 
 I could see nothing of the man's face or figure in 
 the darkness, but he spoke like a gentleman, or at 
 least a man of some education. 
 
 * Come, Mr. Robert Ainsleigh,' he continued, 
 *you had best take me into your chambers, and 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 strike a light. We sliall understand one another 
 better when we see each other's faces. I do not 
 come to you as the first that ofi'ers, and a crown 
 from you is not the same to me as another man's 
 five shilhngs. For the last week I have been hang- 
 ing about the Temple, where I was once a student- 
 at-law, and have watched you come and go. I like 
 your face. I feel an interest in you that I don't 
 feel in other men, because you are beginning life 
 pretty much as I began it, and with the same 
 chances before you. You stand almost alone in the 
 world, as I did, and you belong to a good old family, 
 as I do.' 
 
 * How do you know all this ? ' 
 
 / From a clerk at Swinfen's, who remembers me 
 when I was a gentleman. Come, Mr. Ainsleigh, 
 you had better unlock your door and strike a 
 light.' 
 
 I had no inclination whatever to admit this for- 
 ward stranger into my rooms, but yielded weakly, 
 because I knew not how to refuse. I opened my 
 door, and the unknown followed close upon my heels, 
 as if determined I should have no time to change 
 my mind. When I had managed to light my 
 solitary candle I turned and scrutinized this new
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 163 
 
 acquaintance as closely as the feeble glimmer of the 
 tallow-candle would allow me. 
 
 He was a man of from thirty to five -and- thirty 
 years of age, wiih. a face that had once been hand- 
 some, but which was prematurely worn by care or 
 dissipation. He wore no wig, but his light-brown 
 hair, plentiful at the back though his brow was bald, 
 was tied with a greasy black ribbon. His clothes 
 were of the shabbiest, but had once been fine. His 
 eyes were gray, large, and penetrating ; but I was 
 at this time too bad a judge of countenance to per- 
 ceive their sinister expression. As it was, however, 
 his face did in nowise prepossess me, and when I 
 too weakly jdelded to him I was influenced by his 
 conversation alone. He had groped for a chair 
 while I lighted my candle, and sat by my cheerless 
 hearth, shivering. 
 
 'Let me light your fire,' he cried, espying the 
 fuel in a box by the rusty fender. ' I can make a 
 fire as well as any Temple laundi-ess, and cook a 
 steak better than most of them.' 
 
 He suited the action to the word, and was on his 
 knees piling up coals and firewood in the little grate 
 before I could object. 
 
 * And now, Mr. Ainsleigh,' he said, flinging him- 
 
 M 2
 
 164 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 self into a chair wlien the fire was lighted, ' let us 
 talk reasonahly. You are a solitary young man, 
 just beginning the world, with fair prospects of 
 success, and with, I have no doubt, a decent allow- 
 ance from your aristocratic kinswoman.' 
 
 ' What right have you to be so certain of my 
 business ? ' I asked angrily. 
 
 ' The right which knowledge of the world gives to 
 every man who is not an arrant blockhead. I know 
 you are living on money from your kinswoman by 
 the left-hand ' 
 
 ' Sir ! ' 
 
 ' Pshaw ! let us have no affectation of anger. 
 What if I knew your father ? I'll not say I did, 
 but I know those who knew him. I know you 
 are a dependent on the bounty of Lady Barbara 
 Lestrange, and that you were turned out of doors 
 by her husband.* 
 
 * Oblige me by carrying your knowledge elsewhere, 
 sir. It is close upon midnight, and I do not care 
 to be entertained with your version of my biography.' 
 
 * I want to show you that I am no flatterer, and 
 that I can beg without licking the shoes of my 
 patron. Come, Mr. Ainsleigh, you want a servant, 
 and I want a master. Give me a closet to sleep in,
 
 I GO TO LONDON. 165 
 
 or let me lie on the mat at your door. You pay 
 your laundress something, and I will do her work 
 for nothing. I know more law than many a 
 prosperous counsellor, and can give you some help 
 in your studies if you will consent to take it from 
 such a vagabond as I. I can valet you, and cook 
 for you, run on your errands, and show you the 
 town, which I know by heart, and which is a pro- 
 founder science than you may fancy. I want a 
 shelter — and a friend.' 
 
 'Friendship is scarcely won by such means as 
 you employ.' 
 
 ' Sa}^, then, an acquaintance, a companion. Some 
 one fresh and young and true, wdth whom a battered 
 wretch may consort to the profit of his soul and 
 body. Mind you, Mr. Ainsleigh, I am a beggar to- 
 night, but not a beggar always. I suppose you have 
 heard of that notorious beast of burden, the book- 
 seller's hack? That is my species. I have a prose 
 translation of Homer that I hope yet to turn into 
 cash, in a portmanteau in pawn at my last lodging.' 
 
 ' From the Greek ? ' 
 
 ' No ; from Chapman. I know something of 
 Greek, too, but we bookmakers prefer adapting the 
 labours of a predecessor. I have also a history
 
 166 ROBEET AINSLEIGH. 
 
 of that strange extinct race the Amazons, which 
 I think might tempt Mr. Cave, could I but approach 
 him in a decent coat.' 
 
 It is needless to dwell longer on my conversation 
 with this gentleman, whose persuasion ultimately 
 prevailed with me. That he was a man of some 
 education and had fallen from a better estate was 
 very obvious ; and this touched me, for I remem- 
 bered that my father's condition must have much 
 resembled that of this penniless stranger. And 
 then common humanity pleaded for this unfortunate. 
 Could I, who had been reared by charity, refuse a 
 shelter and a crust to another ? True, the man might 
 be a rogue, but benevolence first feeds and clothes 
 the reprobate, before it essays to reform him. 
 Swayed by these considerations, I consented to share 
 my lodgings with the stranger. T assisted him to 
 make up a bed on the floor of my sitting-room, 
 selected for him a few articles from my well- stocked 
 wardrobe, and promised that, so long as he proved 
 honest and I had money, he should not starve. 
 And thus, on the very threshold of manhood, I 
 suffered myself to be coaxed into an alliance with 
 a vagabond, of whom I knew nothing save that he 
 was impudent and persevering.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A DANGEKOUS COMPANION. 
 
 When I arose next morning, I found my breakfast 
 comfortably prepared, the room swept and dusted, 
 and the charwoman who had hitherto attended me 
 dismissed, while my new acquaintance, dressed in 
 the clothes I had given him, presented a decent, and 
 even gentlemanlike appearance. He certainly had 
 not exaggerated his handiness, for my room looked 
 cleaner than ever it had done under the regime of 
 my deaf laundress ; and the steak which he had 
 cooked for my breakfast might have gratified the 
 senses of a Lucullus. 
 
 He would fain have breakfasted off the fragments 
 of my own meal, but this I refused. If he was 
 good enough to live with me, he was good enough 
 to eat with me. I had a lurking consciousness that 
 I had done a foolish thing, but felt that I could not 
 amend my folly by a haughty treatment of my un-
 
 168 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 known companion. While we breakfasted, he gave 
 me a brief sketch of his career and fortunes. 
 
 * My name is Philip Hay,' he began ; ' and I am 
 the son of a parson, a man of some learning, but a 
 poor spirit, who spent his life in the seclusion of an 
 agricultural district, neglected his flock while he 
 read the classics, and brought up his family on the 
 produce of his garden and pigstye. I can hardly 
 remember wearing a shirt that was not ragged, or a 
 coat and breeches that had not served my elder 
 brother faithfully before they fell to my share. At 
 our table butcher's meat was not the rule but the 
 exception ; and I am somewhat inclined to attribute 
 my want of moral stamina to that deficiency of beef 
 from which I suffered in my boyhood. Butcher's 
 meat is the foundation of your true Englishman. 
 I will not say that my father gave me a good 
 education, for he suffered me to pick up the crumbs 
 of his learning very much as the cocks and hens 
 that stalked about our carpetless parlour at meal- 
 times were accustomed to pick up the fragments of 
 each repast. I may say without boastfulness, since 
 my education has never been of the smallest use to 
 me, that I had a natural aptitude for learning. 
 Nothing in the way of scholarship came amiss to
 
 A DANGEROUS COMPANION. 169 
 
 me. I knew my Greek alphabet before I was 
 breeched, and read Erasmus in the original while 
 other lads were blundering over their first de- 
 clension. This early proficiency soon attracted the 
 notice of neighbours, who, entirely unlearned them- 
 selves, were disposed to regard me as a juvenile 
 prodigy ; very much as they would have done had 
 Nature gifted me with two heads, or enriched me 
 with a superfluous arm. My reputation at twelve 
 years old spread as far as the mansion of a wealthy 
 nobleman, who sent for me one day when he had a 
 house full of company, and bade me repeat an ode 
 of Horace, and specimens of other classic poets, for 
 the amusement of his guests. The result of this 
 exhibition was an invitation to spend the holidays 
 with my lord's son, an idle but by no means stupid 
 young jackanapes, whom my learned example might 
 possibly convert to industry. My father was but too 
 glad to accept such an invitation ; friends and 
 neighbours declared that my fortune was made ; my 
 mother patched and turned the soundest of my old 
 clothes, and my father pledged his credit to procure 
 me the first suit of new ones I ever owned. I left 
 home in high spirits, ingratiated myself at once 
 with my patron's son. Viscount Escote, whom I was
 
 170 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 SO fortunate, or so unfortunate, as to amuse, and 
 whose friendship or fancy I was soon master of. 
 With this young gentleman I spent the merriest, 
 and indeed the happiest, period of my life, and the 
 acqaintance thus begun was not destined to lapse. 
 The boy had a warm heart, and I had perhaps 
 reason to love him even better than I did. 
 
 ' Lord Escote's tutor, a very grave and pompous 
 gentleman, was at first inclined to object to his 
 pupil's affection for my society, but as I speedily dis- 
 covered this pedagogue's incompetency, and was able 
 to pose him at any moment by a seemingly innocent 
 inquiry about a crabbed line in Juvenal, or an 
 obscure verb in ^schylus, he soon became more 
 amiable, and permitted me to enjoy my share of 
 those good things which he obtained by the exercise 
 of grave humbug and sanctimonious imposture. When 
 my lord went to the university, some four years after 
 our first meeting, nothing would please him but I 
 must go also ; and his father, Lord Mallandaine, 
 being by this time deceased, and he succeeded to the 
 title, with no one but" a foolish, indulgent mother to 
 govern him, he of course had his way, and I enjoyed 
 the education of a gentleman at my j)atron's charge. 
 
 * I could tell you rare stories of those wild days, Mr.
 
 A DANGEROUS COMPANION.. 171 
 
 Ainsleigli, stories of exploits that redound rather to 
 my cleverness than to m}- patron's morality or my 
 own sense of honour. To sum up the whole, we 
 were both expelled the university under circumstances 
 of peculiar disgrace ; and Lord Mallandaine, not 
 caring to face a doting mother, proposed a conti- 
 nental tour, with me for his companion. Together 
 we visited France, Italy, and the Low Countries, 
 intrigued with Venetian courtesans, and gamed with 
 Parisian dandies, got up cock-fights in the Colosseum 
 at Eome, and sparring-matches in a Florentine palace, 
 returned to England low in pocket and broken in 
 health, discontented with each other and disgusted 
 with the world. I happened fortunately to be master 
 of more than one important secret of my patron's, and 
 in consideration of this fact, rather than from an}- 
 remnant of his early friendship for me, my lord 
 presented me with a few hundreds, and bade me 
 make my fortune at the Bar, for which profession, he 
 was good enough to observe, my natural impudence 
 and capacity for lying eminently adapted me. I 
 thanked him in my politest manner, and cursing 
 him in spirit, wished him good-day. Since then 
 we have met rarely, and then only by accident, 
 and my chief consolation whilst going to the dogs
 
 172 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 has been to know that he is treading the same 
 road.' 
 
 * That is scarcely a Christian sentiment,' said I, 
 * since, by your own showing, Lord Mallandaine was 
 kind to you.' 
 
 ' Kind ? yes ! He kept me about him so long as I 
 amused him, and kicked me off when he tired of me. 
 You do not know — your simplicity cannot conceive — 
 the things I have done for that man, the degradations 
 to which I have submitted, the perils I have encoun- 
 tered. Believe, me, Sganarelle's situation is no 
 sinecure. And some day, in a brief fit of virtue, Don 
 Juan turns away his faithful servant.' 
 
 ' How came you to succeed so ill at the 
 Bar?' 
 
 * You will understand that better ten years hence. 
 I began steadily enough, and for the first two years 
 ate my dinners and studied with a pleader ; but the 
 habit of dissipation was too strong upon me. I took 
 to spending my night in gaming-houses, and even 
 worse places of entertainment, brought discreditable 
 company to my chambers, got into ill-repute with the 
 Benchers, and it ended by my being kicked out of 
 the Temple, as I had been kicked off by my patron, 
 and as I had been expelled from my college. You
 
 A DANGEROUS COMPANION. 173 
 
 perceive I haye a genius for getting turned out of 
 doors.' 
 
 *And since this time you have lived by literature ?' 
 * I have lived by writing for the booksellers, if 
 you call that literature : I don't. I have composed 
 more biographies of lately defunct celebrities than I 
 can count ; have written a history of the Greek and 
 Roman heroes, adapted for schools, and stolen from 
 Plutarch ; have composed metrical translations of 
 such Latin poets as are least fit for publication ; have 
 invented a scandalous history of the Princess of 
 Wales, whom I have no grounds for supposing any- 
 thing but a very estimable matron ; and have written 
 pamphlets for and against every party. And now, 
 sir, you know the worst of me. Upon my merits I 
 have not presumed to touch ; but even my enemies 
 admit that I have an easy temper and a daring spirit, 
 and that I can be a firm friend to the man who wins 
 my regard. I have flung myself upon your charity, 
 because I like your face ; and it is for you to decide 
 whether you will turn me out of doors, or allow me to 
 remain as your faithful drudge and servitor until my 
 luck turns, as it is sure to do in a week or two, 
 when I will freely pay my share of our expenses, and 
 continue truly grateful for your company.'
 
 174 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 And now came my fatal moment of weakness. I 
 was but just twenty, and easily won to pity the mis- 
 fortunes of my fellow-men, however well-deserved 
 might be their woes. The man's story was in every 
 manner calculated to prejudice me against him ; but I 
 reflected that this very fact told in his favour, and was 
 at least evidence of his candour, since it would have 
 been easy for so clever a rascal to give a plausible 
 account of himself. There seemed a reckless honesty 
 about the fellow that fascinated me in spite of myself. 
 How often had I felt the solitude of my chambers 
 intolerable, and here was a learned and jovial com- 
 panion eager to share them with me. True, that his 
 character might be against him ; but I had now 
 begun the world, and must expect to encounter 
 strange characters. And then, I doubt not that 
 my vanity was tickled by his avowed fancy for 
 me ; and I suffered this adroit flattery to in- 
 fluence me in his favour. What chance has 
 rustic youth against a citizen of the world such 
 as this? The snare had been ingeniously pre- 
 pared, and I walked blindfold into the meshes. 
 
 ' I'll not turn you out of doors ! ' I cried heartily ; 
 ' and if you possess the learning for w^hich you give 
 yourself credit, I shall be very glad of your company.'
 
 A DANGEROUS COMPANION. 175 
 
 * Your hand on that,' said Philip Hay; 'and now 
 that I am provided with a decent coat I'll go and 
 look up Mr. Cave, and see if I can strike a bargain 
 with him for my Amazons.' 
 
 On this he departed, and was no sooner gone than 
 I began to ponder seriously whether this Mr. Hay 
 would ever return, and if I had not been cheated out 
 of a substantial suit of clothes by this eloquent 
 adventurer. I had been warned against the tricks of 
 the town, and this might be one of them. I laughed 
 aloud as I thought how easily I had been 
 cheated. 
 
 In this matter, however, I was agreeably dis- 
 appointed. At five o'clock in the afternoon in comes 
 my gentleman, with his hat cocked on one side, and 
 his face triumphant. 
 
 * Look you there, Mr. Robert Ainsleigh ! ' he 
 cried, flinging a purse of guineas on the table. 
 *Your clothes have brought me luck. Mr. Cave 
 happened to be in rare good-humour to-day, and I 
 have struck a very fair bargain for my history. There 
 was a great hulking fellow, with a queer twitch of his 
 face and limbs, hanging about the shop, who went 
 near to spoil my market by the display of his learn- 
 ing. He cried out that the Amazons were fabulous
 
 176 ROBEET AINSLEIGH. 
 
 females, and tliat I could know as much of them as I 
 knew of Achilles — ^just what was told in Homer, and 
 fragmentary snatches of the Cyclic poets. But I 
 extinguished my twitching friend — who wore a coat 
 that was patched at the elhows and ragged at the 
 cuffs, showing at once premeditated poverty and 
 natural slovenliness — and talked Cave into an affec- 
 tion for my Amazons. Here are ten guineas earnest- 
 money, and by your leave, Mr. Ainsleigh, we'll 
 spend a pleasant evening. Shall it be at Marylebonne 
 Gardens or Don Saltero's, Eanelagh or Vauxhall ? 
 Under which king, Bezonian?' 
 
 I would fain have avoided appearing in public with 
 my new acquaintance, of whom I knew nothing that 
 was not to his discredit ; but his good-humour and 
 joviality soon vanquished my scruples. I had a 
 natural curiosity about the pleasures of the town, 
 those dazzling scenes of riot and delight which I had 
 heard so praised by my fellow- students in the 
 dining-hall — the places not to know which was 
 to be in some manner behind the age. In a 
 word, I suffered Mr. Philip Hay to lead me 
 where he pleased ; and those evenings which had 
 hitherto been spent in the studious quiet of my 
 chamber, or the grave gossip of an obscure coffee-
 
 A DANGEROUS COMPANION. 177 
 
 house, were now given entirely to the pleasures 
 of the town. 
 
 I might perhaps have continued to regard Philip 
 Hay's assumed affection for myself with doubt and 
 suspicion if that reprobate individual had required 
 anything from me. But his fortunes revived fi'om 
 the first day of our acquaintance, and he was more 
 extravagant in his expenditure than myself, not- 
 withstanding that my purse had been replenished by 
 a bank-note enclosed in Lady Barbara's last letter. 
 He reproached me loudly for my parsimony when I 
 refused to drink or game in the vivacious company 
 to which he introduced me at Yauxhall and other 
 public places ; and on more than one occasion, by 
 his somewhat scornful offers to pay my score, drew 
 me into an outlay which I afterwards regretted ; for 
 I never forgot that I owed all to my benefactress, 
 and the natural pride of manhood was only sustained 
 by the hope that I should one day be able to 
 repay all. 
 
 Nor were my nights spent in noisy pleasure at 
 Don Saltero's, or wasted in the Kanelagh Eotundo, 
 unattended by the after-bitterness of remorse. From 
 scenes so frivolous, from company so loose and 
 unprincipled, my thoughts went back to Hauteville, 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 the calm days and happy evenings, the pleasant con- 
 versations over my lady's tea-hoard, the summer 
 sunsets Dorothea Hemsley and I had watched from 
 the Italian garden, when the night- dews hung heavy 
 on the roses, and the last of midsummer's nightingales 
 sang loud in the dusky distance of the wood. But, 
 in spite of these better thoughts, the pleasures into 
 ;vhich my companion plunged me were not without 
 their charm. The restraint in which my boyhood 
 had been spent especially fitted me to be the fool of 
 such frivolous temptations : and my Mephistopheles 
 contrived his snares with a rare genius. Seldom did 
 • he suffer weariness to mar my amusement. A skilful 
 courtier, set on by wily ministers to lure a crown^prince 
 from thoughts of statecraft into the vile slough of 
 dissipation, could not have acted his part with greater 
 care or wisdom. In a word, my tempter played upon 
 me as Prince Hamlet bade the courtiers play upon 
 ' this pipe ; ' and it was only afterwards, when I 
 saw the other side of his cards, that I knew the 
 subtlety of his game, and how utterly helpless I had 
 been in his hands. • 
 
 I had enjoyed the privilege of Mr. Hay's society 
 for six weeks before Sir Marcus Lestrange and his 
 family came to London. I had ventured to call
 
 A DANGEROUS COMPANION. 179 
 
 more than once in St. James's Square, where the 
 house-porter informed me that his master was suffer- 
 ing from an attack of gout, which detained him at 
 Hauteville, and that Mr. Lestrange was in Paris. I 
 was reheved to hear of Everard's absence, and to 
 know that Dora was for the present free from the 
 attention, or persecution, of her enforced suitor. 
 
 We came through St. James's Square one night, 
 after an evening spent at Yauxhall, whence it had 
 pleased us to return on foot. I have since had 
 reason to beHeve that Mr. Hay had his own special 
 purpose in bringing me this way on this particular 
 night. We had supped with some of his rackety 
 acquaintance at the gardens, and he had induced 
 me to drink a little more than usual. The punch, 
 the company, and the long walk in the night-air 
 had combined to excite my brain, and for the first 
 time during our acquaintance I had spoken freely 
 of my friends at Hauteville; nor did I perceive 
 until afterwards, when considering my night's folly 
 in the sober reflections of the next morning, how 
 artfully my companion led me on to the revelation 
 of my most secret thoughts. 
 
 The windows of Sir Marcus's house were blazing 
 with the light of numberless candles as we came 
 
 N 2
 
 180 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 into the square. The family had arrived, and Lady 
 Barbara was holding a reception. The great hall- 
 door was open, and we saw the splendour within, 
 with guests ascending and descending, and footmen 
 bawling in the hall and on the staircase. "Without 
 there was a crowd of chair-men, footmen with flaring 
 torches, link-boys, and lantern-bearers, though it 
 was a fine spring night, and the stars shining high 
 up in the clear cold gray. We stood to watch the 
 company passing in and out, powder and diamonds, 
 rustling trains of gorgeous hues, and gold and 
 silver brocade, that flashed in the glare of the 
 torches. The crowd proclaimed the names of 
 beaux and belles, soldiers and statesmen. Now 
 there was a hush and murmur in the crowd as Mr. 
 Pelham descended from his chariot, with ribbon 
 and star upon his breast, and a smile upon his 
 florid countenance. How soon was that respected 
 head to be laid low ! And here, close behind him, 
 came the Duke of Newcastle, looking right and left, 
 with his glass held afiectedly to his eye, challenging 
 the plaudits of the crowd. 
 
 * What a grinning baboon goes yonder ! ' cried my 
 companion, who knew every one ; ' it is a monkey that 
 clambers into power on the shoulders of better men.'
 
 A DANGEROUS COMPANION. 181 
 
 A thick-set, clumsy-looking man, '^-ith a dark 
 scowling face, came presently through the crowd. 
 
 * Yonder goes the Secretary of War, Henry Fox,' 
 said Mr. Hay ; ' one of the greatest statesmen we 
 have, but not eloquent as a speaker. Did you ever 
 see such a hang-dog countenance ? One would say 
 'twas a fellow that had just committed a murder and 
 hid the body in a ditch. But the man is a genius ! 
 If he and Pitt could but combine their forces, the 
 brotherhood of Pelham must bow their diminished 
 heads. Sir Marcus is well in with the Ministry, 
 you see, and I doubt not will get some new berth 
 abroad or at home. Why, with such interest, you 
 ought to be in the House of Commons, instead of 
 slaving for the reward of a shabby stuff gown, and 
 the right to cross-examine the witnesses for the 
 crown against a sheepstealer ! But come away ; it 
 is sorry pleasure hanging about the door when we 
 feel ourselves good enough for the best company in 
 the drawing-room.' 
 
 ' I am not so sure of my own merits as you are 
 of yours, Philip,' I answered, laughing ; * but there 
 is one in that house I would give a great deal to 
 see.' 
 
 ' And that one is Miss Dorothea Hemsley, a
 
 182 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 young lady with fifty thousand pounds for her 
 fortune, who is engaged to her cousin Everard 
 Lestrange, and who would marry you to-morrow 
 if you had the courage of a mouse ! ' said my com- 
 panion. 
 
 We had now drawn a little aloof from the crowd ; 
 Philip Hay had thrust his arm through mine, and 
 was leading me homewards. 
 
 'What do you mean?' I cried, aghast at such 
 sacrilege as this light mention of a name that was, 
 and has ever been, sacred to my ears. 
 
 * I mean that I am a man of the world, and know 
 what stuff women are made of. You tell me that 
 Miss Hemsley is plighted, or all but plighted, to 
 young Lestrange, as hardened a sinner as my late 
 patron Mallandaine, from whom I have heard his 
 character. And you have watched her, and seen 
 her unhappy ; and you surprised her once in tears ; 
 and she owned that the burden of her sorrow was 
 hard to bear. Yet with all her sorrow she found 
 time and patience to teach you Spanish, and was 
 pleased you should polish her Italian ; and sang 
 with you, and walked with you, and watched with 
 a face white as a corpse while Sir Marcus reviled 
 and banished you, and sent you a little pious
 
 A DANGEROUS COMPANION. 183 
 
 monkish book for yoar comfort. Why, man alive, 
 the woman loves you — 'tis plain as the nose on 
 your face — and would marry you out of hand if you 
 had the spirit to ask her.' 
 
 * That is impossible — even if I could do such an 
 act of dishonour against Lady Barbara, which I 
 could not. Those who have authority over her would 
 take care to prevent such a marriage.' 
 
 * Yes, if you were so dull a blockhead as to ask 
 their permission. But I don't suppose even your 
 rustic simplicity is simple enough for that. There 
 are parsons by the score in May Fair and the Fleet 
 who will marry you without leave or license from 
 parents and guardians ; and you will surely not let 
 the young lady be sacrificed to a man she hates for 
 lack of a Httle courage on your part.' 
 
 * If daring of mine could secure her happiness, 
 there are few perils I would not dare,' I answered 
 boldly. 
 
 ' Pshaw ! thou art a creature of ifs and buts. 
 Had I such good fortune as to win the heart' of an 
 orphan heiress, I would not stand shivering on the 
 door-step while my lady-love was pining for me 
 within.' 
 . The cold night and the walk had sobered me by
 
 184 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 this time, and the man's tone offended me. I 
 begged him to trouble himself no more about my 
 business, which I assured him I could conduct 
 without his advice. He received my rebuff with 
 his usual good-humour, and for some time forbore 
 to offend by any mention of Dora's name.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 VTE PLIGHT OUR TROTH. 
 
 On the following day I received a note from Lady 
 Barbara. It had been written before the assembly 
 of the previous night, and it informed me that the 
 wTiter would walk in the Mall in St. James's Park at 
 three o'clock the next afternoon, attended only by a 
 footman, and would be pleased if I could join her 
 there, as if by accident. 
 
 Philip Hay was present when I received this letter, 
 and soon after proposed an expedition that would 
 occupy the afternoon and evening. When I declined 
 this he questioned me so closely that I confessed I 
 was going to meet my patroness. He congratulated 
 me on being so high in her favour, and went out upon 
 his own business. 
 
 My heart beat high as I entered the Mall. If 
 Dora should be with Lady Barbara ! — if ! — but I 
 knew this could not be. My lady herself had been
 
 186 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 anxious to banisli me from that sweet society, and 
 would she again expose me to the danger which had 
 already well-nigh wrecked my peace ? No ; I felt 
 sure my benefactress would be alone ; and yet it was 
 with a pang of disappointment I saw her solitary 
 figure approach me. 
 
 It was not the fashionable hour for promenaders, 
 and except for an occasional passer, or a strolling 
 nurse-girl with her brood of children, we had the 
 walk well-nigh to ourselves. 
 
 Lady Barbara dismissed her footman, bidding him 
 return for her in half, an hour. She led the way to 
 a retired seat under one of the newly budding elms, 
 and here we sat side by side, my lady for a few mo- 
 ments silent with emotion, and I no less deeply 
 moved. 
 
 Presently she took my hand and kissed it. 
 
 ' Dear Eobert ! dear adopted son ! ' she murmured 
 gently, * it is hard to meet you thus by stealth.' 
 
 ' Nothing is hard to me, dear madam, except the 
 loss of your affection.' 
 
 ' And that loss can never happen to you. I have 
 only to look in your face, and the past comes back to 
 me, and I fancy you are your father, and I am young, 
 and jealous, and wicked, and miserable once more.
 
 WE PLIGHT OUR TROTH. 187 
 
 No justice that I can do to you will atone for that old 
 wrong to him. Oh, if it could ! But that is a vain 
 wish ; a wrong done to the dead is done for ever. 
 How well you look ! how manly you have grown ! 
 You had never much of the rustic air, but even that 
 you had is gone, and you are a courtier, a man of the 
 world. In what school have you been graduating ? ' 
 I blushed as I bethought myself that it was in 
 those notorious seminaries of Eanelagh and Yauxhall 
 I had acquired the manly air on which my dear lady 
 was pleased to congratulate me. 
 
 * Speak to me of yourself, dear madam,' I said, 
 * and of ' 
 
 * And of Dora ! ' said Lady Barbara, as I paused 
 confused. * Ah, Robert, that is a business which 
 sorely troubles me.' 
 
 * What business, madam ? ' 
 
 * Dora's marriage with Everard. As the time draws 
 near I begin to doubt the wisdom of my husband's 
 conduct in this matter.' 
 
 * As the time draws near ! ' I cried, my heart beating 
 painfully. ' What do you mean by those words, 
 madam ? ' 
 
 ' Ah, I forgot ! You know nothing of what has 
 happened since you left Hauteville. Sir Marcus has
 
 188 ROBERT AINSLEIGff. 
 
 hurried on this marriage between his niece and his 
 son. I fear he has pressed his suit somewhat too 
 persistently. The dear child yields, but I am sure 
 she is unhappy ; and oh ! Kobert, I sorely fear it is 
 for her fortune Everard is so eager.' 
 
 ' I know as much, Lady Barbara,' replied I, and 
 proceeded to repeat the remarks on this subject with 
 which Mr. Everard had favoured me. 'No man who 
 loved a woman would speak of her thus,' I said in 
 conclusion. 
 
 On this my lady became very thoughtful. 
 
 * Oh, Kobert, would to Heaven I knew what is best 
 to be done ! ' she cried after a pause. 
 
 * Anything is better than that Miss Hemsley should 
 be unhappy,' said I ; ' and I do not believe that mar- 
 riage can result in her happiness. Oh, madam, believe 
 me, this is no selfish argument ! It is not because I 
 love her that I say this. Alas ! what hope have I ? 
 Sever her from Everard Lestrange to-morrow, and 
 she is no nearer me. But why should her peace be 
 sacrificed to any ambitious design of her guardian's ? ' 
 
 ' It was her father's wish also, Kobert. Mr. 
 Hemsley was a rich city merchant, who owed his 
 position in society to his alliance with the Lestranges. 
 He had a great friendship for my husband, and it
 
 WE PLIGHT OUR TROTH. 189 
 
 was he who first mooted the idea of Dorothea's union 
 with her cousin. His will was made with a view to 
 this ; and if Dora marries without her guardian's 
 consent, she forfeits half of her fifty thousand pounds, 
 which sum goes to Sir Marcus.' 
 
 I was inexpressibly glad to hear this ; it seemed 
 to lessen by one-half the distance between the heiress 
 and me. 
 
 ' Ah, madam, how happy the lover who should win 
 her against her uncle's will ! ' cried I. 
 
 ' Even then she would have no despicable fortune. 
 The stringent terms of Mr. Hemsley's will are by no 
 means singular in days when clandestine marriages 
 are so common, and an heiress the mark for every 
 adventurer. There is some talk of a bill to stop 
 Fleet marriages ; but they say Henry Fox will oppose 
 it with all his might, since he owes his happiness to 
 a stolen match.' 
 
 ' You spoke of Miss Hemsley's marriage as near 
 at hand, madam. When is it to be ? ' 
 
 I faltered, and found myself cowering like one 
 who awaits his death-blow. 
 
 ' Alas ! Robert, very soon ; in a few weeks.' 
 
 ' That is indeed soon. But surely, madam, if 
 this young lady does not love her cousin you vriil
 
 190 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 interfere to prevent lier misery ? If Sir Marcus be 
 the guardian of her fortune, you are as surely the 
 proper guardian of her peace ; you cannot consent 
 to see her sacrificed.' 
 
 * I know not what I ought to do, Robert,' replied 
 my lady, helplessly ; ' I wish I better knew the dear 
 girl's heart ; and yet I dare not question her. I 
 have tried my uttermost to dissuade Sir Marcus 
 from this hasty marriage ; but he is inflexible. 
 And Dora is his niece and ward, not mine. Everard 
 is in Paris, where he is appointed Secretary of Lega- 
 tion ; but he comes back to-morrow night. He is on 
 the road at this moment, and the preparations for the 
 wedding are already begun. The milliners are busy 
 with the bride's finery ; but the poor child takes no 
 pleasure in laces and brocades. I remember the 
 fuss about my own wedding-clothes, and what weary 
 work it all seemed to me. Ah, Robert, these love- 
 less, joyless marriages must surely be displeasing to 
 Heaven. But I see my servant coming back to us. 
 You must go, dear ; I shall write to you soon. 
 Good-bye, and God bless you ! ' 
 
 So we parted ; I to return to the Temple, sorely 
 depressed in spirits. Nor were Mr. Hay's persua- 
 sions of any avail with me for some time after this.
 
 WE PLIGHT OUR TROTH. 191 
 
 The very thought of crowded public gardens filled me 
 with aversion; I sickened at my comrade's boisterous 
 jokes ; I buried myself in my books, and would have 
 given much to be rid of this old man of the moun- 
 tain, who had contrived to fasten himself upon my 
 shoulders. I think Mr. Hay's tact enabled him to 
 perceive this ; for he left me to myself for upwards 
 of a week soon afterwards, absenting himself upon 
 his own business, as he said. 
 
 Days and weeks passed, and brought me no letter 
 from Lady Barbara. I suffered tortures of anxiety, 
 and every evening after dark stole away from my 
 books and walked to St. James's Square, where, 
 under cover of the friendly night, I reconnoitred the 
 mansion that sheltered Dorothea Hemsley. The 
 lighted windows, more or less brilliantly illuminated, 
 told me nothing of her who was perhaps sad and 
 sorrowful within. Sometimes the thought that she 
 was being forced into a hateful marriage went nigh 
 to drive me to desperation. I remembered what 
 Philip Hay — that soldier of fortune and citizen of 
 the world — had said to me. The great doors of the 
 diplomatist's house stood open before me. "^^Tiy 
 should I not rush in and rescue my darling from her 
 oppressors by force of arms — my own strong arms, 
 which should be able to shield and save her from all
 
 192 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 the world ? Why should I not do this ? Why, 
 indeed, except that I had no right to suppose such 
 a proceeding would be agreeable to Miss Hemsley. 
 Could I have been assured of her love, there would 
 have been little need of hesitation. But how was I, 
 the least learned of students in the science of 
 woman's heart, to interpret, with any certainty, 
 tender looks, and gentle blushes, and downcast eye- 
 lids, and faint fluttering hand, and low tremulous 
 voice ? Those sweet signs of maiden bashfulness 
 might mean so little — or so much. 
 
 One night that I found the house in St. James's 
 Square dimly lighted, and the porter standing at the 
 open door tasting the evening air, I made so bold as 
 to ask that functionary whether there was not soon 
 to be a marriage in the family he served. The man 
 had not been at Hauteville, being no doubt too burly 
 and ponderous a person for removal from his leather- 
 hooded chair in London, and I therefore ran no 
 hazard of recognition. 
 
 Yes ; he informed me that on Thursday fortnight 
 the young lady of the house was to be married. 
 The blow struck hard. Thursday fortnight ! It 
 was now Tuesday ; in sixteen days Dora would be 
 gone from me for ever. 
 
 I returned to my chambers with a distracted
 
 WE PLIGHT OUR TROTH. 193 
 
 mind, but happily found a brief note from Lady 
 Barbara awaiting me. 
 
 * "We shall be at Vauxhall to-morrow • evening,' 
 she wrote ; ' be sure to be at ten o'clock in the dark 
 walk to the right of the statue of Neptune, — and be 
 cautious. We shall not be alone.' 
 
 * We.' Did ' we ' mean my Lady and Miss 
 Hemsley ? I thought as much ; and I know not 
 how I lived till the next night. Philip Hay's 
 presence and lively interest in my welfare seemed 
 at this time particularly obtrusive. He questioned 
 me closely as to where I was going to spend my 
 evening, and said he had made a special appoint- 
 ment for me with some friends of his own at Vaux- 
 hall. 
 
 I doubt not that some movement of vexation at 
 this intelligence betrayed where I was going, if he 
 had not the knowledge already from another source. 
 
 Evening came, and I found myself for the first 
 time alone in the gardens, fluttered with unspeak- 
 able hopes, and very anxious to avoid any encounter 
 with Mr. Philip Hay. Though I had meant to 
 arrive only a few minutes before the hour named by 
 Lady Barbara, it was but nine o'clock when I entered 
 the gates, so swiftly did my desires outrun time. I 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 kept entirely to the dark walks, and looked at my 
 ^yatch every time I came to a solitary lamp. Every 
 footstep fluttered me, every rustle of brocade set my 
 heart beating with a sudden tumult. I thought the 
 gardens could never have been so full of fops and 
 belles, the dark ' alleys never so affected by the 
 company. 
 
 At last the clock struck ten ; the distant music 
 grew confused in my ears ; placid stars above and 
 lamps below swam before my eyes. Two ladies in 
 hoods and masks approached, and in another mo- 
 ment Dora was at my side. 
 
 ' Dora — Miss Hemsley ! ' I faltered ; and then I 
 know not what impulse possessed me, but, forgetful 
 of all except the delight of this meeting, I clasped 
 the dear girl in my arms. * My love, my darling ! ' 
 I cried, * this hateful marriage must not be.' 
 
 * No, Kobert,' she murmured, gently withdrawing 
 herself from my embrace, ' it shall not be. I have 
 been very weak and cowardly; but when the time 
 drew near, despair made me bold, and I cast myself 
 upon Lady Barbara's mercy. Dearest aunt ! she is 
 all goodness, and she will not suffer me to be 
 wretched for life, as I should be if I married one I 
 cannot love, whom I cannot even respect.'
 
 WE PLIGHT OUR TROTH. 195 
 
 * Yes, Robert,' said my lady, ' we must save this 
 dear girl. I knew not her heart till the night before 
 last, when some tearful words she let fall tempted me 
 to question her. We must save her — but how ? 
 I cannot openly oppose the will of her guardian, my 
 husband ; and I know nothing against my stepson. 
 It is a faithful lover must save her, Robert.' 
 
 My lady and Dora had both removed their masks. 
 The sweet girl stood before me, one moment pale as 
 a lily, and in the next blushing crimson. 
 
 * There is one, madam, who would shrink from no 
 dangerous service if he might be permitted to save 
 her, and who would take her for his wife penniless 
 more proudly than as heiress to a gi'eat fortune. 
 But he is obscure, dependent, almost nameless. — 
 Would you not despise such an one, Dora ? ' 
 
 * Despise you ! ' faltered my angel tenderly ; and 
 she gave me a divine look from her blue eyes. 
 
 * I begin to think I am not wanted here,' cried 
 my lady, laughing ; * I will go and pay my respects to 
 Neptune. — Ah, Dora, will you hang your pearl neck- 
 lace on the sea-god's trident if you escape shipwreck 
 on life's troubled ocean ? ' 
 
 She was gone. I led my darling to a bench, and 
 we sat" down side by side. She put on her mask 
 
 o 2
 
 196 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 again ; was it to hide those maiden blushes ? And 
 then, emboldened by sudden joy, I spoke to her of 
 my love, and implored her to consent to a speedy 
 clandestine marriage. 
 
 * I would not offer you a name so obscure, Dora,' 
 said I, when I had pleaded in swift passionate words 
 that came from the very depth of my heart ; * I would 
 rather wait and work patiently till I was worthier 
 so dear a partner. But by this way only, or by a 
 resolute refusal on your part, which would expose 
 you to all the tortures of domestic persecution, can 
 your union with Everard Lestrange be avoided ; and 
 oh, my darling, I think I would sooner see you dead 
 than united to that man, for I know he is a villain. 
 Who else should have forged the vile letter that 
 banished and disgraced me ? Who else should be 
 privy to poor Margery's flight ? Ah, Dora, you know 
 how little of my time was spent at the warrener's 
 lodge after one dear person came to Hauteville. I 
 was but too forgetful of my old humble friends. No, 
 darling, you must not marry Everard Lestrange. But 
 can you consent to share a lot so lowly as mine ? ' 
 
 *Yes, Kobert,' she whispered; and for a few 
 blessed moments we sat silent, with clasped hands. 
 This was our betrothal.
 
 WE PLIGHT OUR TROTH. 197 
 
 A faint rustling of the bushes behind startled us. 
 I sprang to my feet. 
 
 *Who is there?' I cried, with my hand on my 
 sword-hilt, for I was inclined to suspect an eaves- 
 dropper. 
 
 Again I heard a stealthy rustling, and swift foot- 
 steps in the next walk. I examined the hedge, 
 which grew thick and high ; but the listener, if there 
 had been one, was gone. Those rapid retreating 
 footsteps were his, no doubt. 
 
 Lady Barbara came hurrjing towards us. 
 
 'Come, children,' she cried, *is all settled?' 
 
 * There is nothing settled, dear madam, except 
 that Miss Hemsley has blessed a most unworthy 
 creature with her love.' 
 
 * Oh, Kobert, if I can read you aright, she will 
 have no cause to repent her confidence. Dear 
 children ! But there is not time for another word. 
 We are here with a party, you know, Robert, and 
 have stolen away from them. Our friends will be 
 looking for us. Am I to arrange everything ? Yes, 
 I suppose mine is the only cool head among us. I 
 will write to you, Robert.' 
 
 * Lady Barbara ! ' called a gentleman, running to- 
 wards us.
 
 198' ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 . * See, here comes Mr. Dolford, one of our beaux ! 
 Away with you, cousin, away ! ' 
 
 I pressed Dora's hand, murmured a blessing upon 
 my cousin and my love, and vanished as my lady's 
 cavalier approached her, complaining bitterly of her 
 absence. 
 
 ' We have all been hunting you, ladies. Delavanti, 
 the conjuror, is just beginning his wonderful per- 
 formance. It is the best thing to be seen this year, 
 and I would not have you miss it. — Lestrange has 
 been positively distracted, I protest. Miss Hemsley.' 
 
 I felt like a creature in a dream after leaving 
 Dora. My head swam with the sweet intoxication 
 of so much happiness. I could not tear myself 
 from the garden, but hung about the darker walks 
 in the faint hope of seeing her again. It was not 
 till after midnight that I left the pleasure-haunt and 
 walked eastwards under the pale April stars.
 
 CHAPTEK XII. 
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TRAITOR. 
 
 After that too happy meeting at Vauxhall my spirits 
 were too much distracted for the common business 
 of life, and I found the society of Mr. Hay far 
 from agreeable. I longed to be alone with my hopes 
 and anxieties, but knew not how to get rid of a 
 companion who cost me nothing, and took pains to 
 make himself useful and necessary to me. In tell- 
 ing him what I had told him of my secrets, I had 
 given him some right to be interested in my affairs, 
 and this privilege he used with much freedom, and to 
 my extreme annoyance, until I lost my temper one 
 day, and informed him that I preferred to manage 
 my own business without his advice or interference. 
 
 If I had hoped to rid myself of him by this 
 means I was doomed to disappointment. Mr. Hay 
 was blessed ^sith an imperturbable temper, and an
 
 200 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 easy impudence not to be disconcerted by any 
 rebuff. 
 
 * That's wrong, Bob,' he replied ; * the advice of 
 a man of the world is always worth having ; and 
 I'll wager I could help you to a wife and a fortune if 
 you'd let me.' 
 
 * I have no doubt of your genius for intrigue,' I 
 answered coldly ; * but how is it you have not found 
 those blessings for 3'ourself ? ' 
 
 * How do you know that I have not had and lost 
 them? A man of my stamp runs through a for- 
 tune, and quarrels and parts company from a wife, 
 while a fellow of your icy nature is deliberating a 
 love-letter.' 
 
 During this period of anxious expectation I found 
 it impossible to rid myself of my companion's ob- 
 servation. If I went out after dark to watch the 
 house that held my treasure, as I did every even- 
 ing, he guessed my errand, and upbraided me for 
 my pusillanimity. I tried to quarrel with him ; but, 
 as it did not suit the gentleman's purpose that we 
 should part, I found this impossible. 
 
 It was a week after my meeting with Dora, and it 
 seemed an age, when a visitor came to my chambers, 
 and the door being opened by Mr. Hay, that person
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TRAITOR. 201 
 
 appeared before me in high spirits, to announce 
 that a young woman wanted to speak to me. 
 
 * She is dressed like a milliner's girl or a lady's- 
 maid,' he said; 'but I'll wager it is thy inamorata 
 in disguise.' 
 
 I flew to the door, and found Miss Hemsley's 
 maid, a young Frenchwoman, whom I had seen 
 often at Haute\-ille, and who was no especial fa- 
 vourite of mine. She had a pinched, sallow counte- 
 nance, with small piercing black eyes. She spoke 
 English very tolerably, but with an unpleasant nasal 
 twang, and I had heard Lady Barbara extol her as a 
 model of industry and fidelity. I felt, therefore, 
 that my own dislike of the girl was an unworthy 
 prejudice of the masculine mind, which is ever apt 
 to associate an unpleasing face with an inferior 
 nature. To-day I could have hugged Ma'amselle 
 Adolphine, so delighted was I to welcome any one 
 who brought me tidings of Dora. I led her into 
 my sitting-room, where Mr. Hay was lounging over 
 a newspaper. 
 
 * As this young woman has come to speak of 
 private business, I should be very glad to have 
 the room to ourselves for half an hour. Hay,' 
 said I.
 
 202 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 * With all my heart, Bob ; I can read the news 
 at a coffee-house as well as here. — Your servant, 
 madam.' 
 
 Mr. Hay saluted my visitor with a profound bow, 
 and favoured her with a significant glance which I 
 at the moment took for a simple fashionable leer, 
 much affected at a time when your spurious fine 
 gentleman's language to women was always spiced 
 with double meaning, and his every look a declara- 
 tion. I saw Mr. Hay safe outside my door, and 
 then turned eagerly to the Frenchwoman. 
 
 * Now, Adolphine, what news from your mis- 
 tress ? ' I cried. ' Have you brought me a let- 
 ter?' 
 
 ' Ah, mais, but no, monsieur ! ' shrieked the 
 girl ; ' mademoiselle is too well watch for that. 
 She cannot run the hazard of to write. It is 
 nothing but drums, and dinners, and masquerades, 
 and picture- sales, and parties to Banelagh all the 
 day and all the night, and he, Monsieur Everard, is 
 alway there — alway upon her steps. Mais, but it is 
 my Lady Barbara who send me to-day. The mar- 
 riage that you know of is to take place at once, at 
 the Fleet, at May Fair, anywhere that they will ask 
 no question. And if you have a friend who can
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TEAITOR. 203 
 
 help you to arrange the things, my Lady Barbara 
 says — ah, let me not forget what it is she has 
 said — since you know not the town, you are to 
 confide in your friend, pourvu that you can trust 
 yourself to him." 
 
 A friend ? What friend had I ? There was my 
 companion, Mr. Philip Hay, clever, unscrupulous, 
 practised in intrigue, and only too eager to be useful. 
 But could I venture to confide my happiness to 
 him? 
 
 * What next, Adolphine ? ' I cried. 
 
 * The marriages must be immediatement, see 
 you, Monsieur Eobert. This day week is fix for the 
 wedding wid Monsieur Everard. To-night there is 
 masquerade at Ranelagh. Mademoiselle will be 
 there, with my Lady Barbara and Monsieur Eve- 
 rard. At half-past twelve o'clock, when the rooms 
 are most crowd, she will complain of the heat, and 
 will retire to the cloak-room wid her aunt, where 
 she will sUp a black silk domino over her dress and 
 will come out to the portico, alway wid her aunt. 
 You must be upon the spot wid a hackney-coach 
 ready to carry her away. It must all be done quick 
 like the lightning, for Monsieur Everard will not be 
 slow to take alarm ; and* then you will drive at once
 
 204 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 to your parson, and he will marry you sur-le- champ. 
 And after, you had best to leave the country with 
 your bride, says my Lady Barbara, if you would not 
 have the blood to be shed between you and Monsieur 
 Everard.' 
 
 * I can protect my wife and my honour in 
 England or elsewhere,' I answered proudly ; and 
 then with a throbbing heart I sat down to write to 
 my dear girl, assuring her of my gratitude and love, 
 and thanking her a thousand times for her confi- 
 dence ; a long, wild, rambling epistle I doubt not. 
 I had not time to read it over, for the French- 
 woman was in haste to be gone, so I crammed the 
 letter and a couple of guineas into her hand and 
 dismissed her. 
 
 "When she was gone I paced my chamber thought- 
 fully for some time, debating the prudence of con- 
 fiding in Philip Hay. After serious reflection I 
 decided in his favour. True that I knew him to be 
 a rascal, yet if well paid for his fidelity he would 
 surely be faithful. And what interest could he 
 have in betraying me ? Some help in this matter I 
 must assuredly have. I knew nothing of Fleet 
 marriages or the law relating to them ; and there 
 was no time for me to obtain such knowledge from
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TPtAITOR. 20o 
 
 strangers. I had often enough been hustled in Hol- 
 born and onLudgate Hill by low wretches touting for 
 those reprobate parsons who made a living by such 
 clandestine unions ; but I could at least trust Philip 
 Hay rather than one of these vulgar adventurers. To 
 arrange a marriage between midnight and sunrise, 
 might be, nay, no doubt would be, a matter of some 
 difficulty ; and for this I needed just such help as my 
 companion could give me ; while, in the event of any 
 pursuit on the part of Everard Lestrange, the assist- 
 ance of such a sturdy henchman would be of no small 
 service. It was already late in the afternoon, and 
 there was little time for indecision ; so I determined 
 on trusting Mr. Hay with this precious secret, and 
 on his return hastened to make him my confidant. 
 
 * It is just such an adventure as I love ! ' he cried 
 gaily. ' Leave all to me, and I will engage that the 
 soberest parson in the purlieus of the Fleet prison 
 shall be in waiting with book and gown to unite 
 you to your heiress at the unearthly hour of one to- 
 morrow morning. He will ask an extra fee for the un- 
 usual hour, though it is scarcely so uncommon as you 
 may think ; but of course you'll not object to that.' 
 
 * And will such a marriage be strictly legal ?' I 
 asked.
 
 206 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 ' Faith yes, Bob ; the Gordian knot shall be as 
 tight as if an archbishop had the tying of it — unless, 
 indeed, you give special notice to the parson before- 
 hand, when these ecclesiastics have a way of forget- 
 ting to read some essential bit of the service, which 
 omission enables Signor Sposo to bid Signora Sposa 
 good-morning some fine day when she grows trouble- 
 some. Oh, they are rare obliging fellows, I assure 
 you, these parsons ; but though these marriages are 
 legal enough, it is a felony on their part to perform 
 them, for which they are liable to prosecution. But 
 they snap their fingers at Mr. Justice, and contrive 
 to live a jolly life. There was Dr. Gainham, for 
 instance, playfully entitled Bishop of Hell, a rare 
 impudent dog ; and the famous Keith, who made a 
 handsome fortune by his chapel in Mayfair ; and 
 when there was some talk of his brother ecclesiastics 
 putting down his traffic, vowed if they did he would 
 buy a piece of ground and outbury them.' 
 
 While my companion rattled on thus, I was medi- 
 tating my plans for the night. Yes, Lady Barbara 
 was right. It would be best to carry my bride from 
 England, and place her where she would be safe 
 from Everard Lestrange's persecution. I could 
 come back to my native shores to fight him, if my
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TRAITOR. 207 
 
 honour should demand such an act ; but my first 
 thought must be of Dora. 
 
 I had luckily upwards of a hundred pounds in 
 hand ; and this, after feeing Mr. Hay with a twenty- 
 pound note, would leave me plenty for a journey to 
 France, and a month or two's living in some plea- 
 sant rustic retreat, which Dora, who knew the 
 Continent, should choose. ' And I will be her 
 slave, and lie at her feet, during the brief happy 
 holiday of our honeymoon,' I thought ; * and then I 
 will come back to London and work for a position at 
 the Bar, and redeem my name from the stigma of 
 the fortune-hunter, and every penny of the income 
 from her five-and-twenty thousand pounds shall be 
 spent on herself, so that she may forget she is mar- 
 ried to a poor man.' 
 
 My fancy flew to a pretty rural cottage I had seen 
 to let in one of the lanes beyond Kensington, during 
 a recent ramble in that quarter, and which I imagined 
 just such a simple paradise as my love would like. 
 
 ' I will send Hay to secure it to-morrow,' I said to 
 myself, ' while Dora and I are posting towards Dover, 
 and I will ask Lady Barbara to furnish it for us. 
 
 Mr. Hay departed in search of a sober parson, and 
 to order the post-horses and chariot to convey us to
 
 208 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 Dover ; while I busied myself with the packing of a 
 trunk to take with me on my journey. Never had I 
 been so particular about my toilette. I deliberated 
 solemnly between a blue suit and a chocolate one, 
 and no elegant trifler of Pall Mall could have been 
 more particular than I in my selection of cravat and 
 ruffles. 
 
 By the time I had made my arrangements and 
 counted my money, Mr. Hay returned. He had 
 settled everything most pleasantly^ — found an exem- 
 plary parson, a real Oxford man, without a fault 
 except a capacity for losing money at faro, at the 
 tavern of the * Two Sawyers,' Fleet Lane. The chaise 
 and horses were ordered, and would be in waiting 
 close to this place of entertainment. 
 
 * And by to-morrow noon you will be in Dover,* 
 said my coadjutor, * in time for the packet that sails 
 at four in the afternoon, wind and weather permitting. 
 And now let us go and dine together. What, man 
 alive !' he cried, in answer to a dissentient look of 
 mine, * will you refuse to crack a bottle with a faith- 
 ful friend at parting ? By , Mr. Bob, unless I 
 
 am used as a friend I will have no hand in this 
 business. I am no dirty tool, too base to touch, but 
 not too vile to use !'
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TRAITOR. 209 
 
 * It was no want of friendship that made me 
 hesitate, Phil,' I replied ; ' but I am in too 
 anxious a mood for pleasure, and shall be poor 
 company. We'll have a bottle together, notwith- 
 standing.' 
 
 I looked at my watch, a bulky Tompion with a 
 clumsy outer case of leather, that had belonged to 
 my gi-andfather the colonel, and had been flung 
 aside as old-fashioned by my father when he went to 
 Cambridge, and left in a drawer at Hauteville, where 
 Lady Barbara found it, and gave it to me. It was 
 early yet, and indeed, but for Mr. Hay's invitation 
 to dine, I know not how I should have got rid of the 
 hours that must pass before my appointment at 
 Ranelagh. 
 
 My officious friend took me to a tavern that was 
 strange to me, a house in Chelsea, where he ordered 
 an excellent dinner, and so much wine that I remon- 
 strated with him for his folly. But he informed me 
 that we were not going to dine alone, and presently 
 arrived a person of military aspect, in a uniform 
 which I had never seen before, whom Mr. Hay in- 
 troduced as Serjeant O'Blagg of the East India 
 Company's service, a gentleman who thought no 
 more of storming a Mahratta fortress than of crack- 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 ing a bottle of burgundy, and who stood high in the 
 estimation of Major Lawrence. 
 
 This brave warrior, whose Hibernian accent was in 
 nowise modified by long service in the East, favoured 
 us during dinner with many wonderful stories of his 
 adventures in those distant lands, and dilated with a 
 somewhat florid eloquence upon the wealth and glory 
 to be won there. 
 
 * You gentlemen who know no more of war than 
 those petty European skirmishes about which you 
 kick up such a row, with firing of big guns and ring- 
 ing of big bells, bedad, for a victory that you're 
 neither better nor worse for, except in the matter of 
 a new tax on our boots, or your wig, or your tay, 
 ye've no notion of our conquests out yonder, where, 
 at the sack of a town, there's diamonds as big. as 
 beans to be picked up in the streets, and the pearls 
 fly as thick as hailstones about our soldiers' heads ; 
 and there's big brazen idols in the temples with their 
 stomachs full of rubies and emeralds and such like, 
 • just as you stuff a Michaelmas goose, sir, and him as 
 splits the haythen image asunder with the butt-end 
 of his gun gets the stuffing for his pains. Why, the 
 Great Mogul has seven golden thrones — or maybe 
 some of 'em's silver — covered with jewels ' — the ser-
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TRAITOR. 211 
 
 geant called them * jools ' — ' every one of 'em hand- 
 somer than t'other, except the one that's called the 
 paycock throne, and that whops the lot, and is valued 
 at forty millions of rupays.' 
 
 So he ran on, to the apparent delight of my com- 
 panion, but to my own unutterable weariness. What 
 were the jewelled thrones of the Great Mogul to me, 
 who knew but one treasure, and sighed but for one 
 dear prize? The sergeant's company vexed me ; but 
 Philip Hay explained to me in an undertone that he 
 had met this old friend by accident in the street, and 
 could not well avoid asking him to join us at dinner. 
 I observed that the soldier drank ferociously, and 
 both he and Hay pressed the wine on. me ; but this 
 kindness I for some time resolutely declined. I 
 would have given much to have been away from these 
 boisterous boon-companions, and heartily repented 
 my confidence in Mr. Hay, which had placed me in 
 such an unwelcome position. 
 
 I gave but little attention to the sergeant's stories, 
 which he told in a noisy, uproarious manner peculiar 
 to the lower orders of his countrymen, and garnished 
 with military oaths. My thoughts were far away 
 from that boisterous table. When the bottle was 
 pushed towards me, with clamorous protestations 
 
 p 2
 
 212 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 against my abstinence, I filled my glass mechani- 
 cally, and in this manner when the night grew late 
 I had drunk some three or four glasses of a claret 
 which seemed to me a thin poor wine, ill-adapted to 
 steal a man's brains. Yet by ten o'clock I felt a 
 kind of stupor creeping over me — a confusion of the 
 brain, in which the strident voice of the Irish soldier 
 roaring his braggart stories of Indian conquest and 
 loot, of Dupleix and the Great Mogul, peacock 
 thrones, and royal elephants in jewelled harness, 
 seemed strange and distant to my ears. 
 
 In this condition of my mind I was perpetually 
 troubled by the idea that I had no right to be here. 
 It was in vain that I looked at my watch, which 
 showed me that I had nearly three hours to wait 
 before my presence would be required at the gates of 
 Ranelagh. At last I started up from the table in 
 haste, telling Philip Hay that I could stay no longer, 
 and if he was not ready to accompany me, would go 
 alone. 
 
 He pointed to an eight-day clock in a corner of the 
 room. 
 
 * Art thou mad, Bob ? ' he cried ; ' it has not yet 
 gone the half-hour after ten. Drink a glass of this 
 rare old Hollands, and take things easy.'
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TRAITOR. 213 
 
 He forced a glass of spirit upon me, which I drank 
 unwillingly enough. It had a strange burning taste, 
 and I had reason afterwards to know that it was no 
 such simple liquor as Hollands I was thus made to 
 drink, but a dram doctored with an Indian spirit that 
 maddens the brain. 
 
 * We can get rid of the sergeant in half an hour, 
 and then go out and get our hackney-coach,' whis- 
 pered Hay close in my ear. ' There is no need for 
 him to know our business.' 
 
 I acknowledged the wisdom of this, and tried to 
 listen with some degree of patience to the soldier's 
 long-winded stories, and my friend's comments upon 
 them ; but before I had listened long, the voices of 
 the two mingled confusedly, then grew to a buzzing 
 sound, and at last died away into a low murmur, 
 like the pleasant rustling of trees on a summer after- 
 noon, as my head sank forward on the table, and I 
 slept. 
 
 I was awakened suddenly by a violent slap on the 
 shoulder, and a loud voice crs'ing, — 
 
 * Twelve o'clock. Bob ; the landlord is shutting his 
 doors, and 'tis time we went in search of our coach. 
 Why, what a dull companion thou hast been ! ' 
 
 I staggered to my feet. My eyeballs burnt, and
 
 214 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 my head ached to splitting ; for a moment I scarce 
 remembered where I was, or the events of the day. '" 
 
 * Heavens, I have slept ! ' I exclaimed at last ; * and 
 Dora waiting for me, perhaps. Why, in perdition's 
 name, did you make me drink?' 
 
 ' You must have the weakest head in Christendom, 
 child, if three glasses of French wine can muddle it. 
 Come, the reckoning is paid, and a long one, for that 
 Irishman drinks like a fish ; we can settle between 
 us by-and-by. Allans J' 
 
 He slipped his arm through mine, and led me from 
 the house. The feeble street-lamps swam before my 
 eyes, and I could hardly have walked without my 
 companion's support. Not far from the tavern we 
 found a hackney-coach that had just brought a family- 
 party from the theatre, and this carried us at a good 
 pace to Eanelagh, before the doors of which pleasure- 
 place we alighted. 
 
 Here all was confusion and riot — torches blazing, 
 chair-men bawling, footmen squabbling, ducal cha- 
 riots stopping the way, and a crowd of finely dressed 
 people going in and out of the lighted doors. 
 
 My companion held me tightly by the arm, and it 
 was as much as we could do to keep our places in the 
 crowd. Standing thus, hustled and pushed on every
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TRAITOR. 215 
 
 side, we waited for a time that seemed to me very 
 long, but no black-robed mask approached us. 
 Maskers in red and blue and yellow, Great Moguls 
 and Turkish princesses, shepherds and shepherd- 
 esses, sailors, sultans, chimney-sweeps, harlequins, 
 Punchinellos, Sir John Falstaffs, and Abel Druggers, 
 passed and pushed us, but she for whom I waited 
 with throbbing heart and burning brain did not 
 appear. 
 
 At last I felt myself tapped on the shoulder by 
 some one amongst the crowd behind us, and turning, 
 found myself face to face with two women in black 
 dominoes and masks. One removed her mask 
 instantly, and I recognized Mademoiselle Adolphine. 
 
 * Get us to a coach as quick as you can, Mr. 
 Robert,' she entreated hurriedly ; * my young lady 
 is like to swoon herself. — Oh, but I pray you to sus- 
 tain yourself, mademoiselle ! The coach is all near, 
 and monsieur will lead us there. Lean you on his 
 arm, mademoiselle, and on me. — And you will tell 
 the coachman where to drive, and follow us in 
 another coach, is it not, monsieur ? Ah, what of 
 dangers, what of hazards we have run to rencounter 
 you ! Monsieur Lestrange is yonder in waiting for 
 mademoiselle, who has gone away with her aunt to
 
 216 ROBEET AINSLEIGH. 
 
 the cloak-room; and Miladi Barbara goes to mon- 
 sieur to say that mademoiselle is too ill to return to 
 the dance. Word of honour, it is a pretty comedy! ' 
 and chattering thus, the French maid hurried and 
 bustled us to the door of a coach, into which she 
 pushed her timid companion, who did indeed seem 
 half-fainting. 
 
 I pressed the poor little trembling hand, which 
 clung convulsively to mine. 
 
 * Shall I not come with you, Dora ? ' I asked. 
 
 * Great Heaven, no ! ' the French girl shrieked 
 almost hysterically ; * and if one pursues us, and 
 Monsieur Lestrange came to overtake us, — the 
 beautiful affair ! Go you into the other coach, 
 monsieur, with your friend, and tell to our coach- 
 man to follow yours. Go, then. Is there the time 
 to lose in follies ? ' cried Adolphine, as I kissed the 
 little hand that still clung to mine, alas ! with but 
 too natural fear. 
 
 Philip Hay pulled me from the carriage-door, 
 directed the man where to drive, and thrust me into 
 our coach before I had time to remonstrate. 
 
 * Drive like ten thousand devils ! ' he shouted to 
 our Jarvey, who, no doubt used to such clandestine 
 errands and the double or treble pay attendant on
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TRAITOR. 217 
 
 them, whipped his jaded horses into a gallop, and in 
 another minute we were tearing, rattling, jolting 
 eastwards at a pace that shook every bone in our 
 bodies, and precluded any attempt at conversation. 
 
 I looked out of the window several times on the 
 journey, to satisfy myself that the other coach was 
 following. I think we could scarce have left 
 Ranelagh an hour when we pulled up in a wretched 
 dirty lane, before the dreary entrance of a tavern, 
 whose dinginess was but just made visible by an 
 oil-lamp hanging over the threshold. 
 
 * Is this the house ? ' I asked with a shudder. 
 * What a hoiTid place ! ' 
 
 * Zounds, Bob, what a fool thou art ! Does it 
 matter by what gate a man goes to heaven ! Quick, 
 man ! here are the ladies ; there is no time for 
 dawdling. My parson will be drunk or asleep if 
 we're not quick ; 'tis an hour after our time. — This 
 way, mademoiselle; support your mistress. The 
 stairs are somewhat rotten, and might be cleaner. — 
 The chapel is an ugly one, miss ; but this dirty stair 
 is like Jacob's ladder, for here are seen angels as- 
 cending and descending. — Come, Bob.' 
 
 He opened a door and ushered us into a chamber 
 lighted with two tallow- candles in brass candlesticks.
 
 218 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 These stood on a table covered with a dirty cloth, 
 and surmounted by a greasy, dilapidated-looking 
 prayer-book, upon the cover of which, in tarnished 
 gilding, appeared the arms of one of the colleges. 
 A man dressed in a grimy surplice, and with a red 
 cotton-handkerchief tied round his head in lieu of 
 a wig, was nodding half asleep over an empty 
 bottle ; but he was broad awake in a moment at our 
 entrance, saluted us briskly, clapped himself behind 
 the table, opened his book, and began to gabble the 
 marriage- service, as if for a wager. 
 . The irreverence of the whole affair shocked me 
 inexpressibly. Was this, save one, the most solemn 
 of all ceremonials, to be thus rattled over by a 
 drunkard ? 
 
 * Stop, sir ! ' I cried ; ' let the lady at least remove 
 her mask.' 
 
 * Mais tu es bete ! ' roared Philip Hay. ' Veux- 
 tu que tout le monde sache demain ce qui se fait 
 ici ce soir ? The lady will keep her mask ; 'tis the 
 custom with people of her rank. — Go on, parson, 
 and let us have none of your clippings of the service. 
 This is a bond-fide marriage, remember ; but you'll 
 be paid as well as if we wanted to play fast and 
 loose by-and-by.'
 
 I AM TRAPPED BY A TRAITOR. 219 
 
 T took the little hand in mine. It trembled no 
 longer, but was now icy cold. The parson rattled 
 on with the service. Mr. Hay stood grinning at us, 
 with his arms akimbo and his hat on. The bride's 
 responses were given in a faint murmur that was 
 almost a sob. The ring was slipped upon the 
 slender finger, and the ceremonial being concluded, 
 a greasy book was produced, in which I signed my 
 name, and the bride after me. As she took the pen, 
 Mr. Hay gave a loud huzza, which withdrew my 
 attention from the register. It seemed the signal 
 for a fresh arrival. The door of an inner room 
 opened, and a gentleman entered, who took off his 
 hat and saluted me with a bow of mock ceremony. 
 This new-comer was Everard Lestrange. His ironi- 
 cal courtesy, and the sardonic grin upon his hated 
 face, told me that I was undone. Till this moment 
 my brain had been dazed and muddled by the stuff 
 that had been mixed with my drink; but my 
 enemy's presence sobered me. 
 
 ' Let me be first to salute the bride,' exclaimed 
 my lady's stepson. ' You may remove your mask 
 now. Mistress Ainsleigh, and let your husband im- 
 print a hymeneal kiss upon the prettiest lips in Chris- 
 tendom.'
 
 220 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 She, my wife, — bound to me irrevocably by the 
 ceremonial just gabbled over by a half- drunken par- 
 son, — took her mask from her face, and looked at 
 me pleadingly, piteously, tenderly, with her soft 
 brown eyes. 
 
 It was my foster-sister, Margery Hawker !
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 I BEGIN MY APPRENTICESHIP. 
 
 * What devirs work is this ? ' I cried, drawing my 
 sword, and looking towards Everard Lestrange, who 
 stood at some distance from me, and very close to the 
 door, as if anxious to secure a convenient retreat. 
 
 ' Oh, Robin, they told me 'twas your wish to marry 
 me!' 
 
 * And the desperado draws his sword on the prettiest 
 girl in Berks ! ' exclaimed Everard Lestrange ; ' was 
 there ever such a savage ? ' 
 
 * It is upon you that I draw my sword, Har and 
 traitor ! ' I gasped. ' Your life or mine shall answer 
 for this night's work.' 
 
 * I decline to cross swords with a ' 
 
 Before the foul word could pass his lips, I sprang 
 towards him with uplifted hand, and should have 
 struck him across the face with my open palm, but
 
 222 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 for Philip Hay and the parson, who clutched at my 
 arm, and held me off hy their united strength. 
 
 ' What a fire-eater this foundling of my lady's is!* 
 cried Mr. Lestrange with his languid sneer. ' But 
 why all this outcry ? The wife we have given you is 
 young and pretty,- and 'twould only have served you 
 right if we had tied you to some wrinkled harridan 
 of the town. True, 'tis not the lady to whose hand 
 and fortune your insolence aspired ; hut it is scarce 
 six months since you swore you were ready to marry 
 this one at a moment's notice, if her father could find 
 her for you.' 
 
 'I offered to marry an honest woman,' I answered, 
 * not your cast-off mistress.' 
 
 My foster-sister sank to my feet with a stifled 
 groan. God help us both ! I had but hit the mark 
 too well. 
 
 * No ; 'twas my other mistress you wanted, with 
 twenty-five thousand pounds for her fortune. You 
 were welcome to my mistress — when I had done with 
 her.' 
 
 'Devil! Will you fight me in this room — this 
 moment ? ' I cried huskily. 
 
 *No! I will fight you neither here nor elsewhere, 
 neither now nor at any future time, for a reason
 
 I BEGIN MY APPRENTICESHIP. 223 
 
 which I hinted just now, and which you need not 
 force me to state more hroadly. You are no mark 
 for a gentleman's weapon. — Hold the fellow tight, 
 Phil Hay ; I have but a few words to say, and am 
 gone.' 
 
 * Let me go. Hay ! ' cried I ; * why do you obey that 
 scoundrel ? ' 
 
 * Because he is paid to obey me, as ma'amselle 
 yonder has been paid for her part in the comedy. Do 
 you suppose a man of the world like myself was to 
 be ousted and cheated by your bumpkinship, without 
 trying to turn the tables on you ? I saw how you 
 were placing your cards from the day we came to 
 Hauteville. Your father was my father's rival, and 
 it was natural to me to hate you. And you, my 
 lady stepmother's beggarly foundling, must needs 
 come between me and the girl that was betrothed 
 to me. A pretty gentleman indeed to steal my mis- 
 tress ! I saw through your artifices, and when you 
 €ame to London, took care to place my spy upon 
 your track.' 
 
 * What ! ' I roared, shaking myself free from 
 Philip's grasp. 
 
 ' Yes, Mr. Simplicity ; your chosen friend and 
 boon companion is my led-captain, Mr. Hay, a
 
 224 KOBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 gentleman who has been in my service for the last 
 five years.' 
 
 * God, what a dastardly world ! ' 
 
 * Forgive me, Bob ; thou'rt the best fellow I ever 
 knew, and I love thee with all my heart,' said Hay, 
 with a strange softness in his tone ; * but I am a 
 scoundrel by profession. 'Tis one of the trades poor 
 men live by, you see, and men must live.' 
 
 * Yes, and vipers too ; they plead their privilege 
 to crawl and sting. Great God, this is hard ! ' 
 
 I sank into a chair, touched to the very heart by 
 this hideous treachery. I had grown fonder of the 
 man than I thought. As I sat for some moments, 
 confounded, forgetful of Everard Lestrange, I felt a 
 little hand thrust gently into mine. It was Margery's. 
 The wretched girl had not yet risen from the spot 
 where she had sunk down at my feet. 
 
 ' Forgive one, Kobin,' she pleaded; ' indeed I did 
 not know it was a trick that was to be played on thee, 
 or I would have died before I had taken part in it. 
 He — Everard — told me it was your wish to marry 
 me ; and oh, Robin, I have been cruelly deceived, 
 and am not so guilty as I seem. I will never trouble 
 you, dear ; you shall see me no more ; and the 
 marriage can be undone.'
 
 I BEGIN MY APPRENTICESHIP. 225 
 
 ' Yes,' cried Everard Lestrange ; ' by grim death ! 
 Pallida mors is the only parson who can cut the knot 
 which my friend yonder has just tied/ 
 
 ' The bride was married under a false name,' I said. 
 
 * Yes ; but the true one is in the register.' 
 
 I turned eagerly to the greasy volume that lay 
 open upon the table. Yes, there, below my own 
 signature, appeared that of Margaret Hawker. I 
 remembered how my attention had been distracted 
 while the bride was writing. 
 
 * The ceremony could not be more binding if it 
 had been performed in Westminster Abbey. Mrs. 
 Margery is as honest a wife as Lady Caroline Fox. 
 Ma'amselle Adolphine will go back to her service 
 the richer for a fifty-pound note, and will carry her 
 young mistress the pleasing intelligence of your 
 marriage.' 
 
 * And do you think I will not caiTy the truth to 
 Miss Hemsley ?' 
 
 ' That will depend on your opportunities. You 
 made an engagement this evening which you may 
 find somewhat inconvenient to you in your character 
 of bridegroom, and which will certainly put a stop 
 to any stolen \'isits to the ladies in St. James's 
 Square.' 
 
 VOL. I. . Q
 
 226 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 * I made an engagement ! What engagement ? ' 
 
 * Sure, 'twas an engagement to serve the honour- 
 able Ayst India Company over in Bengal, and a 
 glorious career ii is for a courageous young man ! ' 
 cried a familiar voice close at hand, and Sergeant 
 O'Blagg came into the room, closely followed b}^ a 
 couple of ruffianly-looking fellow^s in military trousers 
 and dingy ragged shirts, while thi.ee or four others 
 looked in from the doorway. 
 
 Before I could utter so much as one cry of anger 
 or surprise, these two scoundrels had gripped me on 
 either side. What followed was the w^ork of a few 
 moments — a sharp brief struggle for liberty, in which 
 I fought as a man only fights for something dearer 
 than life,, striking out right and left, while the hot 
 blood poured over my face from a wound on my 
 head. 
 
 I had but just time to see Everard Lestrange and 
 the Frenchwoman rush from the room, dragging 
 Margery with them, w^hile a long piercing shriek 
 from that wretched girl rang out, shrill above the 
 clamour of the rest ; the floor seemed to reel beneath 
 my feet, a roaring thunderous noise sounded in my 
 ears, and I knew no more. 
 
 I opened my eyes upon the semi-darkness of a
 
 I BEGIN MY APPEENTICESHIP. 227 
 
 dilapidated garret, where I found myself lying on a 
 dirty mattress of hay or flock. The atmosphere was 
 thickened with tobacco-smoke, and what feeble light 
 there was, came from two small windows in the 
 sloping roof, closely barred, and festooned with cob- 
 webs. It was the most wretched place I had ever 
 seen, and for some time after waking from sleep, 
 or stupor, I knew not whether it was not an 
 underground dungeon in which I found myself 
 prisoner. 
 
 I lay for some time but half-awake, staring at the 
 bare walls of my prison with a kind of stupid wonder, 
 as if it had been a strange picture in a book, which 
 I contemplated half-asleep, and nowise concerned in 
 the matter. Then, by slow degrees, came a little 
 more consciousness, and I felt that I was in some 
 remote degree interested in this dreary place, and in 
 this aching mass of flesh and bone lying on a mat- 
 tress but a little softer than the ground. 
 
 I tried to lift up my right arm, but found it power- 
 less, and smarting with some recent wound. On 
 this I raised my left, which moved freely enough, 
 but not without some pain, and felt my head, which 
 was bound with wet rags. After this effort I closed 
 my eyes, and was awakened presently by a faint 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 odour of vinegar and a hand pressing a mug of 
 water to my lips with almost womanly softness. 
 
 * Who's that ?' I asked, opening my eyes. 
 
 * One who has deserved your scorn and hatred, 
 hut will do his hest to merit your forgiveness,' 
 answered a familiar voice ; and I saw that the face 
 bent over me was Philip Hay's. 
 
 ' You here ! ' I cried ; ' I don't want your services. 
 I would rather perish of thirst than take a drop of 
 water from the hand of such a traitor. Go to your 
 worthy employer, sir, and claim your reward ! ' 
 
 * I have got it, Bob. When a wise man has done 
 with the tool he has used for his dirty work, he takes 
 care to put it out of the way. Everard Lestrange 
 promised me a hundred pounds — I have his written 
 bond for the sum — for the safe carrying through of 
 last night's work ; but, you see, he finds it cheaper 
 to hand me over to the Honourable East India Com- 
 pany. Dead men tell no tales, you know. Bob ; and 
 a man shipped for Bengal is as good as dead ; for 
 what with war, and fever, and famine, and hardship, 
 'tis long odds if he ever sees Europe again. Drink 
 the water, Eobert, in token of forgiveness. You and 
 I are in the same boat, and it is best we should be 
 friends. I was never your enemy but in the way of
 
 I BEGIN MY APPRENTICESHIP. 229 
 
 business, and plotted against you for hire, just as 
 better men will plot against a king. Say you for- 
 give me, child. We are too miserable to afford 
 ourselves the luxury of resentment. But for my 
 care, it is ten to one if your eyes had ever opened 
 on this wretched place, and if you had not been 
 thrust into a nameless grave by night with scarce a 
 prayer said over your poor clay.' 
 
 ' I do not thank you for that,' I answered bitterly ; 
 * death would be better than to waken in such a place 
 as this.' 
 
 * Alas ! I claim no thanks, Bob ; I only ask you 
 to believe that I love thee.' 
 
 * Is it possible for me to think that, after the way 
 you have used me ? ' 
 
 ' It was in my bond, Bob. You have heard of the 
 honour that obtains among thieves. I had pledged 
 myself to carry through this business ; and then, 
 there was another inducement — I desperately wanted 
 that hundred pounds. Egad! Bob, I could have 
 sold my own brother for less money. Joseph's 
 brethren did it, you know, and he treated them un- 
 commonly handsomely afterwards. Besides, I was 
 in tkat reptile's pay.' 
 
 * And your liberal Mr. Cave, and your history of 
 the Amazons ?'
 
 23r ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 *A11 purely mythological as those ladies them- 
 selves, Kobert. I have done an occasional article for 
 Cave ; and I know his scrub and hackney writer, 
 Samuel Johnson — a man that talks better than 
 Socrates, and is content to toil in a garret for the 
 wages of a hackney-coachman. But the money I 
 spent while I was with thee came from Everard 
 Lestrange.' 
 
 ' And that account of your life and adventures 
 with which you entertained me was as mythical as 
 the rest, I conclude ?' 
 
 ' No, 'fore Gad, Bob. I gave j^ou a tolerably true 
 account of myself. My sins there were but of 
 omission. I did not .tell you that after leaving 
 Mallandaine's service I became henchman and 
 hanger-on of your kinswoman's amiable stepson, 
 Mr. Lestrange, curse him !' 
 
 Here a thought flashed across me. 
 
 *And you have pandered to his vices, no doubt, 
 as you did to those of your first patron. You can 
 tell me how my poor little foster-sister was robbed 
 of innocence, and friends and home.' 
 
 *In the usual fashion, Bob,' my companion 
 answered, with a sigh. ' It is as common as an 
 old street-ballad. The very staleness of the thing 
 makes it hateful to a man of genius. But your
 
 I BEGIN MI APPEEXTICESHIP. 231 
 
 man of genius must keep body and soul together 
 somehow. There were all the old hackneyed 
 promises — intentions honourable, family reasons 
 why secrecy must be preserved — the old worn-out 
 pleas ; and the poor child was but too easily 
 deluded. Your modern fine gentleman will swear 
 to a lie with the easiest air in the world. Men have 
 always done these things, you know ; but there was 
 a time when they did them with a bad grace, and 
 were liable to be sorry afterwards. Shame and 
 remorse are out of fashion now. Mr. Lestrange 
 carried his prize over to Paris, where he introduced 
 her to seven other spirits worse than himself, if 
 that's possible, and was angry T\-ith the poor little 
 thing because she sickened at such company. In 
 short, our Don Juan soon grew tired of your little 
 rustic beauty. 
 
 ' He would have planted her on an elderly scion of 
 the haute noblesse, who wanted something young and 
 fresh and pretty to complete the furniture of his 
 summer pavilion near Choisy le Roi. But against 
 this arrangement the girl rebelled sturdily ; and by 
 this time Sir Marcus had begun to urge upon his son 
 the necessity of an immediate marriage with the 
 heiress, who might slip through their fingers at any
 
 232 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 moment. So Mr. Lestrange hurries back to London, 
 bringing his mistress with him, whom he hides in a 
 shabby lodging hard by Covent Garden ; and being 
 well informed of your movements by my agency, he 
 sees that his case is somewhat desperate, and that 
 only violent measures can serve him. Whereupon he 
 buys over the French maid — a deceitful, abandoned 
 creature, always ripe for treachery — and plans the 
 agreeable plot to which you — and I, worse luck! — 
 have fallen victims.' 
 
 * And that forged letter, on the strength of which 
 Sir Marcus was so quick to condemn me ? I make 
 no doubt you could give me some enlightenment on 
 that subject.' 
 
 ' Well, yes, I have heard of the forged letter. Sir 
 Marcus Lestrange is a diplomatist ; and it is just 
 possible he played into his son's hand. Be sure 
 he never relished the notion of your inheriting 
 the bulk of Lady Barbara's fortune, which it is 
 likely you would have done had father and son 
 not succeeded in blasting your character. They 
 have done their work pretty well this time ; and 
 may congratulate themselves on a rare suc- 
 cess.' 
 
 * But do you think I shall not tell my own story,
 
 I BEGIN MY APPRENTICESHIP. 233 
 
 and denounce their hellish stratagems, when I 
 escape from this place?' 
 
 * Yes, friend Bob, when you escape from durance. 
 God gi-ant you and I may live to see the day that 
 sets us at liberty ; but I fear me my hair and yours 
 too ^^ill be white as silver when that day comes.' 
 
 * What !' I exclaimed, ' do you mean to say that 
 in a Christian land, in this free country, of whose 
 liberty Englishmen boast so loudly, they can make 
 us as close prisoners as if we were clapped in some 
 underground cell of the French Bastille, by virtue of 
 Madame Pompadour's lettre de cachet V 
 
 * I mean to say that the crimping sergeant into 
 whose jaws I introduced you — more shame to me for 
 a treacherous scoundrel ! — will swear to an engage- 
 ment between both of us, which latter turn of 
 fortune but serves me fairly for my wickedness. 
 He ydU hold us to an engagement never made, 
 Bob — for the difference between crimping and kid- 
 napping is only a distinction of words — and we 
 shall be kept in this loathsome hole with the rest 
 of those unlucky wretches whom you see sprawling 
 yonder, until the Honourable East India Company 
 are ready to draft us on board ship secretly some- 
 where do^n the river, and keep us close under
 
 234 ROBERT AIN SLEIGH. 
 
 hatches till we are out at open sea ; and then 
 they will land us among the cobras and tigers, 
 to defend John Company's factories, and fight the 
 yellow-faced Hindoos.' 
 
 ' But is there no such thing as escape, Phil ?' I 
 asked, in a whisper, and with a glance towards one 
 of the small close-barred windows. 
 
 ' Alas ! no. Bob. We are a valuable commodity; 
 and rely on it they keep us in a strong box.' 
 
 'What! and we are held in durance within a 
 few hundred yards of Guildhall, and can find no 
 means of communicating with the authorities ?' 
 
 ' Nay, Bob, our gaolers will take care to prevent 
 us. We are here in the very heart of savage 
 London ; and not that jungle to which we shall 
 by-and-by be drafted is better stocked with foul 
 creeping reptiles and beasts of prey. Alas! my 
 simple Templar, thou hast heard men talk of 
 Alsatia, but didst not know that in this civilized 
 city there lies a wilderness more dangerous than 
 burning Afric's sands or Asia's pathless mountains, 
 peopled by creatures as deadly, and even more 
 treacherous, than tiger or serpent. Thou hast not 
 heard of the ruined houses of Shoe Lane and 
 Stonecutter Street, and the deeds that are done in
 
 I BEGIN »IY APPRENTICESHIP. 235 
 
 tlie darkness behind those blank-shuttered windows. 
 To thee Black Mary's Hole and Copenhagen House 
 are empty sounds, signif}dng nothing ; but to the 
 citizen of London those names have a sinister 
 meaning. All this part of London is dedicated 
 to infamy and crime ; and I know not when the 
 reforming power shall arise to sweep away these 
 dens of iniquity. Sure 'twould take another great 
 fire to purify them, and another plague would be 
 scarce a calamity if it decimated their inhabitants.' 
 
 * But where are we, Phil ? ' I asked, addressing 
 him with my accustomed friendliness, and for the 
 moment forgetting what reason I had to hate him. 
 I was indeed, as he had said, too wretched to be 
 very angry. Every other feeling was swallowed up 
 in the overwhelming thought of my misery. 
 
 ' In the next house to that where 3-0U were 
 married. It was Mr. Lestrange made his bargain 
 with the parson, not I. They were lies I told you 
 about the business. My noble patron made his 
 plans, and found the crimping sergeant, and you 
 and I went meek as sheep to the slaughter. We 
 fought lustily for our lives though, Bob, both of us. 
 Half a dozen hulking wretches, armed to the teeth, 
 surrounded us, and when vou went down I had my
 
 236 ROBEKT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 battle for liberty. But the odds were too many 
 against me ; and when I felt my arms pinioned, 
 and the iron rim of a pistol's muzzle unpleasantly 
 cold against my forehead, I threw up the sponge. 
 *Tis little good wounding a hydra ; and I saw more 
 hulking scoundrels lurking in the doorway. I 
 knocked under, luckily without much hurt, and 
 with all my senses about me, while you, poor 
 wretch, lay like a log at my feet. They picked 
 you up, and carried you through a passage and 
 doorway leading from that house into this — I fol- 
 lowing. I got a glimpse of other rooms as we 
 were led up to this, which is at the top of a some- 
 what lofty house ; and I saw they were full of 
 wretches playing cards, and sprawling on mattresses, 
 and drinking and brawling, by the light of foul- 
 smelling tallow-candles, prisoners like ourselves. 
 Whereby I conclude there is a house full of recruits 
 for the Honourable East India Company's service, 
 waiting till there is a vessel ready on w^hich to draft 
 them. The Company charter ships nowadays ; but 
 not long ago they did all their trading on their 
 own bottoms.' 
 
 It was quite dark by this time ; and I asked my 
 companion how long we had been in this dismal place.
 
 I BEGIN MY APPRENTICESHIP. 237 
 
 * Something less than eighteen hours. It was last 
 night, or this morning, at two o'clock, that we 
 were taken prisoners. There has been an old hag 
 in and out half a dozen times to see you. They 
 want you to live, you see, for you are of some value 
 alive, and dead there is the trouble of your burial. 
 Folks have a knack of dying under this kind of 
 durance. It is not three months since the good 
 citizens about St. Bride's Churchyard were scan- 
 dalized by frequent funerals that were performed 
 under cover of night, with maimed rites, and no 
 entry made in the register. 'Twas found on in- 
 quiry that the corpses came from a receiving- 
 house for East-India recruits hard by, where a 
 fever had broken out among the unhappy creatures. 
 But this is no cheering talk, Bob, for a sick man.' 
 
 * Death is the only cheerful thought you can 
 give me,' I answered bitterly. ' Death ! Sure I 
 am dead already. What can death do more than 
 treachery has done for me? — to cut me off from 
 all I hold dear ; and, alas ! I die dishonoured, and 
 my darling will be told I was a liar and hypocrite, 
 who never loved her, and married another woman, 
 scorning that sweet girl's affection. Death ! 'Tis 
 a thousand times worse than death. It is pur-
 
 238 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 gatory, a state of torment dreadful as the inex- 
 tinguishable fires of hell. Get from the side of 
 my bed, Philip Hay; for the first time I can lift 
 my right arm I shall surely raise it to slay you. 
 'Tis by your help I lie perishing here.' 
 
 * I deserve no better at your hands,' he an- 
 swered moodily ; ^ but you will scarcely care to 
 murder a wretch so ready to die. It would be like 
 slaughtering a rotten sheep. What have I to live 
 for more than you. Master Kobert ? Toil and danger 
 and scanty food, and death from the hand of some 
 tawny heathen. Faith, we are in the same boat ; 
 and to fight and throw each other overboard would 
 but be mutual charity ! ' 
 
 I heard a key turn, and the hag, of whom Philip 
 Hay had spoken, came into the room T^ith a caudle 
 and our suppers — a tempting banquet of mouldy 
 cheese and coarse bread. 
 
 *If you want beer you must pay for it,' she said, 
 with an imbecile grin ; and Philip threw her a 
 shilling, for which she brought by-and-by a quart of 
 liquor which my companion declared to be the vilest 
 twopenny he had ever tasted. 
 
 ' These places are on the model of sponging- 
 houses,' he said ; ' and if a prisoner has money he
 
 I BEGIN MY APPRENTICESHIP. 239 
 
 is made to bleed pretty freely. The penniless 
 they must feed somehow, to keep life, in the bodies 
 which are wanted as food for gunpowder.' 
 
 'I have a pocket-book full of notes,' said I; 
 ' would it not be wise to spend them in bribing 
 yonder hag?' 
 
 ' Be sure you have the money before you talk of 
 spending it. In such dens as these they are apt to 
 be handy at picking a pocket. Your coat and waist- 
 coat lie under your head for a pillow. The money 
 was in your coat-pocket, I suppose?' 
 
 Yes, the pocket-book had been there, and it was 
 gone — stolen in the scuffle, no doubt. I bitterly 
 regretted this money, for I could not but believe it 
 might have enabled me to buy over my gaolers to 
 my ovm interest ; but I think I still more regretted 
 the book, which contained those comfoi-ting sen- 
 tences of Scripture and philosophy hastily scribbled 
 by the hand of my benefactress. 
 
 *Is it my fate through life to lose everything?' 
 I asked. ' Parents, before I had ever known them ; 
 friends and good name, and money and liberty. Did 
 I enter this world doomed to loss and slavery ; pre- 
 doomed, because of my father's folly ? Are my teeth 
 to be for ever set on edge by the sour grapes he ate ? '
 
 240 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 Happily — and this amidst such utter misery was 
 the soHtary consoling circumstance — I had yet the 
 locket with my lady's portrait and hair, which I 
 had long ago hung round my neck by a stoui black 
 ribbon, and had worn faithfully every day of my 
 life. 
 
 * Even if you had the money I doubt if it would 
 serve you,' said Phil Hay, seeing me lost in a gloomy 
 despair. * The crone who waits on us is half an 
 idiot, too foolish to aid you if she had the will. 
 Our gaolers are surly ruffians who would take your 
 money and laugh at you afterwards. 'Tis as well to 
 be spared the anguish of a delusive hope. No, Bob, 
 there is no chance for us but to serve our time out 
 yonder, with the chance of coming back some day, if 
 it is our destiny to escape fever and sword, and 
 famine and shipwreck.' 
 
 ' "What is the period ? or is there any fixed period 
 for our slavery ? ' 
 
 ' Alack ! I know not, friend. Were it the regular 
 service to which we were bound, there are rules I 
 could tell you ; but of this irregular trader's Company 
 I can affirm nothing. It is an accursed monopoly, 
 opposed to all laws of justice and common sense ; 
 and its members make their own regulations. There
 
 I BEGIN MY APPRENTICESHIP. 241 
 
 was a sturdy endeavour some ten years since to throw 
 open our commerce with the East to all adventurous 
 merchants; but by specious argument and solid 
 bribery, in the shape of a loan to government, the 
 Company got their charter renewed, and have now a 
 pretty sure footing in that distant world for which 
 you and I have our places booked.' 
 
 After this I sought no further knowledge. I was 
 weakened by the pain of my wounds, and lay languid, 
 almost apathetic, while Philip Hay watched and 
 nursed me with a tenderness that could not but touch 
 my heart, despite my sense of his late infernal 
 treachery. 'Twas strange to be thus cared for by the 
 man who had destroyed me. 
 
 I remained in this half-toi-pid condition for some 
 days, eating scarce anything, and only nourished by 
 some very \ile broth which Phil induced the hag to 
 procure for me on his assertion that I was at death's 
 door, and a little brandy, obtained from the same 
 source, and paid for almost as dear as if it had been 
 melted gold. 
 
 Under my companion's care I mended a little, and 
 was able to rise from my wretched pallet, wash and 
 dress myself, and pace feebly to and fro our dreary 
 dungeon — than which I little thought ever to inhabit 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 BOBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 a more dismal abode. Then came upon me in all its 
 intensity the agony of despair ; and never in all my 
 after career did I suffer pangs so keen as those that 
 rent my heart during my habitation of this loath- 
 some garret. Cut off alive from all I loved, tortured 
 by the certainty that the woman for whom I would 
 have given my life must needs believe me the basest 
 of men, there was no source, save One to which I 
 had. not yet learned to apply myself, whence I could 
 hope for comfort. 
 
 ' Dora will believe me a hypocrite and a liar,' I 
 repeated to myself perpetually ; and this one idea 
 seemed to be the beginning and end of my misery. 
 My noble benefactress's ill opinion, her bitter dis- 
 appointment in one she had trusted, I could not yet 
 bring myself to consider. My dear love, my plighted 
 wife, forsaken by me without a word, abandoned to 
 the slow tortures of domestic persecution ; it was of 
 her I thought, and for a long while of her alone. 
 No, not alone ; one lurid image glared red across the 
 sad picture of my love's despair, and wore the shape 
 of Everard Lestrange. I had not yet learned to 
 entreat compassion from the Divine Judge of all 
 mankind, but daily and nightly did I implore the 
 vengeance of Heaven on the head of this consum-
 
 I BEGIN 5IY APPRENTICESHIP. 243 
 
 mate villain, and that I might be permitted to 
 become the instrument of that almighty wrath. For 
 a meeting with this man, foot to foot and hand to 
 hand, I thirsted with even a more passionate desire 
 than that with which I languished to fling myself at 
 Dora Hemsley's feet and assure her of my fidelity. 
 Alas ! not for years were either of these meetings to 
 take place ; and here was I, at twenty years of age, 
 prisoner in a garret, with no hope of change except 
 that which would send me forth to eternal exile ; yes, 
 eternal ; for what were the chances of future distant 
 years to a wretch who hungered for present relief to 
 his immeasurable woes ? It was just possible that 
 in the remote future I might be restored to liberty 
 and England ; but could I live upon the sorry com- 
 fort of such a possibility ? And I might come back 
 to find Dora's grave, or to know that she was married 
 and happy, and had forgotten me. It would be the 
 return of a ghost, not a living man — a miserable 
 shadow of past hope and joy restored from the grave 
 to trouble the peace of the living. Great Heaven, 
 what an ingenious torment had Everard Lestrange 
 imagined for the gratification of his malice ! To have 
 murdered me would have been a poor revenge com- 
 pared to this hellish conspiracy, which cut me off 
 
 u 2
 
 244 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 from all that constitutes life, and yet left me to exist 
 and suffer. 
 
 The injuries I had received in the hrief skirmish 
 that followed my wretched wedding were severe, and in 
 spite of Philip Hay's care of me I suffered a relapse, 
 and lay prostrate with a low fever, while the garret we 
 inhabited received several new inmates in the persons 
 of recruits voluntary and recruits involuntary like 
 Hay and myself. The former smoked, drank, and 
 played cards, with much contentment and jollity, the 
 latter alternately bewailed their fate, cursed their 
 captors, and joined in the amusements of their 
 happier companions. Of the land to which we were 
 destined to travel, most of these had but a vague and 
 foolish notion. Some confounded the East Indies 
 with the two Americas, others believed the Great 
 Mogul still powerful as in the days of Aurungzebe, 
 and ruler over millions of African negroes. All had 
 a confused idea that the Indians of Asia scalped their 
 enemies like the copper-coloured natives of Canada, 
 that an Englishman single-handed was a match for 
 about fifty of these Hindoo pagans, that diamond- 
 mines and temples amply furnished with jewelled 
 idols, accessible to the greed of any European adven- 
 turer, abounded throughout the Oriental continent.
 
 I BEGIN MY APPRENTICESHIP. 245 
 
 and that gold-dust was the staple of the soil. Igno- 
 rance so complete, or half knowledge so bewildering, 
 as obtained among these men it would have been al- 
 most impossible to conceive, had one not overheard 
 their conversation ; and I was amazed to find that a 
 couple of fine gentlemen who had been surprised into 
 an engagement under the influence of a tavern punch- 
 bowl were no better informed than the tag-rag and 
 bobtail that formed the rest of the company. 
 
 Utterly helpless though I was, I could not shut 
 from my mind all idea of escape. I questioned 
 Philip Hay upon this subject ; but he bade me at 
 once dismiss so futile a hope from my mind. 
 
 * You can't suppose I should omit to reconnoitre 
 our quarters,' he said. ' I took my survey before 
 those fellows came in, and discovered the hopeless- 
 ness of our case. If you were strong enough to 
 climb like a cat — instead of which you can but just 
 crawl across the room — there would be no chance for 
 us. We are here at the top of a lofty house ; below 
 us a stone-paved yard, amply furnished with spikes, 
 and in which half a dozen soldier-fellows, with a 
 stout bulldog for their companion, seem to make 
 their perpetual abode. Nor is this aU, for as your 
 own eyes will inform you, our windows are stoutly
 
 246 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 barred ; and our friends, the recruits who have joined 
 of their own accord, would no doubt be prompt to 
 curry favour by giving the alarm and joining against 
 us in any shindy that might follow. No, Bob ; so 
 long as we remain here, there is nothing for us but 
 patience and fortitude. They must convey us some- 
 how from here to shipboard, and on that passage 
 rests our sole hope. If you see any chance of escape 
 then, snatch it without wasting a moment on consi- 
 deration ; you can't easily be worse off than you are, 
 for once safely shipped, our doom is sealed. And 
 now keep yourself quiet. Bob, so that you may the 
 sooner get the better of this foolish fever, which 
 unfits you for seizing any opportunity that may 
 offer.' 
 
 I did not recover from my fever in time to avail 
 myself of any chance that might have arisen between 
 our removal and our shipment, for within a few days 
 of this conversation we were suddenly aroused in the 
 dead of the night with a summons to prepare for 
 our journey. Our preparations w^ere of the briefest, 
 the wealthiest among us possessing no more than a 
 bundle ; and then, amid hurry and clamour unutter- 
 able, we descended the steep dilapidated stair, dimly 
 lighted by a single oil- lamp, and guarded by Ser-
 
 I BEGIN MY APPEENTICESHIP. 247 
 
 geant O'Blagg and half a dozen private soldiers. I 
 was barely able to limp downstairs, leaning heavily 
 on Philip's shoulder. 
 
 * Phil ! ' I cried, as we went down, ' I hope they 
 won't part us.' 
 
 Yes, strange as this may seem, in the utter aban- 
 donment of my state, I now clung to him who had 
 betrayed me into this miseiy. In the living grave 
 to which we had both descended, his was the sole 
 familiar face that linked me with the past and as- 
 sured me of my o\\ti identity ; and even the sense 
 of this I might well have lost amidst surroundings 
 so strange, and under circumstances so far beyond 
 the limits of every-day experience. 
 
 I was thrust with two other invalids, whom I 
 had not encountered until this moment, into a 
 wagon, where we lay helpless upon the straw at the 
 bottom. The wagon was then filled as closely as 
 it could be packed with other recruits, amongst whom 
 I was glad to perceive my betrayer, Philip Hay. 
 Half a dozen sturdy fellows, in miHtary dress, and 
 armed to the teeth, sat at the entrance of the wag- 
 gon, and kept guard over those within. My late 
 acquaintance, the Irish sergeant, took his post be- 
 side the driver, whom he directed ; and in this order
 
 248 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 (the wagon holding in all about twenty people) we 
 rumbled along the deserted streets by many wind- 
 ings and turnings, which led I knew not where. I 
 did, indeed, contrive to lift a corner of the covering 
 of the wagon and peer out into the night, but could 
 distinguish nothing except that the streets were dark 
 and narrow. Chance of escape there was none, 
 had my condition been ever so favourable to the 
 attempt. 
 
 After a journey which seemed to me interminable, 
 the wagon came to a stop, and we were taken out in 
 a dreary spot down the river, on the Middlesex shore, 
 and, as I believe, somewhere opposite Greenwich, 
 for I perceived the roofs of many houses backed by 
 rising ground, which I supposed to belong to that 
 place. Here we had but little time for looking around 
 us, but were at once huddled into a boat, like a flock 
 of animals destined for slaughter ; and as the rowers' 
 oars dipped slowly into the river, I could but think 
 of that other boat in which we were all of us des- 
 tined to journey, and that it might be better for 
 most of us were we but shadows hastening to the 
 lower world under the grim convoy of Charon. A 
 little way ahead of us we saw the stern of a large 
 vessel, with lights burning dimly in the faint glim-
 
 I BEGDf MY APPRENTICESHIP. 249 
 
 mer of early morning. This ship was our destina- 
 tion. We were handed up the ladder, and conducted 
 to a dismal region called the orlop deck, lighted 
 only by padlocked lanterns, and with no ventilation 
 save from the hatchways. Here we were ordered to 
 shake down as best we might, amidst a company of 
 above a hundred recruits, and an allowance of hot 
 coffee and ship-biscuit was served out to such as had 
 the capacity to eat. I had none, nor any inclination 
 to stir from the spot where I had placed myself. I 
 lay in my hammock staring blankly before me, with 
 such a sense of anguish as was even yet new to 
 me. Until this period I must have hoped, or my 
 present despair could scarce have been so profound. 
 I listened idly to the perpetual tramp of hurrying 
 feet, the roar and clamour of preparation above my 
 head ; and yet not quite idly, for I knew that every 
 movement of those eager sailors hastened the ship 
 that was to caiTy me from all I loved. 
 
 The sun rose as the vessel weighed anchor, and 
 the scene on the orlop deck, as the glorious eastern 
 light streamed in upon us through the open hatch- 
 ways, would need the pencil of Mr. Hogarth to 
 depict. Invalided wretches groaning in their narrow 
 hammocks, or stretched on the bare planks, soldiers 
 and recruits for the most part half-drunk and already
 
 250 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 bawling for more liquor, while some determined 
 gamblers had contrived to settle to a game of cards, 
 with the top of an empty cask for their table. On 
 every side riot, confusion, squalor, and debauchery ; 
 while above us rose the mellow sound of the sailors' 
 voices singing as they weighed the anchor. 
 
 ' We're off, Bob,' cried Philip Hay, as aloud cheer 
 rang out from the deck. ' Good-b^-e, mother country, 
 and bad luck to you ! No cruel stepdame ever 
 treated her brats worse than you've served me ; and 
 I wish you no good at parting, except that you may 
 be rich enough to provide a gallows for one gentleman 
 of my acquaintance. Na}', Bob, cheer up ; things 
 mayn't be quite as bad as they seem. There are 
 fortunes to be picked up out yonder by clever fellows, 
 and who knows but you and I may have our chance? 
 We're beginning the w^orld like new-born babes, and 
 it may fall out we have silver spoons in our mouths.' 
 
 I turned from him, sick at heart, and buried my 
 face in my meagre blanket, sobbing aloud. Yes, 
 I had hoped until now. I had believed that some 
 event — nay, even a miracle from Heaven itself — must 
 befall to save me from this hapless fate ; and now I 
 knew that hope was gone, and Dora, reputation, 
 friends, and counti-y were alike lost to me. 
 
 And thus, for the second time, I began the world.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MY HONOURABLE MASTERS. 
 
 Now followed a passage of my life so long and dreary, 
 a period of sucli utter and hideous monotony, that 
 the memory of it is rather like the confused recollec- 
 tion of a procession of nightmare-dreams than of an 
 actual experience in this waking world. For ten 
 months our ship ploughed the waters, touching at 
 Madeira, and the Cape, where we were not allowed 
 the privilege of going on shore. For the greater 
 part of a year we wi*etches lay crowded together in 
 our miserable cavernous abode on the orlop deck — 
 or snatched a brief relief from gloom and suffocation 
 at such times as the captain graciously allowed us 
 to take the air on the booms, or when we took it in 
 turns to share the seamen's watch, but for which 
 respite from the sickening odours of that Gehenna 
 below, we must assuredly have perished. No 
 words can tell how we suffered; and if the helpless
 
 252 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 African bondsmen in the middle passage endure 
 more than \ye did, man's cruelty to his fellow-men 
 is indeed an illimitable quantity. Our quarters were 
 of the closest, our food of the roughest ; water was 
 doled out to us by the veriest thimblefuls; the 
 atmosphere we breathed was a compound of foulest 
 stenches ; the very pigs and poultry — narrow as was 
 the room allowed them — fared better than we. And 
 this slow torture lasted for ten months. 
 
 Brief was the excitement which the sight of land 
 afforded to us ; 'twas a bitter, desperate kind of 
 pleasure, a very passion of longing and despair, like 
 that of a lover who snatches one fond look at the 
 mistress who can never be his. To this day I can 
 recall the violent throbbing of my heart as, through 
 the thick haze of evening, Madeira rose upon our 
 larboard bow, and we poor wretches crowded together 
 at the bulwarks and almost fought for a sight 
 of that strange island. 'Twas a month after this 
 that a shoal of dolphins played round the ship ; and 
 as these free and happy creatures sported in the 
 sun, I could but remember the legend of Arion, and 
 long for some friendly monster whose scaly back 
 might bear me to the shore. Alas, the days of fable 
 are long gone, and the gods come no more upon
 
 MY HONOURABLE MASTERS. 253 
 
 earth to rescue man from his fellow-man's opj^res- 
 sion ! 
 
 We had not been long afloat before my fever left 
 me, still very feeble and unlike my former self, but 
 no longer on the sick list. The first business of my 
 convalescence was to obtain the means of writing — 
 which I accomplished with some difficulty, so scant 
 were the accommodations of these dismal quarters. 
 Provided at last with these, I penned a long letter 
 to Lady Barbara, detailing the story of my capture, 
 and describing my present miserable condition. I 
 besought her by the love she had borne my father, 
 by her Christian pity for undeserved misfortune, to 
 attempt my early rescue from a fate so hopeless. I 
 warned this generous friend that the same treachery 
 which had compassed my ruin would blacken my 
 character, and that slanders the most plausible would 
 be invented to rob me of her confidence ; and then 
 followed the incoherent entreaties of despair, passion- 
 ate lamentations, wild messages of afi'ection for the 
 beloved girl I had for ever lost, which, in some small 
 measure, relieved an overcharged heart and brain. 
 
 This letter I directed under cover to the milliner 
 in Long Acre, and having secured it, placed the 
 packet in my waistcoat-pocket, in readiness for any
 
 264 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 homeward-bound vessel with which our captain might 
 exchange greetings. Day after day, week after week, 
 I watched and waited for the friendly sail that was 
 to convey this letter ; and my heart sickened as the 
 days wore out, and no vessel came within hail of us. 
 Nor was this all ; for on one occasion I endured the 
 sharper agonies of disappointed hope, when, on our 
 captain hailing a trading-vessel, she turned out to be 
 a brig laden with Spanish wine, and bound for the 
 Mauritius. 
 
 We had been more than six months afloat when 
 the opportunity I so longed for at last arrived in tha 
 shape of a homeward-bound Indiaman, to which the 
 cutter was speedily despatched with a couple of 
 officers. I was not the only one among the recruits 
 eager to send home some greeting ; but when I and 
 half a dozen others crowded to the open hatchway 
 and besought the captain to despatch our letters, the 
 kindly gentleman laughed us to scorn. Did we think 
 he could trouble himself with the whims and humours 
 of such dirt? And what had we to write about, 
 pray ? Complaints of our treatment, no doubt, 
 which would only make mischief at home, and 
 rob the Honourable East-India Company of good 
 soldiers.
 
 MY HONOURABLE MASTERS. 255 
 
 * No,' cried the captain, ' I know what a set of 
 lying, ungrateful rascals you are, and you shall send 
 none of your lies to England hy my help.' 
 
 This speech the skipper liberally garnished with 
 such blasphemies as were the salt of his daily dis- 
 course, and then roared to one of his men to shut down 
 the hatchway and drive that vermin into their holes. 
 
 There is no despot so awful as the tyrant who 
 reigns upon his own quai-ter-deck. Against his 
 cruel will there is no resistance except crime, and 
 to oppose his hellish tyranny is to be at once in- 
 volved in rebellion and bloodshed. The spark of 
 mutiny is a fire that spreads swift as flame 
 among the parched jungle-grass of the Sunder- 
 bunds, and I knew that it would need but little to 
 stir that idle Pandemonium between decks into an 
 active Inferno. Nor was the skipper a person of 
 small importance in the social scale. Eastward of 
 the Cape this Company's captain took precedence of 
 a captain in his Majesty's navy, and he and his 
 brother captains had a seat at the council board, at 
 any of the Presidencies they might happen to be at. 
 
 I crept back to my hole with the other vermin, 
 and lay there as desolate as, and more desperate 
 than Job ; for I needed no tempter to bid me
 
 256 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 curse God and die. I think at tliis time my 
 sufferings had banished all Christian feeling from 
 my mind ; and if I endured life when self-murder 
 seemed a relief so easy, it was from no faith in the 
 Divine Providence, no fear of the almighty wrath, 
 but from the one savage hope that, in some time to 
 come, when my cup of anguish had been drained to 
 the very dregs. Fate would give me the opportunity 
 of being revenged on the author of my misery. 
 
 After the captain's refusal to send my letter I 
 abandoned myself utterly to despair, and fell into a 
 state scarcely less degraded than that of my com- 
 panions. Like them, I no longer kept count of the 
 wretched days ; like them, I slept a dull dreamless 
 sleep through the dreary nights ; like them, I ate 
 and drank the scanty portion given to me with the 
 appetite of some half-savage beast ; like them, I for- 
 got the existence of a better world than this floating 
 hell, and blasphemed the God who ruled above that 
 happier earth. And thus the time went past us 
 somehow ; in days that had far less of colour and 
 variety than the waves that rolled against our creak- 
 ing timbers; in nights that were darker than the 
 storm-clouds that brooded over our vessel between 
 the Cape and Ceylon ; until one dull stormy morn-
 
 MY HONOURABLE MASTERS. 257 
 
 ing there rose the cry of land, and a friendly sailor 
 told us that the temple of Juggernaut was visible 
 about fifteen miles to the north-west. 
 
 Every creature amongst our luckless herd felt a 
 curiosity to behold this first spectacle which our new 
 country ofi'ered us. We crowded to the hatchway, 
 and in the confusion of the moment were suffered to 
 gaze our fill. Dimly discernible to the naked eye 
 appeared the dark outline of a pagoda which, at that 
 distance, seemed not unlike a rude church-tower. 
 Bemier's Travels had made me familiar with the 
 monstrous worship that prevails in this temple of 
 the Indian Moloch, the road to which for fifty miles 
 is bestrewn with bleaching bones and rotting carrion, 
 and I felt that the shrine of a religion so ghastly 
 was a fitting object to greet my eyes at the end of 
 this fatal voyage. 
 
 * Would to Heaven I could believe in the Brah- 
 min's Paradise, and after steeping my senses in 
 some maddening spirit, cast myself beneath the 
 wheels of the monster god's triumphal car ! ' I said 
 to myself, as I stood among the squalid crowd, 
 gazing at that dim outline in the distance. 
 
 We fancied ourselves now at the end of our 
 journey ; but we were doomed to lie within sight of 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 258 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 Juggernaut for two days and nights, and then made 
 but slow head against the swell and current from 
 the north-east. The coast of Orixa is so low as to be 
 indistinguishable from a very short distance, and our 
 sailors were compelled to feel their way by soundings 
 every half-hour. Meanwhile the situation of the 
 herd below was, if possible, a little increased in 
 wretchedness, for the ship was being painted in 
 order to make a fair show in harbour ; and we poor 
 creatures had the worst of the paint, w^hich did 
 much to render an already stifling atmosphere 
 utterly unbearable. Nor did we fare any better by 
 venturing on deck, whence we were driven by exe- 
 crations from the busy seamen, and had thus no 
 alternative from the misery of our hole below. 
 
 I wondered, as I heard the men whistling gaily 
 at their work, to think how brave a thing the vessel 
 would look riding at anchor, and how little any 
 stranger who gazed upon her would suspect the 
 anguish and cruelty that had been suffered between 
 her decks. 
 
 On the next day we anchored in Sagor Koads, 
 and the watch upon us being now somewhat 
 relaxed, I crept up to the gun-deck, and from 
 an unoccupied porthole enjoyed a clear view of
 
 MY HONOURABLE MASTERS. 259 
 
 Sagor Island — a flat, swampy shore, with tall trees 
 that looked like firs, and heneath them vivid green 
 jungle. Here 1 saw^ animals browsing among the 
 swampy grass, and was afterwards informed that 
 these were wild- deer, and that the island is further- 
 more infested by tigers, who will even swim off from 
 the coast to destroy any imprudent boatman who 
 trusts his bark within their ken — whence it is that 
 no bribe will induce the natives to aj^proach this 
 savage wilderness. 
 
 While I peered from my porthole at this low-lying 
 island, a dark object floated close beside my post of 
 observation, and drifted slowly past with the tide. 
 It was a human corpse, consigned to the sacred 
 river — perhaps ere death had closed the scene — by 
 the pious hands of its dutiful progeny. 
 
 ' Alas ! poor ghost,' I said, ' art thou the sole 
 friend who dost welcome me to this barbarous shore, 
 where superstition has added her own peculiar hor- 
 rors to the natural terrors of death ? ' 
 
 While we lay at anchor a crowd of boats sur- 
 rounded us, laden with fruit and other merchan- 
 dise, while Sircars — men who practise as agents 
 and money-lenders, and who surpass their fellow- 
 practitioners, the Jews, in the arts of their profes- 
 
 s 2
 
 260 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 gioji — exercised their fascinations upon the captain 
 and officers of the ship. Now, for the first time, I 
 had the opportunity of observing the living Gentoo, 
 and in his delicately-moulded form and finely- 
 chiselled features I saw much to induce the belief 
 that from this Oriental stock sprang that flower of 
 antique civilization, the Greek. 
 
 After lying for some hours at anchor we ap- 
 proached the side of the river opposite Kedgeree, 
 and I beheld a dismal shore, thickly wooded, black, 
 monotonous — the very home of all noxious and 
 fatal creatures, from the tiger and the cobra down 
 to the scorpion and mosquito. Night closed in as I 
 gazed upon this dreary coast, and lightnings flashed 
 incessantly above the fever-haunted woods. The 
 sailors spoke of the place as the grave of all hapless 
 wretches who were doomed to remain many days in 
 its neighbourhood. 
 
 At Diamond Harbour we anchored again, and here 
 we recruits were drafted into a smaller vessel sent 
 down from Calcutta for our reception ; and on board 
 this we made our voyage up the Hooghly River, a noble 
 stream, across which our vessel tacked as in a sea. 
 
 And now the end of our troublous transit had 
 come, or not quite the end, for we were put ashore
 
 MY HONOURABLE MASTERS. 261 
 
 some miles from the British settlement to which we 
 were bound, and had a weary march through rank 
 woods of Oriental foliage, and afterwards by an ill- 
 made sandy road, scarce worthy the name, with 
 ditches of stagnant water on either side. This 
 being the dry season, we tramped through an in- 
 tolerable cloud of dust, which, together with the 
 heat, well-nigh stifled us ; and so onward, with but 
 brief respite, till we came to one of the ill-guarded 
 gates of Calcutta. 
 
 Hence we were marched to the fort, and here we 
 found a very meagre force of mixed soldiery — 
 English, Hindoos, and Topases, so called from the 
 fact of their wearing hats, a species of native 
 Christians, a mixed race, produced by the inter- 
 marriage of natives with the early Portuguese 
 settlers. I had heard and read so much of Oriental 
 magnificence as seen by Jesuit travellers at Delhi 
 and other cities of the East, that I had good reason 
 to be disgusted with the English settlement to 
 which Fate had brought me ; but it was yet the 
 humble beginning of British rule, and the con- 
 queror who was to set his foot upon the neck of 
 Indian power, and transform a trading Company into 
 a splendid despotism, was but upon the threshold of
 
 262 KOBEET AINSLEIGH. 
 
 his marvellous career. I look back to this period, 
 remembering that it was then I first heard the name 
 of Kobert Clive, and can still but wonder at the 
 obscure commencement of that heroic romance of 
 which this j^oung man was destined to be the pro- 
 tagonist. When I landed on the shores of the 
 Hooghly in February, 1751, it was but six years 
 since Clive had arrived at Madras, with no higher 
 hope than belongs to the position of a clerk or 
 writer in the Company's civil service. He came, 
 poor, friendless, and lonely, to the shore of that 
 land which he was fated to hold by a grander power 
 than India had felt since the sceptre of the Moguls 
 slipped from the loosening grasp of Aurungzebe. I, 
 who have drained the bitter cup which stepmother 
 Fortune offers to the lips of friendless youth, can 
 but think with a peculiar sympathy of this un- 
 friended lad, who was sent to India chiefly because 
 his father knew not what to do with him in Eng- 
 land, and whose lofty spirit sickened at the common 
 round of daily drudgery, while his warm heart 
 languished in the loneliness of a land so strange. 
 
 Nothing could well be more insignificant than 
 Robert Clive' s start in life. He whose name was to 
 be in less than ten years the wonder of the civilized
 
 MY HONOURABLE MASTERS. 263 
 
 world, and the chief glory of Great Britain, had not 
 a single friend, nay, scarce an acquaintance, in 
 Madras, and was of a temper too wayward and 
 reserved to seek introductions by the common arts 
 of society. Studious as he was proud, he esteemed 
 the admission to the Governor's excellent library the 
 highest privilege he enjoyed. I have been told how 
 that constitutional melancholy, which was so near 
 akin to madness, displayed itself even at this early 
 age, and how one day, on a companion coming into 
 the young man's room in Writers' Buildings, Clive 
 begged him to take up a pistol and fire it out of the 
 window. The man complied. * Then, by Heaven, 
 I am reserved for something,' cried Clive ; * for I have 
 twice snapped that pistol at my head.' Alas, 'twas 
 but a premature rehearsal of a future tragedy ! * 
 
 The foi-t at Calcutta was ill-defended, and worse 
 garrisoned. The wide ditch, begun in 1742 by the 
 Indian inhabitants of the colony, at their own ex- 
 pense, and under a panic-like terror of a Morattoe 
 invasion, had never been finished. It was designed 
 to encircle the Company's bounds, and would have 
 been, when perfect, seven miles in extent ; but when 
 three miles had been completed, after a labour of six 
 
 * See Appendix, Note A., at end of Yol. III.
 
 264 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 months, the Bengalese, with true Indian supineness, 
 desisted from the work ; nor did the Company care 
 for its completion, seeing that no Morattoes had ever 
 been on the western side of the river within sixty- 
 miles of Calcutta, and that Allaverdy, the Soubahdar 
 of Bengal and Orixa, exerted himself vigorously to pre- 
 vent their incursions into the Island of Cossimbuzar. 
 
 When I first entered Fort William, I was com- 
 pletely ignorant of the present condition of the country 
 in which I found myself. Hakluyt's voyages and 
 Bernier's pleasant book had made me tolerably 
 familiar with the splendid court and city of the 
 Mahometan conquerors of Hindostan, but of Indian 
 history since the death of Aurungzebe and the decline 
 of the Mogul power I knew scarcely anything ; and 
 I cannot but wonder at the small degree of interest 
 which Englishmen at home felt in the adventures of 
 their countrymen in this strange land. 
 
 When Philip Hay and I, with the rest of the 
 recruits, reached our destination, we found the meagre 
 garrison of Calcutta commanded by five captains, 
 with corresponding subordinate officers, who agreed 
 in nothing so heartily as their contempt for the station 
 to which they were appointed, and their neglect of 
 all duties connected with it. To drink, to sleep, to 
 gamble, to intrigue with loose-lived native women,
 
 MY HONOURABLE MASTERS. 265 
 
 and to absent themselves from their quarters on every 
 possible occasion, in order to indulge their fancy for 
 the field-sports of the adjoining country, formed the 
 rule of their lives. They had indeed sorry induce- 
 ment for fidelity to their posts. Nothing could be more 
 dismal than life in the fort, and in the town of Calcutta, 
 where the few European houses scattered among 
 the ruder native habitations were in the occupation 
 of British traders and merchants, who thought of 
 nothing but the rapid increase of their wealth, or 
 were absorbed in the discussion of their petty dis- 
 putes with the Company's committee at home. 
 
 And thus did Sergeant O'Blagg's florid promises 
 of Oriental glory and plunder result in the guardian- 
 ship of a factory, or storehouse for cotton-stuffs ; and 
 I found myself at twenty years of age the companion 
 of a mixed assemblage, and subject to the tyranny 
 of the Irish sergeant, who proved himself a truculent 
 scoundrel, before whom the Topases and native sol- 
 diers — spahis, or sepoys, as they were called by us — 
 quailed and trembled. 
 
 I have but little need to linger over this portion of 
 my Indian experiences. My life for the space of one 
 year was a blank, the monotony of which was broken 
 only by some petty variety in the details of my sufier- 
 ing. I, whose youth had known only the refined
 
 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 labours of a scholar, found myself working in a ditch 
 with a mixed gang of British recruits and tawny 
 Hindoos, at some necessary repair of our feeble for- 
 tifications, exposed to the glare of a meridian sun in 
 a copper-coloured sky, and threatened with the lash 
 at every symptom of flagging industry. 
 
 Our military education meanwhile was of a most 
 primitive order. We shared the drill of the sepoys, 
 who wore their native costume of turban, shirt, and 
 loose cotton trousers, and wielded their native arms 
 of sword and target. The number of our officers was 
 in ridiculous proportion to the pitiful handful of 
 troops, not two hundred in all, and but sixty of these 
 Englishmen, the greater number of my fellow 
 voyagers having been drafted off to Madras. They 
 were too lazy to give us much instruction, too 
 indifferent or unexpectant of danger to be interested 
 in their duty; nor did the seizure and French 
 occupation of Madras, with its loss of millions to 
 the English Company, arouse the garrison of Calcutta 
 to any extraordinary exertion. It appears to me, 
 indeed, that it has ever been a quality of the British 
 mind to await the imminent approach of a peril 
 before taking measures to prevent it ; and it was only 
 in the fatal summer of '56 that the five captains of 
 our garrison discovered how ill we were defended.
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FEIEND. 
 
 During my first dismal year at Calcutta, the native 
 magistracy of that presidency was chiefly in the hands 
 of a black Zemindar, or magistrate, one Govindram 
 Metre, who acted as subordinate of the English 
 Zemindar, and deputy during the intervals that fre- 
 quently occurred between the lapse of one appoint- 
 ment and the commencement of another. It is not 
 to be supposed that a government which depended 
 upon the instructions of a committee at fifteen 
 thousand miles' distance, and was subject to the 
 caprices and often ignorant errors of private in- 
 dividuals, actuated sometimes by private interests, 
 and frequently by private dislikes, could be exempt 
 from abuses ; and this frequent change of Zemindars, 
 who rarely held the appointment long enough to learn 
 the least of its arduous and numerous duties, was one 
 of the worst among them.
 
 268 ROBERT AIN SLEIGH. 
 
 Before Govindram Metre, all native causes, civil 
 and criminal, were at this particular period adjudged 
 in a tribunal entitled the Court of Cutcherry. In 
 common with most Hindoos, his ruling passion 
 was avarice, and he was only to be propitiated by 
 gifts, while his power extended to the dispensation 
 of the lash, fine, and imprisonment. The luckless 
 wretch who had not so much as a handful of pice to 
 offer as tribute could expect but scanty grace from 
 this functionary ; and before the first year of my 
 residence was ended I had seen many among my 
 coloured comrades writhing under the lashes ad- 
 ministered by Govindram's subordinates. I had 
 seen a good deal of the Black Zemindar, and had 
 heard many scandals concerning the supposed 
 sources of his reputed wealth, when it was my own 
 ill-fortune to become subject to his tyranny. 
 
 The Hindoo year, which commences in April, was 
 not quite three months old, and the summer solstice 
 was still at its height, when I began to suffer from 
 a low fever resembling that which had chained me 
 to my mattress in the Fleet Lane crimping-house. 
 The damp enervating heat of the Bengal climate 
 was in itself enough to cause sickness amongst 
 Europeans, who were compelled to labour without
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FRIEND. 269 
 
 regard to the conditions which only render residence 
 in this country tolerable to the foreigner. Joined to 
 this, I suffered from inadequate food, miserable 
 lodging, a fitful indulgence in spirituous liquors, 
 that were only agreeable to me because they enabled 
 me for the moment to forget my wretchedness, and 
 a constant depression of mind, unrelieved even by 
 hope : for the letter of appeal which I had contrived 
 to despatch to Lady Barbara soon after my arrival 
 was yet unnoticed. It is not to be wondered, then, 
 that my health languished and my strength declined. 
 The repairs of the fortifications, trifling as they 
 were, were not yet complete ; for an absolute want 
 of system prevailed at this station, whereby no 
 necessary work was ever finished ; and, ill as I was, 
 I was made to perform my share of the arduous 
 labour — now employed in digging the foundations 
 of a wall, now in wheeling barrows of rubbish for 
 the construction of an earthwork. 
 
 I was like to have dropped one day under this 
 work, when Sergeant O'Blagg, who was superintend- 
 ing our labours, attacked me with a sudden fury 
 that for the moment well-nigh took away my breath. 
 
 ' Look at that rascal, now,' he cried to a young 
 ensign who was lolling beside him on the curtain
 
 270 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 above us. ' Did your honour ever see sucli a lazy 
 vagabone ? Oi've had my oi upon him for the last 
 tree days, and divil a bit harther has he worked than 
 ye see him now. — Don't dhrag the barrow along like 
 that, ye scoundrel, but put your showlther to it 
 with a will, or oil know the raison whoy, ye idle 
 omathawn ! " 
 
 For the moment I was too weak to answer 
 him. 
 
 * Don't you see that the lad's ill ? ' roared out a 
 voice from the distance (Philip Hay's), while the 
 tawny wretches digging near me looked on and 
 grinned. 
 
 ' 111 ! yes,' cried the sergeant ; ^ he shams ill to 
 skulk his work, the idle beggar, but I'll have none 
 of his malingering ! ' and, leaping down from the 
 curtain, he ran forward as if about to hit me. But 
 I had just mustered strength to wheel my barrow 
 of rubble to the summit of the mound, and the 
 position of advantage was now mine. ' You un- 
 conscionable skulk ! ' roared O'Blagg, shaking his 
 clenched fist at me ; ' this comes of enlisting a 
 sham gentleman. I might have known you'd make 
 no sojer, and never urrun the cost of your passage ; 
 and if it hadn't been to obleege a gentleman who
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FRIEND. 271 
 
 wanted to be rid of his stepmother's bastard 
 
 cousin, I ' 
 
 He had no opportunity of finishing the sentence, 
 for anger lent me a spurious kind of strength, and 
 I hoisted my barrow of sand and rubbish aloft, and 
 emptied its contents upon the head of my assailant 
 in a suffocating shower. 
 
 A dozen fellows seized and dragged me up to the 
 little terrace on the top of the curtain, where the 
 ensign lolled with folded arms, grinning at his sub- 
 ordinate's discomfiture. 
 
 My outrage upon my superior was sufficiently 
 obvious. The ensign, who was about my own 
 age, and obviously amused by O'Blagg's stifled 
 execrations and frantic efi'urts to get rid of the 
 earth and sand that covered his head and 
 shoulders, felt it, nevertheless, his duty to punish 
 me. 
 
 * Upon my word this is too bad,' he said very 
 mildly ; * though that fellow O'Blagg deserves to 
 get into trouble with his long Irish tongue. But 
 insubordination of this kind won't do, you see, my 
 lad ; and as the captain's out of the way — in point 
 of fact, so uncommonly cut last night that he can't 
 show to-day ; and the senior-lieutenant has gone up
 
 272 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 the country pig-shooting — I think you'd better take 
 him to the Black Hole.' 
 
 * In irons ; ye'll put him in irons, your honour ? * 
 remonstrated O'Blagg, in a suffocated voice. 
 
 * Oh, very well, put him in irons if you like,' cried 
 the ensign, with a merciful wink to the men, which 
 plainly meant no irons. 
 
 On this I was conveyed to the Black Hole, that 
 too famous prison, which I was doomed once again 
 to occupy under circumstances that were to make 
 that occupation distinguished among the darkest 
 records of man's cruelty to the end of time. 
 
 The dungeoli itself was in no manner alarming of 
 aspect. It was the common prison of the fort, in 
 which European or native delinquents were indis- 
 criminately cast for any military misdemeanour. 
 
 I found myself in a square chamber of some 
 twenty feet by eighteen, with two small windows 
 looking westward, a direction from which no breath 
 of air is to be expected during this summer season. 
 To say that the dungeon was somewhat close and 
 airless in the occupation of one person is perhaps to 
 be fastidious ; but I would gladly have preferred a 
 more airy apartment for my night's repose ; and I 
 lay down in a corner of my cell with a supreme
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FRIEND. 273 
 
 distaste for my strange quarters ; though Heaven 
 knows the great barrack chamber where I ordinarily 
 spent my nights with the rest of the private soldiers 
 on a wooden platform, was no Sybarite's resting- 
 place. 
 
 Great God ! could I but have conceived the horrid 
 sufferings that were by-and-by to be endured in that 
 very dungeon, what nightmare- visions must have 
 broken my fitful slumbers, what hideous cries and 
 groans must have sounded upon my sleeping senses, 
 prophetic of agonies to come ! But this one ex- 
 quisite anguish of foreknowledge being spared to 
 mankind, my feverish slumbers were undisturbed by 
 painful dreams. 
 
 I was awakened soon after daybreak by a jem- 
 mautdaar, or coloured sergeant, who came, attended 
 by a couple of peons, to carry me before the Black 
 Zemindar. 
 
 To this I immediately objected, as I had been 
 given to understand that the Court of Cutcherry 
 had no authority over Europeans, and was a supreme 
 tribunal only for the subjects of the Mogul. The 
 jemmautdaar answered with the usual slavish 
 stolidity of these people. He knew nothing except 
 that he had been ordered to convey me before the 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 Black Zemindar. In vain I remonstrated, and 
 asked to see the captain, or one of the junior 
 officers of my company. The jemmautdaar was 
 bent on executing his orders, which I afterwards 
 discovered he had received from no one but my 
 enemy. Sergeant-major O'Blagg, who enjoyed an 
 extraordinary power in consequence of the prevail- 
 ing supineness among his superiors. 
 
 I was taken to the Cutcherry, and there found 
 myself accused of a murderous outrage upon my 
 superior, with intent to do serious bodily harm ; in 
 proof of which, Sergeant O'Blagg showed the some- 
 what inflamed condition of one eye, which had 
 suffered from the shower of rubbish I had dis- 
 charged upon my enemy's head. 
 
 I had seen something of English courts during 
 my brief residence in London, curiosity having led 
 me to Westminster and the Old Bailey on more 
 than one occasion; but although I had there be- 
 held enough to shock my sense of the sacredness 
 of justice, I was completely unprepared for the 
 flagrant iniquity of a tribunal presided over by an 
 almost irresponsible despot. Enough that I, a 
 subject of His Britannic Majesty King George, 
 was condemned to receive a hundred lashes at the
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FRIEND. 275 
 
 hands of a Gentoo, whose national skill in the ad- 
 ministration of this punishment I had heard and 
 seen too much of. The Mahometan abhors our 
 British mode of capital punishment by the gallows, 
 and hanging is therefore forbidden by the Mogul ; 
 but, on the other hand, the ruler of Delhi has no 
 objection against his subjects being whipped to 
 death, and the gentoo flagellant will lash his victim 
 with a diabolical dexterity, the exhibition of which 
 would have afforded a new sensation to Nero or 
 Caligula. 
 
 The sentence was pronounced, and half-a-dozen 
 black fellows advanced to lay their skinny paws 
 upon my shoulders, in order to convey me to the 
 compound, or open yard, behind the court, where 
 summary justice was to be executed ; but as they 
 were in the very act of doing this the sound of a 
 cannon booming across the Ganges arrested them 
 as if spellbound, while a sudden unnatural stillness 
 fell upon the court. 
 
 A Hindoo cooley entered in the next moment, 
 and, prostrating himself slavishly before the Zemin- 
 dar, informed him that a British vessel had arrived 
 off Govindpore, and that Mr. Holwell had just 
 landed, having come on to Fort William in a boat* 
 
 T 2
 
 276 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 I had heard of this Mr. Holwell as a civil servant 
 of some importance in the presidency. He had 
 returned to England between two and three years 
 before, there to end his days, as it was supposed, 
 and nothing could have been more unexpected than 
 his reappearance in Bengal. 
 
 My eyes happened to w^auder towards Govindram 
 Metre at this moment, and never did I see terror 
 more vividly painted upon the human countenance. 
 That dusky change which is more ghastly than 
 pallor, spread itself over his copper-coloured visage ; 
 but the man was past-master of all dissimulative 
 arts, and when Mr. Holwell himself, three minutes 
 afterwards, came into the court-house, Govindram 
 Metre received him with florid Oriental compliments 
 and servile smiles. 
 
 The Englishman accepted these greetings with 
 exemplary coldness. 
 
 * What are you doing here, Govindram ? ' he 
 asked, looking at me ; ' and how comes a dispute 
 between British soldiers to be submitted to the 
 Cutcherry?' 
 
 * If it will please the most distinguished and 
 favoured among the deputies of our honourable 
 jnasters to hear the matter, he will perceive that
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FRIEND. 277 
 
 it is a case of extraordinary character, which called 
 for ' 
 
 ' Not for your interference, Govindram,' inter- 
 rupted Mr. Hoi well. ' This young man is a mili- 
 tary servant of the Company, and can only be 
 punished in accordance with military law. — You 
 ought to have known better, sergeant, than to bring 
 your complaints here.' 
 
 Mr. O'Blagg, whose importance shrivelled into 
 nothing before this new arrival, muttered some 
 excuse. 
 
 * Were they going to flog this young soldier ? * 
 asked Mr. Holwell. 
 
 The Gentoos assented; and Govindram Metre 
 began a rambling justification of his proceedings. 
 
 * Upon my life, it is shameful !' cried Mr. Holwell 
 indignantly. * But it is of a piece with all the rest. 
 The president is absent at his country-house, and the 
 five captains of the garrison are asleep under shelter 
 of their mosquito-curtains, or away at their sports up 
 the country, and this poor sick lad is brought hither 
 in order that public justice may be prostituted to 
 private malice. Why, the young man looks fitter 
 for a sick-bed than the lash.* And then, turning 
 to me, he said, ' You are free of this tribunal, but
 
 278 ROBERT AINSLEiaH. 
 
 will have to answer to your captain for your offence 
 against the Sergeant-major. Have you been ill?' 
 
 * I have been ill of a low fever for the last three 
 weeks,' I answered ; ' but they have made me work 
 all the same, since I have just enough strength to 
 crawl about under threat of the lash/ 
 
 * You shall be put upon the sick-list. How long 
 have you been in Bengal ? ' 
 
 * A year, sir. I was kidnapped by the Sergeant- 
 major yonder.' 
 
 ' Kidnapped ! Pshaw ! There is no such thing 
 as kidnapping allowed in the Honourable East India 
 Company's service. You mean that you enlisted, 
 and were sorry for it afterwards, and were held to 
 your bond, as all recruits are.' 
 
 * I mean that I was betrayed into a house in 
 Fleet Lane, sir, and there detained close prisoner, in 
 company with others, till we were shipped secretly, 
 under cover of night, on board the Hecate. I mean 
 that I could not have escaped from that crimping- 
 house but at peril of my life, and that men have 
 lost their lives in the attempt to escape from such 
 houses.' 
 
 * Humph ! ' muttered my new friend ; * you speak 
 as if you were telling truth. I know nothing of
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FRIEND. 279 
 
 abuses in England. Abuses here are so many that 
 the study and investigation of them would occupy 
 a life as long as that of Nizam-al-Mulk, lately 
 deceased at the venerable age of one hundred and 
 four.' 
 
 This was said with a somewhat ominous glance at 
 Govindram Metre, who gazed upon the newly-arrived 
 Englishman with upturned eyes, expressive of such 
 veneration as he might be supposed to entertain 
 only for the gods of his fathers. 
 
 'What is your name, young man?' asked Mr. 
 Holwell. 
 
 * Robert Ain sleigh.' 
 
 ' Ainsleigh ! That is a good name, and one I 
 am bound to honour. From what branch of the 
 Ainsleigh family do you come ? ' 
 
 ' My father was Roderick Ainsleigh. My grand- 
 father was a colonel of dragoons, who married Lord 
 Hauteville's daughter. Lady Susan Somerton. I 
 was brought up at Hauteville, in the county of 
 Berks; entered at the Temple as a student, and 
 intended for the law, when it was my ill fortune to 
 fall in with that kidnapping scoundrel yonder.' 
 
 ' Not so fast, Mr. Ainsleigh. You must not call 
 names, though you do come of a good English
 
 280 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 family, and a family that I have reason to respect. 
 If what you tell me be true, I am in duty bound 
 befriend you ; for your grandfather. Colonel Ains- 
 leigh, served with my father in the low countries, 
 and at the bloody battle of Malplaquet, carried him, 
 then a lad, from under the enemy's batteries. So 
 you see, sir, I have to thank your ancestor for my 
 entrance into this world, since, had the French 
 cannon made an end of Ensign Holwell on that 
 famous occasion, there could be no such person 
 as your humble servant. — What say you to this 
 gentleman's story. Sergeant-major ? Did he go by 
 the name of Ainsleigh when you picked him up 
 in London?' 
 
 * Sure he did, your honour ; but divil a bit of an 
 Ainsleigh is he for all that, but the baseborn son 
 of Roderick Ainsleigh, a profligate scamp that got 
 himself stabbed to death in a tavern quarrel ; and 
 my Lady Barbara Lestrange, wife of His Majesty's 
 plenipotentiary to Spain, adopted the young scoundrel 
 and brought him up in charity, and he turned upon 
 her like an ungrateful varmint as he is, and wanted 
 to elope with Sir Marcus Lestrange' s niece — a great 
 fortune, and a beauty into the bargain ; but luckily 
 for his family, that he was nothing but a disgrace
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FRIEND. 281 
 
 to, he enlisted himself to me in a drunken fit, 
 whereby the Lestranges got rid of him.' 
 
 * If you will let me tell you my story, sir, I think 
 you will believe me,' I said, addressing myself to 
 Mr. Holwell. 
 
 * I think I shall, Mr. Robert Ainsleigh,' he an- 
 swered kindly. ' Your face is hardly the counte- 
 nance of a liar; and if the blood of my father's 
 friend does but flow in your veins, I care little in 
 what illegal manner you came by it.' 
 
 * On my honour, sir, that fellow has no warrant 
 for his foul assertion, except the one fact that the 
 obscurity of my father's death and later days left 
 me without the means of proving my legitimacy.' 
 
 After this, Mr. Holwell ordered me to be placed 
 on the sick-list, and I was taken to a somewhat 
 dilapidated building on the outskirts of the fort, that 
 served as an infirmary. 
 
 ' I will make it all right with your captain,' he 
 said ; * and you, Mr. Sergeant-major, must look 
 over the lad's delinquency on this occasion, to 
 oblige me.' 
 
 Mr. O'Blagg replied with extreme obsequiousness, 
 and I began at once to discover what it is to have a 
 friend at court.
 
 282 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 The doctor pronounced me suffering from a low 
 intermittent fever, and sorely in need of rest ; so I 
 lay at the infirmary for several weeks, during which 
 Mr. Holwell frequently visited me. He questioned 
 me very closely upon the subject of my education, and 
 appeared much surprised to find me possessed of 
 several languages, amongst these Sanscrit — which I 
 owed to the scholarship of my old friend Anthony 
 — and a tolerable proficient in Hindoostanee, the 
 acquirement of which, viva voce from the native 
 soldiery, and from such meagre books as I could 
 obtain, had been my sole recreation during the last 
 dreary year. 
 
 * Why, you are just such a fellow as I want for a 
 clerk and secretary,' he said ; * the young writers 
 they send out are for the most part raw ignorant 
 lads, who are despatched here only because their 
 friends know not what to do with them at home. 
 You have but to improve yourself in Hindoostanee, 
 and to thoroughly master the native character in 
 which their business documents are written, and 
 you would be invaluable to me. Would you like 
 to exchange the military for the civil service, if I 
 could efiect such a transfer ?' 
 
 * To exchange the ignoble slavery I have endured
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FRIEND. 283 
 
 here for your service would be to pass at once from 
 the depths of Onderah to the Mahah Surgo ; or, in 
 plain English, to exchange hell for heaven.' 
 
 ' I see you have been studying the Shastah,' said 
 Mr. Hoi well, who had already revealed to me that 
 taste for Oriental research which was afterwards 
 usefully displayed in his numerous pamphlets. 'You 
 cannot do better than pursue such studies, for the 
 gentoos will respect you so much the more for 
 being acquainted with the Sanscrit language, the 
 knowledge of which is confined to their Brahmins 
 and learned Pundits. And you would really like to 
 be my secretary, Eobert ? ' 
 
 * Nothing would please me better.' 
 
 * I warn you that the work will be of the hardest, 
 and tax your powers of accountancy. I am now 
 engaged in the investigation of a series of frauds 
 committed by that scoundrel, Govindram Metre, 
 which involve the conduct of our finances for the 
 last ten years, and by which that black rascal has 
 pocketed thousands. Do you feel yourself capable 
 of performing the mere mechanical drudgery of 
 such a work ? ' 
 
 * I feel myself capable of making any endeavour 
 to serve you, sir. I was well drilled into accoun-
 
 284 EGBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 tancy by my lady's house-steward, who had an 
 old-fashioned veneration for iSgures ; and with a 
 little direction from yourself, I doubt not I should 
 soon master the mysteries of finance.' 
 
 Mr. Holwell was contented with this assurance, 
 and set to work immediately to redeem me from 
 my hateful bondage. He was a person of con- 
 siderable influence in the presidency ; and amongst 
 a supine and indifferent community his industrious 
 and energetic habits multiplied that influence ten- 
 fold. So, by the time I was sufficiently recovered 
 to leave the infirmary I found myself a free man, 
 and went immediately to Mr. Holwell's house, 
 where I was provided with suitable clothes, a 
 decent chamber, and began life for the second time 
 in the character of a gentleman. 
 
 It is not to be supposed I was so base as to 
 forget my companion in misery, Philip Hay, in 
 this happy alteration of my own fate. I tried to 
 enlist Mr. Holwell's sympathy for that reckless 
 scoundrel, and carefully suppressed his share in my 
 betrayal. My new friend promised to do his best to 
 serve my late brother in arms; but he remarked 
 that Mr. Hay bore his lot with supreme equani- 
 mity, and was a fellow who would doubtless
 
 PROVIDENCE SENDS ME A FRIEND. 285 
 
 fall on his feet, tumble from what pinnacle he 
 might. 
 
 * We may have some fighting by and by,' said 
 he ; ' for at the first hint of a war between the two 
 countries Dupleix will be down upon us here. It 
 is not to be supposed that the French will let us 
 alone for ever after their good luck at Madras. In 
 the event of an attack upon this place, your friend 
 will have an opportunity of distinguishing himself; 
 and be sure the fight would be a desperate one, for 
 while I have a voice to raise in council, the motto 
 of Fort William shall be no surrender.' 
 
 I lived to see this promise kept, and against a 
 more cruel foe than the French. I lived to wit- 
 ness the base abandonment of Fort William by its 
 chief military protectors, and its heroic defence by 
 a civilian.
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 MR. OMICHUND, THE COMPANY'S AGENT. 
 
 I BEGAN my labours as clerk, or secretary, to Mr. 
 Holwell, with a hearty desire to render good service 
 to the one friend I had found on this far foreign 
 shore, and entered at once into the entangled 
 mass of accounts it was my duty to examine. 
 
 The Zemindarship is an office of double duties, and 
 involves two separate functions, distinct and almost 
 wholly independent of each other. The Zemindar is 
 not only a judge of the Court of Cutcherry, but he is 
 also superintendent and collector of the East India 
 Company's revenues ; and it was in this latter 
 capacity that Govindram Metre, in his post of 
 standing deputy, had enjoyed ample opportunity of 
 amassing a fortune at the Company's expense. 
 
 The rapid rotation of the English Zemindarship, 
 which office changed hands two or three times in 
 twelve months, had thrown all the power into this
 
 MR. OMICHUND, THE COMP.VNY's AGENT. 287 
 
 fellow's hands ; since the superior officer, whose 
 deputy he was, had no time to learn the details of 
 his office, and little inclination to enter laboriously 
 into the duties of a position he was to hold for so 
 brief a period. Mr. Hoi well's suspicions of this 
 man's integrity had been aroused before his voyage 
 to England, while the attention of the Court of 
 Directors had also been drawn to sundry depreda- 
 tions and abuses committed by this official. At the 
 request of the court, Mr. Holwell had taken pains to 
 explain the nature of the Zemindarship to the ruling 
 powers at home ; and he now returned invested 
 with full authority as Zemindar, and not to be 
 removed from his office without express orders from 
 England, since no proper investigation of the deputy's 
 abuses could be possible while the head office fluc- 
 tuated by rotation as heretofore. Once invested 
 with full powers, Mr. Holwell spared no labour in 
 his task of cleansing this Augean stable of foul 
 accountancy. 
 
 It would be but dry work to enter into the details 
 of Govindram Metre's defalcations. Nothing could 
 be more iniquitous than his system of embezzlement ; 
 and while the office of Head Zemindar had been a 
 fluctuating one, nothing could be less liable to detec-
 
 288 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 tion, since not one of the natives, from tlie highest to 
 the lowest, durst with impunity have given umbrage 
 to him, and 'tis they who alone could have explored 
 the dark and intricate mazes in which he had so 
 long concealed his operations from the eye of justice. 
 Amongst his other functions it was his duty to 
 dispose of the pottahs or leases, which apportioned 
 the Company's farms for the space of one year. 
 These pottahs should have been disposed of by 
 public outcry or auction in the Cutcherry, in the 
 presence of the Zemindar; but instead of being 
 thus offered to public competition, the farms were 
 sold privately at Govindram Metre's own house, at 
 such prices as he chose to assign to them. All 
 the best of these he bought himself, under fictitious 
 names, and immediately resold at a profit of from 
 forty to sixty per cent. This infamous transaction, 
 repeated annually for ten years, and involving 
 several estates, had alone enabled him to amass a 
 large fortune ; but this was only one species of 
 fraud amongst many. On the monthly charge of 
 servants, on charges for repairing the Cutcherries 
 or court-houses, for repairing roads, and on other 
 items, this knavish rascal's embezzlements amounted 
 to thousands.
 
 MR. OMICHUND, THE COMPANY'S AGENT. 289 
 
 Govindram Metre's summary dismissal from his 
 too profitable office was an act of Mr. Holwell's in 
 which the Court of Directors at home promptly 
 concurred ; but the investigation of frauds so com- 
 plicated, and the exposure of a system of plunder 
 as artful as it was infamous, was a work of years. 
 To discover the Black Zemindar's embezzlements 
 was one thing, to prove them was another and far 
 more arduous labour. Every obstacle by which 
 the genius of dishonesty could hinder the progress 
 of justice was placed in our way by this arch 
 plunderer. A complete retrospective examination 
 of his accounts was impossible, for we were politely 
 informed that the white ants had destroyed some of 
 his papers, while others had been washed away in 
 a great storm. In spite of all opposition on the 
 part of the culprit and his slavish instruments, Mr. 
 Holwell did, however, contrive to lay before the 
 Directors a detailed statement of the frauds to 
 which their property had been subject; while the 
 immediate and remarkable augmentation of the re- 
 venues under his charge fully proved that his 
 discoveries were of no hypothetical character. It 
 was reserved for this gentleman in the future to 
 prove how small is the gratitude of princes, or of 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 BOBEBT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 companies, and to drink to the dregs that cup of 
 neglect so frequently offered to the lips of the faith- 
 ful public servant. 
 
 Before I had been many months an inmate of 
 Mr. Holwell's house, I had the satisfaction of find- 
 ing that my services were of real value to this kind 
 friend and master. He honoured me with much 
 confidence ; and I, for my part, told him my own 
 story without the smallest reservation, save on the 
 one subject of Phil Hay's treachery. Meanwhile, 
 although our life at Calcutta vras monotony itself, 
 stirring events were taking place elsewhere ; ' and 
 Major Lawrence, with his brave young subordinate, 
 Robert Clive, was teaching Dupleix that French 
 ambition was not to be for ever unopposed by 
 British enterprise.* 
 
 My patron's own numerous duties and high re- 
 sponsibilities kept him employed during all the work- 
 ing hours of the day, and during many weary hours 
 in which no one but himself would have cared to 
 work ; while I, stimulated by his example, laboured 
 as unremittingly in my own humbler function. Nor 
 did I confine myself to a clerk's drudgery, for I had 
 taken to heart Mr. Holwell's remarks on the import- 
 * See Appendix, Note B, at end of Yol. III.
 
 MR. OMICHUND, THE COMPANY'S AGENT. 291 
 
 ance of an acquaintance with the native language, 
 and I devoted a great deal of my spare time to the 
 study of Persian, Hindostanee, and the vulgar Ben- 
 galee, under the tuition of a mild-faced moonshee, 
 who came to my quarters nightly to instruct me in 
 those tongues. With this learned man I read the 
 original Shastah, and its more modern and corrupt 
 versions, and thus became familiar with the theogony 
 of Hindostan, between which and the Greek system, 
 as recorded by Hesiod, I did not fail to find occa- 
 sional coincidences. It was, indeed, to hard mental 
 labour that I could alone look for distraction from 
 the painful reflections which oppressed me in this 
 early period of my exile. I had now been a year and 
 a half in Bengal, but had received no letter from 
 England, though I had written three times to my 
 benefactress, in each several letter setting forth my 
 griefs with all the persistence of despair. Imme- 
 diately after my removal from the garrison, I had 
 taken advantage of my liberty to write and despatch 
 two other letters. The first to Mr. Swinfen, of the 
 Temple, to whom I related my sad story in its 
 fullest details, and whom I entreated to take pos- 
 session of the books and other property I had left 
 in my chambers, amongst which was the Spanish 
 
 u 2
 
 292 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 translation of the Imitation of Christ, given to me 
 by Dorothea Hemsley. I did not, of course, fail to 
 inform Mr. Swinfen how kind a friend I had found 
 in Mr. Holwell ; nor did I omit to ask his advice 
 upon the legality of my shameful marriage. My 
 second letter was addressed to my old guardian and 
 tutor, Anthony Grimshaw, in whom I scarce doubted 
 I yet possessed a friend, however foully I might 
 have been slandered in his hearing. From him I 
 entreated tidings of those I so fondly loved, and so 
 <3ruelly had lost. To him also I gave a full account 
 of my adventures, for I was determined that if my 
 wrongs could be righted, the opportunity of righting 
 them should not be lost by any omission on my part. 
 Having done this I felt somewhat easier in my mind, 
 And better able to devote myself to my daily labours. 
 That was for me a most favourable hour in which my 
 grandfather, Colonel Ainsleigh, had the good fortune 
 to rescue Mr. HolwelFs father from the enemy's fire, 
 for I found in this gentleman a constant and aifec- 
 tionate friend. Amply did he repay the debt which 
 he owed my ancestor. He rescued me from a living 
 death, far worse than the swift annihilation of a 
 cannon ball, and taught me to hope when every 
 circumstance of my life tempted me to despair.
 
 MR. OMICHUND, THE COMPANY'S AGENT. 293 
 
 ' Your moonshee gives me a most glowing account 
 of your progress, Bob/ he said to me one day, 
 after I had been six months an inhabitant of his 
 house. ' That old bookworm house- steward, of whom 
 you tell me, seems to have grounded you admirably 
 in Sanscrit, and you have, I think, a natural talent 
 for languages. Kely on it, that a familiarity with 
 the native tongues is the safest stepping-stone to 
 success in this country, and the young Englishmen 
 who neglect such studies are stone-blind to their own 
 interests. Dupleix has profited greatly by the 
 assistance of his Creole wife, who was born and 
 educated in Bengal, and whose familiarity with the 
 language and usages of the people, to say nothing of 
 her natural talent for diplomacy, has enabled her to 
 aid and abet him in all his Oriental intrigues. The 
 day will perhaps come when you will have reason to 
 bless Providence for your forced voyage to the East. 
 The stagnation of affairs in this presidency is but a 
 false calm. Be sure we shall have stirring scenes 
 enough by-and-by, and a hard fight to hold our o^vn. 
 But whatever struggles await us I hope eveiything 
 from the English spirit when once fairly aroused. 
 The British lion is a beast that sleeps long and 
 soundly, but God help his enemies in the hour of
 
 294 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 his awakening ! The French have been for a long 
 time past trying to show us the road to glory, and I 
 think young Clive is beginning to show them that 
 we are capable of learning the lesson. And now, 
 Kobert, I want you to put aside your respectable 
 moonshee for to-night, and come with me to a festival 
 that is to be given by our friend and ally Mr. Omi- 
 chund, a Gentoo merchant, and one of the most re- 
 markable men in this country.' 
 
 ' I shall be proud to accompany you, sir : but, 
 pray, in what does Mr. Omichund's chief merit or 
 genius consist ? ' 
 
 * Why, faith, Bob, if the truth must be told, I 
 think his chief gift is that which most rapidly wins 
 a man distinction at home, in our native country, as 
 well as among these unenlightened heathens. He 
 has the true Gentoo genius for money-making, and 
 for the last forty years has devoted all the forces of 
 his mind to that pursuit. Our Company has allowed 
 him to provide more of our investments than any 
 other contractor, and by this indulgence on our 
 part — which is against our own rules — and sundry 
 other privileges, he has become the richest man in 
 the colony. His trade extends to the uttermost 
 limits of Bengal and Behar, and his influence with
 
 MK. OMICHUND, THE COMPANY'S AGENT. 295 
 
 the officers of Allaverdy's court at Muxadavad is so 
 considerable, that we sometimes stoop to employ him 
 as our mediator when we want to get the ear of the 
 Nabob. Not a very honourable position for John 
 Company, is it, Bob "? But I live in hope the day 
 will come when John will no longer prostrate 
 himself with eight members before the Mahometan 
 musnud ; but will stand erect and defend his hardly- 
 won privileges at the point of the sword. In the 
 meantime we are about to make a serious change in 
 our trading arrangements, and to retrench Mr. Omi- 
 chund's privileges in a manner which will, I fear, 
 sorely vex that pious Gentoo's soul. Yet it is but 
 one of the trials which he has a right to expect in 
 this ninth stage of purgation. The truth of the 
 matter is, that we have discovered a very serious 
 decline in the qualities of the merchandise provided 
 by his agency, together with as serious an advance 
 in its price. But the man is useful, and it would be 
 a dangerous thing for us to offend him, for which 
 reason I have accepted his invitation to to-night's 
 natch. Nothing gratifies these people more than the 
 presence of Europeans at their festivals.' 
 
 We were carried to Omichund's house in palanquins. 
 Calcutta, when I first knew it, had been in existence
 
 296 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 less than fifty years, and was but a sorry assemblage 
 of bamboo huts and the curious open shops of the 
 natives, interspersed with occasional large and some- 
 times handsome houses belonging to Armenian, 
 native, and English merchants ; while here and there 
 an insignificant building of painted brick and plaster, 
 surmounted by three small domes, proclaimed itself 
 the temple of the Mahometan faith ; but how diffe- 
 rent from the pompous mosque of St. Sophia, or the 
 Jumma Musjeed (chief cathedral) of Delhi, with its 
 rich blending of dark-red sandstone and pure white 
 marble ! At the corner of a road we passed a mean 
 and dirty house, round which a crowd of natives were 
 clamouring, with angry gesticulations and frantic 
 cries. This, Mr. Holwell pointed out to me as the 
 Catwallee, a minor police-court, where petty griev- 
 ances are redressed, and a kind of rough-and-ready 
 justice administered. 
 
 We arrived presently at the Gentoo merchant's 
 house, a handsomer edifice than any I had yet seen, 
 and brilliantly illuminated. A mixed crowd of guests 
 and lookers-on was congregated at the gates, through 
 which we pushed our way into a spacious hall or 
 quadrangular court, occupying the centre of the 
 house, and surrounded by two galleries with innu-
 
 MR. OMICHUND, THE COMPANY'S AGENT. 297 
 
 merable doors opening into small apartments. The 
 upper story Mr. Holwell pointed out to me as 
 devoted to the women of the household, who, 
 although in\-isible to us, were watching the enter- 
 tainment from the covert of their Venetian lattices. 
 I had afterwards good reason to remember this 
 upper story, and one of its beautiful inhabitants. 
 
 The court, which, like a Sevillian patio, is at ordi- 
 nary times open to the sky, was for this occasion 
 roofed in with red cloth, and lighted with countless 
 lamps. The white-muslin draperies and rich em- 
 broidered costumes of the guests ; the necklaces and 
 aigrettes of rainbow-tinted gems, that flashed in 
 strange contrast to their tawny skins, and shone only 
 less brightly than their piercing black eyes ; the 
 crowd of servants, of whom my companion informed 
 me Mr. Omichund possessed three hundred, and who 
 were augmented by the retainers brought by his 
 visitors ; the buzzing of many tongues, the confu- 
 sion of perpetual movement, and the curious inhar- 
 monious native music, — combined to render the 
 scene one of dazzling bewilderment to my unaccus- 
 tomed senses. This was indeed an introduction to 
 fairyland, and its novelty, for the moment, carried 
 me completely out of myself.
 
 298 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 Now began the amusement of the evening. A 
 band of public dancing-girls advanced into the centre 
 of the hall, and performed a strange barbaric dance, 
 which had in it few elements of European dancing. 
 Nothing did I ever behold so devoid of loveliness, 
 for while the arms, body, and head were exercised in 
 every variety of contortion, the feet, though con- 
 stantly moving, never' stirred from the same spot. 
 Whatever dramatic story might be told by the per- 
 formance — and the changeful expression of the dan- 
 cers' countenances seemed to have some dramatic 
 significance — was beyond my humble faculties, and 
 if it was by such strained movements and monoto- 
 nous posturings that the daughter of Herodias 
 danced St. John the Baptist's head off his shoul- 
 ders, I can but deprecate the bad taste of Herod as 
 much as I abhor his cruelty. Both Mr. Holwell and 
 myself grew heartily weary of this exhibition, during 
 which we discovered that the splendour of Omi- 
 chund's palace did not exempt us from the native 
 scourge of mosquitoes, which venomous insect tor- 
 mented us throughout the evening. 
 
 Immediately upon the conclusion of the dance, 
 the great Gentoo merchant espied us, and advanced 
 to welcome Mr. Holwell with demonstrative respect.
 
 MR. OMICHUND, THE COMPANY'S AGENT. 299 
 
 They talked together for some time in Hindoostanee, 
 and I had ample leisure in which to observe Mr. 
 Omichund. He was a man of advanced years, forty 
 of which he had spent in the harassing pursuit of 
 wealth. Time thus employed had left its traces upon 
 a countenance that had once been handsome, and 
 which was of the most refined native type. But in 
 the expression of that countenance I read only evil. 
 A crafty nature had set its seal upon every feature of 
 the Gentoo's face. "While the flexile mouth ex- 
 pressed only meekness and submission, the restless- 
 ness of the observant eyes belied its amiable tran- 
 quillity; and in those bright and watchful orbs I 
 fancied I could discover a latent fierceness that 
 augured ill for Mr. Omichund' s enemies. 
 
 He had evidently got wind of the discussions re- 
 specting him that had taken place in council, and of 
 the intention to reduce his privileges, and it was 
 with reference to this that he shaped his conversa- 
 tion to-night. 
 
 ' I have been a faithful servant to the Honourable 
 Company, Mr. Holwell Sahib,' he said, * and have 
 stood between my honourable masters and the Na- 
 bob's anger many times. The English do not know 
 the Nabob as Omichund knows him. These Ma-
 
 300 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 hometans are all false ; they are false as lies. With 
 one hand they will sign a treaty, while with the 
 other they invoke Allah's vengeance on the party to 
 the hond. Do not let the Honourable Company 
 trust the Nabob unless they have a friend at the 
 Durbar — an Indian like Omichund, who has spent 
 his life among these Mahometans and knows how to 
 deal with them. The Honourable Company have 
 hidden enemies at the Durbar. The French gover- 
 nor, Dupleix, is very powerful — 0, he is great and 
 powerful, like the old Nizam, and has a head like 
 him to plot and plan. Governor Dupleix and Jan 
 Begum, his wife, have their spies everywhere. She 
 writes many letters — clever letters — that win friends 
 for Dupleix and the French; for she knows these 
 Mahometans, but not as Omichund knows them. 
 She has not had forty years of dealings with them, 
 as he has. The French are better liked in Bengal 
 than the English ; and if the Honourable Company 
 does not keep a friend at the Durbar, there will be 
 danger, much danger.' 
 
 * From what quarter, Omichund?' asked Mr. 
 Holwell quietly. 
 
 ^ From the French, from the old Nabob, and still 
 more from his grand-nephew, Mirza Mahmud, who
 
 MR. OMICHUND, THE COMPANY'S AGENT. 301 
 
 will succeed him, and who hates the English. He 
 has the heart of a tiger, that young man, with the 
 courage of a rat, and he loves only evil. Let the 
 Honourable Company trust Omichund, and he will 
 by-and-by show them wonderful things and gain 
 them great friends. It is not so sure that Mirza 
 Mahmud shall succeed to the musnud.' 
 * Indeed ! And who is the pretender ? ' 
 ' It is too soon to tell you that. Omichund knows 
 many secrets, and has much power. It will be weU 
 for the Honourable Company if they treat him gene- 
 rously. But if they rob me of hard-won privileges 
 — nay. Sahib, I am not the man to threaten,' said 
 the merchant, checking himself suddenly, but with 
 an ominous light in his eyes that was in itself a 
 threat. 
 
 ' I know that Omichund also has enemies,' he 
 went on, in a more tranquil tone, * enemies who 
 grudge him the wealth he has earned by prudence 
 and unremitting toil and faithful service to his ho- 
 nourable masters ; and those slanderous tongues 
 would do him evil with the honourable council. But 
 his honourable masters are too wise to listen to such 
 base whisperers. They know they have a good friend 
 in Omichund.'
 
 302 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 To this, and much more to the same effect, did 
 Mr. Hoi well listen with that inscrutahle calm which 
 was one of his finest gifts. He had indeed a rare 
 aptitude for business, and a genius for coping with 
 the difficulties and niceties of a perplexing position. 
 
 * I am but an insignificant member of the council, 
 Omichund,' he said at last, * and have little power 
 to influence its decisions. Kely upon it the Com- 
 pany are grateful for all faithful service, and in any- 
 thing they may do will be influenced only by con- 
 scientious motives. But let me not detain you too 
 long from your Gentoo friends, who will be ill-pleased 
 if you devote all your attention to a single English 
 guest.' 
 
 On this our host quitted us, but not without many 
 obeisances and Oriental compliments. 
 
 * The old fox has been informed of our intentions 
 with regard to him,' Mr. Holwell observed to me 
 when Omichund had left us, 'and I suspect he 
 means mischief. Nothing could be more unwise 
 than to employ him as we have employed him, 
 except this culminating folly of diminishing his 
 privileges. We suffer the man to become possessed 
 of inordinate power, and choose the moment when 
 he is strongest to offer him mortal offence. Upon
 
 ME. OMICHUXD, THE COMPANY'S AGENT. 303 
 
 my word Robert, this manageraent of affairs in 
 Bengal is about the prettiest comedy of errors that 
 was ever enacted.' 
 
 The time came, and but too speedily, when Mr. 
 Holwell had occasion to denominate the mismanaged 
 business of Calcutta a tragedy, and not a comedy, 
 of eirrors. 
 
 Before he could say more to me, we were escorted 
 to the supper-room, where we found ourselves placed 
 at one of the highest tables, to partake of a sump- 
 tuous banquet, amid the hubbub of some five 
 hundred attendants and the barbaric discords of 
 Hindoo music.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 BAD NEWS FROM HOME. 
 
 Not many weeks after my attendance at Omichund's 
 natch, the English mail brought me a packet of 
 direful news which made me for a long time in- 
 different to public affairs, and only able to perform 
 my daily duties in the dullest manner. To the 
 arrival of every British ship I had for more than a 
 year looked forward with passionate hope" and ex- 
 pectation, and behold at last the white sail came 
 that was to bring me, not solace, but the final 
 agony of despair — the coup de grace that was to end 
 all the weak struggles of my heart with the annihila- 
 tion of my last hope. In Lady Barbara's affection 
 I had trusted as in a strong rock of defence from the 
 assaults of affliction. Had she not told me that she 
 would be my friend through all the changes of my 
 life, and that even ill-conduct on my part should not 
 cancel her regard for her dead lover's orphan son ?
 
 BAD NEWS FROM HOME. 305 
 
 During the last two bitter years the memory of this 
 promise had been my chief comfort ; and again and 
 again, when the arrival of the English mail had 
 brought me only disappointment, I had said to my- 
 self, 'I will wait. I know that this one friend is true 
 to me, and sooner or later I shall receive some proof 
 of her affection.' 
 
 I think I could have existed for years buoyed up 
 by this one hope ; but even this was taken from me. 
 Of the three letters which I so anxiously expected, 
 one only came to me, and that was addressed by the 
 hand of Mr. Swinfen. With the letter came a packet, 
 which I found to contain two numbers of the Gentle- 
 man's Magazine, and while tearing open the cover 
 of the letter I had time to wonder why he had 
 sent me these. Alas ! I but too soon learned his 
 motive. 
 
 Mr. Swinfen' s letter ran as follows : — 
 
 ' My dear Mr. Ainsleigh, — I was at once sur- 
 prised and shocked by the contents of your letter 
 (per ship Godolphin, arrived January 4th, 1753) 
 and the shameful infringement of an Englishman's 
 liberty therein described ; but find myself unhappily 
 powerless to redress your wrongs. The system by 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 which you have suffered is an infamous adaptation 
 of the tactics of the press-gang to the East India 
 Company's service, and I douht not is an abuse that 
 will continue to flourish, in spite of complaint from 
 its victims. I bade one of my clerks copy the story 
 of your capture — of course carefully suppressing all 
 private details — and sent exemplars to the Gentle- 
 man's Magazine and another journal, but could not 
 obtain either editor's consent to its insertion. The 
 Directors of the E. I. Company are numerous and 
 wealthy, and these slavish journalists do not care to 
 offend so influential a body. There will, I hope, 
 come a day when the English press will be more 
 enlightened, and a British subject may find a 
 prompt hearing, if not a swift redress, for his 
 wrongs. 
 
 ' Were your present state as pitiable as the con- 
 dition in which you found yourself on first arriving 
 at Bengal, I should be inclined to move heaven and 
 earth in the endeavour to procure your release and 
 return to England. But, in all candour, I declare 
 that, to my mind, your position at Calcutta, as the 
 confidential secretary of an influential person such 
 as Mr. Holwell, is far superior to any standing you 
 could hope to obtain at home. Pray cherish this
 
 BAD NEWS FROM HOME. 307 
 
 new patron and benefactor wliom a kind Providence 
 has raised up for you in a land of strangers, and 
 endeavour by your faithful service to become at once 
 necessary and valuable to him. 
 
 ' And now, alas ! my dear young friend, I come to 
 the saddest part of my duty, on the performance 
 whereof I enter with a pain second only to that 
 which I know the perusal of this letter will inflict 
 upon you. A heavy loss and affliction has befallen 
 a distinguished English family, and has at the same 
 time deprived you of an affectionate and powerful 
 friend. I will not enter upon details which you 
 will find related at large in the obituary of the 
 Gentleman's Magazine for December last past ; I 
 will tell you only that your kinswoman. Lady 
 Barbara Lestrange, is no more, having expired of 
 a ruptured blood-vessel within a month after the 
 marriage of her step-son, Mr. Everard Lestrange, 
 to his cousin, Miss Hemsley. 
 
 * You will perhaps wonder that so kind a friend as 
 Lady Barbara should have made no testamentary 
 arrangement in your behalf, since her estate was large 
 and I believe subject to her testamentaiy control. 
 Having adopted you in infancy, she might naturally 
 desire to extend her care of you beyond the grave, 
 
 X 2
 
 308' 
 
 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 SO far at least as to secure your manhood from 
 poverty. 
 
 ' I can only account for this omission from the fact 
 that the lamented lady was cut off suddenly, in the 
 very prime of womanhood, and that women are ever 
 slow to consider the necessity of legal preparation for 
 that uncertain hour which cometh as a thief in the 
 night. The dear lady left no will, and her estate 
 thus devolves entirely upon her husband, Sir Marcus 
 Lestrange, no doubt to the ultimate enrichment of 
 his only son. It is but a new example of that com- 
 mon fate by which one Pactolean stream flows into 
 and augments another, leaving the barren plains of 
 earth unfertilized. 
 
 * Lastly, my dear friend, let me reply to your 
 anxious inquiries on the subject of your unhappy 
 marriage. I regret to say that you have been rightly 
 informed : a marrige so contracted is valid, and 
 nothing but death can loosen your bonds. You will 
 see in this fact another reason for your prolonged 
 residence in India, by which you escape all the pains 
 and penalties of your position. 
 
 ' I have taken measures to secure the books and 
 other property left at your chambers, and will cause 
 them to be forwarded to you at Calcutta on receipt of
 
 BAD NEWS FROM HOME. 309 
 
 yonr letter to that effect. My paper will permit me to 
 say no more than that I am 
 
 * Your obedient servant and sincere well-wisher, 
 
 *H. SWINFEN. 
 * Temple, 
 
 'January 30th, 1753/ 
 
 I lay for hours stretched upon the floor of my 
 chamber, with Mr. Swinfen's letter crushed in my 
 clenched hand, sobbing like a child. And I had 
 thought that evil Fortune had shot all her arrows 
 at my devoted head, while this envenomed dart yet 
 remained in her quiver ! 
 
 It was dark when I rose from the ground, remem- 
 bering that I had yet to learn the details of my 
 affliction. I groped for a lamp, and having lighted 
 it, seated myself at my desk, and began to examine 
 the magazines Mr. Swinfen had sent me. 
 
 In the record of marriages printed in the number 
 for November, now ten months past, I speedily found 
 the following passage, marked in the margin by the 
 sender : — 
 
 ' On Tuesday, 11th inst., was solemnized, with 
 much splendour, the marriage of Mr. Everard Le- 
 strange, only son and heir to Sir Marcus Lestrange,
 
 310 BOBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 of St. James's Square, London, and Hauteville, Berks 
 (late plenipotentiary to his Britannic Majesty at the 
 court of Madrid), to Miss Dorothea Hemsley, a young 
 lady of fortune, whose heauty and numerous charms of 
 manner and accomplishment have attracted much at- 
 tention both at court and in the upper circles during 
 the last two seasons. Several of the most distin- 
 guished members of the Ministry were present at 
 the ceremonial; and the amiable prime minister 
 himself honoured the occasion by his presence. 
 The bride and bridegroom are to pass the fortnight 
 immediately succeeding their union at Thorpstoke, 
 in Yorkshire, the seat of a member of Sir Marcus 
 Lestrange's family. It is pleasant to record a mar- 
 riage which in its auspicious circumstances recalls 
 the experience of Arcadian fairy-tale rather than the 
 harsher precedents of common life. The union of 
 Mr. Lestrange and his fair cousin is a pure love- 
 match, the young people having grown up together 
 in a tender and most perfect sympathy of inclina- 
 tions and sentiments, under the appro^dng eyes of 
 their kindred. A violent fit of hysterics which 
 overtook the bride at the conclusion of the ceremony 
 testified to the intensity of her emotion. Mr. Le- 
 strange is designed for a diplomatic career, and will.
 
 BAD NEWS FROM HOME. 311 
 
 we believe, be the bearer of despatches to her Im- 
 perial Highness the Empress of Kussia, with a view 
 to the more satisfactory adjustment of the late sub- 
 sidiary treaty, for which distinguished mission his 
 elegant manners [and agreeable face and figure 
 eminently adapt him.' 
 
 To me what a satire lurked beneath the hackneyed 
 scribbler's florid paragraph ! Love, sympathy ! — yes, 
 such love and sympathy as can exist between the 
 tender lamb and its devourer the wolf ; between the 
 helpless transfixed bird and its fatal fascinater the 
 snake. 
 
 Amongst the obituary notices in the December 
 number of the same magazine appeared a paragraph 
 of more tragic interest : — 
 
 *Lady Barbaea Le strange, only daughter and 
 sole heiress of the late Earl Hauteville, and wife of 
 Sir Marcus Lestrange, late plenipotentiary to the court 
 of Madrid. It is with heartfelt regret that we record 
 the decease of this lady, who expired on Friday, 
 November 19th, at her husband's mansion in St. 
 James's Square. Her death was awfully sudden, 
 and occasioned by the rupture of a blood-vessel ; but
 
 312 ROBERT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 Lady Barbara Lestrange's health had for some 
 months given cause of alarm to her friends. She 
 had but sufficient time to bid a hurried farewell to 
 her family, the principal members of which, namely. 
 Sir Marcus Lestrange, his son Mr. Lestrange, and 
 his amiable lady, were with her at the time of the 
 sad event. Lady Barbara Lestrange was born in 
 1712, and was therefore only forty years of age at the 
 time of her lamented decease. She was remarkable 
 for her beauty among the belles of his Majesty's 
 Court some twenty years ago ; and was distinguished 
 during a long residence at Madrid for the urbanity of 
 her manners, the charm of her conversation, and the 
 unaffected piety of her life. Nascentes morimur, 
 finisque ah origine pendet.' 
 
 In another part of the same magazine I found the 
 notice of an event which accounted but too sadly for 
 the failure of any reply to my letter from my old 
 friend, Anthony Grimshaw. 
 
 ' Burglary and murderous Outrage at Hautevilley 
 Berks, the Seat of the late Lady Barbara Lestrange. 
 
 ' On Saturday, the 20th November, a frightful 
 outrage was committed by a gang of ruffians upon
 
 BAD NEWS FROM HOME. 313 
 
 the person of Mr. Grimshaw, house- steward in the 
 employment of Sir Marcus Lestrange, who narrowly 
 escaped with his life from their brutal assaults. A 
 party of three masked robbers broke into the 
 noble mansion of Hauteville between eleven and 
 twelve at night, no doubt with evil intent upon the 
 plate-room, which is situated in a stone vault under 
 the hall. They seem, however, to have made their 
 entry at an upper window, as it was in an apartment 
 on the first floor — the morning-room of Lady 
 Barbara Lestrange — that Mr. Grimshaw appears to 
 have encountered them. What occurred between 
 the armed ruffians and this unfortunate gentleman 
 is known but to himself, and he is in no condition 
 to relate the circumstances of the encounter. But 
 there are ample evidences that the struggle was 
 a desperate one. A valuable Chinese cabinet of 
 inlaid ebony and ivory was found shattered into 
 a thousand pieces, while the steward lay to all 
 appearance hfeless beside it, his skull cruelly 
 battered by some blunt instrument. The villains 
 contrived to escape by leaping from the window to 
 a teiTace below, unperceived save by a frightened 
 housemaid, who, not having seen their faces, has 
 no power to describe or identify them. They were
 
 314 EOBEBT AINSLEIGH. 
 
 happily disappointed of their hopes of booty, no- 
 thing being missed except a tray of antique coins 
 from the broken cabinet, where the burglars no doubt 
 hoped to discover valuable jewels, or they would 
 scarcely have made this their first point of attack. 
 Some faint hopes of Mr. Grimshaw's life are enter- 
 tained, but it is considered doubtful if he will ever 
 recover his faculties, as the injuries done are likely 
 to exercise a permanent ill- effect upon the brain. 
 
 ' This event happened, by a strange coincidence, 
 within four-and-twenty hours after the sudden death 
 of Lady Barbara Lestrange, to whom the mansion 
 and estate of Hauteville belonged in her own right, 
 and from whom this noble property devolves to her 
 husband and sole heir. Sir Marcus Lestrange, the 
 lamented lady having died intestate.' 
 
 * A strange coincidence,' I repeated, brooding over 
 this passage in the report. ' Was this midnight 
 attack upon my lady's private room no more 
 than a coincidence ? I have heard her say that 
 she kept family papers in that very cabinet ; and 
 before she is cold in her cofi&n that cabinet is 
 broken open by masked ruffians, who go near to 
 murder her most faithful servant and my only friend. 
 And my benefactress dies intestate, without care or
 
 BAD NEWS FROM HOME. 315 
 
 thought for the orphan youth she had adopted ; she, 
 whose carefulness for others revealed itself in the 
 smallest things. God ! it is a strange and wicked 
 world ; and I know not whether the treachery of 
 Mahometan revolutionaries in this Eastern hemi- 
 sphere is much darker than the plots and stratagems 
 of so-called Christians at home ! ' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 Woodfall and Kinder, Printers, Milford Lane, Strand, London, W.C.
 
 
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