.-^ 
 
THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
THE WOMAN HE LOYED. 
 
 A. N. HOMER 
 
 " She was his life, 
 The ocean to the river of his thoughts, 
 Which terminated all." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 <iion6on : 
 
 F. V. WHITE & CO., 
 
 31, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, W.C. 
 
 1888. 
 
PKINTED BT 
 KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS, W.C, 
 AND MIDDLE MILL, KINGSTON-ON-THAMES. 
 
i 
 
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAP. PAGB 
 
 9 I. — In the Eden Gtardens .... 1 
 
 ; II. — The Bungalow ..... 17 
 
 in.— His Vow ...... 49 
 
 IV. — Under the Cliffs of Devon ... 69 
 
 V. — An Unnatural Mother .... 102 
 
 VI. — " No Man Shall Rob Me of You and Live " 115 
 
 ^ VII. — Why not return ? . . . . . 140 
 
 ^ VIII.— Warned in vain .... 157 
 
 r IX.— The " Simoom " . . . . .166 
 
 -3: 
 
 \^ X. — From the "Simoom's" Deck . . . 191 
 
 4 XI.— The Breakwood Fete . . . .211 
 
 </) 
 ■>< 
 
THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
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THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 
 
 The Indian sun had set and night had 
 shrouded in sultry gloom the splendid capital 
 of the Bengal Presidency. The heavy-winged 
 adjutants were perched, like motionless sable 
 spectres, on every convenient buttress and 
 angle of the grand and stately buildings set 
 apart for the home of the representatives of 
 England's greatness. But no sound issued 
 from the huge precincts of the Viceregal 
 residence : scarce a lio^ht illumined the lonof 
 lines of windows which perforated its front- 
 age. The Viceroy was away at Simla, and 
 for the time being Calcutta was compara- 
 tively speaking empty ; most of the wealthy 
 
 VOL. I. 1 
 
2 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 inhabitants had gone to the hills in quest of 
 the cooler, more bracing air, not caring to 
 face the fiery glow of the summer sun in the 
 city on the plains. Yet to an unaccustomed 
 eye — to one who did not know the town — 
 the place seemed gay enough. Wandering 
 through the shady groves of the Eden 
 gardens, and listening to the strains of the 
 military band, paced crowds of people, con- 
 versing in many languages and dialects and 
 clad in a multiplicity of long, loose-robed, 
 white and parti-coloured Eastern garbs. Out- 
 side the gardens, on the Esplanade, numerous 
 well-appointed carriages moved slowly up 
 and down, followed closely by the Hindu 
 servants busied in flicking from the horses' 
 flanks those pests to Anglo-Indian life, the 
 swarming myriads of mosquitoes. Many a 
 half-stifled curse found vent in Hindoos tanee 
 as a two-horsed gharry drove recklessly in 
 and out amidst the long lines of vehicles, 
 tenanted by three or four jolly-looking mid- 
 shipmen, scorning music for that evening 
 at least, and bent upon going for a spree. 
 
IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 3 
 
 Choked with laughter, and heedless of care 
 as they were of life and limb, they went their 
 way regardless of the scowling visages of 
 the red-turbaned chokedars, dressed in their 
 white uniforms and armed with truncheons 
 like European police. 
 
 Not a stone's-throw from the lively, fashion- 
 able promenade were moored long lines of 
 merchant vessels — clipper ships side by side 
 with clumsy-looking wooden hulks of every 
 conceivable rig and possible nationality. 
 Tall, taper spars, mazy networks of rigging, 
 short, thick funnels of steamers from every 
 quarter of the globe, were reflected in the 
 deep, rapid current of the Hooghly. Under 
 the glare of the gas-lamps, on the closely- 
 shaven turf, near the band-stand, a young 
 fellow stood unattended. To judge him by 
 his figure — which was, if anything, over six 
 feet — he had reached manhood, for he was 
 firmly set up and, though thin, his broad, 
 square shoulders and deep chest showed 
 signs of great strength. But as he turned, 
 and' peered anxiously at the moving mass of 
 
4 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 people, as if in quest of some one, the light 
 shone on an almost boyish face. The features 
 many would have considered as not strictly 
 handsome. Yet, had they looked again, they 
 would have been forced to admit that truth 
 and a brave, open-hearted, loving candour 
 beamed in his dark-blue eyes. That there 
 was no lack of decision to be traced in his 
 well-cut mouth and strongly-moulded chin. 
 They would have decided, had they been 
 physiognomists, that the face before them 
 belonged to one capable of doing and daring 
 much, of loving long and deeply, yet haughty 
 and passionate withal. 
 
 " Confound him ! why there he is, after 
 having kept me waiting full half an hour," 
 he muttered, as his scrutiny seemed to have 
 been rewarded by a sight of the man he 
 sought. Very nearly knocking over an old, 
 bent-backed, wrinkled-visaged Parsee in his 
 sudden effort to overtake his friend, he called 
 out : 
 
 "Geoffrey! Carelesse ! Where the deuce 
 are you off to ? " 
 
IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 5 
 
 " Oh, there you are. Just looking for you, 
 Clarencourt." 
 
 " Time you were," responded Clarencourt. 
 " You can't keep an appointment, Geoffrey, 
 my boy. Never could, and never will, eh ? 
 No matter ; tell me all about yourself. We 
 hadn't a moment, you know, last night. But 
 who would have thought of meeting you, and 
 out here, too, in the ' City of Palaces ! ' — the 
 first man to tumble across to be Geoffrey 
 Carelesse, my old chum and school com- 
 panion ! Well, it is odd." 
 
 Those words, spoken lightly by Gerari 
 Clarencourt, recalled much. He was an only 
 child ; his father having died when he was 
 quite a boy. And his mind at that moment, 
 as he recollected the face of Carelesse as he 
 had last seen it, by a rapid current of thought 
 brought back to him his past, remembrance of 
 his mother, of his home in southern Devon, 
 where she lived and where he had been born 
 — the home of his childhood. His eyes filled 
 with a soft, gentle light as he bent them upon 
 his friend of bygone years, and said : 
 
6 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 "Wliat news of yourself, Carelesse? Has 
 the world treated you well ? I recollect 
 the wish of your heart was to enter the 
 army." 
 
 "And it has been fulfilled. I contrived, 
 I never quite knew how, to squeeze through 
 the examinations ; not with any great credit, 
 nevertheless sufficiently well to pass, but only 
 at my last shot. What I should have done 
 had I failed I don't know : enlisted in the 
 Cape Mounted, or bought a couple of 
 flannel shirts and a pickaxe and gone out 
 to the diggings. But here I am, sound, 
 wind, limb and eyesight, and better than all, 
 gazetted to the 10th Ees^iment of the Line. 
 You see, I am not like you, Gerard, with 
 plenty of the needful. The coin my old 
 uncle sees fit to send me is about enough 
 to keep me in cigars. But to inquisitive 
 mammas I repeat the oft-told tale that I have 
 prospects ; and by good luck I hope to get 
 on." 
 
 Geoffrey Carelesse, in height, build, appear- 
 ance, in short, everything, was just the very 
 
IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 7 
 
 reverse to Clarencourt, who was several 
 iiiclies the taller of the two. But though 
 certainly not good-looking, and possessed of 
 short - cropped, decidedly carroty - coloured 
 hair, and even a nose which could not be 
 called by any other name than a snub, he 
 looked smart and soldierly in his undress 
 uniform, and no one could have mistaken 
 him for anything but a gentleman. But 
 what told most in his favour was that, as a 
 rule, he was a general favourite with the 
 women, and one must admit that sometimes 
 they are a trifle eccentric in their tastes. 
 
 " By the way, Clarencourt, I must offer 
 you a score of apologies for not inquiring 
 sooner ; but how is your mother, or rather 
 how was she when you heard last ? " 
 
 A shade of annoyance passed over 
 Clarencourt's face, like a cloud, which 
 melted next instant into something approach- 
 ing an expression of sorrow. For a moment 
 he seemed as if about to confide some 
 secret trouble to his friend, but the look 
 fled and left him cold and calm, almost 
 
8 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 stern, as he drew himself up stiffly and 
 said : 
 
 " I thank you, Carelesse ; when last I heard 
 from her she was well." 
 
 He did not add what was the truth, that 
 he had received no communication from her 
 as yet. And a mail had come in since he 
 arrived. 
 
 " But you ; why have I had no word for 
 all these months ? " continued Clarencourt. 
 
 " Well, to tell you the truth, old boy, I 
 am the very deuce at writing. Can't bear it. 
 Simply detestable. No end of people are 
 down on me — say I'm the worst correspon- 
 dent living, and all that sort of thing. 
 I suppose I am, but I can't help it." 
 
 " Yes, I know it is one of your pet aver- 
 sions, but had half hoped you would make 
 an exception in my favour and drop me a 
 line sometimes for the sake of past days." 
 
 "And so I will, old boy;"; at least I will 
 try to." 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble, that is unless you 
 really care ; but friends, worthy of the 
 
IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 9 
 
 name, are few and far between," added 
 Clarencourt with a touch of sadness in the 
 rich mellow tones of his voice. 
 
 " Now, Clarencourt, you are getting crusty. 
 You don't mean to tell me that already you 
 have found the world hollow and heartless." 
 
 " I won't say that ; perhaps it would be 
 too sweeping an assertion for one with so 
 poor an experience as myself to make — but 
 cold, yes." 
 
 " Well, there is one thing for which you 
 can thank your lucky stars, and that is 
 that you can afford to snap your fingers in 
 the face of what you term the world in 
 general. For you have that which it wor- 
 ships. That which is potent and powerful 
 enough now-a days to bring it at your will 
 grovelling like a beaten cur, to your feet. 
 You have gold." 
 
 " And I would exchange the little I 
 possess, gladly, for — but pshaw ! Why, Pat, 
 what fools we are ! Just fancy you and I 
 moralizing. It is too absurd. Let us change 
 the subject." 
 
10 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 "Well, you liave not told me yet wliat 
 has brought you out here." 
 
 '• The wish to travel, to see new sights 
 and scenes — fresh faces. Nothing more." 
 
 " Why, Clarencourt, you speak as a man 
 might, were he a score of years your senior. 
 Time enough for you to get grumpy when 
 another half century has passed." 
 
 " Ah, well, that is as it may be, but, Care- 
 lesse, tell me, who is that ? " 
 
 " Where, man, whom do you mean ? It 
 is like looking for a needle in a hay-stack." 
 
 " There, straight in front of us ; next to 
 that tall chap with the huge turban." 
 
 "By Jove, deuced lucky you spotted her. 
 It is easy to tell that you are a stranger 
 here. Not to know Ada Devereaux. The 
 prettiest woman in Calcutta. And, egad, if 
 that isn't old Steele, our colonel, with her, 
 too. He is always dancing attendance. It 
 is about time he left the women alone." 
 
 " You know her ? " inquired Clarencourt, 
 eagerly. 
 
 " Eather," replied Carelesse gaily. And 
 
IX THE EDEN GARDENS. 11 
 
 then in an undertone to liimself lie mut- 
 tered, " Pity I ever did, thougli. But why 
 do you ask ? " he continued, addressing 
 Clarencourt. 
 
 " Because I should like to know her too. 
 Introduce me, will you ? " The request was 
 spoken quietly enough, but in a low deter- 
 mined tone which to Carelesse's ear sounded 
 very like a command. And there was a 
 haughty and imperious ring in Clarencourt's 
 voice as he made it, which fairly threw the 
 other off his guard. 
 
 " Oh, certainly, if you wish it," he replied, 
 but lightly as he spoke, the words had barely 
 left his lips before he repented of having said 
 them. 
 
 " Thanks." 
 
 "You shall talk to Steele too. Come 
 along." In another moment they had 
 threaded their way tlirough the crush and 
 the magic words of introduction had been 
 spoken. Clarencourt never heard them — in 
 after years never even remembered anything 
 that he had said durin<z the remainder of the 
 
12 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 evening. For an instant, so long as he could 
 without appearing rude, he looked upon the 
 face of the lady before him. He could see 
 that she was beautiful, even in that dim and 
 uncertain light, for they stood in shadow. But 
 it was not her good looks which dazzled 
 him, and seemed to chain him spell-bound 
 for those brief seconds. It was the expression 
 in her eyes as they met his, and then dropped 
 before his steady glance. He was only recalled 
 to himself by hearing her address him : 
 
 " So glad to meet you, Mr. Clarencourt. 
 You are a stranger here, I think, for I do not 
 remember having seen you before." 
 
 "Yes. I only landed three days ago." 
 
 " And you like Calcutta ? " 
 
 " So far, immensely." 
 
 " Ah, wait till you know it as well as I do. 
 You will wish yourself back in the old 
 country." 
 
 "Why? Do you?" 
 
 "Yes — at least, sometimes. But tell me, 
 Mr. Clarencourt. Did you come straight out 
 here from England ? " 
 
IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 13 
 
 '• Yes ; I left Southampton on the third of 
 last month." 
 
 " In what line ? " 
 
 " By one of the P. & 0. steamers." 
 
 " Ah. I came by the British India. Colonel 
 Devereaux, my husband, preferred them to 
 any other boats." Gerard Clarencourt gasped. 
 The woman at his side married ! Could it 
 be possible ? Somehow the thought had not 
 entered his head. 
 
 " T — I had no idea you were " 
 
 " Married, you would say. Then you did 
 not catch my name." 
 
 " No, pardon me, I failed to." 
 
 " Oh, it is of no consequence. I am sure I 
 seldom do know who I am talking to at first 
 But yours is a striking one. Devereaux is 
 mine." 
 
 " And Colonel Devereaux — he is " 
 
 "Dead," interrupted Mrs. Devereaux softly. 
 There was an awkward pause and Clarencourt 
 felt that he had unwittingly blundered, perhaps 
 through his own clumsiness probed a hidden 
 wound. But somehow, for the life of him he 
 
14 THE AYOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 could not tell why, he felt relieved. And yet, 
 had he vexed her ? was she offended ? They 
 had wandered away to some distance from the 
 band and the groups of promenaders, and 
 were almost alone. The tiny miniature lake, 
 round which grew clumps of cocoa-nut palms, 
 tree ferns, and the long pointed leaves of the 
 banana, lay before them at their very feet. And 
 the high ' pointed roof of a pretty Burmese 
 pagoda rose amidst the masses of foliage. He 
 could not speak first. The calm peaceful 
 stillness soothed his overheated fancy. But in 
 another moment he knew that all his fears of 
 having given offence were wholly groundless. 
 " Yes," she murmured gently ; " I am all 
 alone now." The rich full tones of her voice 
 were full of pathos ; at least so thought Gerard 
 Clarencourt. i\o[ain he met her gaze and felt 
 that look thrill strangely through every 
 nerve of his body. Ah ! look again, Gerard 
 Clarencourt ; look again, and if you could read 
 through and sift feminine arts and wiles, you 
 would learn that before you stands a woman 
 of the world, a finished coquette ; heartless, 
 
IN THE EDEN GARDENS. 15 
 
 but a perfect actress and mistress of the game 
 she knows best and has studied most : to 
 break men's hearts. The next instant she had 
 turned and discovered that they were quite 
 alone. 
 
 " Why, where are Mr. Carelesse and 
 Colonel Steele ? They must have missed us 
 somehow. Let us return. It is late and they 
 are positively playing ' God KSave the Queen.' 
 Those men handle their instruments ex- 
 quisitely. Will you find my carriage, Mr. 
 Clarencourt ? " 
 
 Clarencourt expressed his willingness and 
 pleasure to execute the task in well chosen 
 language. And in a few minutes more they 
 were before the entrance to the Esplanade. 
 Mrs. Devereaux's open barouche was easily 
 found. The liveried servants lowered the steps, 
 and before he could well realize it, she had 
 seated herself. 
 
 " Mr. Clarencourt, you will come and dine 
 with me ? Where are you living ? " 
 
 " At the Great Eastern." 
 
 " Ah, close to my house. I shall send you 
 
16 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 a card and Mr. Carelesse too. So delighted to 
 see you. Good-bye." In another instant the 
 well-gloved hand was withdrawn, and Gerard 
 Clarencourt had raised his hat and watched 
 the cloud of dust which hid from his sight 
 this woman in whom, spite of himself, he felt 
 already a strange interest. 
 
 ^r- " 
 
 
CHAPTEE II. 
 
 THE BUNGALOW. 
 
 As Gerard Clarencourt had said, he had taken 
 up his quarters at the Great Eastern Hotel,. 
 and his rooms there were as comfortable as 
 apartments in hotels generally are, and like 
 them in most respects. He did not occupy a 
 sitting-room as he preferred to breakfast in 
 the coffee-room and dine at the table-d'hote, 
 so he merely occupied his own particular 
 sanctum, near which his servant was accom- 
 modated, for he had left England with his 
 valet. At first he had been greatly averse to 
 this arrangement, as he thought it would be a, 
 useless expense as well as a great nuisance^ 
 and for many reasons he would far rather 
 have travelled alone. But Mrs. Clarencourt 
 had expressed her wish on the subject in 
 haughty measured tones, and Gerard had 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
18 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 given way with a good grace because she was 
 his mother. Towards the last, when all the 
 arrangements had been completed, and even 
 his sticks and a gun-case strapped up and 
 labelled for Calcutta, Gerard had glanced at 
 his watch and found that he had not too 
 much time to catch the train. It had been in 
 those last few minutes that he had looked and 
 longed in vain for that love which was his 
 due and which he had every right to expect 
 from his mother. And then, too, it had been 
 that more keenly than ever he had realized 
 what a terrible loss he had sustained when 
 the breath had vanished from the body of the 
 man who had loved him so fondly, and he 
 had looked his last on the dead, passionate 
 face, with its grand intellectual forehead and 
 noble features ivory in whiteness, when it 
 had once and for all felt the cold touch of 
 God's angel and crossed to the other side. 
 Yes, Gerard Clarencourt had bowed like a 
 bruised wind-blown reed before the terrible 
 blow, and had realized bitterly the significance 
 of the fact that never again, never, on this side 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 19 
 
 the gloomy valley which lay between them 
 now, should he feel the caress of that hand, 
 loving and gentle as a woman's, or the touch 
 of those kindly lips which had pressed his 
 infant brow with many a good-night kiss and 
 whispered blessing. And so he had looked 
 for love from his mother and found a voice 
 which chilled him. Still he had striven to 
 win her affection, but in vain. And if he had 
 ever needed proof that he had it not, he had 
 received it in that farewell kiss with which she 
 had brushed his forehead lightly as though he 
 had been leaving her but for a day. And 
 yet she could not tell when she gave it that it 
 was not the last. He had forced back the 
 tears of love and wounded pride that she 
 might not see his weakness, and had left the 
 house with the dull leaden feeling at his heart, 
 the choking sensation in his throat which 
 would come, because he knew now that none 
 loved him. Thus he had gone forth deter- 
 mined to trouble her but little with his 
 presence who could treat him so lightly. 
 The Great Eastern was tolerably full, and 
 
 2—2 
 
20 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 being far and away the busiest and most 
 fashionable house of its kind in Calcutta the 
 noise and bustle in the corridors might well 
 have awakened Gerard, but despite that and 
 the fact that Wilson, his man, had been into his 
 room more than once, he slumbered soundly. 
 Fearing that perhaps he was not well at 
 length Wilson made bold to address him : 
 
 " Mr. Gerard." He had learnt no other name, 
 as an old, tried servant of his father's, who 
 had remembered him ever since he was big 
 enough to toddle, and taught him how to clear 
 his first fence. " Mr. Gerard," he repeated, 
 shaking him gently by the shoulder ; " it is 
 getting late, sir, and I was thinking that 
 may be you might wish to be up." 
 
 Gerard stirred, shook himself and woke. 
 
 " Quite right, Wilson, but what is the 
 time ? " 
 
 " Well, it's near nine o'clock, sir, and the 
 folks here do seem to be about terrible early ; 
 no end of 'em out for a ride long ago ; but it's 
 awful hot, sir, already, and the mosquitoes do 
 worry one so." 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 21 
 
 " Haven't troubled me much yet." 
 
 " Can that be so, sir ? They didn't bite 
 me much aboard ship ; but here they just 
 settles upon one with their nasty pings, and 
 as persistent as if they meant to chaw 
 one up." 
 
 " Sorry for that, Wilson, but you'll get 
 used to them. Bring me some chocolate and 
 see about my breakfast ; you know what to 
 order, and tell them to have it ready at ten 
 o'clock sharp." 
 
 Wilson drew himself up as stiff as a poker. 
 His regard for his young master approached 
 a sort of blind worship, but he never pre- 
 sumed. If he chose to address him he was 
 gratified, but he knew his place. 
 
 "Yes, sir," he said briefly, and left the 
 room. As Clarencourt awoke that morning 
 he became oddly impressed with the idea 
 that his life had undergone some change 
 within the last forty-eight hours. The 
 thought had forced itself upon his fancy, 
 and he had not tried to root it out, or to 
 ask himself the reason for its existence. He 
 
22 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 cared not, he only felt that it was there. 
 Since he had arrived in Calcutta he knew 
 himself to be a different man. Before then 
 he had taken all things as a matter of 
 course ; he had no trouble, save one, and 
 that was not ever present to him. He 
 forgot. To a certain extent he enjoyed 
 himself, and any excitement which came 
 in his way he entered into with a fair 
 amount of zest, but nothing had specially 
 crossed the monotonous current of his 
 young life to divert it from its ordinary 
 course, or the well-worn channels in which it 
 had run in his every day existence, far away 
 in his pleasant Devonshire home. N"o place 
 on earth could have been like it to him 
 through the innocent years of his life. But 
 it had lacked that which he had needed 
 most, love, and the charm had been broken. 
 Eoused from his reverie by the entrance of 
 Wilson carrying his chocolate and a couple 
 of letters, which had been brought up from 
 the post-office where he had directed them 
 to be sent on leaving England, he took 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 23 
 
 them from his hands, emptied the contents 
 of the cup and then broke the seals. Both 
 bore the London post-mark. The first, he 
 saw at a glance, was from the family 
 solicitor, and was purely relating to busi- 
 ness matters ; but the other attracted his 
 attention more closely, and was penned in 
 a sho^ht thouo^h firm 2[irlish hand, and ran 
 as follows : — 
 
 ''Dear Gerard, 
 
 " You see I am going to keep my 
 word, and write, though I feel sure you 
 never expected me to do so. We have 
 been in town for the the last few weeks, 
 and I am lons^imy to return to Sidcombe. 
 Mother tells me that I am quite different to 
 girls of my own age, as above all things I 
 ought to care for concerts and theatres and 
 all the other amusements, which are certainly 
 legion in this great place. But I don't. I 
 love fine music, but if I must barter all I 
 have left behind in exchange for it, then 
 give me dear old aiorious Devon. You will 
 
24 THE W0:MAN HE LOVED. 
 
 laugh at me, I know. How lonely you 
 must feel, so far away from home. Do tell 
 me when you think of returning. Will it 
 be before Christmas ? What wonderful ac- 
 counts I shall expect to hear about India 
 when I do see you ! May you return 
 safely is the wish of 
 
 " Your true friend, 
 
 " Lilian Fabyn." 
 
 " How o'ood and kind of her to remember 
 me! With most, it is out of sight out of 
 mind," he added, remembering the complete 
 silence on the part of his mother. " I 
 believe Lilian is the only friend I have in 
 the world," he continued musingly. " And I 
 would wager anything that she is true." 
 With those brief words he tossed the note 
 aside, but he little knew how near the truth 
 they were when he spoke them so care- 
 lessly. " And now for my tub, and then 
 to dress as quickly as possible. Confound 
 it, how late I am !" he said to himself as he 
 heard a clock chiming^ the half-hour. Li 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 25 
 
 a wonderfully short space of time lie had 
 completed his toilette, and having finished 
 breakfast strolled out with the intention 
 of going through some of the bazaars. The 
 sun was insufierably hot, and before he had 
 gone far he turned into a tobacconist's store, 
 ostensibly for the purpose of getting a good 
 cheroot, but in reality to escape the blind- 
 ing glare. He bought and paid for two or 
 three boxes, ordering them to be sent to 
 the hotel. Then, as he was standing on 
 the steps, puffing away at a crooked look- 
 ino^ little Burmah, a thous^ht struck him. 
 He would do as he had done yesterday, 
 and to-day he might be more successful. 
 So summoning a gharry he ordered the 
 driver to go through the Circular Eoad, 
 and on by the best way he could to Fort 
 William. It was past Mrs. Devereaux's 
 house that Gerard wished to drive. He had 
 not seen her since she had pressed his hand, 
 and bid him good-bye outside the Eden gar- 
 dens. And he had gone there since, and had 
 watched for her carriage midst the moving 
 
26 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 mass of others, and sought her face and form 
 in vain. She had not been there. Then late 
 in the night he had wandered aimlessly until 
 the moon had risen high, and its pale cold 
 rays had revealed to him a group of jackals, 
 which scudded on only a few score yards 
 ahead of him, scared by the sound of his 
 footfall on the dried-up, sun-scorched herb- 
 age as he took his way across the Madhaun 
 back to his hotel in the still hot, sultry night, 
 dejected and cast down, weary and dissatis- 
 fied. As he was borne briskly along on the 
 present occasion he puzzled his brains for 
 reasons to account for her silence. " Why 
 had she not appeared again at the band ? 
 And what was the reason for not writing ? 
 She had said she would, and she had failed to 
 keep her word." Then again the thouglit oc- 
 curred to him that perhaps there was the possi- 
 bility that he had offended her by his bluntness. 
 The fact was that he was altogether unreason- 
 able. As the four-wheeled gharry bore him 
 abreast of the bungalow which he had learned 
 by cautious inquiry was hers, he anxiously 
 
THE BUNGALOW.- 27 
 
 scanned its white front. No, her figure was not 
 to be seen at any of the many windows which 
 nestled under the verandah, half hidden by tall 
 tree ferns, Cape jasmine, clematis with white 
 and purple flowers, creepers, and other tro- 
 pical foliage. They had passed the building 
 in a moment and he sank back, annoyed, and 
 just the least bit put oat with himself for 
 evincing so much interest in one, almost a total 
 stranger to him. 
 
 "Perhaps Carelesse can throw some light 
 on the matter ; she may have written to 
 him," he muttered, as he lounged back, and 
 suffered himself to be borne swiftly in the 
 direction of Fort William. At length they 
 turned down on to the Esplanade, and 
 drove along almost abreast of Princeps 
 Ghaut. Before reaching the entrance to the 
 huge and massive piece of engineering skill, 
 so vast in size as to be quite capable of 
 containing all the white population of Cal- 
 cutta, Clarencourt got out, paid and dis- 
 missed the conveyance, and then souglit the 
 officers' quarters. 
 
28 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " Can I see Lieutenant Carelesse ? " he 
 inquired of the first man he saw. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; will you please follow me ? " 
 returned he. '' He is in there, sir," he con- 
 tinued as they arrived before the entrance 
 to a room, which was closed, " Who shall I 
 
 • »T 5 5 
 
 say, sir ? 
 
 " Mr. Clarencourt," answered Gerard. 
 
 " Glad to see you, Clarencourt ; make 
 yourself comfortable, and try that chair. I 
 had it made especially for myself," said 
 Carelesse, as he entered, 
 
 "Thanks, but why did you not look me 
 up as you promised yesterday ? I never 
 thought that you would fail to come." 
 
 " No, neither did I, my dear fellow, but 
 it was all owins^ to that old brute Steele. He 
 piled on some extra duties which I had to 
 attend to," replied Carelesse, who in reaUty 
 was framing a plausible excuse to account 
 for his non-appearance. " Awfully sorry, but 
 could not help it, you see." 
 
 " Oh, no ! of course you couldn't ; but why 
 is he a brute ? Not a favourite of yours, eh ? " 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 29 
 
 " As I with him, so he with me," laughed 
 Carelesse. 
 
 " Why ? " 
 
 " Oh, he's a bully and a martinet combined, 
 arrogant, supercilious and overbearing in 
 the extreme, and except by men of his 
 own grade — the only way by which he 
 judges of an equal, I believe — thoroughly 
 disliked in the service." 
 
 "Eather an unpleasant character to be 
 brought into close contact with." 
 
 " By Jove, I should think he is ! " answered 
 Carelesse, warming to the subject. " Of 
 course this is entre nous, but fellows who 
 have had the ill-luck to have served under 
 him long, tell me that they have tried every 
 possible device to bring him up before a 
 court-martial ; but he has always been able 
 to hold his own and score against them so 
 far. He is too artful by a long chalk ; 
 Garrick of ours simply hates him." 
 
 " Who is he f " 
 
 " Oh, a capital fellow ; did some plucky 
 things in the last campaign we had against 
 
30 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 the Afghans. Just got his company — as 
 brave as a lion, my boy — I shall introduce 
 you some time. But now, about yourself ? 
 What have you been doing since I saw you ? " 
 
 "Very little. I haven't even troubled 
 myself to present half-a-dozen letters of 
 introduction to people here." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! " said Carelesse, eyeing him 
 jealously, but only for an instant, for he 
 changed his front, and Clarencourt had no 
 chance of observing the look. What he 
 wished to know he intended to discover by 
 judicious means, so as not to betray his 
 own interest in the subject. "Fancy your 
 coming down here on a deuced hot morning 
 like this ! mid- day too ; why most of us go 
 in for a quiet siesta." 
 
 " I drove," replied Clarencourt. 
 
 " Of course you did, but what a rude 
 beggar you must think me. Here have I 
 been jawing away, forgetting that you must 
 be as thirsty as a lime-kiln. Help yourself; 
 there's brandy and soda, some claret, and 
 cheroots which I can swear by." 
 
TEE BUNGALOW. 31 
 
 " Thanks," answered Gerard, pouring out 
 a bumper of soda, dashed with cognac, 
 and taking a long deep pull. " I did feel 
 just a shade done up ; this heat does try 
 one at first." 
 
 " By-the-by, where the deuce did you 
 take 3'ourself off to after I introduced you 
 to Mrs. Devereaux ? " asked Geoffrey, coming 
 round to what he was dying to know. 
 
 " The very question I was going to ask 
 3^ou. We strolled on, and Mrs. Devereaux 
 happened to glance back, and could discover 
 you nowhere." 
 
 "Why, Steele and I were buttonholed by 
 some men, and when we looked round you 
 were gone. Steele was as crusty as they 
 make 'em, and left me in an awful temper. 
 Of course he said nothing, but I could see 
 he was riled at having had his tcte-a-tete 
 interrupted." What Carelesse did not 
 remark was far more to the point ; that he 
 had been affected by the same blow, and 
 that a spirit of distrust had found its way 
 into his heart towards his friend, and that 
 
32 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 had been the reason why he had not kept 
 his appointment and called upon him as 
 he had promised. It may seem odd, but 
 it is nevertheless a fact, that generally 
 speaking two people, more especially men, 
 who are intimate, and who both chance to 
 be attracted by the same woman, seldom 
 succeed in altogether hiding their thoughts 
 from each other ; at least, not as a rule, or 
 for long, no matter how reticent they may 
 be. The same instinctive feeling of jealousy 
 which had entered Carelesse's mind had 
 already established itself in Clarencourt's. 
 
 " Have you seen her since ? " inquired 
 Carelesse, as he singled out a fresh cheroot. 
 
 " No, how should I, my dear fellow r 
 Have you ? " asked Gerard quietly. 
 "No, nor heard from her either." 
 " Why, does she write to you ? " 
 " Oh, only a card sometimes to ask me 
 up to tiffin if we don't happen to meet." 
 
 " Then he knows nothing," thought 
 Clarencourt, "and there can be no good 
 in mv mentioning to him her remarks to 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 33 
 
 me about dining." The demon of envy 
 possessed him, and so he quietly drew in 
 his horns and said nothing more on the 
 subject. 
 
 " Where do you intend to go to after 
 you leave here ? " inquired Carelesse. 
 
 "Haven't the faintest idea. I may go 
 up country, but am quite undecided as 
 yet." 
 
 " Well, you'll mess with us to-night, and 
 then I can introduce you to Garrick and 
 all our fellows." 
 
 " Thanks ; I rather dread your green- 
 eyed monster of a colonel." 
 
 "Oh, you need not mind him ; he'll very 
 likely not turn up." 
 
 " Thank you all the same, but I think I 
 will hold myself excused, if you will permit 
 me," answered Clarencourt rather stiffly. " I 
 have got no end of letters to write for next 
 mail, but another day I shall be most happy." 
 
 "As you wish, of course, my dear fellow. 
 Then when shall I see you again ? " 
 
 " Come and look me up to-night if you 
 
 VOL. I. 3 
 
34 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 have nothing better to do, say nine-thirty. 
 We can have a smoke and a chat over old 
 times." 
 
 " Very good, I'm your man." 
 
 "Until then, au revoir," 
 
 Clarencourt turned on his heel, and half- 
 an-hour later was back at his hotel, holding 
 in his hand a tiny scented billet-doux. It 
 was brief and precise, so I venture to give it : 
 
 "Dear Mr. Clarencourt, 
 
 " If 3^ou can contrive to favour me 
 with the pleasure of your society at dinner 
 to-night (seven-thirty), upon so short a notice, 
 I shall be delighted to see you. Need I add 
 that this is quite a friendly invitation. 
 
 " Yours very truly, 
 " Ada Devereaux. 
 " Dilnapoor, Calcutta." 
 
 What pleasure those few^ short lines gave 
 him, and how he studied the signature, the 
 bold free hand in which it was written, and 
 re read it again and again before finally con- 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 35 
 
 signing it to his breast-pocket ! Yes, lie 
 should see her once more, and this time not 
 midst the dusk of evening, which had hid 
 her face from him so that the one glimpse 
 he had had of it was due to the fitful un- 
 certain gleam of the lamps, and with all 
 eyes on him. No, now he should look upon 
 her under more favourable circumstances and 
 judge for himself whether his sight had mis- 
 led him or no. And yet it could not be 
 that he loved her. Their meeting had only 
 extended over the space of, say half-an-hour, 
 and in those few hurried moments, when 
 they had talked on purely conventional 
 subjects, it would have been impossible for 
 him to have formed the slightest estimation 
 of her character. She might be opposed to 
 him in every way ; a thousand and one 
 idiosyncrasies of temperament might inter- 
 pose between them to check the course of 
 love, to nip and shrivel up, before ever it had 
 time to grow into a passion, the feeling, which 
 as yet could only be one of interest, already 
 awakened in him. Had he been ten years 
 
 y-2 
 
36 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 older, and become what is termed a man of 
 the world, he would have experienced none 
 of the restless expectancy, and none of the 
 almost boyish desires which made him long 
 for the hands of the clock to move a thou- 
 sand times more swiftly, and caused him to 
 scan the face of his watch, and think that 
 time to him had never seemed so utterly and 
 hopelessly long. No ; had he borne the 
 unefiaceable stamp which marks the man 
 who has seen much, and the soft, gentle 
 edges of whose nature have been gradually 
 rounded off by close and changeful contact 
 with life's human stream — a contact, more- 
 over, from which it is impossible to escape 
 without contamination, for though there may 
 .be the good, there certainly is the bad, and 
 faith and trust in the mass of surging wrest- 
 ling mortals is not to be brought about by 
 a thorough knowledge of them — he would 
 have evinced nothing more than a listless, 
 well-bred curiosity, prompted probably by 
 the desire to discover whether this were 
 not a new snare flung across his path, like 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 37 
 
 the old ones so terribly fraught with evil, 
 when he had believed them good and pure ; 
 so cruelly unworthy when he had placed 
 unhesitatingly his love and honour in their 
 hands, only to have it ruthlessly flung back 
 upon him. It might have been better — 
 nay, it would have been — had Gerard 
 Clarencourt thus lived and learnt before he 
 chanced to meet Ada Devereaux ; but no 
 necessity could have existed in that case 
 to write these lines. At length he threw 
 himself on a sofa and read, and so much 
 did the book interest him that he forgot 
 all, even Ada Devereaux. It was typical' 
 of his quick, impulsive nature, easily led 
 by a kindly loving word, but as difficult 
 to control or direct by force or brutality. 
 Wilson roused him up at last by abruptly 
 entering to ask if there were any letters to 
 be posted. 
 
 " Yes, four ; there they are on the table," 
 answered Clarencourt, flinging the novel 
 down and yawning. Then he suddenly re- 
 collected his enorao^ement with Carelesse. 
 
38 THE WOMAN HE LOVED 
 
 What could lie do? It would be impos- 
 sible to see him. There was no likelihood 
 of his returning early enough to keep the 
 appointment. He could not give up his 
 chance of meeting Mrs. Devereaux — that 
 was out of the question. Eapidly the un- 
 pleasant position in which he was placed 
 passed through his mind. Then he decided 
 Carelesse must go to the w^all. He would 
 write him a polite note, expressing his re 
 gret, and explaining the matter so far as 
 he was able, but he would make no allusion 
 as to where he was going. Wilson could 
 take it down to the barracks. Seating him- 
 self at a table, he wrote a few lines of 
 apology, and directed the envelope to Care- 
 lesse. Then he ranof the bell, which was 
 promptly answered by his servant. 
 
 "I want you to give this letter to Lieu- 
 tenant Carelesse. He is quartered at Fort 
 William. You know your w^ay ? " 
 
 " Not quite sure, sir, but I can in- 
 quire." 
 
 " Oh, vou cannot make a mistake, any one 
 
THE EUNGALOW. 39 
 
 will tell you ; see that he gets it as soon as 
 possible." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And, Wilson ; I may not be in until late ; 
 don't sit up for me.'' 
 
 "Very good, sir," replied the man in so 
 absent a tone that Gerard looked up, and 
 caught a wistful, yearning expression on his 
 kindly, honest face. 
 
 " Is there anything that you wished to say to 
 me ? " he asked. Wilson re-entered the room, 
 and closed the door, which he had held 
 ajar, advancing towards his young master 
 witli the familiarity of a tried and trusted 
 servant. 
 
 " Beggin' your pardon, sir, but have you 
 had any word yet from Clifford's Wood ? I 
 couldn't keep longer from askin' you, Mr. 
 Gerard." 
 
 A shadow, which he could not conceal 
 from the piercing eyes of the other, crossed 
 Gerard's face. The inquiry had touched the 
 weak nerve in his nature. Clifford's Wood was 
 the name of his home ; but he recovered him- 
 
40 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 self almost immediately, and said, with a 
 forced smile : 
 
 " No, not yet ; probably next mail will 
 bring some news. Now leave me, Wilson, 
 and mind, don't wait for me to-night." 
 
 A look of deep gloom and disappointment 
 was visible on the man's face, as he went his 
 way, his heart too full to make an intelligible 
 reply ; but, once out of his master's hearing, 
 the pent-up words broke forth. 
 
 "Next mail, poor lad; she'll not write, 
 the heartless hussy ! That I should say such 
 words of her ! But she'll be gaddin' about 
 London, 111 be bound ; carin' for any one else 
 but her own flesh and blood. Such women 
 don't deserve to be mothers. Her only child, 
 too. And Mr. Gerard to be in the power of 
 one as treats him so !" 
 
 Alone with himself, Gerard dressed leisurely, 
 and bestowed more than ordinary attention 
 upon his usually fastidious toilette. His 
 thick, short-cropped brown hair, shot with 
 the faintest tinge of chestnut, was brushed 
 carefully aside from off his low broad fore- 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 41 
 
 head, and for the last time he peered in the 
 glass, which reflected a face few women would 
 have considered aught but handsome, and 
 many an one would not have cared to scorn. 
 Young it certainly w^as, and as yet the 
 depths of his dark blue eyes wore two ex- 
 pressions good to look upon — truth and 
 honesty. It was time to go, and he went 
 downstairs, and entered the gharry which 
 was in waiting for him, directing the man 
 where to drive to with a smile on his frank, 
 boyish features. The distance was soon ac- 
 complished, and a black servant flung open 
 the drawing - room door, and announced 
 " Clarencourt Sahib," as he ushered him into 
 a large, lofty apartment, richly furnished, 
 but, save for a few soft, bright coloured rugs, 
 ohjets d'ari of Eastern manufacture, and the 
 heavy waving folds of the pankah, like, in all 
 other respects, an ordinary reception-room at 
 home. Englishmen, wherever they go, seldom 
 fail to carry their habits and their customs 
 with them ; and an Anglo-Indian hugs and 
 treasures up his recollections of life in the old 
 
42 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 country, and endeavours, in most cases, to 
 make his foreign one resemble it as much as 
 is in accordance with the change of cUmate. 
 
 As Gerard stood and surveyed his surround- 
 ings, naturally enough expecting to find her 
 who had bee a in his thoughts so much of late, 
 he was astonished to see no one, and was 
 about to look for his conductor, to inquire 
 where his mistress was, when his ears were 
 gladdened by the rustle of a dress and the 
 sound of a voice he knew. 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Clarencourt ? I 
 was about to despair of your coming," and 
 advancing towards him from behind some 
 ferns where she had remained hidden, Ada 
 Devereaux extended a fair white hand, the 
 shapely fingers of which sparkled with dia- 
 monds, and Clarencourt, as he pressed it in 
 his, and looked upon her tall, voluptuous, 
 but stately figure, from which every trace of 
 girlhood and awkwardness had vanished and 
 lost itself in the rounded outline and more 
 splendid magnificence of the woman, felt that 
 he had not deceived himself. She was a 
 
THE BUNGALOAY. 43 
 
 blonde, with strikingly classical features, blue 
 eyes of a turquoise hue, and bright, golden 
 hair coiled about her head in a way which 
 concealed its masses, but enhanced the 
 piquant expression of her face. In the whole 
 course of his short life Gerard, as he gazed 
 at her, thought that never had he seen a 
 being so radiantly beautiful. She perceived 
 the look and smiled in triumph as she read 
 him through, and saw her victory written in 
 his eyes. 
 
 " You could not think so ill of me, Mrs. 
 Devereaux," he stammered in answer to her 
 remark. 
 
 "Not ill of you^ no! but I feared that you 
 might have some other engagement. But do 
 you know, Mr. Clarencourt, I think it so 
 stupid of people to disappoint one just at the 
 last moment. Colonel and Mrs. Montagu 
 Thomson were to have been here to-night 
 to meet you, and this afternoon, quite late, I 
 received a note requesting me to excuse them, 
 on some slight pretext, I forget now what it 
 was, but you know I had no time to ask 
 
44 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 any one else. I thought of your friend Mr. 
 Carelesse, but feared that he might be 
 engaged too, so there is no one here. Shall 
 you mind so dreadfully dull an ordeal as a 
 tete-a-tete dinner with me ? " As she asked 
 him, Ada Devereaux raised her head, and in 
 her eyes, as they met his, there shone the 
 light and expression which she so well knew 
 how to assume. Before the w^itchery of that 
 glance older and more experienced men than 
 Gerard Clarencourt had been forced to lower 
 their colours and submit to an ignominious 
 surrender. She was fully aware of the potency 
 of its subtle charms, and she saw that in this 
 case also she had not overrated its effect. A 
 tinge of colour suffused Gerard's cheeks, and 
 his eyes sparkled, but in all other respects he 
 was calm outwardly. 
 
 " Mrs. Devereaux, vou know that to be here 
 gives me the greatest pleasure ; as for the 
 society of others, if mine won't bore you I 
 would far rather be without them." He spoke 
 honestly, as he felt, and she did know it, but 
 she uttered a low rippling laugh. 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 45 
 
 "Mr. Clarencourt, although I believe you 
 are not an Irishman, that finished compliment 
 cannot be meant, but am I to learn to treat 
 you as I do Mr. Carelesse? I have never 
 known when he does mean what he says, so I 
 studiously doubt it all." 
 
 " Then, need I entreat you not to judge me 
 so harshly," answered Gerard, as he offered 
 his arm and felt a nervous thrill of pleasure 
 as her hand rested within it, and he led her to 
 a seat at the daintily laid table, resplendent 
 with silver, and decorated in a style of taste- 
 ful elegance with rare and beautiful flowers. 
 The dinner passed off with the usual chit-chat, 
 and the servants were watchful and attentive 
 as only blacks can be; the secret of it is 
 no doubt that they know their social position 
 and are not forced out of the sphere in 
 which nature intended them to move. They 
 don't ape their betters and have learnt the 
 lesson of obedience. Once Gerard remarked 
 during the meal : 
 
 " You like flowers, Mrs. Devereaux." 
 
 " I am intensely fond of them. I spend 
 
46 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 half my spare time in attempting to grow 
 tliem to perfection. You shall see my garden, 
 and I think you will agree with me that it 
 is lovely." Later in the evening, as Gerard 
 hung over her at the piano and turned the 
 pages of her music, she looked up and 
 said : 
 
 "Are you fond of singing, Mr. Clarencourt?" 
 for hitherto she had played nothing but in- 
 strumental music, and Gerard had listened in 
 admiration as she had executed piece after 
 piece, with a soft brilliancy of touch added 
 to a correctness of rendering and a pathos 
 which held him spell-bound to her side, and 
 he had not thought of asking her whether she 
 sang. 
 
 " I love it," he murmured simply. Then, 
 without pausing save to strike a few bold 
 chords, she burst into a low, sweet, passionate 
 refrain, and her clear soprano voice rose 
 and fell in rich, mellow cadence, which echoed 
 through the room and passed out into the 
 night, rousing the half-slumbering servants, 
 as they lolled full length on their mats, under 
 
THE BUNGALOW. 47 
 
 the shadow of the verandah, and making them 
 raise their listless bodies and hsten, drinking 
 in each sound as though it were the voice of 
 a houri, come to them from the visionar}^ 
 paradise of their dreams. Several songs she 
 sang for him, and he had only stammered out 
 his thanks in simple phrases, for his very soul 
 Avas enraptured by the music, and he longed 
 to hear more of that gentle melody which 
 seemed to him to possess in it something of 
 the supernatural. 
 
 " You like to hear me sing," she said as she 
 rose from the instrument. 
 
 "I have never heard a voice I liked so 
 much," he answered gently. " I suppose you 
 will think me guilty of flattery when I say so, 
 Mrs. Devereaux, but I can assure you I mean 
 every word I say." 
 
 " Then I will believe you," she said softly ; 
 and as he stood before her, and drank in 
 the subtle perfume of her golden tresses, and 
 gazed into those eyes which seemed to him so 
 good and true and yet withal so lovely to 
 look upon, Gerard Clarencourt felt that 
 
48 
 
 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 whether for good or evil, whether for weal or 
 woe, this woman could do with him as she 
 liked. 
 
CHAPTEE III. 
 
 iiis vow. 
 
 As lie had bid her good-bye, and passed out 
 into the moonlit garden, he had heard her 
 last words as in a dream. 
 
 " Come in and see me whenever you care 
 to, Mr. Clarencourt ; we must not be strangers, 
 you know." But so preoccupied was he that 
 without knowing it he had almost brushed 
 with his coat sleeve the arm of a man who 
 ' was standing behind the trunk of a palm, and 
 who was regarding him with a face con- 
 vulsed by passion and jealousy. He looked 
 as if he could have shot him dead, with as 
 little compunction as he would have poured 
 the contents of his double-barrelled breech- 
 loader into the bodies of a brace of luckless 
 snipe, to pick them up with a laugh and re- 
 load again to continue the slaughter. 
 
 VOL. I. 4 
 
50 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 That man was Geoffrey Carelesso. 
 
 " So that was your little game," he mut- 
 tered, as he watched Gerard's retreating 
 figure until it was hidden from him by a 
 clump of shrubs. " That was why you 
 wanted to write letters, and refused to dine 
 with me. But to add insult to injury you 
 must try to throw me off the scent by asking 
 me to meet you. That was your reason for 
 sending me your infernal letter of apology, 
 
 couched in friendly terms, and all so d d 
 
 suave. By heaven, I hate you ! " Fortunate it 
 was that Gerard did not see or hear him, for 
 Carelesse was half mad with temper, and most 
 assuredly had they met then there would 
 have been blood shed. But he was oblivious 
 of it all. Exalted above the trivialities of his 
 every day existence, into a heaven created 
 by his own bright unfettered imagination, he 
 seemed to tread lightly as on air, while 
 whirling through his brain in wild confusion 
 were her words and actions, as he strove to 
 separate and conjure them before him one by 
 one, and echoing through the still night air, 
 
HIS VOW. 51 
 
 he seemed to hear again that glorious voice, 
 and before him rose the form of the woman 
 he had left. He was happy, happier than he 
 had ever felt before. And yet, he could 
 scarce have told himself why. He had not 
 paused to reason or to think. He did not 
 want to do so. He only knew he felt 
 strangelo light-hearted, and it was enough. 
 Had he been told that his joy had been 
 brought about by a woman whom he scarcely 
 knew, and had not known, or even met, one 
 short week ago, he would have laughed 
 with scorn. He was rich, well-clad, well-fed, 
 well-cared for. In the middle of the road, 
 only a few yards distant from him, moved a 
 solitary figure. It was that of a man like 
 himself, but oh, how different ! In place of 
 the wealth he was dependent upon the 
 charity of others, and he hungered now. His 
 body was covered by the thinnest covering of 
 muslin rags, and he dragged his weary, pain- 
 racked limbs along the dusty road, in misery. 
 Light streamed from behind a cloud, and shone 
 upon his thin, worn, emaciated countenance. 
 
 4—2 
 
52 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 Great shapeless blotches of a dazzling white- 
 ness marked his skin. This man was a leper 
 shunned by his fellow-men, who fled from him 
 as from a thing accursed. Because of the 
 terrible nature of his loathsome disease, an 
 outcast. Doomed to a living death before 
 the tomb had closed upon him. For ever 
 isolated from the world, and, — dare we say it ? 
 dare we even think it ? — for a time at least, per- 
 haps condemned and left alone by God. How 
 ghastly, how awful ! What a life in death ! 
 And yet the same moon shone upon them 
 both. Dives and Lazarus were not a greater 
 contrast. Mes freres, think on it, and thank 
 God it was not your fate. Why should you 
 not have been a leper, white as that manP 
 But to return to Carelesse. After Gerard had 
 disappeared he only waited in his hiding- 
 place until he had been able to collect his 
 thoughts and calm himself. Then with 
 steady and deliberate tread he walked up to 
 the door of the bungalow, and pulled the bell. 
 "Better see her now, and hear from her 
 own lips her perfidy," he muttered. 
 
HIS VOW. 61} 
 
 " The wliite lady no see you, sar," replied the 
 Hindu, in answer to his request to see Mrs. 
 Devereaux. He knew that the hour was late, 
 and that his behaviour was anything but that 
 of an officer and a gentleman, yet he strode 
 past the servant and entered the drawing-room. 
 Mrs. Devereaux was reclining negligently on a 
 sofa, with the mellow and subdued rays of a 
 shaded lamp, which stood upon a low ebony 
 table at her side, throwing its pale radiance 
 upon her rounded cheek. One hand sup- 
 ported her head, the other held a novel, the 
 contents of which seemed to please her much, 
 for as Carelesse entered the room, unnoticed 
 by her, so intent was she upon her book, a 
 mellow peal of laughter broke from her lips. 
 
 " Well, it is irresistibly funny," she said 
 aloud to herself. The mirth and the sound of 
 her voice made Carelesse start as if bitten by 
 a serpent, but by a powerful effort he con- 
 trolled his feelings and crossed the room 
 towards her. The noise of his footsteps were 
 heard by the occupant of the lounge. At 
 first she did not see him, her sight was dazzled 
 
54 THE WOMAN HE LO\^ED. 
 
 by the sudden transition from the liglit by 
 which she had read to the partial gloom 
 which enveloped the rest of the apartment. 
 Then she saw his face, and started to her feet 
 with surprise. 
 
 " You here, Mr. Carelesse." 
 
 " Yes, it is I." 
 
 " And by what earthly right, may I ask, do 
 you venture here, and unannounced intrude 
 upon my privacy ? " 
 
 " Simply because I wished to see and speak 
 with you. I have no other excuse to offer." 
 
 " Then the reason is not ample enough. 
 Am I to be disturbed at your will and for 
 your pleasure ? You tamper with my patience 
 sorely if you think so." 
 
 " Ada, listen to me for five minutes." 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Carelesse ; but pray end this 
 absurd scene." She had sunk back into her 
 former seat upon the sofa, and the expression 
 of her face was one of splendid indifference, 
 and well-assumed contempt. Her white teeth 
 were clenched upon her full, red, pouting lips, 
 as if to enable her to stifle the indignation 
 
HIS VOW. 5j 
 
 whicli caused her full and beautifully moulded 
 bosom to rise and fall under its covering of 
 lace. Motionless she sat, her eyes flashing 
 with a dangerous steel-blue light, and her foot 
 beating in quick spasmodic jerks against the 
 polished floor. Carelesse, as he looked, thought 
 that never had she seemed so lovely. How he 
 longed to take her in his arms and press the 
 mouth he loved to look upon to his, in one 
 long passionate kiss, to know that she was 
 true, and his ! for he cared for her better than 
 his life. Then he burst forth : 
 
 "Why did you ask that boy Clarencourt 
 to dine with you ? " If Carelesse, as he put the 
 question, thought for one moment that he was 
 likely to receive an answer he was very much 
 mistaken. 
 
 " Mr. Carelesse, if you have any civil remark 
 to make, pray let me hear it. Have you left 
 all trace of the gentleman behind 3^ou at your 
 mess table ? " 
 
 " By heaven, you'll drive me mad ! For 
 w^hat good purpose did you invite him here, 
 to dine with him alone? I suppose you are 
 
56 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 delighted with his graceful figure and char- 
 mingly unsophisticated manner. Something 
 new, eh, and fancy yourself in love ? " 
 
 " Well, suppose I were ? " 
 
 "Why, I would shoot him with as little 
 compunction as I would a cur." Each mo- 
 ment, as Carelesse grew more and more in- 
 furiated, and less able after every sentence to 
 control himself, Mrs, Devereaux became calmer; 
 she saw her advantage and was too clever not 
 to seize it. It is often so with a woman. 
 
 " How very heroic ! " she murmured, as 
 though she were answering some trivial re- 
 mark. " Quite brave of you," she continued. 
 " The only drawback to the pleasure you medi- 
 tate giving yourself would be the chance that 
 he might shoot you, unless you did it from 
 behind a tree." 
 
 White with fury Carelesse thought it was 
 timxc to play his last card, but as he did it 
 blind with wrath he robbed himself of any 
 chance he had, or might ever have possessed of 
 ruling Ada Devereaux's will. 
 
 " See here ; do you know who I am ? " 
 
HIS VOW. 57 
 
 " Geoffrey Carelesse, I suppose, unless you 
 happen to be alias some one else." 
 
 " Shall I tell you who you are, or rather 
 were before you married Colonel Devereaux ? " 
 
 It was his turn now, and he watched every 
 vestige of colour desert her face, and saw her 
 draw her breath in quick short gasps, while 
 her fingers clutched the lace handkerchief she 
 held, and nervously tore and crumpled it. 
 She could scarcely articulate, so well had the 
 arrow been directed, and so thoroughly had 
 its barbed point pierced the only vulnerable 
 joint in her armour, and forcing its way, spite 
 of her will, buried itself deep down in her 
 very heart's core. It was a cruel shot, for 
 which she had been prepared in no way. She 
 had been surprised and attacked from a 
 quarter whence she least expected an assault. 
 Against such odds, what wonder that even 
 she — clever woman though she undoubtedly 
 was — succumbed for the instant ? 
 
 " You ; what do you know about me ? " she 
 asked, with a sickly attempt at a smile, and a 
 fruitless effort to appear calm. 
 
5S THE W03IAN HE LOVED 
 
 " All, everything." 
 
 The brief reply gave lier courage. How 
 sliould he know ? Here was no accusation. 
 Terhaps he had thought by random words, 
 based upon no foundation, to get her in his 
 power. He should see how miserably he had 
 failed. 
 
 "Everything means nothing, Mr. Carelesse. 
 Of my past life I am not ashamed, and there is 
 no incident in it which I would not lay bare 
 before the world. I do not fear its censure, 
 and I am 'not likely to shrink before yours. 
 But you have made a base insinuation, and 
 before you quit this house to-night you shall 
 explain yourself." 
 
 She had recovered her nerve, and as she 
 stared him full in the face she hissed forth 
 each word with withering scorn. Carelesse, 
 as he stood before her, and saw the fury of 
 the tempest he had raised, already began to 
 doubt his power to soothe or subdue it. The 
 words had scarce left his lips before he began 
 to regret ever having spoken. He loved her, 
 and what if in his jealous anger he had roused 
 
HIS YOW. 59 
 
 the storm which should recoil like the boome- 
 rang, back upon himself, and wreck his life. 
 What if she would not forgive him. The 
 thought brought great beads of perspiration 
 to his forehead. 
 
 " Ada Devereaux," he answered, and the 
 tones of his voice were gentle ; '' there are 
 thinofs which were better left unsaid. Don't 
 probe too deep. I am passionate, I know, 
 but let us forget what has passed, and say 
 no more on the subject." He could not 
 have made a more fatal error. To attempt 
 to pacify, having once begun the fight, 
 before he had taught a lesson, was absurd ; 
 he was already crying peccavi. He had 
 wilfully stirred up a wasp's nest, and then 
 was afraid to meet the sting. He had 
 landed troops in an enemy's country, and 
 the first onslaught cooled his ardour and 
 made him long to withdraw his forces by 
 the best and safest roads. She saw her 
 advantage, and more than ever was im- 
 pressed with the idea that she had been 
 alarmed without a cause. He had com- 
 
60 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 menced the retrograde movement. He was 
 a coward, and she would force an explana- 
 tion from him. She had quite regained 
 her composure now, and was herself again. 
 
 " Yes, I dare say you would like to in- 
 sult me, and then offer no explanation. It 
 is worthy of you. Were I a man, I would 
 force one from you ; as a woman, I ask you 
 as a gentleman to explain your words and 
 the insinuation they contained. If you re- 
 fuse I shall, painful though it may be to 
 me, consider that I have opened my doors to, 
 and unwittingly associated with a man, not 
 only a disgrace to his sex, but to the army 
 he has entered. Had you spoken the words 
 you have in this room during Colonel Deve- 
 reaux's lifetime he would have had you 
 horsewhipped from the door. Is my lan- 
 guage plain enough, Mr. Carelesse ? There 
 is my accusation ; now, have the goodness 
 to tell me yours." 
 
 Carelesse was no coward. The biting 
 sarcasm cut him to the quick. It was 
 with difficulty he controlled his rage. 
 
HIS VOW. 61 
 
 " You wish to hear what I know ? " 
 
 " I insist upon it." 
 
 " Do you remember Brunsmure Terrace, 
 South Kensington, and some people of the 
 name of Dailey ? " 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " Then, I am Geoffrey Dailey." 
 
 " How can you prove such an assertion ? " 
 she asked in a tremulous voice and with a 
 face from which every vestige of colour 
 had again fled. 
 
 "Very simply. I have merely assumed 
 the name of Carelesse at the request of my 
 uncle, with whom I went to live soon after 
 you left us. You are Ada Blanchard. 
 Naturally enough you did not recognize 
 me out here and under another name ; 
 besides, it is years since you saw me, and 
 I was a mere boy at the time when you " 
 
 " I — I do not doubt you. And I do not 
 de — deny your assertion. I am Ada Blan- 
 chard. But I see no further use in prolong- 
 ing this discussion ; if you wish to injure 
 me " 
 
62 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " / injure you ! why, Ada ; can you deem 
 me guilty of such cowardice ? " 
 
 " If you are not, what was your reason 
 for mentioning this painful subject ? You 
 may have heard too, since you know so 
 much about me, that I was more sinned 
 against than sinning. Mr. Eagles " 
 
 " For heaven's sake, say no more. I know 
 what a brute he was to you, aud that he 
 deserted 3'ou like the black-hearted villain 
 he was. But, Ada, will you try to forget 
 all that my foolish words conveyed? It 
 was jealousy which caused me to speak so 
 hotly." She heard his voice and what he 
 said distinctly, but she made no answer It 
 might be better, perhaps, for her to be on 
 the safe side with this man. It would be 
 a terrible expose if the whole facts of the 
 case were known publicly, as he had it in 
 his power to tell them. Society in Calcutta 
 w^ould not be disposed to view with a lenient 
 eye the peccadilloes of her youth. She had 
 too many enemies, as a pretty woman, 
 amongst those of her own sex, who envied 
 
HIS VOW. 03 
 
 her for her good looks, and who would 
 gladl}^ seize and gloat over any piece of 
 scandal which would enable them to pick 
 her to pieces. Besides, although she did not 
 care for the man the least bit in the world, 
 it would be easy to make him think so. 
 She well knew that he loved her, and while 
 that was the case he would scarcely malign 
 her to others. So long as she could keep 
 up the farce she was safe from him. Finesse 
 was clearly her game, she argued within 
 herself during the dead silence which had 
 ensued between them. Carelesse was the 
 first to break it. 
 
 "I am waiting for an answer; will you 
 give it me ? Can you pardon me for my 
 harsh, unkind words ? You may judge how 
 much I love you ; only the other day, by 
 the merest chance, I discovered who you 
 were. You had left your davenport open, 
 and on it was lying a birthday book. T 
 examined it from pure curiosity, and I can 
 swear to you, wdtli no wish to pry into any 
 secrets of yours ; on the fly-leaf I saw the 
 
64 THE WOMAN HE l.OVED. 
 
 name of Ada Blanchard in a handwriting I 
 recognized only too well, for the lines were 
 penned by my dead sister, and the book 
 was a gift from her to you. I turned to 
 the date of my own birthday, and there 
 I read my name, written in a crabbed, 
 boyish hand, but nevertheless my own sig- 
 nature, without doubt. The chain of evidence 
 was complete. Passion only caused me to 
 speak to you as I have done, for I swore 
 to keep my discovery a secret. Ada, I 
 loved you before I saw that book. I love 
 you now. God only knows how dearly. 
 One thing I swear, and rest assured I shall 
 keep this oath, whether you forgive me or 
 not ; whether you see fit to love me or no. 
 Eemember my vow. No man shall rob me 
 of you and live." There came a day when 
 both recalled those words and their fatal 
 meaning but too vividly. " Can you for- 
 give me ? " he asked in a low voice, broken 
 by emotion. 
 
 " On one condition I will." 
 
 " And it is .^ " 
 
HIS VOW. 65 
 
 "That you promise never to disclose my 
 former name while you live. If you love me 
 as you say, you could not wish to do me an 
 injury." 
 
 " I promise you on my honour," he 
 answered simply ; yet she knew and felt that 
 the secret of her former life was as safe as 
 though it was hidden in the tomb. 
 
 " I know I was a fool to mistrust you, Ada, 
 yet it was love for you alone which prompted 
 me to speak of Clarencourt. I long for the 
 time to come, and it cannot surely be so very 
 far distant, for my uncle is an old man now, 
 when I shall possess a purse ample enough 
 for me to know that your every wish and 
 trifling whim can be satisfied. Then I shall 
 lay it and my love together at your feet. Oh, 
 that the day would come ! Might I hope, my 
 darling ? " Mrs. Devereaux's head was slightly 
 averted, and there was a dead pause of some 
 seconds ere she turned to reply. In her 
 inmost heart she hated this man ; 3^es, posi- 
 tively hated him. Why had her evil genius 
 brought her into contact with him, who, 
 
 VOL. I. 5 
 
66 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 above all others, with the exception of one 
 or two of his own kith and kin, she would 
 have shunned, and fled from as from a pesti- 
 lence ? Did he not know — was he not pos- 
 sessed of the knowledge of that one error of 
 lier life, that had transformed her — confid- 
 ing and trusting enough before, willing to 
 have staked her existence and all but her 
 honour rather than doubt his plighted word 
 — into a perfect woman of the world, unim- 
 pressionable, cold, calculating, with a heart 
 hard as adamant, and glorying in its posses- 
 sion, because it enabled her to wreak her 
 vengeance upon any of the sex whom she 
 might meet ? They had robbed her of her first 
 young love, had flung it back upon her as a 
 thing worthless, to be despised, to be rejected. 
 She had never forgotten or forgiven the 
 brutal insult. Henceforth (she had told her- 
 self), men should be her tools, and she had 
 kept faith with herself, and had uttered a 
 ringing laugh as she left them bowed down 
 and stricken at her feet, because of the beauty 
 they coveted passing them by unscathed. In 
 
HIS VOW. 67 
 
 her case, the contaminating influence of earth^s 
 touch was too plainly evident. The clay, as 
 God had sent it here, had been, as it ever is, 
 pure^ but plastic, soft and yielding. Those by 
 whom it had been surrounded and brought 
 into closest contact had fallen short in their 
 duties, had handled it roughly, had failed to 
 engraft into it the good they should, but had 
 rather impregnated it with evil, harshness, in 
 place of kindness, and a wanton lack of 
 governing principle where the firm pressure 
 of the curb should have been used. The fair 
 surface of that life had been dented, bruised 
 and cruelly battered, and it had grown up the 
 thing it was. 
 
 Well did Mrs. Devereaux know that the 
 man at her side loved her with an adoration 
 beside which all other circumstances of his 
 being were as naught. Yet the knowledge 
 did not make her shrink from her task. It 
 might endanger her own safety to release him 
 from his bondage, to tell him openly and 
 straightforwardly that she never could be 
 anything to him. If she trusted in his honour 
 
 5-2 
 
68 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 alone, and sent him away with the truth 
 ringing in his ears, he might change his role 
 of lover for that of her bitterest foe. No, she 
 must deceive him. Her line of conduct once 
 marked out and decided upon, nothing would 
 induce her to alter her tactics. So she 
 listened to his whisperings, answering him 
 with honeyed sayings, and suffered his kiss, 
 while from her very soul she loathed him. 
 He left her that night, and sought his solitary 
 quarters more securely chained and manacled, 
 if possible, than ever, her slave for life, 
 while she retired to her chamber and unrobed, 
 drawing the clinging folds of the mosquito 
 curtains about her to shield her dainty limbs 
 from poisonous stings, without one prayer 
 that her sins might be forgiven her. 
 
 -^@®-#" 
 
CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVOX. 
 
 Across the warm, limpid waters of the Bay 
 of Bengal, on and on, thousands of miles, 
 away from the muddy current of the 
 Hooghly, we must wander, in thought, 
 until before us tower the tall red cliffs of 
 southern Devon. Eide on the summit of one 
 of those rollers which chafe over a hidden 
 reef, brown and jagged, keen and merciless- 
 as monster sharks' teeth to the tempest- 
 tossed mariner, whose drowning agony they 
 have silently witnessed, and of whose death- 
 shriek, grim and awful, in its intensity of 
 anguish, their hard, tempest-covered masses 
 have been the cause. Pass on in safety 
 and land on the golden stretch of sand, 
 where the mighty volume of foam-flecked 
 heaving water has hurled you, sound of 
 
70 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 limb and unharmed. Tlie whining cries of 
 a tiny Blenheim spaniel disturb the still, 
 solemn silence broken before by the swish 
 of the waves alone. Evidently the dog had 
 strayed to play upon a large, detached frag- 
 ment of rock which, perhaps in ages past, 
 had formed a portion of the reef, but having 
 been torn off by the fury of the sea, and 
 tossed upon the land, had become firmly 
 embedded. The tide had rushed swiftly in, 
 and one wave, mightier than its fellows, 
 had spent its fury on the base of the rock, 
 a portion of it, eddying round, had filled a 
 trench which nature had hollowed about it, 
 and thus the dog's retreat was cut off. 
 Afraid to make its escape when the danger 
 first menaced it, it had shrunk from dipping 
 its dainty paws into the chill, salt water 
 until to have attempted it would have meant 
 a determined bound and a swim of several 
 feet, courage for which the training it had 
 been subjected to had not instilled. So it 
 moaned and howled in piteous lamentation, 
 its round prominent eyes almost starting 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 71 
 
 from its head in terror. Some distance off 
 a girl, with block and brush, was busy 
 sketching, and by her side lay strewn upon 
 the shingle odds and ends, brushes and 
 paints, a novel, and a mantle soft and warm, 
 placed there, no doubt, to shield the puny 
 limbs of the dog from harm, for amongst 
 its folds peeped forth a silver collar, bearing 
 this simple inscription, " Lilian Fabyn." 
 The sun was sinking westward, and a flood 
 of gorgeous rays streamed on the sparkling, 
 limitless expansa which stretched away far 
 as the eye could reach, a dim haze blending 
 both sky and sea at length in one broad belt 
 of misty colouring. Here and there the bril- 
 liant shimmering light fell slant-wise on the 
 brown-sailed fishing trawler gone to its 
 nightly toil, and in further distance still, 
 it lingered with its golden beams on square- 
 rigged merchantmen outward bound to far- 
 off climes. The cotton sails of an American 
 trader looked white and glistening, clearly 
 limned against the horizon, as struggling 
 against a brisk head wind she beat her way 
 
72 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 with many a tack up channel. The scene 
 was one of striking beauty, and Lihan Fabyn's 
 face, for she it was, caught something of 
 the painter's glow of enthusiasm as she 
 strove to transfer to her canvas, with broad 
 bold touch, the ever-changing shadows and 
 bright effects before her. Something of in- 
 spiration, as she bent over her canvas, and 
 her eyes bore that far-away expression, 
 though sparkling with interest and enthu- 
 siasm, that never comes save when one's 
 thoughts and feelings are concentrated in 
 an art they love to follow, in a duty where 
 heart and soul are one, and lend their com- 
 bined energies to aid each other in a grand 
 effort to complete the task begun. It was 
 easy to see that she was absorbed, nay, 
 rather lost^ in her work ; added to this the 
 wind was blowing from a direction which 
 carried the sharp, snappish barks and howls 
 of the dog away from her, and these two 
 causes were sufficient to account for his 
 melancholy position as he wandered round 
 the confined limits of his self-made prison. 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 73 
 
 The spray had abeady begun to wet his 
 glossy coat, and piteous tears filled his 
 round, distended eyes, now protruding fear- 
 fully from fright and nervous terror, when 
 his young mistress stretched out her left 
 hand, more from habit, probably, than any 
 other reason, and without relinquishing her 
 brush, to caress her pet. It rested on the 
 folds of the cloak alone ; this made her 
 lift her eyes from her drawing to look for 
 him. No, he was not there. Half upsetting 
 her easel, in her anxiety and alarm at his 
 supposed loss, she rose to her feet, and with 
 a hurried glance scanned the stretch of beach 
 in front of her. He was nowhere to be 
 seen. Turning hastil}^ with her hand raised 
 to shade her sight from the glinting sun- 
 beams, she saw him. 
 
 " Poor Eex, you stupid dog, how did you 
 get there ? " burst from her lips, as she took 
 in the whole situation at a glance. 
 
 In another instant she ran fast as her lithe, 
 graceful limbs could carry her, to the rescue, 
 regardless of the risk to herself as she bounded, 
 
74 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 light as a chamois, over green weed-covered 
 boulders, treading on a luckless crab or star- 
 fish, and clearing at a bound deep crannies 
 and miniature pools, where lurked the finest 
 prawns to be found on the coast, and red, 
 green and purple sea anemones innumerable. 
 She never stopped until she stood as close 
 as the incoming tide would allow her to the 
 wretched, shivering little animal. 
 
 "Never mind, Eexy, you poor, silly little 
 doggie, you shan't even wet your paws," 
 she continued, and without hesitation pro- 
 ceeded to untie and throw aside her dainty 
 shoes and silken stockings. 
 
 What was it to her to plunge her pretty 
 pink feet and shapely limbs into the brine ? 
 She had been born and bred by the sea, and 
 only a few short years back would have 
 liked nothino^ better than to be allowed to 
 roam at will, undisturbed and v/ithout restric- 
 tion, permitted to spend half her day amongst 
 the hidden mysteries of that tempest-torn, sea- 
 swept reef. What was it now? She might 
 have, by dint of persuasion and threats, in- 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 75 
 
 duced the dog to commit himself to the 
 water he so much dreaded, but then it 
 would have given him pain, and she would 
 a thousand times rather have borne it herself 
 than cause any dumb animal in existence a 
 moment's misery. So with cautious steps 
 she picked her way, for the sharp, broken 
 edo^es of the shinorle made her clench her 
 teeth and give vent to many an " Oh ! " of 
 torture, as splintered particles and rough 
 brown rock punctured her tender skin. She 
 had sunk above her knees, and the Avaves 
 had splashed her dress and saturated the 
 edges of it, but it gave her not an instant's 
 thought. She caught the dog in her arms 
 and strained him to her as if he were the 
 best friend she had on earth. Perhaps he 
 was ; for while he had breath in his body 
 he would, true to his canine instincts, have 
 followed her to the utmost limits of the earth, 
 whether she were rich or poor, whether 
 good or bad befell her, so long as she 
 suffered him he would leave her for no 
 other. A last crust he would have shared 
 
76 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 a morsel of, and when death overtook him, 
 drawn his last gasp, and gazed into her 
 face, and tried to show his delight at the 
 touch of the hand he loved by a last wag 
 of his silky tail. And tell me, you who 
 know life, you who have seen most of its 
 ups and downs, where will you find such 
 fidelity? where will you find such an im- 
 plicit trust ? where will you find such a 
 true love in a human being ? Then, 
 assuredly, it is but seldom. It was a pleas- 
 ing sight and fair to look upon, that glad 
 young face, so hopeful, so blooming, so 
 radiant with health and strength — typical 
 of life as it sets out on its journey — with 
 the tiny, long, soft-haired Blenheim fawn- 
 ing about her, licking her hands, jumping 
 upon her lap, as she sought to arrange her 
 dress, then wildly running around her, as if 
 mad with delight, and unable to testify with 
 its gambols and short metallic barks of 
 pleasure, all it felt and would say if it could 
 have spoken. Had some of her London 
 friends seen Lilian Fabyn just then, they 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 77 
 
 might have gained an insight into her 
 character, and have understood in a measure 
 why she cared for her country home, and 
 told them of her wish to return to it ; why 
 slie sickened and grew tired of the endless 
 round of gaiety of her first London season ; 
 why she preferred a canter on her mare by 
 the lone sea shore, rather than a crowded 
 ball-room or a fashionable crush. Her eyes 
 had not been blinded as yet ; she read it 
 and estimated it at its worth. It was all too 
 painfully hollow, and its dazzling brilliancy 
 had altogether failed, in those few weeks of 
 her stay in town, to cast its glamour about 
 her. She had sighed, ere half of it had 
 passed, for the breezy woods, and the end- 
 less soothing sound of the waves, and had 
 teased her father, kind cheery-hearted Sir 
 George, into returning, spite of himself and 
 the oft-repeated assertion which had escaped 
 Lady Fabyn's lips, that Lilian would never 
 be married and that she was not to be so 
 easily coerced into going back to Sidcombe, 
 when everybody was enjoying themselves! 
 
78 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 The idea was ridiculous, and not to be 
 thought of ; so said Lady Fabyn. If Lilian 
 chose to ruin her prospects she must do 
 so, but she would be no party to it. She 
 had moped down at that wretched place for 
 months, and it would positively kill her if 
 she were obliged to endure it again so soon. 
 To the first remark, about Lilian's marriage. 
 Sir George had replied in a thoroughly 
 characteristic speech : 
 
 " What matter, wife ? Time enough for 
 the girl yet. Think I want some muff, be- 
 cause he has a handle to his name and plenty 
 of rupees, but who can't ride a yard, and 
 doesn't know a good bit of horseflesh when 
 he sees it, to come spooning my daughter ? I 
 don't want some white-faced boy, with a ban- 
 dolined thing he calls a moustache, to make 
 love to Lilian because he is tired of sow^ing 
 his wild oats, and his mother tells him 
 that really it is time he thought seriously 
 of matrimony, and looked out for a nice 
 young w^oman of good family with some 
 money, and then puts him on to my girl ; 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 79 
 
 SO there's an end of it. Now Lilian would 
 stay up here like a shot because you want 
 to, but / don't ; I'm sick of it, and for once 
 I'm going to be a bit selfish and leave you 
 to the tender mercies of Lady Bracebridge. 
 I know she is dying to see you — always is, 
 and you two hit it off together splendidly. 
 So drop a line or, better still, keep on the 
 house, if you won't find it dull, and Lilian 
 and I will just get clear of all this dust and 
 bother." 
 
 This little discussion had taken place a 
 day or two after Lilian had written the 
 letter to Gerard Clarencourt which had 
 found him at the Great Eastern Hotel, Cal- 
 cutta. Sir George had only been too de- 
 lighted to discover some pretext for a removal 
 back to Devonshire, and a chance word or 
 two dropped by Lilian had laid the founda- 
 tion for the excuse which they had acted 
 upon. If some of Lilian Fabyn's admirers 
 had chanced to have seen the little incident 
 of Eex's deliverance from begining to end, it 
 strikes me that they would have gone home. 
 
80 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 certainly, not less in love with her. For what 
 men admire most in a woman, and I venture 
 to think that I am committing no blunder 
 when I say so, is gentleness, tenderness, a capa- 
 city for love, in one word womanliness, or 
 what one has been taught to construe as 
 such. 
 
 It might be as well to look more closely 
 at Lilian Fabyn as she walked back along 
 the beach, her brown and white coloured pet 
 hugged closely in her arms, as if she feared 
 to lose him again. She certainly was pretty; 
 none could deny that ; even those who 
 envied her good looks were forced to admit 
 as much, and any unprejudiced person, who 
 could see straight, would probably have said 
 more in her favour. Tall in figure, though 
 well-shaped, and not the least gawky. 
 Her hair was brown, and, where the sun 
 glinted on it, shot with golden. A neat, 
 quiet straw hat, round which was a white 
 ribbon, did not conceal the fact that she 
 had small, straight-cut features. The mouth 
 perhaps just a trifle large, but that blemish 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 81 
 
 more than atoned for by even rows of teeth 
 of pearly hue, and firmly, though with a 
 kindly look, her full, pink lips closed over 
 them. Her eyes were brown as a ripe hazel- 
 nut, and scarcely ever wore the same ex- 
 pression long together. They danced with 
 laucrhter and merriment one moment, and 
 the next were dreamy and listless or melting, 
 just as the thought seized her. A face which 
 seen once was not forgotten easily. As she 
 resumed her seat again before her easel 
 and drew her colours near, her full, round, 
 girlish figure showed to advantage, clad as 
 she was in a simple tight-fitting blue dress of 
 thin texture and clinging material. The dog 
 had coiled himself up snugly on the cloak,, 
 and she had strapped round his neck the 
 silver collar graven with her name, and 
 resumed her brush, evidently with the in- 
 tention of continuing her painting. For 
 some few minutes she busied herself by 
 scanning the landscape before her, but it 
 seemed only too apparent that the beauty 
 of the day had vanished with the sun as it 
 
 VOL. I. 6 
 
82 THE WOIVIAN HE LOVED. 
 
 sank behind the heights, which rose pre 
 cipitously in some parts directly from the 
 level of the beach, darkest Indian red in 
 tint, now that the shades of evening ap- 
 proached, yet still left their summits bathed 
 in brightest orange rays, as if loth to rob 
 them of their borrowed beauty. 
 
 "Time you and I were thinking of going 
 homewards, Eex," she said, as she patted his 
 glossy coat. " That little escapade of yours 
 has stolen the best part of the afternoon from 
 me, and now I shall have to make a point 
 of coming down here again before I can 
 finish this sketch. No matter, I forgive you, 
 you old dear. Supposing some monster wave 
 had come, and carried you away with it, 
 what should I have done ? I don't believe 
 anything could console me for your loss." 
 
 Talking thus to her dog she packed up all 
 her artistic paraphernalia into as small a 
 space as possible, and then, with her com- 
 panion under her arm, crossed the rough 
 pebbles, and began to ascend a narrow, 
 winding path, which was cut in the cliff. 
 
UNDER THE CLIFES OF DEVON. 83 
 
 and seemed to be the only means of reaching 
 the top, any more circuitous route which 
 might have existed along the shore appa- 
 rently being cut off by the rapid influx of 
 the tide. Patches of yellow gorse grew thick 
 on either hand, blue and other gay-coloured 
 butterflies fluttered from bush to bush, and 
 high in the azure vault of heaven soared 
 the larks, filling the air with their sweet 
 ringing songs. The scene w^as one of infinite 
 peace. The face of nature seemed to repose 
 in that sublime and solemn stillness which 
 is more noticeable towards the close of the 
 day, when all work is laid aside, when the 
 industrious mechanics in the country village, 
 the shrewd man of business in the thronoinof, 
 densely-populated city, worn and fatigued 
 with his struggle to obtain gold, and the 
 bronzed and healthy-looking farm labourer, 
 tired with his heavy toil, lay aside their 
 several implements of labour, to seek their 
 firesides and the smiles of those they love, 
 as the shadows of evening fall, and the brief 
 respite comes to strengthen and arm them 
 
 6-2 
 
84 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 witli fresh might for the morrow's trials. 
 And to stand on the crest of the high pre- 
 cipitous cliffs of Sidcombe, as Lilian did, 
 from sheer love of the beauties so lavishly 
 scattered around her, could bring no other 
 feeling to the heart than rest. Down, far 
 down, hundreds of feet below her, the sea 
 beat upon the sand, with ceaseless monotony, 
 as if never tired of chafing against its 
 smooth surface. Never tired of lashing it, 
 in its resistless strength, yet powerless to 
 outstep by one foot its appointed limits. She 
 could scarcely discern the foam-capped 
 breakers which swept over the treacherous 
 rocks, so far was she above them, and a score 
 of cable-lengths from the shore the water 
 looked calm as an inland lake ; seagulls, as 
 they fought and croaked their harsh discor- 
 dant cries over the cast-up morsels of offal, 
 and pounced upon the young, unwary fish, 
 were only the smallest specks of white. 
 Inland, the view that met her gaze was not 
 one whit less beautiful, or less worthy of 
 notice. Green, rolling uplands, cool depths 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 85 
 
 of sliade, where the oak and ash grew side 
 by side with the straight-stemmed fir, 
 covering many an acre of hill and dale. 
 And faint wreaths of bluish smoke curled 
 upwards, and showed where the thatched 
 roof of a homestead lurked. The silver 
 windings of a river could be traced as it 
 unfolded its snaky coils, partly hidden in 
 places by a dip in the land, or by thick over- 
 hanging larches, and the distant horizon was 
 marked by a range of cone-shaped tors, high, 
 and of a purple tinge in the ambient light. 
 The girl drew in a deep breath of the strong 
 exhilarating air, which savoured of the peaty 
 heights of Exmoor and the scent of wood 
 fires, and then hastened on along a narrow 
 sheep track, through thin, wiry herbage and 
 patches of wild thyme, until a slope of the 
 hill brought her by a gradual descent to the 
 banks of the stream. The spaniel had 
 struggled to the ground, and was trotting 
 along behind her, pausing at times to riaise its 
 head and utter a shrill chorus of barks as a 
 rabbit, scared by the sound of approaching 
 
86 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 footsteps, scudded off to seek its burrow. 
 A rustic footbridge enabled her to cross to 
 the other side, and then before her stretched 
 a long vista of running water, bounding and 
 splashing, descending in miniature cascades, 
 and falling into deep pools, which time had 
 hollowed in its rocky bed, where the red- 
 spotted trout hid from their enemy the otter, 
 or rose lazily to the surface in sport to suck 
 in and gorge themselves with flies which 
 happened to excite their fickle fancy. She 
 paused for an instant to open a white- 
 painted iron gate, which led her on to a 
 stretch of turf, dotted with giant yews, old 
 as the days when the archers used the pliant 
 wood to make their bows. Ten minutes 
 uphill walking and she had entered a quaint 
 old-fashioned, terraced garden, gay with the 
 cultured blooms of standard roses. An old, 
 round-backed, aged man was bending over 
 one of these, intent upon destroying the 
 insects collected on the branches ; he was 
 either pre-occupied with his work, or, more 
 likely still, deaf; as he failed to hear 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 87 . 
 
 the sounds made by Lilian as she drew 
 near. 
 
 "Well, Budd," she said, addressing the 
 gardener ; " have you discovered another tree 
 injured by that nasty blight ? " 
 
 " Yes, miss. The insecks is all over it ; 
 there's no keeping of 'em off. I'm thinking 
 that they'll not be so fine as they was last 
 year. Miss Lilian, and it's put me about, 'cause 
 Sir George is set on getting the first prize, and 
 he don't take beatin' kindly." 
 
 " Oh, never fear, Budd, you will be sure to 
 win it. It is quite an institution ; they would 
 not think of giving it to any one else." The 
 man turned his face, which reminded one in 
 hue and shape of a crushed, red-cheeked cider 
 apple, so full of knots and wrinkles was it, yet 
 he looked the picture of health. 
 
 " We don't want no favour, Miss Lilian, 
 from any one ; we wants to stand on our 
 merits. Those are the very words I mind your 
 grandpa made use of when he took the short- 
 horn prizes for seven years." 
 
 '• Were they ? " She had heard him make 
 
88 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 the same remark scores of times before. 
 " Well, Budd, you'll get the prize, I am sure." 
 
 '• The Clarencourt man, the new chap as 
 they have, is doin' his best, so I've heerd." 
 Lilian Fabyn made some suitable reply, but 
 turned quickly, and hurried up a flight of 
 stone steps leading to a broad sweep of gravel 
 which curved round in front of the house. 
 The bare mention of the name, so unex- 
 pectedly alluded to by the garrulous old 
 servant, brought a blush to her cheek she did 
 not care for him to see, and yet somehow 
 could not control. Had the question been 
 asked her, and answered frankly, she would 
 have been forced to admit that she thought of 
 Gerard Clarencourt more than the demands 
 of simple friendship required. 
 
 " Why was it so ? " she would ask herself. 
 He had never shown any decided preference 
 for her more than the mere dictates of an old 
 acquaintanceship as near neighbours de- 
 manded. And yet the germ had been planted 
 in her heart and had grown slowly, but none 
 the less surely. When Gerard had bid her 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 89 
 
 good-bye a day or two before he started on 
 his travels, it was then, as she saw him 
 saunter off with a careless lausfh and a wave 
 of his hat, that she knew and felt how much 
 she should miss his face. And as week after 
 week had passed, each to her seeming longer 
 than the one preceding it, she had grown 
 weary and dejected in spirit. She never 
 argued herself into believing that he loved 
 her ; his actions told her too plainly that such 
 was not the case. In vain had she summoned 
 pride to aid her in dismissing his image from 
 her memory ; the attempt had ended in a 
 miserable failure, and she had fallen back, like 
 many another, on the oft-tried mainstay, hope. 
 Hope that in the long years to come he 
 would love her. 
 
 The grand old pile of masonry Avhich was 
 known to the country side as The Towers, and 
 which had owned the sway of many succeeding 
 generations of Fabyns long before a title had 
 been granted to one of them for success in 
 arms, was perhaps, from an architectural point 
 of view, one of the queerest medleys to be 
 
90 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 met with in the southern counties. The 
 original portion of the building had consisted 
 of one strongly-built tower having walls many 
 feet thick, and loop-holed for purposes of 
 defence. There existed still a divided opinion 
 as to its date, but that it was very ancient 
 there could be no doubt. As time wore on, 
 and each fresh owner had grown in wealth, to 
 this solitary structure had been added, for the 
 sake of convenience here, or appearance there, 
 just as the fit had seized them, new wings, 
 turrets and buttresses, protruding in one place, 
 receding at another, full of sharp angles, 
 rounded corners and sheltered nooks. The 
 oldest part of the edifice was covered to its 
 battlements with ivy, the roots of which had 
 grown to an enormous thickness ; the more 
 modern, which was especially occupied by the 
 present family, overtwined by masses of thick, 
 close-growing creepers, the bright-coloured, 
 red-leaved American and others, japonicas, 
 passion flowers and clematis. On the op- 
 posite side to that on which Lilian had ap- 
 proached was a garden laid out in a style 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 91 
 
 long past, with box-edged borders, liolly trees 
 clipped into a variety of odd representations 
 of animals and even birds. Sir George Fabyn 
 would have no alteration here, and, save that 
 it was kept in perfect order, the dead, had 
 they looked upon it, would have recognized 
 but little change. The old sun-dial stood on 
 the same stone pedestal, and the carp and 
 perch sported in the fish pond overhung 
 with limes, in the cool green shade of which 
 many a whispered word of love had been 
 spoken by haughty, slippered dame and ar- 
 moured knight, and the tale was still told of 
 how a certain Geoffrey de Fabyne, in a torrent 
 of passion, had flung his rival bodily into the 
 depths of the pool, from which he had never 
 risen, and even now his spectral form haunted 
 the place, and at certain seasons was plainly 
 visible to those who had the hardihood to 
 venture near a spot so gruesome. Such was 
 the story which the oldest gossips in Sidcombe 
 firmly believed in, and loved to relate over 
 the glowing embers when the bolts and bars 
 were secured, and they sipped their stiff brew 
 
92 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 of hot whisky toddy and listened to the roar 
 of the gale and the boom of the wind-tossed 
 waves. Such was The Towers, and Lilian 
 Fabyn treasured up and firmly beUeved in 
 every one of the romantic traditions relating 
 to her home, with all a young girl's love of 
 the vanished years of chivalry and knight- 
 hood. Sir George Fabyn's portly figure 
 blocked the main entrance ; the very picture 
 of an English country squire he looked, with 
 a jolly, good-natured face and a smile and a 
 jest for everyone; deep chested and strong 
 of limb, and despite his weight, liking nothing 
 better than a run with the hounds, or a hard 
 day over the turnips ; and the partridge had 
 to be a cunning old bird that escaped the 
 deadly right and left of his double-barrelled 
 breech-loader. 
 
 " Why, Lilian, my girl, you've only just 
 time to dress," were the words he greeted her 
 with as he saw her coming towards him. 
 " Ledsham dines with us, Bolton too, and the 
 rector." 
 
 "Not late, father dear, I hope." 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 93 
 
 " No, no, you jade, we shouldn't have begun 
 Avithout you. But what is that under your 
 arm ? Where have you been ? " 
 
 " Sketching, or rather, trying to. But I had 
 to save Eex from a watery grave, so have not 
 finished it." 
 
 "You will find some parcels waiting for 
 your inspection inside," he answered, not 
 noticing her remark. " How well you are 
 looking, little woman, and such a colour," he 
 added, as he slipped his arm fondly round his 
 daughter's waist, and drew her towards him. 
 If there was one thing on earth he loved with 
 all the strengtli of his big, manly heart it was 
 his child, his only one. 
 
 " Am I, father ? Then give me a kiss 
 and let me go, or I shall be terribly behind, 
 and keep you all waiting," answered Lilian, 
 with a laugh, and holding up her lips play- 
 fully. 
 
 " God bless you, my darling," he said, as he 
 pressed them fondly with his grizzled mous- 
 tache. " Now I won't keep you any longer," 
 he added, as he relinquished his hold, and 
 
94 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 stood to watcli lier graceful figure as she 
 tripped light as a fairy up the polished oak 
 staircase. " So beautiful, so beautiful," he 
 muttered to himself, more slowly following 
 her. " No wonder that she takes them all by 
 storm. Underwood's hard hit, I could read it 
 in his face, and Ledsham too, or why should 
 he drop in so often, and yet, she'll have none 
 of them. That's as it should be. Why should 
 she be snatched away, the very joy of my 
 life ? and besides she is too young. But yet I 
 am sure I am right. There's more in it than I 
 know. She's not happy, not happy. God 
 help her. And so young. But I must try to 
 get at the root of the matter. She can't 
 deceive me." Talking thus to himself. Sir 
 George entered his dressing-room and shut 
 the door. Within the hour, a very well- 
 cooked and well-served dinner was being dis- 
 cussed in the dining-room at The Towers. 
 The table was decorated with a tasteful pro- 
 fusion of hot-house flowers, shining silver- 
 plate, and an enormous wine cooler reposed 
 in a convenient position, filled with a cosy 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 95 
 
 array of long-necked bottles. Lady Fabyn 
 sat at the lower end, facing her husband. 
 She was a large, showily dressed woman, 
 who, but for a certain mean expression, 
 imparted to her face by her mouth, the lips 
 of which were singularly thin and met like 
 the two edges of a vice, might have still been 
 termed handsome. On her right sat the 
 rector, an affable white-haired man of sixty 
 or thereabouts. The seat on her left hand 
 was occupied by the Honourable James 
 Ledsham, or Jim Ledsham as he was more 
 familiarly known. Lilian Fabyn sat next to 
 him. And a neighbouring squire, by name, 
 Eichard Bolton, of Bolton Hall, was seated 
 opposite. The Honourable Jim was -going 
 the pace, if one might be allowed to judge 
 him by the soft glances which he shot from 
 the depths of his greenish eyes, and the 
 well-turned compliments and pretty nothings 
 he stooped to whisper in Lilian's ear. His 
 social status not unnaturally made him con- 
 sider himself of sufficiently high standing 
 to enable him to aspire to the hand of any 
 
96 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 woman in the county. And in the present 
 case he had good reason to suppose that he 
 was regarded in not an unfavourable light by 
 at least one person present, whose consent 
 would be an essential feature in the negotia- 
 tions which he contemplated. Liveried servants 
 glided noiselessly round, attending with pomp- 
 ous assiduity, snapping up a half-emptied 
 glass here, and whipping up the choice and 
 not nearly demolished contents of a plate 
 there, with all the vigour and pertinacity not 
 uncommon to their class. The good-natured 
 but prosy old rector, Mr. Laxby Eandal, related 
 a few clerical anecdotes carefully selected 
 from his not too well furnished store, and 
 Squire Bolton and Sir George kept up a run - 
 ning fire, in which local topics, the county 
 packs, and the attitude of the government 
 during the existing crisis, mainly figured. 
 Lihan looked just the least bit bored, and, the 
 first moment she could, obeyed her mother's 
 signal, leaving the gentlemen to the enjoyment 
 of certain vintages of age and rare bouquet, 
 glad to retire to the drawing-room, and avail 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 97 
 
 herself of the few moments of respite which it 
 gave her. But she was doomed to disappoint- 
 ment, and was roused from a brief reverie 
 into which she had fallen by the sound of 
 Lady Fabyn's voice. 
 
 " Lilian." 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 " Mr. Ledsham seems to admire you im- 
 mensely." Lady Fabyn was fishing, and what 
 she lacked in skilfulness and tact, she cer- 
 tainly did not atone for by the harsh tone of 
 voice in which she spoke. 
 
 "He does me too much honour, mother." 
 
 " Nonsense ; don't be stupid, child ; he could 
 scarcely do that ; you are our child." 
 
 " Well, it is very good of him." 
 
 " How ridiculously you talk ! But he is rich. 
 Breakwood is a charming place, don't you think 
 so ? He will be Lord Goddington at no very 
 distant date. I am told that the health of 
 the old lord has not improved of late. He 
 has gone to Cannes by the advice of the 
 doctors, who consider his condition a most 
 
 critical one, and 
 
 VOL. L 7 
 
98 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " Well, mother." - 
 
 " It is not every young man's luck in life 
 to come in for a rent roll such as he v^ill 
 inherit." 
 
 Lilian had been listlessly turning over the 
 pages of some new music, and she was about 
 to try a waltz, the music of which, as she 
 skimmed it over, she thought rather pretty, 
 when the nature and pointed persistency of 
 her mother's remarks dawned upon her mind. 
 She swung round on the music stool and con- 
 fronted her with an expression of wonder- 
 ment and inquiry on her face which Lady 
 Fabyn was not slow to read ; but she folded 
 her hands demurely, as if well satisfied so far 
 with the part that she had played. 
 
 " I am very sorry about Lord Goddington, 
 mother ; of course he has been ill for months. 
 But how can either his death or Mr. Ledsham's 
 accession to the title possibly concern me ? " 
 
 " Very much." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " 
 
 Lady Fabyn rose from her seat, deposited 
 on a table the copy of Tennyson, which she 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 99 
 
 had nervously picked up, and coming 
 close to lier daughter's side, placed her arm 
 round her neck. " Lilian, it has been 
 the wish of my heart, dear, latterly, and I am 
 convinced from what I witnessed to-night, 
 that you have it in your power to marry 
 quite the catch of the season. I mean " — and 
 here she became visibly agitated — " to become 
 Lady Goddington." 
 
 " Then I am sure I never shall be," broke 
 from Lilian's lips. 
 
 Lady Fabyn's manner changed ; she had not 
 looked for such determined language from 
 her daughter, gentle and flexible as a child up 
 to this hour of her life ; she regretted now 
 that she had spoken, that she had not allowed 
 events to take their own course. Why had 
 she committed so ill-advised a blunder ? It 
 was a mistake, and already she began to rue 
 it ; but her reasoning, like all regrets, came 
 too late. There was nothing for it now but 
 to face the storm she had created, to quell 
 and reduce it to submission by the stern 
 assertion of her authority and influence. 
 
 7-2 
 
100 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 She was equal to the occasion, and as her 
 lips closed tightly, she laid her hand once 
 more on her daughter's arm, and drew her- 
 self to her full height, like Lady Capulet, 
 determined that cost what it might her 
 daughter should bend to her will, and do her 
 bidding. 
 
 "Lihan." The sound of her own name 
 recalled her thoughts from thinking of the 
 man she loved, so far away, and now so 
 utterly unable to help her. Besides he did 
 not care for her ; that was the bitter thought ; 
 -that was the gall and wormwood which en- 
 tered into her very soul, keen as the stab of a 
 knife, subtle as the poison of asps. Her face 
 was bloodless, blanched as marble, pitiful to 
 look upon, and Lady Fabyn read its meaning 
 at a glance, 
 
 " Mother, to pursue this subject further is 
 useless. I do not love the man and 1 never 
 shall'' With a choking sob, which she could 
 not restrain, she broke from Lady Fabyn's 
 grasp and fled from the room. Once alone 
 with herself, she buried her face and moaned 
 
UNDER THE CLIFFS OF DEVON. 101 
 
 aloud, stretched full length on her bed ; and 
 her whole frame shook with a convulsive 
 torrent of anguish. Pale moonbeams streamed 
 through the window, and shed their calm, cold 
 light upon her. Silent witnesses of her misery. 
 They only and God. 
 
 
CHAPTER Y. 
 
 AN UNNATURAL MOTHER. 
 
 " And your son Gerald, Mrs. Clarencourt. 
 Is he well ? " 
 
 " My dear Lady Fitzwilliam, I believe he is. 
 He has a capital constitution, you know, and 
 never suffered from any severe illness in his 
 life. But I seldom hear from him." 
 
 " How is that ? " asked her listener, some- 
 what curiously, and presuming upon her long 
 friendship with Mrs. Clarencourt. A friendship 
 extending over many years, but which, 
 strange to say, had never enabled her to see 
 into or understand Mrs. Clarencourt's charac- 
 ter one bit better than she had done a week 
 after their acquaintance had commenced, 
 though they had driven together, sat in the 
 same box at the opera and theatre, and met 
 scores of times at the houses of mutual 
 
AN UNNATURAL MOTHEK. 103 
 
 friends. For tliey both belonged to the same 
 set. Once and once only had Lady Fitzwilliam 
 been invited to partake of the hospitality of 
 Clifford's Wood. 
 
 "I cannot tell you. He is in India at 
 present, I don't quite know where. Calcutta, 
 I think. At least he sailed for that port. He 
 wished to go alone, but, of course, that was 
 not to be thought of for a moment. I in- 
 sisted upon Wilson accompanying him. You 
 remember Wilson. A very old and valued 
 servant of my poor dear husband." Mrs. 
 Clarencourt pronounced the last three words in 
 the correct stereotyped form. She turned her 
 head slightly so that Lady Fitzwilliam should 
 not see her face, and lowering her voice until 
 it almost sank into a whisper, gazed dreamily 
 into vacancy, as if conjuring before her 
 visions of his dear face and form. The cur- 
 tain has risen, but the scene to make it intel- 
 ligible must be explained. It was merely 
 Mrs. Clarencourt's drawing-room, in a small 
 house, rented by her annually, situated in one 
 of the side streets opening into Park Lane, 
 
104 THE WO^IAN HE LOVED. 
 
 and the two ladies were indulging in a cup of 
 orange pekoe to aid them in their friendly 
 chat. Lady Fitzwilliam in appearance was 
 like scores of other women to be met with in 
 every day life, a face possessing nothing in it 
 to give you reason for dislike, rather the re- 
 verse ; but not sufficiently striking in any way 
 to cause you to remember its existence five 
 minutes after having talked to her. Well- 
 dressed and fashionable looking. There the 
 description must end for fault of a subject. 
 Mrs. Clarencourt was worthy of closer atten- 
 tion. Her figure was that of a splendidly 
 preserved middle-aged woman of something 
 over forty, though she would have passed for 
 at least ten years younger, with light hair, 
 pale blue eyes, and sharply defined features. 
 It was her mouth alone which betrayed her, 
 and imparted to her whole face that cold, 
 heartless expression with which it was 
 habitually stamped. Haughty and domineer- 
 ing, but without one vestige of love, save for 
 herself, in her whole composition. Vain of her 
 personal attractions, inordinately vain of her 
 
AN UNNATURAL MOTHER. 105 
 
 own family connections and what she chose 
 to consider stainless pedigree. Such was a 
 rough outHne of Gerard Clarencourt's mother, 
 and what wonder that he sought her love and 
 failed to win it ? Had he climbed to a higher 
 sphere, and occupied, perhaps, some promi- 
 nent Government appointment, gratified pride 
 would have prompted her to consider him 
 worthy of her notice. As it was she con- 
 sidered him rather a bore, and was pleased 
 enough that he had taken himself abroad. 
 His presence made her feel old, and, what was 
 worse still, look it ; her vanity was piqued at 
 sight of him, and to have had a great big 
 strapping fellow of his age calling himself her 
 son, and constantly living with her, would 
 have the very reverse of a favourable impres- 
 sion upon the men with whom she deigned 
 to flirt. Yet that was not the only reason for 
 her unnatural dislike of him. 
 
 " Men are so dilatory. They never seem 
 to think of others in the very least. I might 
 worry myself until I grew positively thin 
 with anxiety about him yet he would not 
 
106 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 trouble himself to write a few lines to 
 me. 
 
 "Eeally; I am so surprised. He seemed 
 such an amiable lad, as I remember him," 
 replied Lady Fitzwilliam. 
 
 " That was years a^o, when he was only a 
 tiny urchin." 
 
 '' True, so it was." 
 
 "Ah, things are changed now. Though 
 he is very young, quite a boy, I assure 
 you, still he is old enough to be trouble- 
 some if his will is thwarted in the very 
 least degree, and, poor, dear lad, I thought 
 a good long voyage might have a beneficial 
 effect upon him. Nothing like an intimate 
 knowledge of other countries and modes of 
 life for enlarging the mind, and then people 
 do say that one never does appreciate home 
 ties thoroughly until they have been severed 
 for a time, and so I am tempted to hope 
 that he will come back quite a changed 
 child." Mrs. Clarencourt might have been 
 talking of an infant of ten instead of a 
 strong, haudsome fellow something over 
 
AN UNNATURAL MOTHER. 107 
 
 twenty, but she smiled and simpered, and 
 told her little grievances with such an 
 outward semblance of truth that Lady 
 Fitzwilliam was almost gulled into believing 
 Gerard one of the most refractory of sons. 
 But there was one point upon which she 
 could not refrain from laughing in her 
 sleeve, and that was the cool way in which 
 Mrs. Clarencourt talked of her child. 
 Lady Fitzwilliam was, however, far too 
 politic to pass any remark, or to venture 
 upon any inquiries, knowing, as she did, 
 Mrs. Clarencourt's age, to a year or so, at 
 any rate. The furniture and ornaments 
 in the apartment were luxurious in the 
 extreme, presenting tangible proofs of a 
 well-plenished exchequer. Eare and fragrant 
 hot-house plants, grown in costly majolica 
 vases, mirrors in Dresden, representing 
 laughing, rosy-cheeked cupids, surrounded 
 by imaginative bowers of flowers in full 
 bloom. Tastefully executed water-colours, 
 by some of the first men of the day, 
 adorned the walls, and the lio'ht was 
 
108 THE WOMAN HE LOVED 
 
 excluded from the room at will by pale 
 tinted silk blinds, edged with deep lace, and 
 soft-liued curtains of rich stuffs. Half a 
 dozen white bear and magnificent tiger 
 skins were strewn on the long-piled Turkey 
 carpet, on which no footfall could be 
 heard. It was essentially the home of a 
 lady of refined taste, for such Mrs. Claren- 
 court undoubtedly was, and months yearly 
 spent upon the Continent, added to her 
 knowledge on the subject, had enabled her 
 to fill her cabinets with miracles of art, old, 
 and of a value which would have made 
 many a London dealer envious. Lady 
 Fitzwilliam accepted the offer of another cup 
 of tea and a wafer, which she nibbled slowly, 
 and she was about to bid her friend good- 
 bye, with the addition of an affectionate kiss, 
 when she remembered the object of her visit. 
 
 " Dear me, I have such a bad memory. 
 Would you believe it ? I was nearly forgetting 
 something most important." 
 
 "What was it, dear?" asked Mrs. Claren- 
 court. 
 
AN UNNATURAL MOTHER. 109 
 
 " Are you engaged for Thursday next ? " 
 
 " No, I think not." 
 
 " Well, it is a very short notice, but we 
 have known each other so long, and I 
 thought I would just come and ask you 
 myself to dine with us on that day." 
 
 "Thanks, but " 
 
 " I shall take no refusal, my dear ; we are 
 going to the opera afterwards, and Colonel 
 Cheston has promised to come." Lady Fitz- 
 william was particularly anxious for reasons 
 of her own to secure Mrs. Clarencourt's 
 society, so she threw out her last bait, and 
 watched its effect. Of late. Colonel Cheston's 
 name had often been mentioned in connection 
 with the fair widow's, and certain circum- 
 stances had occurred which had given rise 
 to no small amount of gossip. It had the 
 desired effect.. Mrs. Clarencourt expressed 
 her pleasure, and accepted the invitation. 
 Having gained her point, Lady Fitzwilliam 
 drove away, delighted with herself and her 
 success. The great aim in Mrs. Clarencourt's 
 life had been to possess wealth, and even in her 
 
110 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 young days she had never permitted morbid 
 sentiment to assert its sway. Where gold 
 and love hung evenly in the scales before her 
 she had scorned, as a piece of maudlin hum- 
 bug, the latter ; it could not last, she had 
 schooled herself to think, and why should 
 she fool away her life and choose it ? She 
 had seen the evil of it once, in the case of 
 her own parents, and that one instance was 
 enough. The saying that, when poverty stalks 
 in at the door, love flies out at the window, 
 she firmly believed in, and naturally enough, 
 with such a belief, her faith in the durability 
 of the softer passion was weak indeed. What 
 wonder, then, that she, the youngest daughter 
 of an impoverished Irish gentleman, whose 
 stainless descent from old and honourable 
 families was well nigh all he had to cling to, 
 seized the first opportunity wdiich offered, 
 and married, wholly and solely for his money, 
 Mr. Clarencourt, Gerard's father, who had 
 fallen madly in love with her, and proposed, 
 a few weeks after they first met, in a crowded 
 ball-room at Dublin? Thus, she had sealed 
 
AN UXNATUK.IL MOTHER 111 
 
 her own fate and his. He had not been slow 
 to discover that the woman he had married 
 had grossly deceived him, although she had 
 striven to hide her real feelings cleverly, 
 and had glossed over many palpable neglects 
 in word and deed with all an ingenious 
 woman's skilful tact. Still, she could not hide 
 from him the fact that she did not love him. 
 They had lived together in a very prosaic, 
 matter-of-fact way, never interfering with 
 each other, and to all outward appearances 
 they continued to present a spotless front 
 to the world's criticisms. Even the birth 
 of Gerard did not unite them ; to all intents 
 and purposes they remained as far apart 
 as ever, and the single word which lay at 
 the root of the matter, small and insignificant 
 in itself, but possessing a terrible meaning 
 to him, had he learnt it, was envy. He had 
 given her his love and a beautiful home. 
 All that his wealth could procure had been 
 lavished upon her, and its only effect 
 had been to cause her to hate him yet the 
 more. Most women would have felt 
 
112 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 content, once their ends gained, their 
 ambition satisfied ; not so with her. She 
 envied him the absolute possession of the 
 money. Why should it be in his power to 
 do so much, and in hers so little ? Should 
 she stoop and cringe to him ? The feeling 
 was there, and it had slumbered and rankled 
 in her heart, but never for a moment died 
 out. Again she had her will. After a 
 lingering illness he had died, and as she 
 knew that he loved her to the last, she felt 
 sure that he woidd leave his w^ealth to her, 
 or at least by far the greater portion. When 
 the will was read she had stifled her indig- 
 nation under a calm exterior ; but it was 
 there none the less. She was told that the 
 money and estates would be hers until her 
 son attained the age of twenty-five, after which 
 time they would pass to him, with the excep- 
 tion of an annuity of one thousand per annum. 
 Should he fail to live to that age, everything 
 which had belonged to the deceased was vested 
 in her during her life, and afterwards would 
 pass away to a distant branch of the Clarencourt 
 
AN UNNATUKAL MOTHER. 113 
 
 family. From the date of the reading of that 
 will the feeling of dislike had been transferred 
 from father to son. This it was which had 
 caused her to banish him from lier presence 
 on any available pretence. When with her 
 the sounds of his boyish laughter grated upoa 
 her ear. She regarded her own flesh and 
 blood in the light of an usurper, and 
 smilingly as she had conversed about him 
 with Lady Fitzwilliam, had concealed all her 
 real thoughts and feelings with the consummate 
 tact of which she was mistress. Her guest 
 departed, Mrs. Clarencourt summoned her 
 maid, and resigned herself into her hands 
 to be dressed prior to making her appearance 
 at a fashionable reunion at which she had 
 been bidden to attend. No thought of her 
 son entered into her head ; she had dismissed 
 him from her mind an hour after Lady Fitz- 
 william left, though for that brief period she 
 had wondered not a little what motive had 
 prompted that good lady's curiosity. But 
 determined to enjoy herself, callous of how 
 he fared, she entered her brougham, arrayed 
 
 VOL. I. 8 
 
114 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 in an elegant toilette, proud and serene, 
 and all the more so because she felt that 
 Elise had done her hair to perfection, and 
 that she was looking her best. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "NO MAN SHALL ROB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 
 
 Several weeks had passed, and still Gerard 
 Clarencourt lingered in Calcutta. Weeks, 
 which had fled only too fast for him, for they 
 were made up of days of unalloyed happiness. 
 Still he stayed on, as regardless of the heat 
 as he was of the object of his visit to India. 
 What cared he now for Delhi, Lucknow, and 
 Cawnpore ? All the visions which his strong 
 imagination had pictured of their gorgeous 
 Eastern magnificence and historical fame had 
 lonCT deserted him. If he ever thouorht at all 
 on the subject, he must have told himself that 
 they would keep until he had spare time at 
 his disposal in which to visit them. Spare 
 time, what a farce it was ! why he had literally 
 nothing to do, nothing on which to turn his 
 attention, from the moment he rose in the early 
 
116 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 morning until night, when he was forced to 
 retire because everybody else did so — nothing, 
 save to dream, to think of, and sometimes to 
 see Ada Devereaux. She knew full well how 
 to handle one so hot tempered and impetuous 
 as Gerard ; she read and understood his 
 character, or thought she did, which came to 
 the same thing, so judged it advisable to keep 
 him in an agony of suspense, by hiding the 
 light of her presence from him for a whole 
 day or so, during which period Gerard would 
 fret and fume, and wander listlessly about the 
 place as if he had not a single aim or object 
 in life worth living for, save her. This was 
 precisely the case now; he had not seen her 
 since the day before, when in the early morning 
 they had ridden together and she had charmed 
 him, with the frankness of her smile, her bursts 
 of merry laughter, and fresh healthy com- 
 plexion, of which thanks to her splendid 
 constitution even the hot Indian climate 
 had failed to rob her. And then her horse 
 had bucked vigorously, and tried to bolt, and 
 she had sat him and curbed his fiery temper, 
 
"NO MAX SHALL EOB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 117 
 
 reducing him to docile obedience, in a way 
 which had called for Gerard's highest admira- 
 tion, and left no doubt in his mind that 
 riding was another accomplishment in which 
 she excelled. Poor Gerard, securely was he 
 caught within the toils of her witchery. The 
 sun had risen amid all the bri^ht-hued 
 tintiiiCT of clouds and brilliant colourincr of a 
 
 O O 
 
 daybreak in the East. Down by the banks 
 of the river, under the heavy arching foliage, 
 groups of natives chatted and laughed, fruit 
 and sweetmeat sellers, with tough-looking 
 visages the colour of musty parchment, dis- 
 played their wares on low wooden stalls, or 
 squatted on a square of matting a la turque^ 
 sat with their goods piled round them, 
 anxiously awaiting the appearance of their 
 first customer, who their religious supersti- 
 tion forbade to send away empty-handed, or 
 without having concluded the bargain, no 
 matter what the sum offered to them. Dealers 
 in curiosities of quaint and pretty workman- 
 ship. Women of every age, children and 
 active lithe-limbed girls, their full lips dyed red 
 
118 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 with the juice of the betel nut they loved to 
 chew, and others older still, in the prime of 
 life, according to a European's ideas on age, 
 but already wofully wrinkled and possessing 
 stumps black as ebony in place of even 
 shining rows of teeth. Old hags stooping on 
 the hard mud which the tide had left exposed 
 to view, to mould their earthen bowls and 
 water vessels, soon to become hardened by the 
 scorching sunlight. Many chattering strings 
 of coolies sang their incessant monotonous 
 chants as they laboured on the decks of the 
 merchant sailing ships, for the business of the 
 day had commenced for them too. Swarms 
 of dingies were moored to the mud banks, 
 or swiftly darted in and out midst the crowd- 
 ing hulls of the vessels, sculled by their bony- 
 limbed, brown- skinned owners, laden with fruit 
 and fish, meat, articles of clothing, and a 
 thousand other things. Bengal native infantry 
 men, clad in their undress uniform, hurried 
 along the Esplanade side by side with solemn 
 looking Hindoos, white turbaned and sleek 
 with good living. All was bustle, excited 
 
"NO MAN SHALL ROB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 119 
 
 activity and teeming life. In the bazaars 
 and markets, business was going on briskly, 
 and crowds of half-nude, coppery-coloured 
 men and thinly -clad women jostled each 
 other. Inside a shop tenanted by a jeweller 
 stood Gerard Clarencourt ; he had strolled in 
 more from curiosity than any other motive, 
 but his entrance had been the signal for a 
 general pulling down of cases and display 
 of hidden gems; miracles of art to judge by 
 the care with which they were handled. The 
 owner of all these treasures was seated on a 
 pile of cushions and never stirred himself, but 
 gravely received the goods he ordered to be 
 brought from the hands of a lad. His face 
 was a study worthy of Murillo, so bronzed 
 and savage-looking was it in expression, 
 with features of a slightly Jewish type, and 
 keen, piercing, deep-set eyes, which scowled 
 wickedly upon Gerard when he was not 
 looking, and the place was reeking with 
 the stale smell of the smoke which he blew 
 in great clouds from his hubble-bubble. 
 Nothing had especially pleased Gerard's 
 
120 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 fancy, when the man, thinking that per- 
 haps he had underrated the length of his 
 visitor's purse, produced a set of deUcate 
 champac ornaments of exquisitely fine work- 
 manship, and made of dull red gold. The 
 man's eyes gleamed even more hideously with 
 avarice. He read the look on Gerard's face 
 as he inspected the jewellery, and mentally 
 determining that in the English sahib he had 
 secured a certain customer, raised the original 
 price to a ruinous extent and sat silently 
 waiting for him to speak. 
 
 "How much are they?" asked Gerard 
 carelessl}^ 
 
 "Five hundred rupees, sahib," answered 
 the fellow, in intelligible English. 
 
 " Absurd ! You are trying to rob me." 
 
 "My God all same your God, sahib. I 
 not lie ; I no rob you." But his brief sojourn 
 in Calcutta had taught Gerard a lesson, and, 
 as he was not to be swindled with impunity, 
 he took out a pocket-book, mentally perform- 
 ing a small calculation in arithmetic as he 
 did so. 
 
"NO MAN SHALL EOB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 121 
 
 "I shall give you one- third of the sum you 
 ask." The man hummed and hawed, swore 
 he would be ruined, and went through a little 
 pantomime of his own, which ended as Gerard 
 handed him the money and left the bazaar 
 with the champac ornaments in his breast- 
 pocket. He knew the mail from England had 
 arrived the night before, so he strolled off in 
 the direction of the post-office, and inquired 
 if there were any letters for him. Three were 
 given to him, and eagerly he turned them 
 over, and scanned the post-marks and the 
 handwriting. They were all from England, 
 but none — none from his mother ! His face 
 clouded over, and the veins in his forehead 
 stood out like cords with the agitation he 
 felt ; but it was only momentary, and passed, 
 giving way to an expression of sorrow and 
 "loom as he turned on his heel and left the 
 building. What had he done to be treated 
 thus ? Plenty of time had elapsed for her to 
 write, and yet not a line had come from her 
 — his only near relative on earth. Why did 
 she pass him by persistently, making him 
 
122 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 feel liis loneliness and isolation so bitterly ? 
 An orphan, although his mother lived I 
 Estranged from her — without the pale of her 
 love, although his heart yearned towards her 
 still, and the answer came to him and ranc^ 
 in his ears : 
 
 " She does not — cannot care for you ; why 
 trouble yourself about one in whose thoughts 
 you have no place?" Slowly he took his 
 way, as if not caring where he went, so 
 that he might be alone with his own sad 
 thoughts. Here was the young, untrained 
 mind, as yet not schooled to bear the world's 
 harshness ; here was the man beo^innins: life 
 with fair and unclouded ^prospects — without 
 a wish which he could not satisfy — his most 
 fastidious tastes and extravas^ant desires could 
 all be gratified. He had but to express a 
 want, and straightway, as in the old fable 
 of the " Arabian Nights," he had it. Lucky 
 dog! Those who knew the outside shell of 
 his life would have said, " What can he lack 
 more?" And yet Gerard Clarencourt had 
 his trouble — his one great gnawing source 
 
"NO MAN SHALL ROB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 123 
 
 of unhappiness ; and from the day lie began 
 to think, and turn his attention from his 
 infant toys, he felt it, and in secret bore the 
 sorrow and the pain of the canker which had 
 eaten into his childish happiness, his boyish 
 pleasures, and now his manhood's hopes and 
 ambitions. He had nothing — no one to live 
 for. There was a blank in his life — an empty 
 void, which could only be filled up in one 
 way. Oddly enough, his steps had wandered 
 along the wide street which led past Govern- 
 ment House, and he found himself near to 
 the upper end of the Gardens. It wanted 
 hours until he had any actual engagement — 
 until he should see her. So he opened the 
 wicket-gate, and stood under the thick, tropi- 
 cal foliage, and watched the busln^-tailed, grey 
 squirrels as he paced down one of the leafy 
 avenues which led to the painted Burmese 
 pagoda where he had first met her. Mrs. 
 Devereaux had plunged into her bath, dressed, 
 or rather suffered herself to be attired in a 
 charming morning toilette, and had sipped 
 her coffee, with the OTeat, swinpfino^ folds of 
 
124 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 the punkah ceaselessly sending its rush of air 
 across her white forehead, lifting the wavy 
 curls from off it as it played amidst her hair. 
 The old punkah-wallah was sound asleep, or 
 appeared to be so, for he performed his func- 
 tions with eyes closed and his head sunk upon 
 his chest, occasionally giving vent to a low, 
 guttural grunt as he tugged at the string 
 which moved the monster fan. In through 
 the windows came the sweet scent of Cape 
 jasmine, and a thousand other fragrant 
 odours, from the gardens outside. Mrs. 
 Devereaux seemed thoroughly discontented 
 and annoyed with herself — an unenviable 
 state of mind truly, but it was none the less 
 perfectly apparent. She drummed with her 
 foot upon the floor, stirred the liquid in her 
 cup angrily, thereby spilling some of the 
 contents, beat a tattoo with her knife, for 
 the second time scanned the addresses of 
 some letters placed for her perusal, and then, 
 with evident impatience, cut them open one 
 by one, and threw them aside with varied 
 remarks on their several contents. It was 
 
" NO MAN SHALL ROB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 125 
 
 not often that Mrs. Devereaux condescended 
 or humbled herself to such an extent as to 
 show any irritabiUty or spleen from which 
 she chanced to be suffering to the outside 
 world. She was too consummate a mistress 
 of herself, and would have regarded an ebulli- 
 tion of temper from the same standpoint, and 
 with the same satire, that she would have 
 used in discoursing upon inebriety in any 
 person who happened to come under her 
 notice. A man never shows to less advan- 
 tage than when he is intoxicated ; then all his 
 worst points are revealed, and he is powerless 
 to hide them. He is a fool when he thus 
 places himself at the mercy of others. She 
 had once said this ; and much in the same 
 way she argued that to show your hand was 
 to discover your own weakness, and was 
 tantamount to surrendering all chance of the 
 game — no matter what the mask hid, so long 
 as it served the purpose of a complete dis- 
 guise, and was never for a moment removed. 
 What had upset her equilibrium ? That was 
 a question far too difficult to solve. Perhaps 
 
126 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 the fit of some dress had displeased her, or 
 her maid had clumsily performed her duties. 
 She was put out — that was enough, and the 
 servants knew it, and, as they glided noise- 
 lessly about the house, took very good care 
 to give their mistress as wide a berth as they 
 conveniently could. At length she settled 
 herself before her davenport, wrote several 
 letters in answer to the ones she had received, 
 tidied some bundles of papers, and finally 
 subsided into a sofa, scanning over the 
 pages of the latest novel she had been able 
 to procure until it wanted scarce half an 
 hour to tiffin. A servant entered the room ; 
 it was her maid. 
 
 " A gentleman wishes to see you, madam," 
 said the woman, who was French, but could 
 speak English tolerably well. 
 
 " What an insufferable nuisance ! " replied 
 Mrs. Devereaux, as she raised herself slightly 
 on her elbow. " Just as I was beginning to 
 get interested too. Who is he ? Did he give 
 his name ? " 
 
 " I do not know, madam. I did not see the 
 
"NO MAN SHALL EOB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 127 
 
 gentleman, but I will inquire. Mr. Carelesse, 
 madam," continued the woman, as she re- 
 turned with the required information. 
 
 " Very well, show him up, but remember, I 
 am not at home to any one else until evening." 
 Mrs. Devereaux rose from the sofa, arranged 
 her hair to her entire satisfaction before a 
 mirror, and turned round just as Carelesse 
 entered the room. The expression of his face 
 told her in a moment that somethincf un- 
 expected had occurred. She could almost 
 divine the truth at a glance, but whatever she 
 had discovered, it pleased her. 
 
 '' You are surprised to see me here so early," 
 he said, after he had taken her hand in his and 
 sat down in a chair. 
 
 " Surprised, but none the less pleased." How 
 well she could dissemble ! How easy it was to 
 her to meet his eyes, and tell him of her 
 pleasure at seeing him, when in her heart she 
 wished the man anywhere, a thousand miles 
 removed from her ; dead, if need be, rather 
 than where he was ! 
 
 '• Thanks ; but I come on a sorry errand. 
 
128 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 I suppose I should be glad, but I am 
 
 not." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean ? Come, Geof- 
 frey, don't look so down-hearted. Tell me 
 what has happened to disturb the even tenor 
 of your life." 
 
 The sound of his Christian name uttered by 
 her made him raise his head. 
 
 " Can you not guess ? " 
 
 " No, how should I ? Nothing more awful 
 than that you have lost some money at pool, 
 or made some rash bet with Captain Garrick, 
 and found that it is possible to lose ; or is it 
 anything infinitely more distressing ? " She 
 gave vent to one of her low, rippling laughs, 
 but the sound he loved to hear at times grated 
 harshly on his ear now. It was painfully out 
 of place to him. Yet, how should she know ? 
 he thought. It never struck him that the 
 present state of affairs as set forth by the daily 
 papers might furnish her with a clue, and 
 added to that that she could read every passing 
 change on his face like the pages of a book 
 she had learnt by heart. 
 
"NO MAN SHALL EOB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 129 
 
 " Ada, you jest, and at such a time ! " 
 
 " If you are not altogether unreasonable, 
 you will explain yourself." 
 
 She was dying to hear, to have her suspi- 
 cions confirmed, and her pulse beat con- 
 siderably faster as she leant back amongst her 
 cushions, and looked at him with her blue eyes 
 sparkling with the light that she could call 
 into them and slay with at will. But not one 
 trace of eagerness to learn the object of his 
 visit was discernible in her manner. 
 
 " I — I shall have to leave you soon, dear," 
 at length he said, his voice thick with the 
 emotion he could not restrain. 
 
 "Geoffrey, please do explain yourself." 
 Had he not been so pre-occupied and so 
 thoroughly out of spirits, even he could not 
 have failed to recognize a faint tinge of exul- 
 tation in the ringing mellowness of her voice. 
 " So long as it pleases you to make use of 
 enigmas you cannot possibly expect me to 
 grasp your meaning. Let me know the 
 worst." 
 
 " Ada, we are ordered to the front at last." 
 
 VOL. I. 9 
 
130 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " What fearfully sudden news ! " 
 
 " Well, I don't know, my darling." He had 
 taken her soft, plump hand in his. " We have 
 been expecting the order for weeks." 
 
 So had she, and had dreamed of the pos- 
 sible chance of escape from him that would 
 be hers in case of such a contingency. 
 
 " But I said nothing to you," he continued, 
 " as I had hoped that it would not come to 
 this. Of course you know as we all do that 
 the Eussians are encroaching on the frontiers 
 of Afghanistan, and the Ameer is massing 
 his troops to hold theni in check. An open 
 rupture is hourly feared. We are support- 
 ing the Afghans, and shall do so, I hope, 
 through thick and thin, and any available 
 troops that can be mustered are ordered to 
 the up country stations en route for the front. 
 We are amongst the number." Many soft 
 words of endearment she addressed to him 
 in reply, until Carelesse began to hope that 
 it was not so bad after all, that it would 
 give him his chance of promotion which he 
 had so longed for before he had met her. 
 
"NO MAN SHALL ROB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 131 
 
 and that his dreams as he had had them 
 when on board the huge troopship, full of 
 zeal for the service he had entered, would 
 be realized — dreams which had made him 
 long for a smart campaign, a heavy brush 
 with the Euskies, in which of course he was 
 to come off scot free with the V.C. How 
 his young heart had burned to do something 
 great! Full of hope, without a care, he 
 had passed and was actually gazetted to a 
 regiment. What a different being he was 
 now, now that this woman had crossed his 
 path ! As the weaker mind must inevitably 
 succumb and become subservient to the 
 stronger if thrown into close and constant 
 intercourse, so had Geoffrey Carelesse bowed 
 before the strength of will, and what he 
 recognized as the superior ability of 
 Mrs. Devereaux, but what was in reality 
 merely a greater knowledge of the world, 
 aided by personal beauty, and powers of 
 finesse added to the subtilty and arts of 
 a beautiful woman. He was passionately 
 in love, while she was not ; he believed 
 
 9-2 
 
132 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 in, and was ready to obey her slightest word, 
 her most imperious behest, whilst she listened 
 to all he chose to say with an ear only tuned 
 to catch at and store to advantage the words 
 which might place him more securely in her 
 power. The contest was very uneven. The 
 game was in her hands, and she knew 
 it. Such power had she been able to 
 exert over Carelesse, that two or three 
 days after the stormy interview in which 
 he had proved his knowledge of at least 
 some portion of her past life, and had 
 accused her of playing fast and loose with 
 him and encouraging Clarencourt, she had 
 entirely dispelled any such ideas from his 
 mind, flouted him with being envious of 
 such a mere boy, to use his own words, 
 and then put on a deeply offended air, 
 and wondered how he could think so ill 
 of her as to accuse her of being guilty of 
 such treachery. So skilfully did she"' mis- 
 lead him, that Carelesse, easily duped and 
 worse than blind to her faults, had been 
 forced to acknowledge himself in the wrong 
 
" NO MAN SHALL EOB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 133 
 
 and had sued for her forgiveness, which she 
 granted him with one of her seductive smiles, 
 but only upon one condition. Carelesse would 
 do anything for her sake. Very well ; he 
 should himself carry a note of invitation 
 from her to Gerard Clarencourt and should 
 meet him as her guest under her roof. To 
 all of which propositions he had agreed, 
 and the two men had consequently met 
 several times in this way. 
 
 " Ada," Carelesse continued after his brief 
 explanation of the reason for their sudden 
 departure ; " you know well what I would 
 ask of you were I in the position to do so, 
 but you would not, you could not think 
 better of me if I broached such a subject 
 placed as I am. I must do my duty now, 
 and then when we meet again perhaps I 
 shall have gained one step at least in rank. 
 If we do come to blows with the Eussians 
 there will be plenty of casualties in our 
 ranks, and I shall have all the more chance, 
 unless some stray bullet does happen to find 
 its billet in me." 
 
134 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " Don't say such horrible things, Geoffrey." 
 
 *' Why, you know such a thing might 
 happen ; and if — if it did," he added with 
 a sickly attempt at a smile, '* I would ask 
 you to think kindly of me, Ada." 
 
 " Of course I should ; but, oh, Geoffrey ! 
 how can you speak so! is this likely to 
 cheer me ? " 
 
 " Well, forgive me ; but one can't help 
 feeling a bit melancholy sometimes." 
 
 "Nonsense, you mustn't talk so stupidly. 
 When do you go ? " 
 
 " We shall be on the march within forty- 
 eight hours." 
 
 " So soon ? " she asked in a low voice, 
 which vibrated and trembled with cleverly 
 assumed pathos. 
 
 " It is too true, Ada. Our orders are to 
 quit here with as little delay as possible. 
 Have you seen Steele? " 
 
 " Not as yet. How can you ask me ? had 
 he been here he would have told me the 
 news, but he will be sure to turn up soon." 
 
 " Yes, confound him, I suppose he will ; 
 
" NO MAN SHALL ROB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 135 
 
 like his infernal impudence." A savage 
 light gleamed in Carelesse's eyes as he spoke, 
 which too plainly showed that, on his side 
 at all events, no friendly feeling existed 
 towards his colonel and superior officer . 
 
 " How absurd of you, Geoffrey ; why, really 
 it is too ridiculous. Only the other day you 
 were frightfully jealous of Mr. Clarencourt, 
 and now poor Colonel Steele has been luck- 
 less enough to incur your displeasure." 
 
 " Oh, deuce take him ! I should like to 
 punch liis head. I know he tries to spoon 
 you, Ada, and it makes me wild to think 
 of it ; besides, apart from that, there is no 
 love lost between us. He dislikes me, and I'll 
 swear I hate him." 
 
 " Fie, Geoffrey, I really am ashamed of you. 
 To speak in this strain of your commanding 
 officer ; it is nothing short of rank mutiny. 
 I think I must take it upon me to report 
 you." 
 
 " Don't tease me, Ada, that's all. But I do 
 detest Steele," answered Carelesse, with a 
 poor attempt at a laugh. During the whole 
 
136 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 of the conversation, the moment after Care- 
 lesse had announced the sudden departure of 
 the regiment, Mrs. Devereaux's brain had 
 been at work ; she had been revolving certain 
 little projects of which she had had but 
 dim visions before the conversation, as she 
 had not permitted her mind to dwell upon 
 a hope which had presented itself to her 
 as a kind of chimera, not to be entertained 
 because it was delusive and, on the whole, too 
 good to be true. But now, since it had 
 turned out to be a reality, it was worthy of 
 her careful consideration. While he had re- 
 mained in Calcutta she could not leave it with- 
 out the risk of offending him, which risk she 
 dare not run. She judged Carelesse harshly, 
 and had told herself that if a quarrel ensued 
 between them he would instantly be revenged 
 upon her by maligning her to mutual friends. 
 Never had she formed a more erroneous 
 opinion. Whatever were his faults, and they 
 were many, meanness did not figure upon the 
 list. He was capable of shooting her dead 
 where she stood if she played him false, but 
 
" NO MAN SHALL ROB ME OF YOU AND LIVE.' 137 
 
 never of resorting to slander as an outlet for 
 his vengeance. He was passionate and vin- 
 dictive ; but never base and sordid. Yes, 
 this was without doubt the chance of which 
 she must avail herself if she wished to place 
 a safe distance between her own person 
 and that of Geoffrey Carelesse. What better 
 opportunity could have occurred? He was 
 ordered up country on active service. She 
 would return to England, and that without 
 awakening his suspicions in the very least. 
 What more natural than that she should wish 
 to rejoin her friends now that he was thus 
 roughly snatched from her ? The ideas dove- 
 tailed to a nicety. No sooner had she 
 sketched the outline in her mind than she 
 determined to tell him of its existence. 
 
 " When shall we meet again, Ada ? " he said 
 tenderly as he leant over her. This was the 
 key-note she needed. It would aid her to 
 make the revelation she meditated. 
 
 " Why, when you return to England, dear." 
 "England, Ada; what are you thinking 
 of?" 
 
133 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 "Why, you don't imagine that I shall re- 
 main here after you have gone ; at least, 
 no longer than I can help. The place would 
 be simply odious to me. And what good 
 could it do? You may never return here at 
 all, and are just as likely to embark for home 
 so soon as the war is ended.'' 
 
 " You don't like one soul here but me, and, 
 save for my being here, would have left long 
 ago. My darling, how could I have been 
 such a brute as to doubt you ? " 
 
 He threw his arms round her as he spoke 
 and pressed his lips to hers. She never at- 
 tempted to repel him, but suffered him to 
 cover her with kisses. It was part of the role 
 she had set herself, and she was scarcely the 
 woman to ruin her game by flinching or dis- 
 covering her real feelings by displaying a want 
 of nerve. 
 
 " Go to England, Ada ; you will be safer 
 there, and we shall meet again, never doubt it. 
 I love you as no other man ever can. Be 
 true to me, my darling, and all will yet be 
 well. But, Ada, I call God to witness my 
 
" NO MAN SHALL ROB ME OF YOU AND LIVE." 139 
 
 oath. No man shall rob me of you and 
 live." 
 
 Carelesse's face was convulsed with the 
 emotion he was a prey to ; his voice was un- 
 steady and thick. He managed to tell her 
 that he should see her again before he left Cal- 
 cutta, and then, as if afraid to trust himself 
 in her presence longer, hurriedly quitted the 
 room. When they next met it was a terrible 
 meeting to both of them, and in the interval, 
 that wild oath, flung out as if challenging 
 God and man, rung in Mrs. Devereaux's ears : 
 " No man shall rob me of you and live." 
 
 ^^MM^ 
 
CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 WHY NOT EETURN? 
 
 On the evening of the same day on which 
 Geoffrey Carelesse had told of the sudden 
 departure of his regiment for the front, Mrs. 
 Devereaux's drawing-room was tenanted by 
 another visitor, and this time it was Gerard 
 himself. He had returned to his hotel after 
 having sauntered aimlessly about the Gardens 
 in the early morning, and had spent the time 
 which intervened before nightfall pretty 
 equally between the pages of what papers 
 and periodicals he could get, a new novel, an 
 endless consumption of cheroots, and growls 
 at Wilson for real or fancied clumsiness in 
 the performance of his duties. And so the 
 hours had sped, and at length Gerard, who 
 had looked at his watch a score of times 
 before, found that he could call at Mrs. 
 
WHY NOT RETURN ? 141 
 
 Devereaux's bungalow with something like 
 propriety. Mrs. Devereaux had seated 
 herself at the piano in obedience to a request 
 from him, but her fingers strayed idly over 
 the keys, breaking first into one air, wild 
 and passionate, and the next moment into 
 another, soft and pathetic. Even in that 
 desultory way she was pleasing him ; he was 
 content to listen. Afraid of breaking the 
 thread of her thoughts by speaking, he had 
 left her side, and stood gazing out into the 
 garden. Yet as she played she was thinking 
 of him. By cautiously questioning Carelesse 
 she had ascertained a good deal about Gerard ; 
 above all she had found out that beyond a 
 doubt he was rich, and that was the chief 
 point upon which she had required informa- 
 tion. Her mind was satisfied so far ; but 
 although she fully intended to return to 
 England, she was by no means prepared to 
 lose sight of him, and that reason accounted 
 for her preoccupied manner. It caused her 
 to think, and her thoughts puzzled her not a 
 little. She knew that she already possessed 
 
142 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 some influence over him, the amount of 
 which she rather under than over rated, 
 though not aware of it. She had never 
 questioned him as to his future movements, 
 confident that he would remain in Calcutta 
 so long as it pleased her fancy ; but now her 
 own had undergone a change it might be 
 well to learn his intentions. No sooner had 
 this thought dawned upon her than she ceased 
 playing abruptly, and turned towards him. 
 
 " Mr. Clarencourt." 
 
 " Why did you stop ? please go on ; that 
 
 air reminded me of, of " he hesitated, 
 
 as a host of recollections were forced upon 
 him, and he would rather that his words 
 had remained unsaid. 
 
 " Of what does it remind you, Mr. Claren- 
 court ? " She was curious to learn the reason 
 for his embarrassment, and as she asked the 
 question she kept her eyes fixed upon him. 
 
 " Oh, only of my mother, it was a great 
 favourite of hers," he replied as he recovered 
 himself. The answer did not satisfy Mrs. 
 Devereaux ; although she did not care for him 
 
WHY NOT RETURN ? 143 
 
 in the very least, apart from her own ends, 
 it was that fact which made her jealous and 
 suspicious of any person capable of influ- 
 encing him. And she was not to be deceived 
 in this instance, the awkwardness of his 
 manner had not failed to impress her, and it 
 told her just as plainly as words could have 
 done that Mrs. Clarencourt, if she so pleased, 
 might be a very dangerous foe to encounter. 
 Inwardly she resolved to say nothing more 
 on the subject just then, but to probe it to 
 the bottom when a more favourable oppor- 
 tunity presented itself. 
 
 " Where do you intend to go after you 
 leave Calcutta, Mr. Clarencourt ? " she asked, 
 after a short silence. 
 
 " I do not know in the very least, all 
 places are much the same to me." There 
 was a touch of sadness in his voice as he 
 spoke and raised his dark blue eyes to hers 
 inquiringly. "Why, Mrs. Devereaux ? I 
 am really too happy here to think of a 
 change at present." 
 
 No word of love had ever crossed his 
 
144 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 lips as yet, but he longed to tell her that she 
 made up the sum total of his pleasures, that 
 it was for her, for love of her, that he 
 lingered there. He longed to know whether 
 she did care just the least bit for him, but he 
 mistrusted his own powers, his nerve forsook 
 him when on the eve of an avowal, and he 
 drew back, and shrank within himself, fearful 
 of discovering that all his hopes were mere 
 delusions. So beautiful and accomplished, 
 how should she think anything more of him 
 than of scores of other men friends ? he had 
 argued with himself. But then at times 
 there was a something in her manner, an 
 expression in her eyes, which caused his 
 pulse to beat faster and his heart to throb as 
 though it would burst, and he had tried to 
 make himself believe that he might hope that 
 she did love him. 
 
 "Why do you ask?" he repeated. 
 
 "Oh, simply because I am leaving here 
 myself, and I thought it just possible that 
 you too might be contemplating a move up 
 country or somewhere." 
 
WHY NOT RETURN ? 145 
 
 " You, Mrs. Devereaux," Gerard stammered. 
 It was such a shock to him he could scarcely 
 frame his words. He had never once 
 thought of the possibility of her going 
 away. 
 
 " Yes ; as soon as I can make the neces- 
 sary arrangements." 
 
 " Where do you go ? " he inquired, con- 
 cealing his eagerness but poorly. 
 
 "Back to England. I am so funny, so 
 eccentric in my movements," she added, 
 " but I am getting rather tired of the heat ; 
 it tries me, and lately I have not felt quite 
 as well as I should wish, and I think the 
 change to the colder climate might do me 
 good." 
 
 He was perfectly calm now. If she could 
 speak so lightly of leaving him, of placing 
 a few thousand miles of water between 
 them, how could she mind one jot where 
 he went or what became of him? 
 
 " And when do you think of sailing ? " 
 he asked in an off-hand tone, though with 
 his lips compressed tightly and a look of 
 
 VOL. I. 10 
 
146 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 determination that she had never seen on 
 his face before. The coolness of the ques- 
 tion surprised her and she glanced up at 
 him. It almost made her doubt her own 
 power for an instant. Was he really in 
 love with her or not? Could she be mis- 
 taken ? It was impossible. 
 
 " I don't know, yet, but it will be soon. 
 And that reminds me, Mr. Clarencourt, 
 would it be too much to ask you to inquire 
 for me how the boats go ? Of course there 
 are the regular mails, but there may be 
 others starting which would suit me equally 
 well; at all events it might be advisable to 
 know." 
 
 " I shall be delighted," he answered coolly. 
 " How sudden it all seems ! When I was 
 last here I little thought that I should re- 
 ceive a commission from you to look out 
 for a steamer to convey you away. I 
 don't think you could have given me a 
 greater surprise." 
 
 Those heedless words which he spoke 
 tore at his very heart-strings. They hurt 
 
WHY NOT EETUEN ? 147 
 
 him like the sharp thrusts of a stiletto. 
 She should not see his misery. She should 
 never be able to say that she had con- 
 quered him and won his love. No matter 
 what the agony he had to endure, he would 
 writhe under it alone, in secret, and she 
 should be none the wiser. Such were the 
 thoughts in his heart. Gerard Clarencourt 
 had a nature capable of loving honourably 
 and to desperation so long as life should 
 last, were the love he sought as freely given, 
 with a trust and frankness that equalled 
 his own. But the blue blood of his race 
 welled through his veins and his pride rescued 
 him from permitting his affection to be 
 seen where it had been misplaced. He 
 would have bid good-bye to Ada Devereaux 
 at that moment and left her with as firm 
 a step, and with as calm a smile upon his 
 face, as he would have done had the fare- 
 well, which was to separate them for ever, 
 been addressed to an every day acquaint- 
 ance. Mrs. Devereaux, as she watched him, 
 began to feel anxious. She had hoped that 
 
 10—2 
 
148 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 he would have proposed what she wished, 
 but she saw that she had committed a 
 blunder, though one luckily not irrepar- 
 able. 
 
 " I think you said that you had no plans 
 for the future, Mr. Clarencourt. If you 
 have nothing better to do why not be con- 
 tent with what you have seen of India ? " 
 
 Even yet he was obstinate, he did not 
 choose to see what she meant. 
 
 " Then where should I go ? " 
 
 "Eeturn to England." 
 
 '' With— with you ? " The blood rushed 
 to his face as the words passed his lips before 
 he well knew that he had spoken. Mrs. Deve- 
 reaux glanced at him as he said them, and 
 that look told her that he belonged to her 
 to do with as she chose. Then she broke 
 into the low, sweet laugh that was so allur- 
 ing and that he loved to hear. 
 
 " Yes, why not ? there can be no good 
 in your broiling yourself out here, besides 
 it will be so nice to return together, and 
 the voyage won't seem half so long to either 
 
WHY NOT RETURN ? 149 
 
 of US. I shall have earned the everlasting 
 gratitude of your relations for bringing 
 you back." 
 
 " I have none who would care two straws 
 whether I returned or not, or who would 
 shed a tear the more if the next mail carried 
 to them the news of my death." 
 
 She had struck upon a delicate chord 
 in his being, and it had evoked that passion- 
 ate reply, had aroused the demon of bitter- 
 ness which lurked in the inmost recesses 
 of his hot, impulsive nature, and the words 
 had broken from him with the rush and 
 impetuosity of a pent-up torrent. 
 
 " Why, you are quite cross. One would 
 think that you had not a friend in the world 
 to care for you, or a relation who would 
 miss your presence. Years ago, when I 
 was foolishly romantic, I should have been 
 tempted to believe that you had a history ; 
 that some blight had fallen upon your early 
 life and had made it not quite so happy 
 as you could have wished. I half think it 
 now." 
 
150 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 "Then don't, Mrs. Devereaux. The world 
 wags with me as well as it does with others, 
 far better than with many, I have no doubt. 
 But few can boast that their course through 
 it is smooth and unruffled at times by 
 storms." 
 
 To some women it is given to console. In 
 their faces one reads that in them exists a 
 softness of nature, a sorrowing heart for the 
 woes of others, a kindred spirit which soothes 
 the troubled one, like oil upon rough waters. 
 But to Mrs. Devereaux belonged nothing of 
 this. That, too, was not added as a means 
 of destruction, whereby she might the more 
 easily have wrecked men's hearts. Many who 
 had seen life and knew most of its ups and 
 downs, and had learnt to value goodness as 
 well as beauty, would have recognized this 
 fatal defect, this lack of sympathy, and would 
 have turned from the glamour which she shed 
 about her unharmed, because of that blank in 
 her character. Not so Gerard, his years had 
 been too few to have taught him to dis- 
 criminate so minutely. As he looked at her 
 
WHY NOT RETUKN ? 151 
 
 he felt that he could not confide — that he 
 could not tell her of his inmost troubles, but 
 he never paused or sought for a reason. It 
 was enough for him that she was lovely as a 
 siren. 
 
 "But you have not told me yet that you 
 like my proposal, that you approve of it." 
 
 " With all my heart." 
 
 " And you will come, and let me tease you 
 and drive you to distraction with endless 
 questions, for I talk twice as much when I am 
 at sea. The fact is, I am afraid of myself if a 
 fit of the dumps does overtake me. From my 
 heart I pity you, Mr. Clarencourt ; I am most 
 terribly exacting, and shall keep you half the 
 day running for cushions and wraps, scent 
 bottles and a thousand odds and ends. What ! 
 I have not frightened you with such a 
 catalogue ? " 
 
 " Not in the very least, nothing could give 
 me more pleasure." His voice fell into a 
 whisper, and he gazed into her eyes with the 
 soft love light in his. He iwould have said 
 more then, but she rose, with the light laugh 
 
152 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 peculiar to her. The star of brilliants which 
 she wore in her hair scintillated under the 
 subdued rays of the oil lamps. It was im- 
 possible for Mrs. Devereaux to move, to walk 
 across a room without displaying an easy 
 grace of carriage. Not the faintest trace 
 of anything that could have been termed 
 awkwardness by the harshest critic was ever 
 observable in her most trifling gesture. There 
 was that indescribable something which 
 stamped her at once as well born and bred, 
 no matter what her faults or the evil which 
 lurked under that silken mask of smiles with 
 which she cloaked her true nature. It was 
 there, and could never be obliterated while 
 life lasted. Gerard, as he watched her, 
 thought to himself that before him stood the 
 woman who would, if he won her, grace his 
 home, of whom his father had he lived would 
 have been proud, and against whom his 
 mother, haughty and supercilious though she 
 was, could scarcely cavil. 
 
 "And, with all I have said, I have not 
 robbed myself of your allegiance ? " she asked 
 
WHY NOT KETUEN ? 153 
 
 in a bantering tone. Gerard answered her as 
 lightly : 
 
 " I am looking forward to the starting time 
 already." 
 
 " Then, in truth, you are a very squire of 
 dames, Mr. Clarencourt, if the picture of sub- 
 mission and patient waiting to obey my most 
 exacting behests which I have drawn for you 
 has not frightened you from taking such a 
 plunge." 
 
 " There is nothing that you can ask that 
 I will not gladly do," he answered gently. 
 And she knew he spoke the truth. 
 
 " Why, how stupid of me ! I have forgotten 
 the news of the day, which you cannot have 
 heard or you would have said something 
 before this." 
 
 " I know of none worth repeating." 
 
 " I shall tell it to you, and sing one song, 
 your favourite, and then you must go. I am 
 going to treat you quite as an old friend, and 
 not stand on ceremony. The news is that the 
 10th is ordered up country, and they leave 
 almost immediately. So that if you want to 
 
154 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 see Mr. Carelesse you must go down to tlie 
 fort early to-morrow." 
 
 " I am not surprised, Mrs. Devereaux ; you 
 haven't been wading through long leading 
 articles as • I have, I expect, or you would 
 have wondered with me that we have not 
 come to blows with the Eussians long ago. 
 They want a thrashing badly." 
 
 " Well, I am not very keen on politics, I 
 confess, and so Mr. Carelesse when he told me 
 this morning rather astonished me." She had 
 seated herself before the piano again while she 
 was speaking, and, as her voice rose and fell, 
 reverberating through the room to the strains 
 of the song he liked best to hear, he fell to 
 wondering whether she would care as little if 
 he changed places with Carelesse, and left her 
 for all the horrors and hardships of war. 
 Perhaps to fill a soldier's grave under a clump 
 of palms, round which had thundered the 
 charging squadrons in all the pomp and mag- 
 nificence of war. Fighting inch by inch, and 
 dyeing the golden sand with the blood of 
 their best and bravest. A soldier's grave 
 
WHY NOT RETURN ? 155 
 
 with the tents of the swarming hordes of 
 Afghans pitched above it. Unmarked, the 
 rude wood cross that was once there, loner 
 since torn up or trampled upon by the hoofs 
 of the Eussian chargers, or the rolling wheel 
 of the Kebitka. Unmarked, and, alas, too 
 soon forgotten ; chill winds and hot sultry- 
 blasts sweeping over it and rudely stirring the 
 tufts of rough, coarse herbage or cactus that 
 had reared itself above the mouldering bones 
 of him that once was all that the proudest 
 chivalry could have wished, all that a loving 
 mother could have coveted. It would have 
 been good for Gerard had he known the 
 truth then, could he have learned that in 
 her heart of hearts she cared for him less 
 than for the fit of her gloves. But it was 
 not to be. He heard her song to the end, 
 thanked her, and bid her good-night with a 
 smile on his lips, and a tumult of happiness 
 within that he had never known before. Out 
 into the moonlit garden, he went remem- 
 bering her words and teaching himself to 
 think that she loved him, while she watched 
 
156 
 
 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 his retreating figure until hidden from her 
 sight, and thought, as she moved away, what 
 a fool he was and how easy to dupe. 
 
CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 WARNED IN VAIN. 
 
 " Don't do it, Mr. Gerard, don't go, sir." 
 
 The words sounded strangely like a warning 
 to Gerard, and escaped Wilson's lips in a last 
 appeal. He had put ojOT the evil moment as 
 long as he could, well knowing how impetu- 
 ous his young master was, and how little likely 
 to brook advice or interference even from him, 
 but he dared delay no longer, and, come what 
 might, he resolved to speak his mind fearlessly, 
 and do his duty by the only child of his late 
 benefactor. That morning he had received in- 
 structions to have everything packed in readi- 
 ness for conveyance on board ship. Of course 
 he had known for days that there was some 
 probability of leaving Calcutta, but he had 
 not been told for what destination until 
 Gerard, in the exuberance of his joy, and in 
 
158 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 high spirits at the prospect of uncounted 
 as well as uninterrupted golden hours to be 
 spent with the fair Devereaux, told him that 
 they were returning to England, and then 
 afterwards mentioned incidentally that Mrs. 
 Devereaux, the lady to whom he had some- 
 times despatched him with notes, bouquets of 
 flowers, &c., had engaged a berth in the same 
 steamer. It was impossible that Wilson could 
 have been blind to the events of the past few 
 weeks. At first he had noticed the change in 
 Gerard's manner, and wondered what could 
 have caused it ; he was preoccupied, irrit- 
 able, gloomy, or in the highest spirits, as the 
 fit seized him, and all within the round of 
 the clock. So different to his own even tem- 
 perament, and — what caused Wilson to bestow 
 so much thought on the matter — so changed 
 towards himself. He could hardly recollect 
 ever having received a harsh word from 
 Gerard; he had been kindness and good nature 
 itself to him until they set foot in India, and 
 since that eventful day he had been exacting 
 and ill-tempered, or overwhelmingly kind. 
 
[WARNED IN VAIN. 159 
 
 Naturally enough Wilson had not been slow 
 to cast about for a reason to account for 
 the visible change he had noticed. And 
 before long he became possessed with the 
 idea that he had discovered that cause 
 in the person of Mrs. Devereaux. This 
 suspicion became verified as small events 
 succeeded each other in quick succession 
 and by close observation he put two and 
 two together. It was no insolent curiosity 
 which actuated him, but a watchful regard 
 and a dread of any harm which might 
 come of the intimacy. From the first 
 moment that Wilson set eyes upon Mrs. 
 Devereaux might be dated a strong dis- 
 like and aversion. Inwardly, and perhaps 
 instinctively, he felt that she meant no good. 
 Gerard glanced up from the leaves of the 
 paper he was reading, attracted by Wilson's 
 words. He did not choose to recognize their 
 purport at first. 
 
 " What do you mean, Wilson ? " he asked. 
 
 " Well, sir, if I might be bold to speak, 
 though I know as you'll be like to take it ill, 
 
160 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 comin' from the likes of me. But I can't 
 lielp myself, Mr. Gerard ; the truth must 
 out, sir, or I should bust, and never forgive 
 myself for not warnin' of you in time." 
 
 Gerard had thrown his head back on 
 the lounge on which he was reclining full 
 length, attired in a loose, thin-textured smok- 
 ing suit. And as each word issued very 
 deliberately from Wilson's lips, his grey eyes, 
 which looked darkest blue in some lights 
 and almost black when the fire of his nature 
 was roused within him, opened their widest, 
 and he gazed at his servant as if he was 
 fully convinced that the heat of the sun had 
 been too much for the good man. The 
 whole time that he was speaking Wilson 
 had brushed away at a serge suit which he 
 was in the act of stowing into a capacious 
 portmanteau, with a nervous energy which 
 threatened to transform it speedily into some- 
 thing unfit for wear, if the cleansing process 
 continued much longer. 
 
 "Don't be doin' it, Mr. Gerard. Askin' 
 your pardon for saying of it, but don't you 
 
AVARXED IN VAIN. 161 
 
 o'O and let yourself le a-tempted into goin' 
 aboard tliat boat with that woman." 
 
 " What the devil do you mean, Wilson ? " 
 thundered Gerard, now fairly beside himself, 
 springing to a sitting posture, his eyes spark- 
 ling with annoyance and a red flush of anger 
 on his cheek. 
 
 " Nothin,' sir, more than what I've 
 said.*' 
 
 "I insist upon a full explanation of your 
 extraordinary conduct." 
 
 " Well, the murder's out, Mr. Gerard, and 
 I'm glad of it." 
 
 " What do you refer to ? " 
 
 "It's just this, sir, and if it do cost me 
 my place " 
 
 " Are vou mad, Wilson ? " 
 
 " An it please you, Mr. Gerard, my mind 
 is as clear as your own. But listen to me, 
 sir. This thought, so sudden and unreason- 
 able like, won't do you no good, nor nobody 
 as belongs to you, sir, because it's all along 
 of that woman. What "did she want to ao 
 and entrap you into promisin' to go back 
 
 VOL. I. 11 
 
162 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 liome with her, if it was not for some pur- 
 pose of her own ? " 
 
 " Do you dare to speak of Mrs. Devereaux 
 in such language ? " 
 
 " It's just her and nobody else that I'm 
 meanin'. I've watched her, sir, and she's as 
 false as she is beautiful." 
 
 " Silence ! confound you." 
 
 " No, sir ; I'll just ask you for the sake of 
 the time I've served you and yours to hear 
 me to the end. I've not slept at nights 
 for thinkin', and can you tell me, sir, 
 whether I mean anythin' but what's to your 
 good?" 
 
 " Say no more, Wilson ; go about your 
 work, and this absurd behaviour shall be 
 passed over." 
 
 " Take warnin', Mr. Gerard, for God's sake, 
 before it's too late. I've lived many more 
 years than you have, sir." 
 
 " What are you afraid of ? From what 
 evil do you wish to warn me ? Mrs. 
 Devereaux is a lady, and as a friend can do 
 me no harm." 
 
WARNED IN VAIN. 163 
 
 " She's more than that to you, sir ; but it's 
 your money she's after, and she don't care for 
 you any more than she do for her cast-off 
 dresses. I've seen the likes of her in my time. 
 A lady ! you're right, sir ; there's no denyin' 
 that^ but false and fickle, greedy and 
 graspin', cold as the grave, with never a 
 thought but of how much money she'll be 
 able to spend on her bonnets and furbelows. 
 Wicked isn't the word for her. Didn't I see 
 it the first time as I looked her square in 
 face?" 
 
 Gerard had slowly raised himself into a 
 standing posture, the very laziness and indo- 
 lence of his movements, the cold pallor of his 
 face betokening the torrent of suppressed rage 
 under which he laboured. He paced the 
 room with long strides, his eyes gleaming 
 with passionate anger, and his lithe form 
 quivering with temper, which he could ill 
 restrain ; but he did contrive to control him- 
 self until Wilson was apparently tired out 
 and paused for want of breath. Then he 
 went up to him. 
 
 11-2 
 
164 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " No servant, save you, should have dared 
 to speak to me as you have done. I would 
 have struck hhn down before me. Your 
 years and faithfulness to my father shall be 
 your plea with. me. But mark what I say, 
 Never dare to mention her name to me again, 
 Never let it cross your lips unless with 
 expressions of respect. The day that you do 
 so, you leave my service. I could have borne 
 an insult to myself, but — but 7iot to her.'' 
 
 One glance at the determined expression of 
 Gerard's features had assured Wilson that his 
 cause w^as hopeless. He remembered the 
 same look in his father's face, and knew, w^hen 
 he saw its living impress re-awakened and 
 stamped upon the son, that it would be as 
 easy to divert the whirlwind from its course 
 as to attempt to alter or dissuade him from 
 any step wdiicli he might choose to take. 
 Some of the old legends of the family recurred 
 to his mind as they had been related to him, 
 and they were believed in to the full by every 
 labourer on the Irish estates. Of the dark, 
 stormy and passionate Clarencourts, terrible 
 
WARNED IN VAIN. 165 
 
 in hate wlien roused by anger or jealousy, 
 but soft and gentle as women towards those 
 they loved and found not false. And Wilson 
 bowed his head and murmured his last 
 appeal. 
 
 " Mr. Gerard, forgive me, sir. I couldn't 
 have helped what I said, no, not suppose 
 you had killed me. I've been faithful and 
 true to you, as I was to your father. I'm 
 feared for you, sir, but I'll hold my peace, 
 except to ask you to remember your mother, 
 and do nothin' rash." 
 
 With the salt tears standinsr in his eves he 
 passed out through the door and closed it 
 gently behind him. Through many an hour 
 of bitter regret and misery which coiled about 
 his heart in the years which followed Gerard 
 had cause to remember that warning. 
 
 g< Qj -' \:^ 
 
CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 The thick brown current of the Hooghly had 
 ceased in its upward tidal rush, and the vast 
 volume of water was again gurgling in deep 
 eddies on its downward course to the sea. 
 Slowly and with majestic sweep a huge and 
 stately steamer cleft her course into mid 
 stream. Groups of noisy natives were 
 watching her from under the shadow of the 
 trees which fringed the banks ; sailors paused 
 in their work on board the liners to give 
 her a cheer ; and knots of them discussed her 
 merits from numerous fo'castle heads and 
 waved their hats with lusty hurrah to wish 
 her God speed. She was barque-rigged, and 
 painted jet black, but for the thin line of 
 white, no broader than a narrow ribbon, which 
 traversed her sides ; her yards and the greater 
 
THE "SIMOOM." 167 
 
 portion of her masts were of tlie same sombre 
 hue, and lier rigging was taut, in perfect order, 
 and well set up. The single word " Simoom " 
 caught the eye in plain letters upon her bows, 
 and under her counter it was repeated again 
 with the additional word of "London,"' 
 showing that she hailed from that port. 
 Passengers paced to and fro under the 
 awning on the saloon deck, conversing to- 
 gether, or leaning against the rails, pulling at 
 their cheroots in silence as they scanned the 
 rapidly changing landscape. The vessel was 
 the mail steamer bound to London, and 
 Gerard Clarencourt, Mrs. Devereaux and ser- 
 vants were on board. Quickly she dropped 
 down stream as the strength of the tide 
 increased, past Kiddnapore and Diamond 
 Harbour, between low-lying banks of green 
 leafy foliage, which far as the eye could 
 reach were broken by no hills or eminence of 
 any height, but faded away into distant 
 stretches of jungle, where the tiger loved still 
 to lurk. Clusters of low leaf-thatched huts, 
 shaped like huge bee-hives, half hidden 
 
168 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 amidst ferns, banana trees and palms, ap- 
 peared at intervals. That day passed and 
 the evening of the next saw the " Simoom " 
 well on her way. The pilot had left them, 
 and been rowed on board the brig which 
 was his floatim:^ home, there to await the next 
 chance which might be met with, by cruising 
 off the mouth of the river until he should 
 fall in with another vessel bound for the City 
 of Palaces. The low outline of Saugor Island 
 had disappeared astern, and the iron bows of 
 the steamer, which carried all that Gerard 
 Clarencourt loved best in the world, cleft the 
 waters of the Bay of Bengal. The sun was 
 just lingering upon the edge of the horizon 
 before disappearing for the night, producing 
 one of those grand effects of nature which 
 can scarcely be seen without impressing one 
 forcibly with a feeling of intense admiration 
 and wonder. Most of the passengers were on 
 deck, gazing upon the gorgeous colours arrayed 
 in one vast and startling panorama before 
 them. Gerard was leaning over the rail, and a 
 few feet further off Mrs. Devereaux reclined in 
 
THE "SIMOOM." IG'J 
 
 the easiest of cane chairs. Immediately 
 overhead the sky was of the deepest blue, 
 gradually toning down as it neared the sun 
 into the faintest and most delicate tints of sea- 
 green ; masses of golden clouds were scattered 
 over this, like tiny fleecy islets and long, nar- 
 row streaks of land of brightest gold, in a sea of 
 exquisite aqua marine. Dark purple clouds 
 which had assumed the most fantastic and 
 extravagant forms : here the lofty conical 
 peaks of a range of mighty mountains reared 
 their sharp summits, while away to the left 
 drifted detached masses of vapour, like huge 
 trees and sailing ships under every stitch of 
 canvas, and behind these the sun was slowly 
 disappearing below the edge of the sea, blood 
 red in hue. And on the glassy, rolling surface 
 of the ocean was reflected, as in a mirror, 
 the wondrous hues of the sublimely tinted 
 heavens. 
 
 " Mon Dieu ! how beautiful ! how grandt ! " 
 muttered Julie, Mrs. Devereaux's French 
 soubrette, from where she stood, down 
 on the main deck. And Gerard who was 
 
170 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 roused by the exclamation, whicli he heard 
 distinctly, as he happened to be standing 
 immediately above her, turned to address 
 Mrs. Devereaux. 
 
 " Fine, isn't it ? " he asked. 
 
 "Yes, of course it is ; but to judge from the 
 amount of attention you bestow upon it, one 
 would think that really you had never seen 
 the sun set before. It is too absurd." She 
 went through the little farce of biting her lip, 
 and pouted ;so prettily at the same time that 
 Gerard, who took the words as a compliment, 
 moved nearer to her. 
 
 " Yes ; come and talk to me." 
 
 " If you will let me." 
 
 " Nonsense ; don't talk rubbish, or you 
 had better go back to your former delight- 
 ful occupation of craning your neck and 
 peering at the sun. If I didn't want you I 
 should not ask you." 
 
 " You are cross to-night." 
 
 " And you are polite. Though, what if I 
 am ? Did I not warn you of my sad eccen- 
 tricities, and yet you chose to come." 
 
THE"SOI00M." 171 
 
 "And would do the same again," he an- 
 swered, as he leaned over the back of her seat. 
 
 " But let me tell you your troubles haven't 
 begun yet ; I shall tease you frightfully before 
 we say good-bye in London." The remark 
 smote upon Gerard's ear just as she had 
 intended that it should. The idea of ever leav- 
 ing her had not occurred to him of late. So 
 happy had he been made by the thought of a 
 life, every hour of which would be spent in 
 the same atmosphere which she breathed, a 
 life in which he should be thrown into constant 
 and close intimacy with her, that he never 
 troubled himself by anticipating evil, or 
 spoiling his bliss by thinking of what ills 
 the future might have in store for him. It 
 was enough that they were together, his 
 cup was brimful to overflowing, but why 
 should she dash over some of the contents by 
 suggesting that they must part ? That was 
 what pained him, and that she should do it so 
 heedlessly piqued his vanity. He did not 
 understand — how should he ? — the role that 
 she had allotted to herself. 
 
172 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 "By tlie way, when you get there, where 
 do you intend to go? What shall you do 
 with yourself ? Kill time by a butterfly exist- 
 ence, a round of the theatres, whist at the 
 clubs, varied by light and dainty little dinners 
 at the ' Star and Garter,' and a romantic 
 drive home in the moonlight, with a pretty 
 woman clutching your arm in nervous dread 
 • of your upsetting her. A pair of bright eyes 
 gazing into yours, looking all sorts of things 
 ^nd begging you to be careful for her sake ? '* 
 
 "Is my torture already commencing ? " he 
 asked, as he edged in the words during a 
 slight pause in her rantipole tirade. 
 
 " It is for you to judge of that. But would 
 you fetch me a shawl ? The air is quite chilly, 
 it makes me shiver. Oh, how I do detest 
 cold ! " 
 
 " And yet you are returning to the most 
 changeable and trying climate in the world." 
 
 " I know it." 
 
 " But you thought fit to go." 
 
 "My health would have given way com- 
 pletely had I lived longer in Calcutta. Poor 
 
THE "SIMOOM." 173 
 
 old Maltby — you know Maltby, you met him 
 at my liouse. How fond he was of me, dear 
 deluded man ! " Gerard winced. "Well, the 
 very last time he attended me he told me for 
 a positive fact that nothing but change of 
 air could save me from a decline." 
 
 " Do you really mean it? Did he think you 
 so ill?" 
 
 Gerard's face as he put the question wore 
 an expression of the deepest concern. 
 
 "He did, I can assure you, Mr. Clarencourt."^ 
 Mrs. Devereaux's face beamed with truth and 
 candour as she told her pretty white lie. 
 Gerard was thinking just then of what he 
 would give to hear her lips utter the two 
 syllables which formed his Christian name, for 
 the formal application of Mr., as he bent over 
 her, sounded strange!}^ harsh. Would he ever 
 be all in all to this woman, he wondered. 
 
 " Then you must take the greatest care of 
 yourself," at length he answered. 
 
 " And despise shawls or wraps when the 
 air is cold ? " 
 
 " Forgive me ; how thoughtless ! " 
 
174 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " Not in the least. Go and get it, and 
 then come back and tell me something about 
 your home in Devonshire." 
 
 There v^as a ring of satire in her voice as 
 she spoke. But he never noticed it as, intent 
 upon his errand, he sprang down the com- 
 panion, in his haste stumbling over and 
 nearly knocking down two people who were 
 standinoj too'ether at the foot. One was the 
 French soubrette, the other Wilson, Gerard's 
 servant. 
 
 " His home, Ids home. I must induce him 
 to talk of it. It will be a place worth 
 owning, if all that Carelesse said was true, 
 and I don't see any good reason for doubting 
 him. No ; Geoffrey's worst fault was that of 
 being a fool. He was too simple, but it was 
 fortunate for me, extremely fortunate. I feel 
 more comfortable now that a few miles of 
 blue water lie between us." 
 
 Mrs. Devereaux soliloquized thus to her- 
 self while she waited Gerard's return. 
 
 "What an age he is! I suppose he can't 
 find it. I know I left it in the cabin. How 
 
THE "SIMOOM." 175 
 
 Stupid ! I ought to have sent him to find 
 Julie." 
 
 " Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mrs. 
 Devereaux, but " 
 
 " Oh, never mind, I had only just begun 
 to despair of your return, but what delayed 
 you? Have you been flirting with the 
 stewardess ? or " 
 
 "I could not find the wrap in the cabin 
 where you thought you had left it. You 
 tease me most unmercifully. How can you 
 think me guilty of such frivolity ? " 
 
 " I suppose you are much the same as 
 other men, inconstant ever ; the charm of a 
 pretty face being at all times too much for 
 you to resist." 
 
 " I hope to prove to yo\i that I am worthy 
 of more lenient judgment," he answered, as 
 he bent over her and threw the wrap about 
 her shoulders. 
 
 "Quite impossible that you should ever 
 impress me so favourably. What are you 
 but a man, and as such you must be a flirt. 
 Why, even now, I have not the least doubt 
 
176 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 that fair creatures in suburban villas and 
 daughters of county magnates are bemoaning 
 your absence, stupid enough to believe that 
 in you they have at length discovered their 
 Leander, who shall be capable of swimming 
 through this world of temptation, and 
 remain staunch and true to them to the 
 end. Come now, confide in me. Am I not 
 right?" 
 
 " No, as wholly wTong as it is possible for 
 you to be." 
 
 '' I can't believe it. Experience robs one 
 of romance." 
 
 " I told you once that I know of none 
 w^ho would trouble themselves about my fate 
 if I never returned to England. The men 
 wdio would come and stay wdth me, and drink 
 my wine for the simple reason that they 
 know it to be old and of rare vintage ; and 
 avail themselves of my hospitality because I 
 happen to have some coverts w^orth shooting 
 over ; might find it in their hearts to discuss 
 my continued absence or my untimely 
 decease, as the case might be, but it would 
 
THE "SIMOOM." 177 
 
 be because they missed the shooting, and not 
 me. 
 
 " How terribly cynical you are to night ! 
 Yet you shall not wander from the point. 
 Now, tell me ; will none of your Devonshire 
 friends (I mean the women of course) be 
 thinking tenderly of you, their hearts pierced 
 by a hidden wound which can only be healed 
 by your re-appearance ? " 
 
 " If they have been stricken then it is un- 
 known to me," he answered with a laugh. 
 Yet even as he spoke the dainty form 
 and brown eyes of Lilian Fabyn rose up 
 before him, as if to upbraid him for 
 his words, and (could he but have known 
 it) she was thinking of him then, and 
 praying in her inmost heart that he might 
 be brought back to her, and sighing for 
 the time, which she fondly hoped would come 
 some day, when he should return her love. 
 What a kindly mercy it is that we frail 
 human beings, so entirely dependent upon 
 the surroundings in which we are placed, 
 the good or ill which may betide us, should 
 
 VOL. I. 12 
 
178 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 be debarred from knowing what the future 
 has in store, and that a great and fathomless 
 gulf should intervene, presenting an impass- 
 able barrier to prevent us from crossing and 
 exploring that shadowy land of doubt which 
 lies beyond the present. Had Lilian Fabyn 
 possessed the power of gazing into futurity, 
 of looking ahead a few short weeks only, 
 her life would have been a load well-nigh 
 too heavy to bear. And all but that life 
 she would have gladly given to have been 
 able to pull down to the ground with her 
 trembling fingers the barrier, daily increasing 
 in strength and solidity, which was steadily 
 rearing its head, to separate from her the 
 hopes she fondly cherished. She would have 
 sickened and turned away from reading what 
 more the shifting sands of time could have in 
 store for her. 
 
 Gerard's thoughts had wandered for a brief 
 space away to the breezy uplands of Devon, 
 to the deep, shady hollows and lanes where 
 stood Clifford's Wood, the home that he loved 
 so well. And imagrination drew for him the 
 
THE "SIMOOM." 179 
 
 cold, proud face of his mother as he had seen 
 her last. But the sound of Mrs. Devereaux's 
 voice recalled him to himself. 
 
 " How dull and preoccupied you seem to- 
 night." 
 
 " Do YOU think so ? " 
 
 " Yes?' 
 
 " Then I imist be horribly boorish, but you 
 will pardon me." 
 
 " No, I won't. Why should I ? You do 
 not deserve forgiveness. You have smoked 
 half a cheroot at least, and have never 
 troubled yourself to address one civil remark 
 to me." 
 
 " Be merciful, even as you hope for mercy," 
 he lau orbed. 
 
 '• I shall die of e?inui before the voyage is 
 ended. Why, the first week has not passed, 
 and I am beginning to feel triste and bored. 
 I shall have to get up a flirtation with that 
 withered-looking Civil Service man, to kill 
 time." 
 
 Gerard glanced over his shoulder, but could 
 nowhere see the shrivelled individual alluded 
 
 12 2 
 
180 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 to by Mrs. Devereaux, so returned to the 
 charge. 
 
 " You are not going below so soon, are 
 you?" 
 
 " Yes ; this night air chills me through, 
 and is insupportable with such a dull com- 
 panion." 
 
 '"• Give me one more chance. Stay ten 
 minutes longer, and I will do my utmost to 
 make myself agreeable," pleaded Gerard, as a 
 sudden idea struck him. 
 " It would be useless." 
 " Try me." 
 
 " To-morrow, Mr. Clarencourt, you shall be 
 put to the test, and 1 have no doubt you will 
 come off with flying colours." 
 
 Gerard offered his escort down the com- 
 panion ladder, and a thrill of pleasure shot 
 through his veins as she accepted it, and her 
 soft white arm rested on his. At the entrance 
 to her cabin, she gave him her hand and 
 said : 
 
 " Good-night, Mr. Clarencourt ; that you can 
 be as pleasant as one could wish I know, so 
 
THE "SIMOOM." lil 
 
 do your best when we meet on deck in the 
 morning. It will never do for you and me to 
 play at cross purposes." 
 
 He longed to fold her in his arms there and 
 then, to pour into her ears the oft-told story, 
 and learn from her lips that his confessions of 
 love were not in vain. Another moment, and 
 she was gone. The thin partition which shut 
 her off from him had closed, and Gerard re- 
 traced his steps along the narrow passage 
 which led to her berth, and returned to the 
 deck. 
 
 "Had she only stayed," he muttered, "I 
 would have told her how I love her. I must 
 know ; this suspense is harder to bear than the 
 knowledge of the worst. She shall be my 
 wife," he added, as he lit another cigar and 
 commenced a solitary walk up and down the 
 deck. Never in all his life had he felt such 
 uncertainty ; never had he been so undecided 
 or experienced such want of confidence in him- 
 self. It was not like him ; by nature he was 
 resolute. He could have expressed his deter- 
 mination on any subject on which he had duly 
 
182 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 reflected, without the slightest hesitation, rely- 
 ing on his own perspicacity and sound j udgment . 
 Here he was at fault. He could not summon 
 courage to tell this woman that he loved her, 
 though he had made up his mind (or thought 
 he had) a score of times. Whenever the op- 
 portunity came, he had always let it slip by, 
 too nervous to trust himself; afraid of the 
 plunge he was taking, or the chilling answer 
 he might receive. To confess one's love for a 
 woman ; to ask her to take with you the most 
 important and irretrievable step in life ; to 
 make the leap, the depth of which it is im- 
 possible to gauge, must, or ought to be, a 
 stride — the length and cost of which has been 
 well counted ; and the man who might with 
 steady hand and with his feet thrust home in 
 the stirrups rush his horse at the biggest bull- 
 finch with the coolest precision, or stand for 
 hours exposed to a galling fire from the eneni}^ 
 without moving a muscle to indicate anything 
 like fear, may well pause and swerve, and 
 finally beat an ignominious retreat when fo- 
 cussed by a pair of bright eyes and hedged up 
 
THE "SIMOOM." 183 
 
 in a corner, by the idea which spite of him 
 will assert itself: that it is just on the cards 
 that his sentiments are not reciprocated, and 
 that consequently he may have to retire look- 
 ing -uncommonly sheepish and woefully crest- 
 fallen. Or what if the fair lady before whose 
 shrine he is about to bow has only been keep- 
 ing her hand in, and exercising her well-known 
 flirting propensities, as she has done already 
 upon Slingsby, of the Blues, little Tom Chafton, 
 who really was horribly smitten, and a score 
 of others ? Or worse still, in thinking he will 
 try to win a being who will prove to him a 
 boon and a blessing, a lover and a friend in 
 one, it is just possible that the dear girl 
 whose character he has endeavoured to make 
 a study of (though at the end of his close 
 scrutiny he is forced to admit to himself he is 
 little wiser than on the day they met), may 
 be sailing under false colours. And he to his 
 woe may find (but, alas! too late) that while 
 fishing for a luxury, for which he was about 
 to exchange his pleasant bachelor quarters, 
 he has caught a tartar that will test his adroit- 
 
184 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 ness to the utmost limits to shake off again. 
 No doubt, when in the heat of the melee, 
 many lose their heads and jump with their 
 eyes shut and their hearts in their mouths, and 
 thus the matrimonial list is swelled. All these 
 and every other kind of doubt entered 
 Gerard's mind, as with quick stride, and while 
 accommodating himself to the roll of the ship, 
 he continued his solitary walk. He tried to 
 recall the words she had used, the looks she 
 had given him ; all that might bid him hope. 
 But against these appeared a formidable array 
 of her sayings and doings which drove him to 
 distraction, and sent him to his couch, long 
 after eight bells had rung out upon the night, 
 perturbed and restless, and though little in- 
 clined to sleep, resolute upon one point, that 
 he would learn his fate ere the sun of the mor- 
 row set. But more was to happen in those 
 few hours than he ever dreamed of. While 
 the sound of Gerard's footsteps echoed above 
 her head, Mrs. Devereaux was holding a con- 
 versation with Julie, her maid, which evidently 
 possessed interest for her. She had, she 
 
 I 
 
THE "SIMOOM." 185 
 
 thought, in tlie person of the soubrette a faith- 
 ful ally and confidante, whom she could trust 
 implicitly, and to her she had in plain lan- 
 guage hinted that it would materially benefit 
 her interests if she could discover, through 
 the agency of Wilson, any facts which would 
 throw a light upon Gerard Clarencourt's 
 position and antecedents, in short, anything 
 and everything which she could learn of his 
 past history. Julie was an apt pupil, and 
 willing enough to enter into the spirit of the 
 thing, not only from a liking which she 
 secretly felt for her mistress, but because she 
 saw an opening for an adventure on her own 
 account. She was pretty, dark haired, with 
 eyes black as sloes, and with all the sparkling, 
 vivacious temperament so entirely character- 
 istic of her nation. Mrs. Devereaux had, 
 when she spoke to her on the subject, laugh- 
 ingly remarked, that her good looks could 
 not fail to tell upon Wilson's susceptibihty. 
 And thus she had contrived to put Julie, who 
 was vain of her appearance and influence over 
 the opposite sex, fairly upon her mettle. One 
 
186 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 besetting sin the soubrette had, and that was, 
 that she spoke the truth only when it suited her. 
 She had already tried the effect of her blandish- 
 ments, and failed, but was she going to admit 
 it? Not likely ! She would be wanting in 
 proper pride. She had sought with the aid of 
 her brightest smile, and her most bewitching 
 air, coupled with a lavish display of her rows 
 of white teeth (which she had hitherto found 
 had done immense execution), to sound Wil- 
 son, but he had withstood all her arts, and she 
 had been forced to leave him, none the wiser 
 for her pains. But Julie was ingenious, and 
 did not despair. She was armed with a quick 
 tongue, and rather than own to defeat, was 
 prepared to answer any questions as she 
 thought proper. 
 
 " Have you anything to tell me ? " asked 
 Mrs. Devereaux the last thin^r before closincr 
 her eyes, addressing the soubrette. 
 
 " What would madame wish to know ? " 
 
 " About Mr. Clarencourt. Have you 
 heard anything about him ? " 
 
 "But ye?, madame." 
 
THE "SIMOOM." 187 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Monsieur Wilson, he tell me every- 
 thing." 
 
 " I am sleepy ; tired of that horrid saloon 
 deck, the stupid people, and the incessant 
 din of the engines. Answer my question 
 straigh tfor war dly . " 
 
 But Mademoiselle Julie was by no means 
 prepared to end the conversation so abruptly. 
 She intended to have her gossip before she 
 retired to rest. She was not tired of her 
 life on the steamer. The steward paid her 
 much attention, not to speak of others ; be- 
 sides she was determined to bring Wilson 
 under subjection. 
 
 "Must I tell madame all at once?" she 
 asked cunningly. 
 
 " Yes, of course, you stupid girl ; who 
 else does it concern but me ? Eepeat to me 
 what Wilson said." Julie thous^ht a moment 
 and then spoke. 
 
 "Well, madame, Wilson tell me that 
 Monsieur Clarencourt is very rich." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
188 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " He have thousands and thousands." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " He have large park, what madame 
 call estate." 
 
 Julie was simply repeating what her 
 sharp ears had picked up of a conversation 
 between her- mistress and Geoffrey Carelesse, 
 part of which she had heard by eaves- 
 dropping. 
 
 Mrs. Devereaux was annoyed. Of course, 
 it was not new to her. 
 
 " Is that all you have learned ? because 
 it amounts to nothing." 
 
 " But no, madame. Wilson tell me 
 all about large, grandt place in Ireland, 
 and that the family of Clarencourt is an- 
 cient and honourable." 
 
 " That will do, Julie. Good-night ; you 
 may save yourself the trouble of telling 
 me more of what I already know. Make 
 better use of your time in future. I shall 
 know how to reward you, so don't forget." 
 
 Mrs. Devereaux rested her fair head 
 upon her pillow and fell to thinking. Think- 
 
THE "SIMOOM." 189 
 
 ing of what she would do with those vast 
 estates when she became mistress of them, 
 and she never for a moment doubted 
 that she should occupy that position. Could 
 it be otherwise? did he not love her? She 
 was sure of that. She had but to wait 
 patiently, and all that he had would be 
 hers. She never bestowed a thought on 
 the pain and the anguish it would cause 
 him if he ever learned that she did 
 not love him. What did it matter to 
 her if she wrecked his life by winning 
 his heart, only to fling it from her when 
 it suited her convenience ? Once the money 
 in her hands (at least to some extent) she 
 would let him understand that maudlin 
 sentiment was not in her line. They would 
 get on very well together. She would take 
 care of that, because it would be essential 
 to her plans to keep in with him, or who 
 would supply the money for her town house, 
 her villa in the South, box at the opera, 
 servants, carriages, and a thousand other 
 little odds and ends, all of which she had 
 
190 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 set her heart upon. But love-making or 
 affection after they were married was not 
 to be thought of. One thing piqued Mrs. 
 Devereaux, for like many people who are 
 beautiful she was proud and vain of her 
 appearance to an absurd degree, and that 
 any man for whom she had chosen to show 
 a decided preference should have resisted 
 her charms, without flinging himself at her 
 feet and acknowledging his weakness, an- 
 noyed her and wounded her amour propre. 
 She cared nothing for him, had a heart 
 above such absurdities, but he should cringe 
 to her yet, and with this thought she fell 
 asleep. 
 
 
CHAPTEE X. 
 
 FROM THE "SIMOOIVrs" DECK. 
 
 In cloudless splendour the morning broke. 
 The wind had freshened and hauled aft, and 
 Davis, the captain, had ordered sail to be 
 made, and with a spanking breeze on the 
 quarter, the " Simoom " bounded along on 
 the starboard tack under steam and sail, her 
 course shaped for Old England, her snowy 
 clouds of canvas bellying, and dashing foun- 
 tains of spray into the air as she clove her way 
 through the mighty masses of surging water. 
 Ear astern a track of seething, bubbling foam, 
 and eddying, miniature whirlpools marked her 
 track, and screaming sea birds hovered in her 
 wake, swooping down with piercing cries to 
 glut their ravenous appetites with dainty mor- 
 sels stirred up and brought to the surface by 
 the iron monster's keel. The skipper paced 
 
192 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 the bridge and conned the ship. Busy life 
 on board the great mail boat had begun, 
 and seamen hurried along the decks, or 
 swarmed like bees in the weather rigging, 
 rattling down, with hitch and seizing. Shoals 
 of flying fish rose from the dancing waters, 
 and scudded away to leeward, chased by 
 their mortal and relentless foes, the alba- 
 core and dolphin. Groups of passengers 
 were gathered in knots, discussing trivial 
 subjects, the last piece of scandal, or the 
 latest news they had gleaned before leaving 
 Calcutta and forgotten to relate. Peals 
 of laughter rang out from several men 
 who had collected in the smoke-room, and 
 who were listening to witty jests and racy 
 stories told by one of their number. Others 
 were lounging on easy cane settees, too lazy 
 or listless to do aught else, or possibly pre- 
 ferring their own thoughts to trying to force 
 a conversation when nothing remained to be 
 told. Gerard Clarencourt had sauntered on 
 deck as usual, but to his annoyance found 
 that Mrs. Devereaux had carried out her 
 
FROM THE "SIMOOM'S" DECK. 193 
 
 threat of flirting, or amusing herself, and was 
 doing so at the expense of a circle of 
 men she had collected about her. What 
 pretty widow could be on board a steamer, 
 boasting a fair complement of the male sex, 
 without attracting due attention and admir- 
 ation from so varied an assortment of in- 
 flammable material? There were army men 
 returning for a few months' leave, yellow- 
 skinned, "jaundiced" looking tea planters 
 from up country, Civil Service men, wealthy 
 merchants, who had made their pile and 
 were going back to the old country for rest, 
 perhaps to look out for a wife to superin- 
 tend the neat little villa on the Thames which 
 they meant to buy, and help them slacken 
 their purse-strings in search of a fashionable 
 existence. Besides, Mrs. Devereaux was more 
 than pretty ; she was a beauty, though 
 of a haughty and proud type. She walked 
 and talked as though . she were cognizant 
 of that important fact, and intended to 
 exact due homage. No stranger could 
 pass her by without a second glance and 
 
 VOL. I. 13 
 
194 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 a desire to know more about her — who 
 she was — and experience a longing to look 
 again upon her clear-cut patrician features. 
 So Mrs. Devereaux had been well discussed 
 and everybody knew everything that was to be 
 learned about her before the Saugor light had 
 sunk astern and the ship was well clear of the 
 river. Considerable jealousy had been gener- 
 ally felt amongst the males that Gerard should 
 have monopolized so much of the fair widow's 
 attention, and so not one of her devotees felt 
 inclined to budge an inch when they saw him 
 appear. Gerard took in the whole situation 
 at a glance, and seeing that there was not 
 the least chance of a tete-a-tete^ walked up 
 and down once or twice, and then, thinking 
 that a quiet cheroot in the smoke-room would 
 be the best thing under the circumstances, 
 found that he had left his cigar case in his 
 berth. He dived down to fetch it, intending 
 to carry out his programme, when the sound 
 of Wilson's voice attracted his attention. As 
 he drew near to his own door, which was 
 hooked back to prevent it from slamming, he 
 
FEOM THE " SIMOOM'S " DECK. 195 
 
 paused to listen for a moment, rather amused, 
 as Wilson was evidently talking to himself. 
 
 " The impertinent hussy, the brazen-faced 
 minx, to think that I should let on to her 
 about Mr. Gerard. But I can't say nothin' ; 
 my hands are tied. Didn't I tell him as how I 
 would never take it upon myself to interfere 
 aofain when he took on so wild last time ? 
 Didn't I tell him that, and didn't he sort o' 
 forgive me ? And here, he's as blind as a bat, 
 and as mad as any March hare after that 
 woman, and me not able to warn nor set him 
 up to her tomfooleries. It's a nice state o' 
 things to put her maid on to findin' out about 
 one's master." Gerard had heard quite 
 enough to make him impatient, so he entered 
 his berth. 
 
 " Get me my cigar case, Wilson ; I think I 
 must have left it in the pocket of that coat 
 hanging up." 
 
 " Yes, sir." 
 
 " And, Wilson." 
 
 " Here it is, sir," said the man as he handed 
 Gerard the missing article. 
 
 13-2 
 
196 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 "Is there anything else that I can get 
 you, Mr. Gerard? 'cause I was going to 
 make bold to go up on deck, if so be as 
 you didn't want me. I've tidied the berth, 
 sir, and laid away all the things nice and 
 straight." 
 
 " No, I don't want anything else." Gerard 
 was irresolute for an instant ; should he 
 question the man or not ? 
 
 " Thank ye, sir." 
 
 " But, Wilson, stay one moment, I have 
 something to say to you." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Gerard." 
 
 " What were you saying to yourself just as 
 I entered? " 
 
 " It's only a bad habit as I've got into of 
 late, but I don't rightly remember what it was 
 all about, some nonsense o' my own, like 
 enough." 
 
 "Think again. I have reasons to believe 
 that it concerns me." 
 
 " I'd rather hold my tongue, sir ; pity I 
 can't when I'm alone, no good can come o' 
 me speakin'." 
 
FROM THE "SIMOOM'S" DECK. 197 
 
 " No harm can when I wish you to do so, 
 and the subject refers to me." 
 
 " Well, sir, it was just all along of that Julie. 
 Now I said as I would never no more inter- 
 fere nor say nothin', but it's your wish, sir, so 
 it's right for certain this time." 
 
 "Goon." 
 
 " Well, JuHe, that's Mrs. Devereaux's maid, 
 came a-bummin' about me, a-wantin' to be 
 friendly ; well, I didn't like to be stand off; 
 she seemed a nice young woman, at first like, 
 but she don't improve upon acquaintance, for 
 the day afore yesterday, and yesterday and 
 this mornin', she've been saucy fit to rile a 
 fellow, sir." 
 
 " What has she done ? " 
 
 " Just asked me all manner o' questions 
 about you, Mr. Gerard." 
 
 " About me ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 "What were they?'* 
 
 " Whether you was rich." 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And how much land you had, and the 
 
198 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 sort o' style you lived in down at Clifford's 
 Wood and over in Ireland." 
 
 " And what answer did you make her ? " 
 
 "Just told her nothin' but what I was 
 proud to tell, and what wouldn't hurt you, 
 Mr. Gerard; that you come o' a good old 
 family as dates back many a year, and one as 
 has served its country afore now at a pinch." 
 
 " Well, I don't see any harm in that ; Julie 
 likes a gossip, that's all." 
 
 " You can't go for to think that Julie is at 
 the bottom o' it. My blood just biled. She 
 never thought o' askin' so much without 
 bein' put up to it. There ain't no millstone to 
 look through, Mr. Gerard, it's all right plain 
 before you, you can't miss seein' of it. It's 
 Mrs. Devereaux's doin', for certain." 
 
 " Wilson, you will remember what I said to 
 you on a former occasion." The dangerous 
 steel-grey light flashed in Gerard's eyes as he 
 spoke. " You will recollect that then I told 
 you never to mention such absurdities to me 
 again. The ideas which you hint at are 
 simply preposterous. Let me hear no more 
 
FROM THE "SIMOOM'S" DECK. 199 
 
 of them. I absolve you from all blame, 
 because it was my wish that you should 
 speak ; but take care that you keep your 
 ridiculous surmises to yourself for the future." 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Gerard." 
 
 " See that you don't forget what I have 
 said." 
 
 " As you wish, sir ; I've done all I can to 
 save you from ruinin' yourself with your eyes 
 shut — for your father's sake, sir, the years as 
 I served him, and for yours. And, as sure as 
 you stands where you are, you'll rue the day 
 as you met Mrs. Devereaux." 
 
 " Thanks for your anxiety, Wilson ; I know 
 you mean it well, but there is no earthly 
 necessity for you to distress yourself on my 
 account. Perhaps your words may prove 
 prophetic ; I don't think they will, but say no 
 more on the subject, and keep your own 
 counsel as to my afiairs." Gerard shrugged 
 his shoulders incredulously as he spoke, 
 as if the bare idea of harm happening 
 to him through Mrs. Devereaux was highly 
 ludicrous. 
 
200 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 Wilson left the berth with a sorrowful ex- 
 pression on his honest face, as if he were 
 quite convinced that now nothing could in- 
 tervene to save his master, or stop his down- 
 ward course to perdition. He had been very 
 miserable of late. The gladness that he felt 
 at the prospect of once again seeing the old 
 walls of Clifford's Wood, which he loved as 
 well as if they belonged to him, was marred 
 by the anxiety he experienced on Gerard's 
 account. He had watched Mrs. Devereaux 
 narrowly since they had left Calcutta, and he 
 had had every facility for observing her most 
 trifling gesture. He was near when none 
 thought of him, and he prowled and hung 
 around, feeling agitated and miserable. It 
 mio^ht have been instinct which led him to 
 dread Mrs. Devereaux's influence over Gerard, 
 but that it was growing he had no doubt. 
 He knew how passionate, impulsive and kindly 
 his master was by nature, and he feared with 
 inward terror that she should awaken love in 
 his heart, that she should call all his hot, head- 
 strong emotions into Hfe. Where would it 
 
FROM THE " SIMOOM'S " DECK. 201 
 
 end ? What would become of him when his 
 eyes were opened, and he read the terrible 
 truth and suffered the bitter anguish of spirit 
 that would come upon him when he knew 
 that she had never loved him, and that he 
 was indissolubly chained to a woman who 
 cared only for his gold ? It is not necessary 
 for a person to be highly cultured to be able 
 to form a very fair estimation of character in 
 its broadest points. Wilson knew nothing of 
 grammar, but he recognized the outward 
 semblance of truth and honesty when he saw 
 it ; the country yokel can do the same. And 
 that Mrs. Devereaux lacked those qualities he 
 would have staked his life. He had seen the 
 two together often latterly. Gerard, as he 
 hung over her chair, and drank in her words, 
 and listened to her most trivial remarks, loved 
 her, that was plainly evident ; but the other, 
 with her soft, winning smile and parted lips, as 
 she looked in his face, was different when she 
 thought none saw her ; then Wilson had seen 
 a cold, pitiless look cross her features, like 
 the shadow thrown by a cloud over a beautiful 
 
203 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 landscape, which robbed it of its bright effects 
 and brilliant colours, and left it barren, wild, 
 and uninteresting. 
 
 The one he recognized as genuine, the 
 other as false. He had seen enough of the 
 world to discriminate, and that Mrs. Devereaux 
 did not love in return he was sure. But 
 Wilson saw no way to stop the course of 
 events, so went about his work with sighs 
 and a sad foreboding of ill. Gerard, once 
 alone, fell to thinking for a few minutes as 
 if what he had heard had made some slight 
 impression, but if it had, it was but momentary. 
 It was not in his nature to harbour doubts 
 where he gave his love. That she could be 
 base or sordid, that she could be mean 
 enough to hanker after his wealth, he could 
 not and would not believe. Such thoughts 
 were cowardly and unworthy in him. He 
 smiled at them as he thought. He loved 
 blindly, dazzled by the beauty of her face, 
 by the witchery of her smiles. Her form 
 rose up before him in shadowy outline, 
 voluptuous and fair, and his soul burned 
 
FROM THE " SIMOOM'S ' DECK. 203 
 
 witliin him to possess her. He would seek 
 her and learn his fate. With this idea 
 Gerard sought the deck. Fortune favoured 
 him at the moment, or seemed to, for Mrs. 
 Devereaux, who probably thought that she 
 might carry the game too far and pique 
 Gerard's feelings rather more than would 
 suit her plans, had contrived to dismiss her 
 numerous admirers on various ingenious 
 pretexts and was alone. She looked more 
 lovely than ever, he thought, as she reclined 
 gracefully in her wicker chair. The soft 
 folds of some white clinging material, just 
 relieved from sameness by ribbons of 
 pale blue, revealed to advantage the ex- 
 quisite moulding of her bust and shoulders. 
 And Gerard's heart beat quickly as he 
 moved towards her. 
 
 " Where have you been playing truant ? " 
 she asked with a laui?h. 
 
 " From whom ? " 
 
 "Me! of course." 
 
 "I came on deck, but you were too 
 much occupied to notice me." 
 
204 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " With those stupid men, I suppose you 
 
 mean." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, I had to be civil to them." 
 
 " And leave me to curse my luck and 
 
 them in the same breath." 
 
 "I hope you did nothing so wicked." 
 "I could have flung them overboard one 
 
 after the other, deaf to their appeals for 
 
 mercy. I felt so horribly put out when I saw 
 
 the idiots swarming about you." 
 
 " Fhes will seek the honey, you know, and, 
 
 poor fellows, they can't help themselves." 
 " Oh ! I don't blame them." 
 "How could you with justice?" 
 " Well, they must look out for the spiders ! 
 
 I felt awfully hke punching their heads all 
 
 round, but instead " 
 
 " Ah, what did you do instead ? Give an 
 
 account of yourself." 
 
 " Growled and smoked in my own berth." 
 "And left me to the tender mercies of 
 
 others. Is that fulfilling the promise you 
 
 made to me in Calcutta? You were to be at 
 
FKOM THE "SIMOOM'S" DECK. 205 
 
 my beck and call, fetch me my fan or 
 anything that I wanted, read to me, and 
 stay with me the whole day." 
 
 " Do you want me to do so ? " asked Gerard 
 in a subdued key. 
 
 "If I didn't, would you be here now? 
 Should I have asked you to come? How 
 can you ask ? " 
 
 This was a clear case of throwing down 
 the gauntlet, and no mistake, and she accom- 
 panied her words with a seductive glance and 
 a trick she had of veiling her turquoise-blue 
 eyes with a languid droop of the long, fringed 
 lids, that few men could have withstood, 
 and, least of all, one so inexperienced and 
 susceptible as Gerard. You could not blame 
 the lad. There was scarce a man on board 
 who could have resisted such beauty as she 
 possessed, had she chosen to add him to the 
 list of her conquests. Scarce one of them, 
 including captain and passengers, who could 
 have looked on those waving masses of fair 
 hair, and scented the delicate perfume she 
 always used, and seen the soft, pink blush 
 
206 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 that mantled in lier cheeks, like the delicate 
 bloom on the side of a peach, and felt the 
 love-light that she could call to her aid, 
 without being vanquished, intoxicated, will- 
 ing to risk life, honour, and soul, if need 
 be, for her. Proud they would have been 
 to think that she had chosen to cast her 
 eyes upon them. Had she taken the motto 
 of Ouida's " Strathmore," " Slay and spare 
 not," few who crossed her path would have 
 done so without good cause to remember 
 her. Then what wonder that Gerard suc- 
 cumbed, that his pulse beat like lightning, 
 his heart like the dull thud of a hammer; 
 while his mouth grew parched and his 
 utterance thick with the emotion that came 
 with her words. She must love him, there 
 could be no doubt now, or why should 
 she speak as she had done ? But then the 
 full glare of day was upon them ; men were 
 sitting not ten yards away ; eyes were on 
 him ; he must be guarded, and not let them 
 see what he felt. The thought steadied and 
 nerved him. He had longed for this moment, 
 
FEOM THE « SIMOOM'S " DECK. 207 
 
 and it had come at last. His voice had no 
 tremor in it now. The rich blood mounted 
 to his sun-tanned cheeks, and he bent his 
 head low ; but save that he was calm, and 
 none could tell — none could know the mad 
 whirl of thoughts that coursed through his 
 brain in wildest confusion as he said : 
 
 "You will not think me presumptuous — 
 you cannot blame me for speaking to you. 
 I can bear it no longer. If you care to have 
 me with you, you cannot be quite indifferent 
 to me. Tell me — for God's sake, let me know 
 my fate ! Mrs. Devereaux, Ada, I " 
 
 There was a heavy footfall on the deck, 
 and a man's voice rang in Gerard's ears. 
 
 " Guess I've found the book, Mrs. Devereaux, 
 that I told you of, though I've had a tall hunt 
 for it. But I was nuts on finding it, and so 
 I just got up some of my bullock trunks, and 
 sure enough it was stowed away right at the 
 bottom. I guess you'll sit like a blue chicken 
 on a pine log, and never move till you've 
 read it right away. I did." 
 
 Gerard looked up, and encountered the stare 
 
208 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 of two grey eyes, and those same eyes were 
 deep-set in the head of a broad-shouldered, 
 jolly-looking American — one of the very 
 men who had been riling Gerard by buzzing 
 about Mrs. Devereaux in the earlier part of 
 the morning. Gerard looked, and as he did 
 so inwardly he cursed that man, with as 
 heavy a curse as the Cardinal laid upon the 
 poor Jackdaw of Eheims. Could that look 
 have made him as bald as a coote for life, 
 Gerard would have been pleased at that same 
 moment. What a fool he felt — what an ass 
 he looked ! No man (short of Job himself) 
 could have stood an interruption at such a 
 moment. It must be his luckless destiny — 
 his Kismet — which thus pursued him, and 
 came between the object of his love. So 
 thought Gerard as he eyed the Yankee as 
 though, time and place permitting, he would 
 have slain him. The worst of it was he 
 seemed in no hurry to go, for after handing 
 the book to Mrs. Devereaux, he drew a camp- 
 stool, which stood unoccupied, near him, and 
 sat down. Mrs. Devereaux alone seemed 
 
FROM THE " SIMOOM'S " DECK. 209 
 
 equal to the occasion, though inwardly 
 she was convulsed with rage that the luck- 
 less American, who believed that he was 
 ingratiating himself in her favour, should 
 thus have blundered in, and spoilt all by 
 his untimely appearance, just when the wish 
 of her heart was about to be realized. It 
 was enough to make a saint spiteful. And 
 she did feel sufficiently malicious to wish him 
 at the bottom of the sea rather than where he 
 was. But she contrived to control herself, 
 to answer him civilly, and thank him for his 
 kindness. After two or three commonplace 
 remarks, Gerard rose, beside himself with 
 rage, and walked off to the for'ard rail of the 
 saloon deck. He noticed that one of the 
 men had crawled out along the foot-rope of 
 the fore upper topsail yard, and was astride 
 of the port yard-arm. He turned away, about 
 to quit the deck, put out with every one, but 
 the Yankee in particular, upon whose devoted 
 head he still continued to pour anathemas, 
 when he heard a shriek, wild and piercing in 
 its cadence. He glanced round, and instinc- 
 
 VOL. I. 14 
 
210 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 lively looked at the upper topsail yard, 
 where an instant before the sailor had sat. 
 A horrible sight met his gaze. The man had 
 lost his hold, and round and round in mid-air 
 his body whirled. He struck the water, and 
 as he rose to the surface Gerard saw that he 
 was but an indifferent swimmer. The poor 
 wretch would sink! No thought of danger 
 to himself ever entered his brain in the quick 
 flash of thought. The man would perish, 
 with none to help, and before his very eyes ! 
 It could not be ! Should he look on and 
 watch him drown ? In another instant Gerard 
 had flung off his coat, and plunged into the 
 sea. 
 
 
CHAPTEE XL 
 
 THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 
 
 Lady Fabyn had not mistaken the meaning 
 of the mental suffering which had convulsed 
 Lilian's face, like a spasm of agony, on that 
 night when she had expressed to her daughter 
 her wish that she should accept the attentions 
 paid to her so openly by the future Lord 
 Goddington, and become his wife. Her worst 
 suspicions had been confirmed. Lilian's heart 
 was not in her own keeping. But who had 
 committed the theft ? Who had robbed her of 
 her daughter ? Who had dared to venture to 
 tamper with the affections of Miss Lilian Fabyn 
 of The Towers, without the knowledge of Sir 
 George or herself ? That was what Lady Fabyn 
 would have very much liked to know. Her 
 character was like many commonly to be 
 met with in every day existence, and was 
 
 11— 2 
 
212 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 chalked out on broad and convenient lines 
 to suit her own comfort. She was purse- 
 proud, proud of the position she occupied 
 in the county, proud of her own ability 
 and tact in having elevated herself somewhat 
 in the social scale — though she was the 
 daughter of a gentleman well-to-do and 
 worthy — by her marriage with Sir George. 
 She was not dictatorial or domineering, 
 provided that people fell in with her views 
 and ways of thinking, and pandered to (what 
 she was pleased to consider) her superior 
 knowledge and keener powers of discrimina- 
 tion. And generally speaking she would 
 have passed for being good-natured, but in 
 reality that estimable quality, only made its 
 appearance when her wishes were attended 
 to, and she was allowed to have her own 
 way. It is too often the case in this world ; 
 people are saints outwardly if you only agree 
 with them, and don't attempt to argue or 
 assert your opinions in any way. But diverge 
 from that beaten track, express contrary 
 views, press home the fact that your will 
 
THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 213 
 
 must be acknowledged, dispute their all- wise 
 judgment, and what is the effect? They 
 topple from the lofty pinnacle where they 
 had set themselves, their smiles vanish. They 
 try for a rush with the bit in their teeth, 
 and become once again veritable sinners. 
 In this way, what might be a happy home 
 is too often rendered a hot-bed of discontent, 
 misery, and family strife. When two horses 
 harnessed to the same carriage insist upon 
 going in opposite directions what is the 
 result ? Confusion, and too probably a smash. 
 And simply because they don't recognize 
 that their ends are the same. They won't 
 pull together. Such was not Lady Fabyn's 
 position at The Towers however. Sir George 
 was much too good-tempered and easy-going 
 to dispute or quibble with his wife's foibles. 
 Provided that she did not interfere with his 
 mode of life he was content, but rather than 
 come to high words he would have waived 
 the dispute with cheery good-nature and with 
 a smile on his frank, ruddy face. And so 
 their connubial bliss remained intact. Lady 
 
214 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 Fabyn had kept lier own counsel and had 
 not mentioned to Sir George the discovery 
 she had made. When she had acquiesced in 
 Lilian's desire to return to Sidcombe without 
 opposition it was entirely owing to the fact 
 that she knew the Honourable Jim had 
 betaken himself to Breakwood. She had 
 been willing enough that Lilian should 
 remain in town while he was there. But she 
 chuckled in her sleeve, and was secretly 
 delighted at the turn which events took, 
 when Sir George proposed to go back to 
 Sidcombe and take Lilian with him. It was 
 just what Lady Fabyn wanted. She would 
 have suggested returning herself, but then 
 she would have had to relinquish her own 
 pleasures, to sacrifice herself, for what she 
 deemed to be Lilian's welfare. That was 
 beyond her. For once her schemes ran 
 counter to her own personal desires. So to 
 her delight Sir George got tired of London, 
 and wished to exchange it for the country 
 just in the nick of time. Breakwood, Lord 
 Goddington's place, was only a short distance 
 
THE BKEAKWOOD FETE. 215 
 
 from The Towers, in fact, the two estates 
 joined, and the Honourable Jim, as was his 
 wont, would drop in to see Sir George, and 
 so the young people would meet. Failing 
 the hooking of the Honourable Jim, or putting 
 him on one side altogether. Lady Fabyn 
 would have handed Lilian over to the 
 keeping of another man. But it would have 
 been necessary that that more highly- 
 favoured individual should have been of yet 
 more exalted rank, and have possessed 
 moreover a longer purse than Jim Ledsham 
 ever would, before she could have been 
 tempted to throw over the future Lord 
 Goddington of Breakwood and Eton Square. 
 Lady Fabyn was right. He was un- 
 doubtedly a great catch, and she fully 
 intended to lose no chance of landing 
 him if she could help it. With that view 
 she curtailed her visit somewhat and re- 
 joined Sir George. She had scrutinized 
 every action of her daughter's since that 
 memorable night when Lilian had amazed 
 her by the way in which she had flared 
 
216 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 up and given her a taste of her pluck 
 and spirit, though it had ended, as is 
 general in such cases, in tears. Her letters 
 had all been most systematically brought 
 first to Lady Fabyn before they were 
 delivered to their owner. And even in 
 her walks and rides Lillian had been as 
 much as was possible under surveillance. 
 But with all her shrewdness Lady Fabyn 
 had been forced to admit to herself that 
 her sagacity was at fault. She could dis- 
 cover nothing. And her questions to 
 Lilian had been productive of no more 
 than short answers which left her as 
 wise as she was before. For once in her 
 life Lady Fabyn had to acknowledge her- 
 self fairly nonplussed. But she began to 
 take heart, and to hope that her daughter 
 had seen the wisdom of submitting to 
 her will and authority, when one day an 
 invitation to a garden party had come 
 from Breakwood. Telegrams had been re- 
 ceived from Cannes to the effect that Lord 
 Goddington was recovering, and so her 
 
THE BEEAKWOOD FETE. 217 
 
 ladyship would be glad to see them. She 
 handed the note across the table in silence 
 to Lilian, who read it through and quietly- 
 expressed her willingness to go. Here was 
 another mystery which fairly puzzled Lady 
 Fabyn. If she did not wish to have 
 anything to do with Mr. Ledsham, if she 
 did not like him, why did she signify 
 her pleasure at the prospect of visiting 
 there ? The only construction that could be 
 put upon her behaviour was that Lilian had 
 thought better of it and would carry out her 
 mother's wishes. So thought Lady Fabyn, and 
 she was overjoyed. Never was her acumen, 
 on which she prided herself, more at fault. 
 The day of the Breakwood festivity had 
 arrived and Lilian was alone in the drawing- 
 room at The Towers. It wanted a couple of 
 hours to the time at which they had ar- 
 ranged to start, when Lady Fabyn entered 
 with both her hands full of flowers which 
 she began to arrange in an old china bowl. 
 She wished to speak to her daughter upon 
 the subject uppermost in her mind, but 
 
218 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 she was rather at a loss how to open the 
 ball. 
 
 " Lilian, dear," she said in a cooing voice. 
 Lady Fabyn always cooed when she wanted 
 her own way, and was doubtful whether she 
 would get it without a struggle. 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 "Isn't it fearfully close and oppres- 
 sive?" 
 
 " I don't feel it." 
 
 "No ! I think we shall have a storm before 
 long " — perhaps it was due to her own 
 thoughts, that were brewing for a climax — 
 " so much electricity in the atmosphere." 
 
 " Do you think so ? I hope not," answered 
 Lilian. 
 
 " I am sure of it. I can always tell ; my 
 head aches invariably. It will be so pro- 
 voking. Everything will be spoilt. And poor 
 Lady Goddington, I quite pity her; she will 
 be so put out." 
 
 " Yes, it w^ould be a pity. But, mother, I 
 don't think the sky looks like rain. It is 
 quite bright and clear over the sea," answered 
 
THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 219 
 
 Lilian, as she got up and went to one of the 
 windows. 
 
 " Nonsense, child. I tell you I am sure of 
 it." There was no necessity to answer the 
 last remark, so the girl went on quietly with 
 her work. Lady Fabyn dexterously placed 
 some lihes close to a sprig of scarlet geranium, 
 over which hung sprays of maidenhair fern, 
 and then, with her head on one side, stepped 
 back a pace, to admire the effect. The 
 artistic groupings of her flowers pleased her, 
 but Lilian's silence did not, so she began again. 
 
 " I think the dress you are going to wear, 
 dear, suits you admirably. The colours are 
 the very thing with your hair and com- 
 plexion." Lilian sighed wearily. The subject 
 had no interest for her. She was going to 
 the garden party with an object, certainly, 
 but there would be no one there whom she 
 cared to please. The whole affair would be 
 an ordeal for her. Would she not have to 
 suffer the boredom of attentions from Jim 
 Ledsham, and that, too, under her mothers 
 eye, as it were ? 
 
220 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " I am glad you think the dress becoming, 
 mother," she answered at length ; but the 
 listless apathy with which she spoke did not 
 escape Lady Fabyn's quick ears. She turned 
 round sharply, and looked at her daughter, 
 but her face was hidden as she bent over her 
 needle. 
 
 "Child, what is the matter? Don't you 
 care to go to Lady Goddington's ? " 
 
 " Of course I do, mother. We have talked 
 of little else for days." Lilian hated herself 
 for the reply the moment after she had made 
 it. But she must dissemble ; she could not 
 be constantly at war with her mother. Of 
 late she had felt out of spirits and thoroughly 
 miserable, and, besides, where was the use of 
 further bickering about Mr. Ledsham ? She 
 had expressed her feelings frankly and with- 
 out reserve — she would have none of him. 
 She had determined upon a more decided 
 course of action when the right moment 
 arrived. Her reply pleased Lady Fabyn. 
 She read in it, she thought, less opposition, 
 and inwardly she resolved to let events 
 
THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 221 
 
 take their course for the present. Lilian 
 went off to her own room, and appeared 
 again only when the carriage which 'was to 
 convey them to Breakwood drove round to 
 the door. Little was said during the drive, 
 though Lady Fabyn seemed in the best of 
 spirits, and chatted away incessantly, but 
 Lilian was engrossed with her own thoughts. 
 As they swung along in the family 
 barouche, memory reverted to the time, only 
 a year ago, when she had driven on that same 
 road, and on identically the same errand, but 
 with what widely different feelings ? Then 
 she had felt light-hearted, joyous. Yet the 
 only difference was that then she was 
 going where she knew she should meet 
 Gerard Clarencourt ; but now he was in 
 India for all she knew to the contrary, 
 and she was speeding along those lanes 
 wholly and solely for the purpose of learning 
 something of him. The earliest reminiscences 
 of her childish years teemed with recollections 
 of Gerard, of games of play, of happy hours 
 spent together on the Sidcombe beach, where 
 
222 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 with bare legs they wandered hand-in-hand 
 midst the deep, cool pools of water on the 
 Shark's Tooth reef, bent on the capture of 
 shrimps and tiny fish with which to stock a 
 miniature aquarium, or dug and romped for 
 hours on the golden sands, without a care, 
 without a thought, save that of bliss. What 
 bursts of infant laughter had those tall cliffs re- 
 echoed, grim witnesses of all those gladsome 
 hours, now gone for ever ? But the intimacy 
 which had existed between the two families, or, 
 at all events, between the younger members of 
 them in those earlier years, when no harm, as 
 Lady Fabyn thought, could come of it, was 
 a thing of the past of late. Gerard might 
 have been a good enough match for 
 her daughter under some circumstances, 
 but there was a bigger fish in the water, 
 and so Lady Fabyn judged it wise to 
 take such judicious steps, by degrees, as 
 would lead to a gradual breaking-off of 
 the old terms of friendship, which had 
 lasted long enough, for prudence sake. Mrs. 
 Clarencourt, although she did not trouble 
 
THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 223 
 
 herself much about her child, or who he 
 played with, so long as it was with children 
 of his own station in life, was not slow to take 
 offence, and so the coldness of a chill reserve 
 and distantly polite formality had arisen, and 
 this very fact accounted for Lilian's sole pur- 
 pose in going to Breakwood. She wished to 
 gain information concerning the movements 
 of her old playmate, who had gradually 
 and almost unknown to her crept into her 
 heart and occupied the first place there. 
 Owing to the existing state of affairs Lilian, 
 much as she would have liked, could not 
 call at Clifford's Wood alone, and she feared 
 to betray her real feelings before her 
 mother. She knew that Mrs. Clarencourt 
 had returned. In a small gossiping town like 
 Sidcombe, such an event as the arrival from 
 London of the mistress of Clifford's Wood 
 spread like wildfire. That she should most 
 probably meet her at Breakwood she felt 
 confident, because Mrs. Clarencourt was on 
 close terms of intimacy with her ladyship, 
 and would hardly be absent from such a 
 
224 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 gay and important gathering, unless she 
 were ill. Lilian would see her, and in a 
 commonplace way inquire after her son, 
 and thus hear some authentic account 
 of his doings. Should she ever be so 
 light-hearted again, she wondered — should 
 she ever know what it was to be so entirely 
 free from care as in those youthful days ? 
 Poor child ! she was little more in years, 
 now barely eighteen. Yet, had she known 
 it, she had quitted for ever those pleasant 
 paths. She had trodden for the last time 
 in those footmarks where she had been 
 exempt from pain, where no gnawing 
 anguish had preyed upon her, and had 
 boldly launched out into the sea of life, 
 set her sails and shaped her course for 
 a point where the wind and tide would 
 admit of no return. And that change had 
 taken place when, unknown to her, she 
 had bestowed her heart upon Gerard be- 
 yond recall. She was capable of erecting 
 an idol for herself, of putting forth her 
 strength and clinging with all the power 
 
THE BKEAKWOOD FETE. 225 
 
 of her nature, with all the depth of feeling 
 which belonged to her, to the hero she had 
 created hut once. She loved blindly, with 
 no apparent hope ; but it was beyond her 
 control now to pluck from her heart the 
 image she had placed there. She had made 
 her choice and, come weal or woe, she 
 could make no other. Her nature had re- 
 ceived a shock (the effects of which nothing 
 had as yet obliterated) that night when her 
 mother had so clumsily shown her hand and 
 shone forth in her true colours. It was not 
 so much the words used by Lady Fabyn that 
 had pained Lilian ; she had contrived to 
 bridle her temper, but she had not been 
 sufficiently mistress of herself to mask her 
 face, and Lilian would have been slow 
 indeed had she failed to read what was 
 written upon it. From that moment she 
 felt that she need look for little sympathy 
 from that quarter. liady Fabyn had never 
 taken the trouble to try to understand or 
 sift her daughter's nature. She had been a 
 good mother, as mothers go. The child had 
 
 VOL. I. 15 
 
223 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 always possessed everything that she could 
 desire to make her happy, and she had been 
 denied no pleasures. But to supply them 
 had given Lady Fabyn no trouble. It is easy 
 to surround one's family with every luxury 
 from the contents of a well-filled purse ; 
 but is it possible for people to be such fools 
 as to think that in that way alone they can 
 gain the afiections and the confidence of 
 their children? Are they to be bought? 
 Surely not. Yet there are many such 
 parents. And that fact most probably sup- 
 plies the reason why filial affection of the 
 present day is so scarce and so little to be 
 depended upon. Society takes up so much 
 of their time. Dear Lady C. or Lord B. 
 demands their attention, and they have little 
 left to bestow upon their children. This 
 had been precisely the case with Lilian; 
 every comfort that money could buy had 
 been lavished upon her, but Lady Fabyn's 
 life and conduct had been such as to cause 
 very few feelings of confidence or trust to 
 emanate from the daily intercourse. She 
 
THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 227 
 
 had done nothing to strengthen the home 
 ties or to bind her child to her by awaken- 
 ing in her heart sentiments of love and 
 friendsh'qo. If she had, no secrets would ever 
 have sprung up between her and Lilian. 
 She meant no harm, doubtless ; she was 
 selfish, that was all. And so but little had 
 been necessary to widen the gap and estrange 
 them. Lilian sat silent in her corner of the 
 carriage, paying no more attention than the 
 bare dictates of courtesy required to the 
 vapid gossipings indulged in by her mother. 
 The nearest lodge-gate by which they could 
 approach the house was at some distance 
 from The Towers, for Lord Goddington pos- 
 sessed many a broad acre of rich pasturage, 
 dotted with noble oaks of giant oirth and 
 of fabulous age, where the cattle browsed 
 knee deep in the long, sweet grass and 
 fragrant clover ; many a rood of shady 
 forest and bracken-covered hillside, where 
 the red deer roamed at will, free as on its 
 native slopes of Exmoor ; many a covert and 
 outlying plantation, where a fine old dog fox 
 
 15-2 
 
228 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 could generally be found, tough of limb and 
 sound enough of wind to try the mettle and 
 staying powers of the best hunters that ever 
 were foaled, if they were to keep the pack 
 in sight and be well in at the death. At 
 length they quitted the road and drove 
 through a massive stone-pillared entrance, 
 the iron gates of which were flung open by a 
 ruddy-faced, cleanly-clad woman, and behind 
 her, in the porch of the cottage, stood a 
 cluster of flaxen-haired, rosy-cheeked chil- 
 dren, who peeped out shyly and curtseyed 
 deferentially as the great people passed by. 
 Lilian would have liked to stop the carriage 
 and address a few words of kindness, but 
 she was forced to content herself, since Lady 
 Eabyn was present, with a good-natured 
 nod and a pleasant smile as they swept 
 past, and entered a double avenue of wide- 
 spreading birch and elms which flanked the 
 broad, well-kept gravel drive that led up 
 to the front entrance of Breakwood. They 
 were by no means amongst the first of the 
 arrivals, for already the smoothly shaven 
 
THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 229 
 
 lawns were dotted with fashionably attired 
 ladies. A bright-coloured marquee stood 
 invitingly placed under a clump of trees for 
 the accommodation of those who might wish 
 to regale themselves with ices, creams, 
 jellies, claret, champagne cup, and scores 
 of other o^ood thinors which it is needless to 
 mention ; for Lady Goddington, when she 
 did a thing, did it well. Coloured rugs 
 and soft cushions were laid about on the 
 turf, for such as chose to lounge or flirt 
 instead of indulging in tennis or the much- 
 despised croquet which was going for the 
 older people. The gardens were brilliant 
 with bright-hued flowers, and shady alleys 
 led off to a delightful maze of woodland, in 
 which those who cared to lose themselves 
 might do so to perfection and without fear 
 of interruption. Where the graceful, undu- 
 lating slopes of the lawn merged into the 
 park, the waters of a lake, fringed with 
 variegated foliage, sparkled in the sunhght ; 
 stately swans and bright plumed birds 
 sought shelter on the tiny islets, or reposed 
 
230 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 sedately in the shade. Boats shaped like 
 Venetian gondolas, with silken awnings, were 
 not wanting to tempt the belles from the 
 shelter of their chaperones' wings. And 
 tesselated paved conservatories, filled with 
 lovely exotics, palms, and ferns, over which 
 trickled bright cascades from fountains half 
 buried in leaves, were to be found by those 
 who cared to seek them, intent on whisper- 
 ings and a wealth of words which none 
 might listen to. Lady Goddington, a stately 
 peeress of some fifty summers, received her 
 guests as they alighted from every descrip- 
 tion of vehicle, dressed in a quiet but elegant 
 costume. After addressing the few necessary 
 words to their hostess in reply to her kindly 
 welcome, Lilian and Lady Fabyn mingled 
 with the throng collected on the grass. 
 They were known to most of the people 
 there, and Lady Fabyn was soon busily 
 engaged in conversation with a circle of 
 her most intimate friends. The chance was 
 not to be lost, and Lilian left her mother 
 and went in search of Mrs. Clarencourt 
 
THE BEEAKWOOD FETE. 231 
 
 whom she soon discovered, and alone. Thev 
 exchanged the customary words of greeting, 
 and Lilian sat down by her side. 
 
 " How insufferably hot it is, dear. Quite 
 oppressive. Mr. Ledsham has gone to get me 
 an ice or something. How well you are 
 looking. Lady Fabyn and Sir George are 
 here, I suppose ? " 
 
 Mrs. Clarencourt liked Lilian, and to do 
 her justice had never changed towards her in 
 manner when they met ; she did not choose 
 to visit the sins of the parents upon the 
 child, and she knew that the girl was not 
 to blame for any unpleasantness that had 
 arisen. 
 
 " No, only mother," answered Lilian. 
 
 " Lideed. Sir George is well, I hope." 
 
 " Yes, thanks." 
 
 " I met you last in the Eow, I think, weeks 
 ago. You know I have only just returned 
 from town. In fact, I altered my arrange- 
 ments, and ran down a day or two earlier 
 than I had intended, on purpose to be here 
 this afternoon. Dear Lady Goddington is so 
 
232 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 kind and nice, and we are such very old 
 friends, you know." 
 
 Lilian murmured some suitable reply ; she 
 was in momentary dread that Ledsham would 
 re-appear to interrupt their tete-d-tete. But 
 much to her joy Mrs. Clarencourt rattled on 
 again, and supplied her with the very inform- 
 ation she sought. 
 
 " You will be glad to hear that Gerard is 
 well, I had a note from him the other day. 
 Boys are so bad at letter writing as a rule. 
 But he wrote me quite a wonderful account 
 of his doings in Calcutta and the sort of life 
 he was leading." 
 
 " I am so glad to hear that his health is 
 good," replied Lilian, while a faint blush 
 which she could not control mounted to her 
 cheeks. Whether it was the tone of her 
 voice or what, which attracted Mrs. Clar en- 
 court's ear, it is impossible to say. Women 
 so easily read each other. But something 
 caused her to look at Lilian, their eyes met, 
 and in that one quick glance Mrs. Clarencourt 
 felt assured that her son had awakened more 
 
THE BREAK WOOD FETE. 233 
 
 than mere interest in the bosom of the 
 heiress of The Towers. It was wonderful to 
 see with what tact and cleverness Mrs. 
 Clarencourt could cloak her real feelings, and 
 talk about her son as if she cared and 
 thought of him, when in her heart he 
 occupied a less important place than did her 
 favourite French poodle. 
 
 " Yes, I thought you would like to hear of 
 your old playmate. You and he used to be 
 inseparable." She kept her eyes fixed on 
 Lilian's face as she spoke, and saw her colour 
 visibly again. 
 
 " Does he intend to return soon ? " she 
 faltered. " I am sure you must miss him 
 dreadfully, Mrs. Clarencourt." 
 
 " Oh yes, I do, but then I must sacrifice 
 myself, you see, dear, if I wish him to travel 
 and know something of the world. Clifibrd's 
 Wood is almost unbearable to me without 
 him." 
 
 " How good of you to spare him." 
 
 " Ah, I look to the future to repay me for 
 the loss of him now. The months will soon 
 
234 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 slip by, and lie will return, looking so big and 
 brown, and with so mucli to say for himself. 
 And I expect wonders from his brush, he 
 used to be so fond of sketching, as you know. 
 He took with him a perfect menagerie of 
 useful things, and amongst them paints and 
 paper were not forgotten." 
 
 At this juncture the Honourable Jim came 
 up with an ice and some champagne cup. If 
 the truth must be told he had been searching 
 for Lilian all over the gardens, instead of 
 dancing attendance upon the widow, which 
 accounted for his long absence. But he 
 could scarcely conceal his annoyance when 
 he found her with Mrs. Clarencourt. He 
 doubted his ability to separate the two 
 women, for he had intended to appropriate 
 Lilian to himself for the afternoon, and here 
 his Httle plans were frustrated. But he was 
 not to be done. 
 
 " Let me get you something. Miss Fabyn," 
 he said, after they had exchanged a few 
 sentences. Yes ; Lilian would take an ice. 
 By the by, w^hat an unchangeable predi- 
 
THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 235 
 
 lection ladies always show for ices ! The only, 
 wonder is that they never apparently suffer 
 from any bad effects, though they eat them 
 regardless of high temperature. A happy 
 thought entered Ledsham's head, as he 
 returned from the marquee with the coveted 
 luxury, and he proceeded to put it into 
 effect. 
 
 " I want you to come and admire my boats. 
 Quite a hobby of mine. Such a charming 
 day for a row on the lake. I know you like 
 boating," he added, as he addressed Lilian. 
 " And, Mrs. Clarencourt, you'll come too ? " 
 
 Mrs. Clarencourt would. It was more 
 than the Honourable Jim bargained for, he 
 had quite expected a refusal from the elder 
 lady ; he had positively heard her say that she 
 detested aquatic excursions of any kind, and 
 would far rather remain on terra Jirma than 
 trust herself in a rickety boat, no matter how 
 safe it might be. There was nothing left for 
 it but to stick his glass in his eye and try to 
 look pleased, which he succeeded in doing to 
 a great extent, though he felt considerably 
 
236 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 put out. With that intent the trio set oS 
 together, and they were just strolHng down 
 the slope of turf which led to the water's 
 edge when Mrs. Clarencourt addressed 
 Ledsham. 
 
 " I know you will excuse me, Mr. Ledsham, 
 but there is Mr. Laxby Eandall ; we have not 
 met since my return, and he is such a dear 
 good man. I must ask you to forgive me, but 
 I shall be so delighted if you will take me 
 for a row some other day." 
 
 The Honourable Jim was simply delighted. 
 A trump card had suddenly turned up in the 
 person of the rector. He had not hoped for 
 such good luck. It was difficult to him to 
 conceal the pleasure he felt, but he did it 
 very well, looked a trifle glum, requested 
 Mrs. Clarencourt not to apologize to him, he 
 should be only too pleased at any future time, 
 &c. In another moment the widow liad 
 slipped her arm through the rector's, and was 
 walking with him back to the gardens, and 
 Lilian was alone with the very man of all 
 others whom she wished to avoid. She saw no 
 
THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 237 
 
 way out of her dilemma ; she could not possibly 
 ask him to excuse her too, it would be rude. 
 There was no alternative, she must face it, so 
 Lilian put her dainty little foot, the bare 
 sight of which caused Jim Ledsham's heart to 
 beat like a sledge-hammer, inside the gon- 
 dola, and suffered him to place her comfort- 
 ably on the luxurious cushions. A few 
 skilful strokes of the scull sent the light boat 
 skimming out into the lake, clear of the water 
 lilies which grew close round the margin, the 
 petals and centres of which glistened, snowy 
 white and gold, in the clear bright sunlight. 
 Jim Ledsham relinquished his oar and sat 
 down opposite Lilian, entirely screened from 
 observation by the silk-striped curtains. 
 
 " I am awfully glad she did not come ; how 
 kind it was of old Eandall to turn up just at 
 the right moment." 
 
 Lilian did not venture to ask his reason, it 
 would have given him his cue, and not know- 
 ing quite what to say, waited until he should 
 speak again. 
 
 " You don't mind smoking ? " 
 
238 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 " Not in the least," she answered. Her 
 only thought at that instant was how she 
 should get out of the boat and away from 
 her tormentor. The one striking feature 
 about Ledsham was the color of his eyes, 
 yellowish-grey describes it most accurately, 
 but what was more noticeable about them 
 was that they never seemed still, but rest- 
 lessly wandered anywhere and everywhere, 
 yet refused to meet your gaze. The rest 
 of his face was handsome, and despite the 
 blemish most men would not have relished 
 him as a rival. 
 
 "Miss Fabyn, I am going to ask you 
 a question. Will you promise to answer 
 me?" 
 
 " No, I cannot bind myself so rashly." 
 
 " Well, I will take my chance. Do you 
 know why I did not want Mrs. Clarencourt 
 to come with us, and why 1 was so glad 
 when Eandall appeared ? " 
 
 Lilian's face flushed scarlet, and then 
 paled as white as the blossom of the long- 
 stemmed lilies through which they drifted, 
 
THE BREAKWOOD FETE. 239 
 
 but she bit lier pink lips and closed tliem 
 firmly. 
 
 " Whatever might have been your reason 
 I am not so curious as to hazard a guess, 
 Mr. Ledsham. It cannot possibly interest 
 me." 
 
 The rebuff (did not affect Jim Ledsham 
 much, he was not troubled with a thin 
 skin. He only knew that she looked lovely, 
 and longed to gaze into the liquid depths 
 of her hazel eyes, with his arms round her 
 and her lips to his, and, what was more, 
 he resolved to do it, and was not a man to 
 pause to count the cost. He thought he 
 loved her,' and he meant to win her by 
 fair means or foul. 
 
 " I will tell you. I wished to see you 
 alone, to have you to myself. Of late you 
 have avoided me ; your manner has changed 
 and grown cold. What I have done to 
 offend you I know not. K I have erred, 
 it has been in loving you too well." He 
 had drawn nearer to her as he spoke, 
 and had deftly slipped his arm round her 
 
240 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 waist. Lilian struggled but she was power- 
 less in his grasp ; passion gleamed in his 
 eyes, and his hot breath fanned her cheek. 
 
 " Eelease me, Mr. Ledsham " — her hazel 
 eyes flashed with contempt as she spoke. 
 "Is this your boasted love, to insult me, 
 weak and defenceless in your grasp ? " 
 
 " You shall hear me, Lilian. By heaven, 
 I mean no harm ! I have dogged your 
 very footsteps, and followed your shadow 
 to pour these words into your ear. Be 
 my wife. Look round ; all this will be 
 mine. I have means. I would give the 
 wealth of the Lidies, if I had it, to possess 
 you, but I offer you my heart." He was 
 alone with her. He forgot his station and 
 rank as the son of an English peer ; he for- 
 got the respect due to her as a lady and 
 a guest, and pressed his lips again and 
 again to hers. Lilian was pale and trem- 
 bling with nervousness, and loathing of 
 the man. 
 
 " Let me go, Mr. Ledsham ! Do you 
 call yourself a gentleman? I tell you you 
 
THE BREAK WOOD FETE. 241 
 
 are a disgrace to your order. Let me go. 
 I hate you." 
 
 " And you refuse my love ? " 
 
 " Yes, once and for ever." 
 
 " Lilian, hear me ; you cannot be so cruel 
 as " 
 
 " Pull this boat to the shore, Mr. Led- 
 sham, and permit me to land. I have 
 said all I intend to say upon this subject. 
 I do not love you, and that should be suffi- 
 cient." She came of a good old stock, 
 and her blood was fired by the disgraceful 
 treatment offered to her. 
 
 The Honourable Jim saw that the game 
 was up for the present, but he did not 
 despair altogether. He would be revenged, 
 if nothing else. So he stuck his glass up, 
 and sulkily pulled to the flight of marble 
 steps where they had embarked. " So 
 cursedly proud, and / asked her to marry 
 me. ' Not a gentleman, and a disgrace to 
 my order.' She shall have cause to repent 
 having used such language to me," were 
 tbe thoughts that filled Ledsham's mind, 
 
 VOL. I. IG 
 
242 THE WOMAN HE LOVED. 
 
 as he walked silently by Lilian's side in the 
 direction of the house, and half an hour 
 afterwards saw her depart with Lady Fabyn 
 for The Towers. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 623H749W C001 v.1 
 Woman he loved : a novel /