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 TH E BAN 
 OF MAPLETHORPE 
 
 BY 
 
 E . H . D E R I N (} 
 
 //VV// a 
 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON AND LKAMINHTON 
 
 Hrt ant) iJBook (Iompan\? 
 
 NEW YORK, CINCINNATI, CHICAGO : P.ENZIGER BROS. 
 1894
 
 f^3 
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Baddeslev Clinton nv Moonlight, from a sketch 
 in oils by Mr^ During, 1S91 
 
 The BiLLiAKij room, Surrenden Dering, built over 
 one uf the interior Courts, from a water-colour 
 sketch by Mrs. Ferrers (afterwards Mrs. Dering) /. 158 
 
 Georgiana Lauv Chatterton, from an oil paint- 
 ing, after lUickncr, by Mrs. Dering, showing in 
 the background a portion of the Banqueting 
 room and tapestry at Baddesley Clinton - /. 194 
 
 it-
 
 F your charity pray for the soul of the 
 Author of this l>ook, who completed it 
 only the night before he died. He had 
 written the greater part of it .several months before, 
 including the final chapter : but went through the 
 whole again in the last month of his life, and re- 
 wrote the latter part. 
 
 About twelve o'clock on the night of the 2 1st of 
 November, 1892, he exclaimed with joyful accents, " I 
 have finished my book." The last sentence then 
 written, and found in his note-Iiook, was: "And now 
 I must be in readiness to receive the IJishoji." These 
 words seemed, as it were, prophetic. That day week 
 his old coachman drove him indeed to meet the 
 Bishop, but it was for the last time, and instead of 
 the bright warm welcome of former tlays, there were 
 tears and silence and the solemn Re(|uiem for the 
 Dead.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HE evening is beginning to ' draw in/ as 
 
 they say." 
 
 " Yes, and I am beginning to have an 
 
 uncomfortable suspicion that we took a 
 
 wrong turn somewhere." 
 
 These remarks were made by two riders, 
 
 riding along a bye-road which, a few yards 
 
 in front of them, was intersected by two 
 other bye-roads. 
 
 The first speaker was a young lady of twenty summers 
 and winters. The second, a man of fifty years and a little 
 more, seemed, and was in fact, her father. He was a fine 
 specimen of an English gentleman, and this, though soon 
 said, means much — very much. No one knows better what 
 it means than the English peasant, but the specimens are 
 becoming rarer by degrees. His daughter was a lovely 
 English girl, such as the Chinaman must have seen when he 
 wrote about English ladies many years ago. " Their beaut- 
 eous hue surpasses the bloom of spring flowers. Their eye- 
 brows are of a delicate outline, resembling that of hills 
 looming on the distant horizon. The colour of their eyes is 
 of the most charming blue, and their whole deportment is 
 calm and cool as are the autumnal waters."
 
 2 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 The three intersecting roads led over an undulating down 
 country, varied by sheep-folds, broad patches of winter- 
 fallow, two or three homesteads in sheltered places, and a 
 few plantations of larch where the land was exposed to the 
 southwest. But which was the right road ? 
 
 " There is something written on this direction post," 
 said the young lady. 
 
 " There is," answered her father : " but I am afraid that 
 we shall be as wise as we were before. What can we make 
 out of this, without knowing the country ? One road leads 
 to Old Sleatham, another to Dripstone Shelford, the other 
 to Humbleton-in-the-Hole." 
 
 "Surely," said she, "we came by that wood under the 
 hills near a village. There was a small church with a low 
 tower, and there it is." 
 
 "I should feel more persuaded," said he, " if we hadn't 
 passed so many woods under hills and so many small 
 churches with low towers. I wish I hadn't brought you so 
 far. I am afraid that we shall be very late. Anyhow we 
 had better take the middle road and ask our way at the 
 village. We might perhaps find someone to show us the 
 way." 
 
 There was a hill before them, flinty and uneven, and then 
 a gentle ascent for a mile, more or less. They trotted on, 
 apparently towards the village : but, in down countries, roads 
 have a way of not leading whither the uninitiated expect 
 them to lead. When they reached the top of the ascent, 
 and looked for the village which, according to their observa- 
 tions, ought to have been a little way on, they saw before 
 them a very steep hill sloping downwards to the valley, 
 with grassy banks on both sides, that deepened as the road 
 wound left-wards. 
 
 " Where in the world are we now ?" said the young lady's 
 father. " This is beyond a joke. I wish I hadn't brought 
 you so far." 
 
 " Never mind," said the daughter. " We shall find our 
 way somewhere at last, and find someone to show us the 
 way. What an exquisite view ! I am so glad we have 
 come upon it, — this deep valley encircled by downs, those 
 purple woods, and the sea beyond." 
 
 " Yes, but when shall we get to Backwater ? And you will 
 be so tired."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 3 
 
 " Not a bit. I enjoy the ride : and there will be an early 
 moon. A ride by moonlight will be delightful : it will be 
 a new sensation." 
 
 " True : but I am afraid that you will be so tired. Be- 
 sides, we shall keep the dinner waiting ; and your aunt will 
 be frightened out of her wits. However, there is nothing 
 for it but to go on. This must lead somewhere." 
 
 The winding of the hill, as they descended, and the height 
 of the banks on both sides made it impossible to see any- 
 thing before them, until they had gone at least three quarters 
 of a mile, when a sharp curve of the road brought them 
 down to comparatively level ground. They were now in a 
 sort of wild park-land, narrow and winding, with a wood 
 about a quarter of a mile further on. There was no sign 
 of a house, except a very thin column of smoke, which the 
 young lady saw or imagined above the trees. 
 
 " Do you see that smoke ?" said she to her father. 
 
 " I am not sure that I do,' said he, " but I see a farm- 
 yard in front, without a house, and I see hills all round." 
 
 " But is it a farmyard ? " said she. " It seems to me — " 
 
 " Stables, I do believe, or a home-farm," said her father. 
 " And if so, there is somebody's place round the corner. 
 If this isn't Huuibleton-in-the-Hole, it ought to be. But 
 how we got here I can't make out. The way-i)()sts in this 
 country are regulated on some principles that 1 don't under- 
 stand." 
 
 Just beyond there was a clump of Scotch firs, behind 
 which the road divided. One bore to the right through the 
 wild park-land, the other turned sharply to the left, skirting 
 the Scotch firs. 
 
 " There is the smoke, after all," said the young lady, 
 " and I see the top of an old chimney above the trees. How 
 very romantic to live surrounded by wood ! " 
 
 " Very," said her father ; "I hope they will act accord- 
 ingly and send someone to show us the way. I mustn't ask 
 them whether this is Humbleton-in-the-Hole. But here we 
 are at the gate. It doesn't look much like the er trance to 
 anyone's place. And yet I don't know. There is some- 
 thing distinguished about it." 
 
 The gate was made of oak rails horizontal and trans 
 verse. The posts were solid and carved at the top. The 
 whole was almost black from age and exposure to the
 
 4 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 weather. The road inside was grass on the surface, but 
 stoned underneath. It passed through a wood of apparently 
 a hundred acres or rather more, with green rides and ditches 
 on either side. They had proceeded about three hundred 
 yards when they came to another gate, on the further side 
 of which was an open space of pasture land where cows 
 were grazing. Beyond this second gate the road bore 
 round to the left ; and as the young lady and her father 
 turned into it, they saw a gabled house rising directly in 
 front of them, fenced off from the grass by a low stone wall 
 and an iron gate of antique trellis work. A row of clipped 
 yews led up to the house. It had a moat, a bridge over it, 
 and a large door at the end under an archway. The young 
 lady held her father's horse while he crossed the bridge and 
 rang the bell. The bell pealed and echoed under the arch- 
 way ; whereon a big dog invisible bayed in a solemn 
 manner slowly, and a peacock, walking about among the 
 clipped yews, sent forth his plaintive shriek. Before the 
 latter sound had ceased, the door turned heavily on massive 
 hinges, and an elderly woman, who had every distinctive 
 mark of an honoured and time-honoured housekeeper, 
 stood forward within the archway. She was dressed in a 
 black silk gown, an ample handkerchief of white muslin 
 over her shoulders, and a white lace cap with violet bows. 
 Her handsome features and the respectful dignity of her 
 manners won the heart of the belated enquirer. 
 
 " I am so sorry to trouble you," he said : " but we have 
 lost our way, and I want to find the high road to Back- 
 water." 
 
 " There is a short cut, sir," said she, " over the hills : but 
 you would hardly find it. I will go and look for Father 
 Bramsby. I think he is in. He would show you the way 
 with pleasure, I am sure." 
 
 "Has time gone backwards ?" thought he, as she went 
 through a side door. " I haven't seen anything like that 
 since I was a boy. Is the Priest the squire?" While he 
 was asking himself this question, the Priest himself appear- 
 ed on the scene — a tall man with white hair and the fine 
 manners of the old school. 
 
 " It will give me great pleasure," said Father Bramsby, 
 *' to show you the way. I will ride with you and put you 
 on the straight road, which is about a mile and a half from
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 5 
 
 here over the hill. You will only have five miles to go from 
 there to Backwater. But in the meantime I must ask you 
 to do me the honour of resting yourselves and your horses. 
 The young lady must have had a long and tiring ride." 
 
 The young lady of course affirmed that she was not tired, 
 because such is the custom of young ladies when they have 
 ridden too far ; but the end of it was that she dismounted, 
 the horses were taken to the stables, and Father Bramsby 
 led the way, through the big oak door, across the court and 
 into the hall. This was large and lofty, extending upwards 
 to the roof, whose black oak beams and rafters were carved 
 and decorated, at their intersections, by coats of arms in 
 faded gold and colours. Three large windows with deep 
 recesses, opposite to the entrance door, looked southward to- 
 wards the sea. On the left as you entered was the fire- 
 place, enclosed by a high stone chimney-piece adorned with 
 shields that would have been the better for a little restoring 
 of their colours. On the right, an oak staircase led up to 
 a gallery that ran round the hall above. The furniture was 
 of old oak, very solid but not much carved. A large arm- 
 chair enclosed by a high screen of gilt Spanish leather was 
 placed near the fireplace, and beside it on a table was an 
 open breviary. The pavement of the hall was stone, but 
 thick square carpets and mats were placed here and there 
 near the tables. In the fireplace large logs of wood over 
 a heap of wood ashes were supported by iron dogs. 
 
 " What a beautiful old hall ! " said the young lady. 
 " Is this the place someone was telling me about at 
 dinner last night — Elmington Grange, I think they said.?" 
 
 " No," said Father Bramsby, " that is on the other side 
 of Backwater. Hunterscombe is the name of this place. 
 But I hope that before you leave the house you will comply 
 with one of its ways, and have some luncheon, though it is 
 late. Coming here is not like paying a visit in the next 
 street." 
 
 " Thank you very much for your kind hospitality," 
 said the young lady's father, " but we had an early 
 luncheon before we started." 
 
 "Then I will order tea," said Father Bramsby ; " but you 
 will find it warmer in this room." He opened a door 
 under the gallery, and they found themselves in a small 
 dining-room hung with tapestry. Here the chimney-piece
 
 6 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 was of black oak, and there was a coat of arms carved and 
 coloured in the centre of it. 
 
 Said the young lady's father, " While we are waiting for 
 the tea which you are so kind as to offer us, may we see a 
 little more of the house ? " 
 
 " With pleasure," said Father Bramsby, " there will be 
 time for it. The sun will set soon, but the moon is rising. 
 You will have a better light in half an hour." The horses 
 were ordered to be ready about that time, and then they 
 began to go over the house. 
 
 " This is an extraordinarily interesting place," said the 
 elder guest, as he followed Father Bramsby into the old 
 drawing-room, which was hung with family portraits and 
 other pictures, some as old as the days of Holbein. " If it 
 were not for these hills, you would be besieged by tourists 
 on bicycles." 
 
 " Well, we might be a little inconvenienced by too much 
 of a good thing." 
 
 " Your goodness makes it seem a good thing to you, my 
 dear Father Bramsby, if you will allow me to speak so, on so 
 short an acquaintance. I think that you are happier as you 
 are." 
 
 " True — with a distinction. I certamly should dislike an 
 unlimited series of interruptions : but then, charity comes 
 first — St. Paul said so. It seems to me that the sight of this 
 old place, with its old-world memories of days when living 
 was not so fast but more simple, and when there was less 
 retailing of thoughts but more thinking, would have a 
 pleasant and instructive effect on a tourist, who had, per- 
 haps, escaped for three weeks from some restless labour 
 of concrete calculation." 
 
 Leaving the drawing-room, they proceeded up-stairs. 
 The rooms were not many nor large, except the hall, but, 
 by reason of many turnings and ups and downs, and a 
 marked absence of that uniformity which causes a large 
 modern house to seem less large than it really is, Hunters- 
 combe seemed larger than it was. 
 
 As they passed a bedroom, the windows of which looked 
 across the moat to the garden, the elder guest noticed 
 through the half-open door an open space in the panelled 
 wall. 
 
 " This is my room," said Father Bramsby.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 7 
 
 " And that curious opening in the wall — " 
 
 " The housemaid must have gone up to dust the little 
 room above and then have been called off before she had 
 time to pull down the pannel shutter, which slides upwards 
 into the ceiling." 
 
 " But then, how do you get into the room ? " 
 
 " By those library steps." 
 
 "But what is it?" 
 
 " A hiding-hole." 
 
 " How very interesting. Do you know when it was 
 made?" 
 
 " It was made in the days of good Queen Bess." 
 
 " Dear me ! I was not aware of any civil war in her 
 time." 
 
 Father Bramsby mounted the steps, pulled the panelling 
 down into its place, and came back towards the door. 
 
 " Shall we go on ?" he said. " There is the chapel close 
 by, and a rather curious bedstead in a room to the front." 
 
 "With pleasure. Everything is as interesting as it can 
 be. But about that hiding-hole — who made use of it ? " 
 
 "Only hunted Priests." 
 
 "Hunted?" 
 
 " Yes, when they were not being hanged or imprisoned." 
 
 "I beg your pardon; but were they not executed for 
 high treason ? " 
 
 " They were, because saying Mass was made high 
 treason." 
 
 " Ah — they had no idea of toleration in those days. 
 Queen Mary and the Spanish Inquisition — " 
 
 " Queen Mary's husband," said Father Bramsby, " one of 
 the most contemptible characters in history, was respon- 
 sible for turning three of the greatest scoundrels in England, 
 Cranmer, Latimer, and Ridley, into pseudo-martyrs. 
 Philip's Spanish confessor, preaching before him and the 
 Queen, warned them both, in vain, against the misuse 
 of the secular power in cases of conscience. The Spanish 
 Inquisition was a piece of state-machinery : and when 
 the Jews fled from it, they went to Rome, where they 
 were protected by the Pope. But we must go on, or I 
 shall be responsible for your arriving late at Backwater. 
 The chapel is round the corner : but there is nothing worth 
 seeing in it from an artistic point of view. My nephew.
 
 8 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 the Squire of the place, has grand ideas about it, and very 
 good taste ; but in this world, and especially now, the 
 logic of money is unanswerable." 
 
 The next move, after the visitors had seen and admired 
 the rather curious bedstead, was downstairs and into the 
 tapestried dining-room, where they found the tea ready and 
 a grey-haired footman in livery standing by the table. In 
 ten minutes more they passed out over the bridge. There 
 they found their horses in readiness, held by an ancient 
 servitor, whose leg clothing of brown corduroy and cloth 
 gaiters was surmounted by a coachman's coat ; the colour of 
 which made no impression on them, because their attention 
 was attracted to a very handsome animal of the cob type. 
 The old Priest mounted the latter as soon as the young 
 lady had settled herself in her saddle ; and then they 
 proceeded on their way, not as the visitors had come, but 
 in the opposite direction, through a narrow ride in the 
 wood. 
 
 They turned right and left, and back again, as it appear- 
 ed to the strangers, and lastly came out of the wood through 
 a bridle-gate. There they struck across a large meadow, 
 and then began to ascend, by a grass road, a portentous hill, 
 from the top of which, over the downs, the descent was 
 even steeper. When they had reached the plain below, 
 waded a wide brook with a foot-bridge on one side of it, 
 and passed half through a small village whose church had 
 been much church-wardenized, they turned into a high road. 
 
 " This," said Father Bramsby, " is the road to Back- 
 water. Bon voyage ! If you should happen to be riding in 
 this direction again, and I can be of any use to you, I shall 
 be happy to be at your service." 
 
 He then took off his hat with a courteous dignity that 
 enhanced the value of his words without making them mean 
 too much, and wheeling his horse, rode back over the hills 
 to Hunterscombe. 
 
 It was now nearly six o'clock. The moon was up and 
 clear. The other two riders trotted briskly homewards 
 without speaking, but the Unnamed and the Priest thought 
 about each other at intervals as follows : 
 
 The JJjmamed. "I wish I hadn't said that — about Queen 
 Mary and the Spanish Inquisition." 
 
 Father Bramshy (mounting the steep down on his clever
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 9 
 
 cob). "Yes. He was sorry to protest: but the hiding- 
 hole took him by surprise." 
 
 The Ufuia7ned. "Very attractive — the old Priest, and 
 everything. Too good to be true, though. That is the 
 worst of it." 
 
 Father Bramsby. " He was attracted more than he was 
 prepared for, and regretted that it couldn't be true." 
 
 IVie U?i?ia?>ied. " One shouldn't put oneself in the way 
 of being attracted." 
 
 Father Bramsby. " He is afraid of infection, and honest- 
 ly so. His, I think, is a clear case of invincible ignorance." 
 
 The Utmamed. " I ought to have told him my name. 
 It must have seemed so ill-bred." 
 
 Father Braj?isby. " He might have told me his name. 
 There he forgot his good breeding just a little, probably 
 because he felt the pressure of two opposite inclinations, 
 and thought himself bound in conscience to resist the 
 popish one. Protestantism fits him badly. He is not 
 comfortable in it." 
 
 "You see," said the Unnamed rather suddenly to his 
 daughter, " it would have been awkward to have given one's 
 name. One must have asked him to come and see us. 
 And then there is his nephew, and — and all that." 
 
 Precisely so. The reasons might be summed up in the 
 "all that," which meant more than he meant, because it 
 expressed a conviction, not properly his, but accepted as 
 such, through the unnoticed influence of transmitted pre- 
 judice claiming his conscience. Were he to know more 
 of Father Bramsby, he would have to know the Catholic 
 nephew : but the nephew might be as attractive as his 
 surroundings were — much too dangerously attractive — and, 
 if once noticed, could not be dropped without a breach of 
 courtesy. Why should a man, who lived out of the neigh- 
 bourhood, explore the mysteries of a distinctly Catholic 
 house, where a charming old Priest, with a mysterious 
 nephew in the background, attractively represented what 
 was " too good to be true " ?
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 BOUT a week afterwards, another belated 
 traveller, also unnamed, but alone, found 
 himself likewise puzzled in the bye-roads of 
 Ilsetshire. It was about twenty miles from 
 Hunterscombe, in the northern part of the 
 county whither he had gone to inspect a 
 farm, being required, as co-trustee, to invest 
 a sum of money therein. Satisfied as to 
 the security and the farm, he intended to reach Osmunds- 
 bury that evening and complete the purchase. But the day 
 was closing in, the distance was from fifteen to sixteen 
 miles, and one fir-capped down in the horizon looked very 
 much like another. It would be easy to miss one's way. 
 
 "Can I hire a dog-cart," he enquired of the farmer, "or 
 some kind of conveyance ? or can you get me a mount?" 
 
 But the farmer, though willing, was not so able. His 
 light cart was somewhere else, and the only horse that he 
 had, except cart-horses, was a three-year-old that he was 
 going to break for the yeomanry. 
 
 "That will do," said the traveller. "But how am I to 
 send him back?" The farmer said that his son would 
 bring him back, by reason of having gone on business to 
 Osmundsbury, where he would be heard of at the White 
 Lion. The horse was then saddled — a big brown and 
 rather leggy. 
 
 "You will save two miles, sir," said the farmer, " if you
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. II 
 
 ride down that narrow lane. It will take you further on in- 
 to the high road by the big mill, which they call Bouncing 
 Bess. But you must keep all on bearing to the right, and 
 mind you go straight ahead after you pass the long pool 
 beyond Great Puddleford." 
 
 " And mind, yer honour, don't take the wrong turn when 
 you get to them fingerposts with nothing on 'em ! " said an 
 Irish cowman, who had helped to saddle the horse. " Keep 
 straight on, or you'll get down to the ford, and an ugly 
 place it is in the dark — the Lord save us. Thank ye, sir, 
 an' good luck to ye." 
 
 The horse had no mouth, and rolled about as unbroken 
 colts always do more or less; but he was good-tempered and 
 tractable so far as he knew what his rider wanted, and he 
 picked up his feet above the stones , whether rolling or stick- 
 ing up. It was rather dark at first, for it was nearly five 
 o'clock, and became more so till the belated horseman had 
 passed Great Puddleford. Then the moon came out from 
 behind the clouds, showing him the finger-posts and the 
 turning that he was to mind. But which of them was it ? 
 
 The road on which he was riding diverged in the shape 
 of a capital V, and the further direction of each horn was 
 hidden by woodland scenery, very picturesque in the moon- 
 light and suggestive of many indefinite windings. 
 
 Thought the horseman, "I was cautioned by the farmer to 
 keep straight ahead after passing Great Puddleford, and by 
 the Irishman to mind the turning here ; but what is straight 
 ahead ? I daresay the three-year-old has carried his master 
 to Osmundsbury Market. I had better leave it to him." 
 
 The three-year-old chose the right horn of the V without 
 any hesitation, and his rider congratulated himself on the 
 evidence, remembering, however, on the other hand, that 
 the horse might have been bred somewhere near the right- 
 hand road'. But the night was clear and the horse disposed 
 for going, so he took the optimistic view, and went on at a 
 brisk trot till he began to look out for the arms of the mill 
 near which he should find the turning into the high road. 
 He looked out with his eyes, looked forward in imagination, 
 and lastly looked on the case as unpleasant. The mill was 
 nowhere to be seen ; and the longer he looked the more 
 clearly he saw that it was not visible : but he saw two fir- 
 capped downs on the left hand which appeared to resemble
 
 12 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 SO closely those that he had seen on the right of the farm- 
 house which he had left an hour ago, that he could scarcely 
 avoid a very disagreeable inference. In short, he must have 
 ridden round in a circle, and was as far from Osmundsbury as 
 ever. But he had either to go on or put up under a hedge, 
 and on he went in search of something or somebody, 
 till at last he saw something before him in the hol- 
 low that made him pull up, puzzled by what he saw. He 
 was now riding through a tract of wild common-land, and 
 coming to a ford, or rather a rapid brook that served as a 
 ford when not swollen by rain. On the other side of the 
 ford the road divided right and left nearly at right angles, 
 and along the right-hand road a funeral procession came 
 slowly to the ford, appeared to pass through it and come on 
 towards the hill. The turn down to the ford was rather 
 steep ; there was some rough grass on one side of the road, 
 and a row of blasted and stunted trees on the other. 
 
 " I must ask my way from one of the mourners behind," 
 thought the horseman, but at that moment the three-year- 
 old caught sight of the procession as it slowly approached. 
 He stood still, snorted and broke out into what is common- 
 ly called a muck : then, having a steep hill behind him and 
 the trees on one side, while the grass on the other gave him 
 room to pass without going near the procession, he took 
 the bit between his teeth, bolted down the hill, through the 
 ford, splashing the water above his head, and pelted along 
 up hill and down hill, while the flinty road rang with the 
 sound of his hoofs, as if they were trying to scan the inimit- 
 able hexameter : 
 
 Quadrupetante putrem sonitu quatit ungula campum. 
 
 The whole occurrence was curious and startling, for 
 when the horseman galloped past the spot where he ought 
 to have met the procession, nothing was visible on 
 the white moonlit road. But he had no leisure for 
 thinking of that. The horse had rebelled under a 
 sudden impulse of terror, and for the first time felt 
 his own strength. Moreover his excitement was in- 
 creased by the nervousness which is characteristic of horse- 
 nature, and the bit had a very low port, quite insufficient 
 for holding a big three-year old, who has a strong mouth, a
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 13 
 
 powerful neck, and his nose between his knees. So on he 
 went, clattering along the stones and sending up the wet 
 mud. 
 
 Presently the road, leaving the tract of wild gorse-covered 
 moor, passed round the base of a wooded hill, and led up- 
 wards between high banks covered with plantations of 
 larch and spruce. 
 
 " I can just steer him," thought the horseman, "so as to 
 keep clear of a waggon, if I meet one." 
 
 He did meet a waggon, and did keep clear of it ; and 
 then he saw park-like grounds stretching upwards towards 
 the summit of a hill bathed in moonlight. Far above, a 
 long range of lighted windows then appeared, glimmering 
 through branches of trees : then he came to a park-gate on 
 the left, which the woman at the lodge opened for him. 
 
 " Is this the way to Osmundsbury ? " he shouted : and 
 the woman answered something. But the pace and the 
 clatter drowned her voice, and at the same time, the right 
 curb rein, being rotten, snapped in two, while he was pull- 
 ing the big brown away from the entrance. The steering 
 was successful, but its consequences were disastrous. 
 Just beyond, the road was crossed by another road on the 
 right, along which a red-faced man, of irritable aspect, with 
 a big cigar in his mouth, was driving a dog-cart, a groom 
 sitting behind. The driver, seeing an apparently clear road, 
 came on rapidly : but the big brown, after being turned from 
 the gate and frightened by the breaking of the rein, plunged 
 forward in the way of the dog-cart. This brought him 
 against the near shoulder of the dog-cart horse, who there- 
 fore shied across the road into a shallow ditch. Over went 
 the dog-cart and the groom, up went the driver's legs, and 
 everywhere went the sparks of his cigar. 
 
 *' D — n you ! " roared the man, scrambling up. 
 
 " Thank you," said the horseman, " for showing that you 
 are not hurt. I am very sorry, but it was not my fault." 
 
 There was no damage done, except to the clothes of the 
 irritable and most irritated man, who had been lodged in 
 the mud when the dog-cart turned over against the bank. 
 With the help of the groom and a labourer, who opportunely 
 passed by, he soon righted the dogcart and proceeded on 
 his way, commenting on his mishap in repeated outbursts 
 of strong language, while the horseman, favoured by the
 
 14 
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 hill and by the length of the gallop, was beginning to 
 make an impression on his horse's mouth by sawing it 
 lightly with the snaffle. The hill turned out to be a long 
 one, and the three-year-old was not in condition. 
 Having galloped about a mile and a half at his best pace, 
 he felt the inert force of the hill, and soon began to show 
 all the unmistakable signs of having had enough. His 
 rider perceived the occasion for a final settlement of the 
 disputed mastery, and urged him on till he was quite pump 
 ed. So that he broke into a trot, then into a walk, and then 
 went quietly as before. 
 
 " I must order new reins," thought the horseman : and 
 that was his last thought about the big brown till he rode 
 into the yard of the George at Osmundsbury, just as the 
 Cathedral clock was striking seven.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 OMEWHAT later, that day, or rather the 
 next morning, for it was in the small hours, 
 the county people of Ilsetshire were coming 
 away from the Hunt Ball at Osmundsbury, 
 and the George Hotel was astir. The ball 
 was held there, in a large room, much 
 decorated with festoons of ivy and camellias, 
 interspersed with coloured lamps. A full 
 moon, shining above the pinnacles of the Cathedral, gave 
 promise of a pleasant drive home. A clear frost without a 
 breath of wind sharpened the sound of voices within the 
 archway, while in the paved street the clang of horses' hoofs 
 was accompanied by a ringing roll of carriage wheels as they 
 drove away. One carriage turned in from stables elsewhere, 
 and then another, and then a fly. Two or three great-coated 
 men were walking away down the street, while two more, 
 who had just come from the ball-room, were lighting cigar- 
 ettes under the archway. One was twenty-six years of age, 
 and rather above the middle height. He had classical 
 features delicately chiselled, a thoughtful countenance, clear- 
 ly expressive eyes, and a figure that showed, by the easy grace 
 of its movements, a physique above the average. The other 
 was about ten years older and two inches taller : rather too 
 long for his width, but lissome and wiry. The countenance 
 of the younger showed steadiness of purpose, backed by a 
 strong will that governed a strong nature, keeping the 
 real and ideal in their right proportions. The other had 
 evidently a strong will also; but it was evidently not in
 
 l6 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 habitual use against himself, evidently not under the guid- 
 ance of fixed principles. The younger exceeded expectation 
 always : the elder always disappointed it sooner or later, 
 because there was more in him, intellectually and morally, 
 than he cared to cultivate. A superficial observer would 
 have said that he had more depth of feehng in him than the 
 younger, because he had what are called melancholy eyes : 
 but no judgment could be further from the truth. 
 
 " I was so glad to meet you again," said the elder of the 
 two. "It was such a pleasant surprise. I have often 
 thought of our walks about Rome last winter. By the bye, 
 how far off is your interesting old place ? " 
 
 " A little over twenty miles," said the younger, "on the 
 other side of a very steep hill." 
 
 This answer would seem to point him out as the young 
 Squire of Hunterscombe, which in fact he was. 
 
 " They will have a longish drive home," said the other, as 
 a family coach drove out with four people in it, each of 
 whom could be clearly seen in the moonlight. 
 
 " Whose carriage is it ? " said Bramsby of Hunterscombe, 
 shaking the ash from his cigarette. 
 
 " Malmaines' of Maplethorpe. You ought to know them." 
 
 " Nevertheless I don't, and I am not likely to have the 
 means of doing so. I know the name of Maplethorpe and 
 nothing more." 
 
 " Somehow," said the elder speaker, "that property hasn't 
 had a male heir for the last two hundred and fifty years." 
 
 "Ah, yes. I remember something about it when I was 
 a small boy. It was called the Ban of Maplethorpe. But I 
 have never heard anything about it since, and never thought 
 of asking. Do you know the origin of the story ? " 
 
 " Here, John," said the elder speaker to an ostler who 
 passed by at that moment. " I shall be ready to start in 
 half an hour." 
 
 "All right. Sir Henry," said the individual addressed, as 
 he touched his cap and disappeared round the corner of the 
 archway. 
 
 "About the story — yes, I remember. I was told it by 
 my mother one night, when we were sitting by a big 
 wood fire in the old hall at Melford Abbas. It was the last 
 Christmas holidays I ever spent with her. 1 suppose it was 
 that impressed it on my mind. The story is forgotten now,
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 7 
 
 I believe ; — at least people don't talk of it about here : but 
 the fact remains that there never has been a male heir for 
 seven generations. It came out of the laws against you 
 Catholics, when the next-of-kin might, if he became Protes- 
 tant, deprive his father, or brother, or any relative, of his 
 estates and take possession. An infamous law, of course, 
 and if the neighbours hadn't, as a rule, been much better 
 than the law, no Catholics could have kept an acre of ground 
 in the country. IMaplethorpe was one of those places where, 
 through those evil days, by connivance of the neighbours, 
 the Mass had been kept up — so my mother said. I often 
 think now that she would have been a Catholic if she had 
 lived. The Squire of Maplethorpe was a Catholic, and 
 many priests were hidden there from time to time. But, as 
 ill luck would have it, his nephew Brian, so the story goes, 
 fancied to possess Maplethorpe, turned Protestant, took 
 possession of the place and dismantled the chapel. A few 
 months afterwards, as he was riding home in the dusk, an 
 old Irish nurse of his ( his mother was Irish, I think,) met 
 him in the road and pronounced the malediction which has 
 since been called the Ban of Maplethorpe. ' Woe to the 
 evil man,' she said, ' who has driven Our Lord away from 
 among us ! Woe to him who has driven away the right heir 
 and seized his house and land ! The voice of no baby boy 
 shall be heard in yon accursed Hall, nor shall it go from 
 father to son, from generation to generation.' Brian Mal- 
 maines bade her hold her peace, and threatened to have her 
 hanged on a neighbouring tree. ' From generation to 
 generation,' she said, and added : ' Make haste, Brian Mal- 
 maines, and repent ; your last hour may be coming.' He was 
 an ill-tempered brute, and struck at her with his riding whip. 
 The blow missed her, but hit his horse. The horse took 
 the bit, bolted down the steep hill to the ford, stumbled 
 over a rolling stone in the water, or else put his foot in a hole, 
 fell, and broke the neck of Brian Malmaines. They call the 
 place Briansford. That's the story. Let every one abound 
 in his own sense, but the fact remains that Maplethorpe 
 since then never has gone from father to son. The present 
 man has only a daughter." 
 
 " I wonder," thought Bramsby, " whether that was 
 Briansford which I crossed this evening, and saw or fancied 
 I saw — I can't tell what ; " but he said nothing. 
 
 B
 
 1 8 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " The country-people," said Sir Henry, *' used years ago 
 to be frightened at crossing that ford, and few would do so 
 willingly after dark. They maintained that a funeral 
 procession was sometimes seen to cross the ford and then 
 disappear, generally before a death in that family. The 
 present owner of Maplethorpe is a second son of the late 
 Lord Windlesmere. He married the heiress of Maple- 
 thorpe and took the name of Malmaines." 
 
 " Was that his daughter dressed all in white with one 
 camellia in her hair ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Sir Henry ; " the further one of the two 
 was Margaret Malmaines, the ' Pearl ot Maplethorpe,' as 
 they call her about here. Heiresses are not often ideal 
 women — indeed very seldom, to say the truth. But she is 
 that. If I were ten years younger, and hadn't taken to 
 the Albany, I think that I should be desperate about 
 her." 
 
 Thought the Squire of Hunterscombe, " An ideal 
 woman — ^yes ! I know hardly anyone, and I scarcely 
 danced at all, but somehow I found myself often near her, 
 listening to the tones of her voice and the words that she 
 said." 
 
 Just then another carriage drove away, having in it a 
 good-humoured little girl with a chubby face and round 
 figure, who was chaperoned by a comfortable man of bulky 
 build, apparently, and in fact, a Squire Rector. 
 
 "And who are they?" said Bramsby, as the carriage 
 drove down the yard, while two or three more men walked 
 in from the ball-room, and a waiter flitted by, carrying a 
 loaded tray that sent forth a savoury smell. 
 
 " That's old Bundleford of Blumbury — a Squarson, as 
 you can see, and his daughter, a young Squarsoness. 
 Nice and pretty too, in her way, she is. But he is some- 
 thing of a bore. Where are you putting up here ? I wish 
 you would come with me to my little shooting-box, four 
 miles off. I shall be starting as soon as I have fuelled my 
 animalism — in other words, had something to eat." 
 
 '' I wish that I could avail myself of your kind invitation," 
 said Bramsby, " but I have ordered a room here. I must 
 be off early in the morning. I have business in London." 
 
 They then went inside the hotel, where they ordered 
 some cold chicken and claret ; and immediately afterwards
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. I^ 
 
 a waiter called out to a small boy, " Sir Henry Melford's 
 dog-cart out in twenty minutes." 
 
 " Well," said Sir Henry, sitting down to the table after 
 the waiter had busded out of the room, " about the Pearl 
 of Maplethorpe. Did you notice her at the ball ? " 
 
 " Yes, I did. No one could help doing so who had any 
 appreciation of the good and the beautiful." 
 
 " True — too true," said Sir Henry, after a pause. " We 
 let the bloom be rubbed off by contact with inferior types. 
 
 I almost wonder that I could be so enthusiastic as I was 
 
 for a moment." 
 
 " The bloom cannot be quite rubbed off," said Bramsby, 
 '' or you would not speak in that way. But I don't believe 
 much in mere bloom, as if we were flowers that fade and 
 perish. We don't perish, though our earthly bodies do ; 
 and we want something that will not rub off, something 
 that will stand wear and tear and grow by cultivation. If 
 we wish to keep out weeds, we must cuUivate the soil." 
 
 " True again," said Sir Henry, " but the life that I lead 
 is not favourable for such cultivation." 
 
 " Then why lead it, when you are not obliged ? " 
 
 '' Because my uncle, from whom I inherit an empty 
 baronetcy, left the estate away to his young wife, and left 
 me in the meantime only what he allowed me during his 
 life — ^just enough to make me idle. I took to amusement 
 as a profession, having no other, and nothing definite to 
 guide me. Voi/ have, and you show it in everything with- 
 out obtruding the fact. But I have no guiding principle 
 except the instinct of a gentleman and a little natural 
 religion. I wish that I had. By the bye — did you notice 
 that man (the youngest of the two by about twenty years) 
 in the Maplethorpe carriage ? " 
 
 " I just caught sight of him," said Bramsby. " But what 
 connection is there between your wish and the immediate 
 ' by the bye ' ?" 
 
 "Well, the connecting link (as far as I know) was that I 
 couldn't see my way farther, and that he did. He became 
 a Catholic a few years ago." 
 
 " Not see your way ? Somebody els^ thought likewise, 
 or supposed himself to think so." 
 
 " Who was that ? " 
 
 " Pilate, when he said, ' What is truth ? ' and then
 
 20 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 walked off; — Pilate, the spiritual prototype of the educated 
 many, who look without seeing, who ask without waiting 
 to be answered, who say and say again that they would be 
 Catholics, cost what it might, //they could only believe in 
 a visible Church, or in a Personal God, or in anything else 
 that provides them with a difficulty. But this is by 
 the bye, quite by the bye : and the connecting link is, 
 that you are not prepared for more. Who was the man in 
 the Maplethorpe carriage ? " 
 
 "An uncommonly strong indictment," said Sir Henry, 
 " I must confess; and though I don't on my own account 
 plead guilty to the whole of it, I must admit that the satire 
 hits hard and is true." 
 
 " True, but not a satire," said Bramsby, " at least not in 
 my intention anyhow, though the facts mentioned may 
 happen to make it seem so. Who was the man in the 
 Maplethorpe carriage ? " 
 
 " The dog-cart is at the door, Sir Henry," said a waiter, 
 looking in at the door. 
 
 " Yes, sir. Coming, sir. Jack ! Take that portman- 
 teau to the Unicorn and tell them the gentleman wants a 
 bed." 
 
 *' Can't you take me in ? " said a female voice outside. 
 " Do ask the landlady. The other hotels are quite full. I 
 have travelled all day and all last night, and I am so 
 tired." 
 
 " Yes'm," said another voice ; " I'll see directly : but 
 I'm afraid the rooms are all engaged." 
 
 "Did you hear that?" said Sir Henry, as the waiter 
 shut the door. " You have a room here, and a lady wants 
 one. Give it up to her, like a preiix chevalier^ and come 
 with me. I will get you off by the early train and insure 
 your having breakfast in good time : which is more than 
 you could hope for in an hotel where the waiters are likely 
 to be kept up till ' daylight doth appear. ' " 
 
 " A thousand thanks. But the portmanteau — " 
 
 " Shove the things in. There is room for it in the dog- 
 cart." 
 
 Bramsby went out, and meeting the lady in question, 
 explained that he would be happy to give up his room. 
 The lady was a tall woman of uncertain nationality and 
 position, who might be a Frenchified Englishwoman,
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 21 
 
 or an Anglicised Frenchwoman, or a cosmopolitan 
 American, or a general foreigner who had lived every- 
 where except where she was born, or possibly a mysterious 
 Russian of high rank, touching whom it would be doubtful 
 whether she was a police agent, or a nihilist in silk. She 
 wore a long manteau of black velvet trimmed with 
 Chinchilly fur over a dark crimson dress of ribbed silk, 
 with a bonnet and gloves to match. Her age, between 
 25 and 35, was as doubtful as her place in the social order 
 — or disorder. Her features generally were sharply cut ; 
 her mouth angular and compressed ; her eyes hard in colour 
 and quite uncommunicative ; her complexion sallow, with 
 a tinge of pink on the cheeks, that might, or might not be 
 separable therefrom. Yet she was unmistakeably hand- 
 some, and could be attractive, for the hardness of her 
 features in repose was commanded, softened or modified 
 by the action of a strong will carefully instructed. 
 
 " I shall have great pleasure in giving up my room to 
 you," said Bramsby of Hunterscombe. 
 
 " Thank you so much," answered the lady, taking a 
 rapid but comprehensive look at him, *' it is very kind — I 
 am so tired ; for I have come straight from Paris to-night 
 and have to go on to Backwater to-morrow morning. But 
 I am afraid it will be so inconvenient to you." 
 
 "Not at all, I assure you," said Bramsby. " The room 
 will be at your service directly." 
 
 He then went upstairs and packed his portmanteau. 
 In a few minutes more he and Sir Henry were seated in a 
 roomy dog-cart accustomed to luggage. 
 
 And so was somebody else, in a similar dog-cart, that 
 stood just before them on the way out of the yard. The 
 somebody else was a man with a red face, an irritable 
 voice and a nervous horse, who was fidgeting much at 
 being too much held by a casual helper, while the groom 
 was getting up behind. Bramsby recognised him and 
 said, 
 
 " I was the quite innocent cause of his upsetting in a 
 ditch a few hours ago. My horse bolted and — " 
 
 " Let him go, you d — d fool," roared the irritable 
 man. "Get out of the way or I shall be over you." 
 
 The casual helper did get out of the way, but in his 
 hurry got into the way of a man lighting a pipe, who, with
 
 2 2 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 his blazing pipe-light, was sent spinning in front of the 
 horse, who shied against the landlady's fat spaniel, and 
 backed on a trayful of empty bottles carried by a small 
 boy. The small boy was knocked over, the bottles were 
 sent rolling about the yard, and the fat spaniel howled 
 miserably : whereat the irritable man laid his whip with 
 much emphasis across the shoulders of the ill-fated smoker. 
 Thereupon the smoker swore loudly, and called on the 
 irritable man to " Come down." Lastly, the horse, 
 stimulated by a cut of the whip, bolted out of the yard, 
 followed by a further explosion of strong language. 
 
 " I am sorry for the fat spaniel," said Sir Henry, as he 
 drove out of the yard, while Bramsby consoled the small 
 boy by the gift of a shilling. 
 
 " Do you know him?" said Bramsby. 
 
 '' In a hunting way," answered Sir Henry. " He lives 
 near Maplethorpe. But tell me — did you see the lady who 
 wanted a room ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Bramsby, " and I didn't like the looks of 
 her at all." 
 
 " Well — she 7c>as travelling in too elaborate a costume." 
 
 "True, but I could have got over that. It might be 
 accidental." 
 
 ♦* What is it, then, that you don't like ? " 
 
 " Everything, and particularly her eyes, though they 
 tell me nothing." 
 
 " No, no. You are a good judge of character, but this 
 time you are mistaken. I knew her abroad, and I spoke 
 to her just now while you were upstairs." 
 
 " Even that fails to persuade me," said Bramsby, 
 " though I would take your opinion of most people. What 
 is she supposed to be ? " 
 
 " Nothing but what she is. She is a Russian Pole, 
 whose husband. Baron Diabolouski, died (they say) in 
 Siberia — " 
 
 " Of being married to her ? " 
 
 " No. What makes you so hard on the poor woman ? 
 She is, of course, poor ; and so she occasionally increases 
 her income by engaging herself as a superior dame de 
 compagnie : and very creditable it is to her, instead of 
 doing as many others in like cases do, trying to live upon 
 their relations. She was at Blumbury for a year after Mrs.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 23. 
 
 Bundleton's death ; and went abroad with the daughter — 
 was in fact a companion and a chaperone." 
 
 " Exactly so, and explained to Mr. Bundleton how 
 •conservative and Christian the present rulers of Italy are, 
 and how all the troubles in Europe are owing to the 
 wonderful organization of Rome against pure Christianity. 
 How much do you really know about her ? " 
 
 " Old Bundleton," answered Sir Henry, " was introduced 
 to her by Archdeacon Maniple, who knew her very well at 
 Lausanne." 
 
 Bramsby laughed ; but the laugh had no mirth in it. 
 ■^' Didn't Archdeacon Maniple know something more than 
 that ? " said he. 
 
 " If he didn't, he wouldn't believe in her — such a 
 •cautious man as he is." 
 
 " That won't do. How many cautious people have 
 been taken in by a smooth tongue and a continual 
 agreeing with their own opinions. Didn't she chime in 
 with the wishes of those who desire friendly relations and 
 something more between the Anglican Church of England 
 and the Russo-Greek Church ? " 
 
 " I think she did." 
 
 " But the Russo-Greeks don't. And didn't she attend 
 the parish church while she was at Blumbury ? "' 
 
 " Yes. I saw her there." 
 
 " Didn't she sometimes cause it to be inferred that 
 Mazzini (for instance) and others of the same stamp were 
 profoundly religious men, who, in struggling against 
 corruption, went further than they meant ? " 
 
 " Suppose that she did. It wouldn't show that she is a 
 person to be avoided." 
 
 " Wouldn't it ? She either is, or is not a Pole. If she 
 is not, she sails under false colours. If she is, she is at 
 heart either a Catholic (which evidently she is not), or a 
 Jewess, or an infidel, and whichever of the three she is, she 
 knows that what she said is not true, and evidently said it 
 in the interest of Revolution, and frequented the parish 
 church under false pretences. Why surely, a man of the 
 world like you — " 
 
 But just then they were passing the irritable man, whose 
 exit from the George Hotel at Osmundsbury had caused so 
 much excitement; and, as ill luck would have it, Sir
 
 24 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 Henry's horse was so ill-advised, that he shied at a donkey 
 in the road, whereat the irritable man's horse did likewise 
 and blundered heavily at a grip by the roadside. Waves 
 of sound, articulate and emphatic, followed them as they 
 drove on. 
 
 " I hope old Blastmore won't burst before he gets home,'"' 
 said Sir Henry. " But we were talking about that poor 
 Baroness." 
 
 " I know," said Bramsby, " that I seem to you 
 uncharitable." 
 
 '' No, not uncharitable. I should never think that of 
 you. But I am sure that you are mistaken, because I 
 know her." 
 
 " Or rather, you are acquainted with her. But just 
 before we started, you were going to tell me who and what 
 the man in the Maplethorpe carriage was." 
 
 " He has been adopted by his aunt, Lady Rossden, both 
 his parents having died years ago, and he is the son of 
 her eldest sister, who married a fascinating young curate, of 
 the name of Twerleby, in the days of lavender kids. The 
 curate got a good living in consequence." 
 
 " And why shouldn't he get a good living, if he could, 
 when he had married a girl delicately brought up ? " 
 
 " All right, if he hadn't an eye to the living beforehand." 
 
 " But why should you suppose that he had ? If that 
 were a necessary conclusion, every man who gains any- 
 thing through his wife would be a fortune-hunter." 
 
 " True," said Sir Henry, in a graver tone. " And then 
 what would become of poor men without a profession ? 
 But how does the clerical love-making seem to a devout 
 Roman like you ? " 
 
 " Quite natural. You Protestants are always criticizing 
 the poor parsons for not being something else — you don't 
 know what. They do their duty by you, as such, very 
 well. What more do you want ? " 
 
 " Well — nothing more, I suppose. It was only an 
 Englishman's grumble. But why do jw/ take up the 
 cudgels for them ? " 
 
 " Because I hate unfairness. But what about the son? " 
 
 " Well — I hardly know how to describe him ; but in my 
 opmion he is thoroughly objectionable. I don't know 
 why. He is clever, agreeable and gentlemanlike, a very
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 25 
 
 good shot and altogether a pleasant companion anywhere. 
 But I couldn't make a friend of him. Some years ago (he 
 is about my age) he became a Catholic, or turned, as Lady 
 Rossden called it while shedding bitter tears, and then he 
 was very pious, excessively pious, rather aggressively 
 pious." 
 
 " I see," said Bramsby. 
 
 " What do you see ? " 
 
 " That he came in on his own authority, and went out 
 or off on the same." 
 
 " He hasn't gone out : but it strikes me — speaking 
 ignorantly as an outsider — it strikes me that he is off the 
 line." 
 
 " Advanced thinking, eh ? " 
 
 " So it appeared to me." 
 
 " Then you certainly are right in not making a friend of 
 him : for either he came into the Church falsely, or he is 
 now sinning against light." 
 
 " I am afraid that I didn't think of that." 
 
 " No : but you knew without thinking that a man who 
 is untrue to God will not be true to man, if any strong 
 temptation should prompt him to be false." 
 
 " After all," said Sir Henry, pulling up at a gate, " I may 
 be wrong. Malmaines makes much of him, and Lady 
 Rossden too." 
 
 " Nevertheless, you had better follow your instinct," said 
 Bramsby, getting out to open the gate that led to the 
 shooting-box, which was of white brick with stables to 
 match. 
 
 " This," said Sir Henry, " and a hundred acres of poor 
 land is all that I can call my own in Ilsetshire. There- 
 was a grim irony in that. Good night. Breakfast will be 
 ready in time, and I will drive you in the dog-cart after- 
 wards. I am sorry that you have to go so soon." 
 
 "And so am I," thought Bramsby, "for I like him, 
 poor fellow. But if we were alone here, he would be likely 
 to dabble in dangerous questions, and wish to see more 
 than he would face when seen. The safest thing for him 
 to do would be to marry Miss Bundleton of Blumbury."
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 HAT'S his name as drove home to-night 
 with Sir Henry Melford after he had 
 hordered breakfast here for the 8.45 
 train ? " said the ostler at the George 
 Hotel, Osmundsbury, to the odd boy. 
 " Mr. Bramsby, which I see his name 
 
 on the portmantle as I shoved into Sir 
 
 Henry's dog-cart," answered the odd boy. The ostler 
 pushed up the front of his cap, and dexterously shook it 
 into its former position, but made nothing of the information. 
 " Never heard talk of him," said he. 
 Neither had the odd boy. 
 
 '' Who was that very handsome young man, who came 
 with nobody, and knew nobody but Sir Henry Melford ? " 
 said the lady of a big house in Ilsetshire, addressing the 
 question, a week or too after the Hunt Ball, to anyone who 
 might be able to answer it. 
 " I can't imagine," said one. 
 
 " This is the fifth time that I have been asked the same 
 question," said another. 
 
 " Does anyone know anything of those people who live, 
 you know — somewhere down in a hole ? " said a third. 
 " Oh ! He can't be from there," said a fourth. 
 *' Why not ? " said a fifth. 
 " Does anyone live there? " said a sixth. 
 Three weeks afterwards, the lady of the big house was 
 told " all about him " in the strictest confidence by the 
 Baroness Diabolouski. It was true that the " all " when 
 critically examined did not amount to much : for though
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 27 
 
 generally depreciative of him as a person that ought to be 
 avoided, it was exceedingly vague. But such as it was, it 
 was repeated with embellishment (also in the strictest 
 confidence) to three or four chosen friends the very next 
 morning, while Bramsby, quite unconscious of being talked 
 over, was then in Basinghall Street, putting a freshly 
 written letter into an envelope that he had stamped for 
 going abroad. The following extract from his letter will 
 show us more about him than we have hitherto known. 
 
 " The reason,'' it said, '^why I took to a profession, instead 
 ■of living on my property, fnay be summed up in these 7uords ; 
 had times, a small estate encumbered, and a good uncle to 
 7'epresent vie. I did so for the sake of the property, with all 
 that it involves : and though I am absent, I am so well 
 represented that the ruinous evils of absenteeism, which I hold 
 to be inexcusable simpliciter, are avoided. I chose this branch 
 cf the law as being in my opinion — ichatever that may be 
 worth — more honourable in itself and more comfortable in 
 conscience, all theories and beliefs to the contrary notwith- 
 standing. My own inclinations are, as you kno7L<, in quite 
 another line : and the wo7'k is therefore distasteful to me, so 
 distasteful that I have sometimes been ashamed of my 07vn will 
 for not suppressing the internal rebellion. But I have been 
 at it some tiitie no^v, and ex repetitis actionibus fit habitus," 
 
 When he had sealed the letter, he put some law papers 
 into a leathern bag, and went downstairs. A cab was at 
 the door, his portmanteau on the roof, and a thin yellow 
 fog around him, that probably would thicken later in the 
 day. As the cab was driving off, a man, whose face he 
 remembered, but not his name, passed quickly, and quickly 
 jumped into a hansom, on the top of which a thickly 
 bearded cabman was reading the latest news. Whether the 
 fare had come from the office to which Bramsby belonged, 
 where he might have been closeted with the senior 
 partner, or from somewhere else close by, was not apparent, 
 owing to the progression of the four-wheeler. 
 
 " It strikes me that I have seen that face before," 
 thought Bramsby, "but I can't remember where, nor 
 when. I don't like the looks of him, whoever and whatever 
 he may be. Imago animi vultus est, indices oculi. I am
 
 2 8 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 not going to accuse myself of rash judgment about that." 
 
 And then he thought of other things till the cab stopped. 
 A railway porter turned the rusty door handle and carried 
 the portmanteau to the platform, where the hissing of 
 steam, the bawling of two newspaper boys and the rapid 
 rolling of a loaded truck among the toes of the travellers 
 gave evidence of a general desire to be somewhere else. 
 
 He found himself travelling in the company of two 
 people, one of whom was the man whose looks he disliked. 
 The other was a young man of weak aspect, but apprecia- 
 tive of himself and of every one who would seem disposed 
 to accept him at his own valuation of himself. This 
 amiable weakness, or dangerous pre-disposition to be 
 misled, was favoured by his friend, who enhanced the 
 favour by asserting himself permanently without an)- 
 definite appearance of doing so. 
 
 When a successive shutting of carriage-doors had 
 warned belated passengers, and the guard stood ready to 
 give the signal, a fourth passenger tumbled in. Up went 
 the guard's hand, and off went the train, and down went 
 the passenger into his seat, saying in a slightly foreign 
 accent, " The cab horse was lame." 
 
 " Better late than never," said the man whom Bramsby 
 had half remembered, and then they began to talk : but 
 owing to the disarranged fashion in which the new comer 
 had entered, it was not clear whether they had recognised 
 each other as acquaintances or not. 
 
 They differed much in face, figure, countenance, breeding 
 and character. The one was lantern-jawed, undersized 
 and impenetrable. He had ill-bred manners under an oily 
 surface, greenish gray eyes powerful by force of malice, a 
 black beard closely cut and a fixed expression of evil 
 purpose that fascinated fools, while it warned the wise. 
 Like the Baroness Diabolouski, he appeared to be a 
 general foreigner — one of those itinerant evil-doers who are 
 at home by adoption, wherever there is mischief to be done. 
 
 The other was a broad-shouldered man of five feet ten or 
 eleven, with sufficiently good features, good manners, that 
 would have been the better for a litde less remembering of 
 himself, and an ambiguous expression of countenance, as if 
 his own nature had been in a way divided. 
 
 The conversation beo:an with remarks and as^reement
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 29 
 
 about the inconvenience of London fogs, the general want 
 of some perfect system, and the necessity of ejecting every- 
 one from office, in order that somebody might do some- 
 thing. This led to the latest news, and the latest news to 
 politics, and politics to views, and views to theories, and 
 theories to principles founded on abstract progress, till, by 
 survival .of the fittest, the conclusion was, that public 
 opinion, guided by advanced thought, is practically 
 infallible. The General Foreigner affirmed it to be the 
 criterion of all truth, because we, though divine, have no 
 absolute knowledge of anything, inasmuch as there is 
 nothing absolute for us to have knowledge of; while, on 
 the other hand, the judgment of the duly instructed 
 majority is the intellectual and moral measure of progress, 
 and therefore of truth as it is to us. The other man was 
 not quite sure about the quality of the instruction, and 
 proposed, as an amendment, that it would be advisable, 
 perhaps, to have some means of testing the instructors : 
 but, inasmuch as this would open the whole question and 
 contradict the principle admitted, he modified it by saying 
 that it was an intellectual doubt, not a practical difficulty. 
 The General Foreigner was satisfied : but the young man of 
 weak aspect put an objection in a feeble and hesitating 
 manner. 
 
 " Yes," he said, pulling his loosely located body into 
 shape as weak men do when they want to symbolize the 
 firmness of purpose which they have not and somebody 
 else has. 
 
 " Yes," he repeated, in a more tentative tone, twisting 
 the chain of his watch, and wishing conditionally that he 
 had not spoken. 
 
 " What? " said the General Foreigner, looking at him in 
 a conditional way. 
 
 " Well, you see, there might be a difficulty — that is with 
 some. I don't mean that I exactly go so far : but perhaps, 
 you know, they might feel that — " 
 
 " What would they feel, whoever they may be ? " 
 
 " Well, you know they would, or might — " 
 
 " What the devil would they do, whoever they may be?" 
 muttered the General Foreigner, without addressing the 
 question. 
 
 '' Well, it might be said by people who don't quite
 
 30 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 understand — it might be said that, if we have no absolute 
 knowledge, we can't be sure of anything." 
 
 " Not sure of anything ? We can be sure of what is 
 true relatively to us ; and that is truth. Indeed, it may in 
 a sense be called absolute truth, because in fact such it is 
 to the mind by which it is measured. You mean, I 
 suppose, that dogmas of what is called faith would (as in 
 fact they will) fall to the ground. Of course they will : but 
 true religion, the silent, unselfish worship of the Unknown 
 and Unknowable will remain." 
 
 This was too much for the young man of weak aspect, 
 who had not advanced so far : but human respect silenced 
 him. He coloured and said nothing. Thought Bramsby, 
 " I shall have to say something before long. I can't see 
 them practising on that poor fellow's deficiencies against 
 his conscience without speaking up, if I can get a chance." 
 
 But they were stopping at a station, and a fifth man, 
 burly and bluff, was preparing to come in. The man who 
 had been to Basinghall Street took down his Gladstone 
 bag to make room, and in doing so, brought a label into 
 view on which was written Augustus Twerleby. 
 
 '' Now I know who you are," said Bramsby to himself. 
 " You are the man who was in the Maplethorpe carriage." 
 
 The burly man chatted in a burly voice with Bramsby, 
 till they were going to stop again, when he heard the 
 General Foreigner say that cremation must, before long, be 
 made compulsory. 
 
 '' D — n it, no ! " said the burly man. " That won't 
 do for us. We won't stand it, sir, not we. Fancy 7ne going 
 and sticking my father or mother into a stove, to crackle 
 and burst like a broken tumbler ! It's downright disgrace- 
 ful, and wicked, and everything else that oughtn't to be, 
 and a heathen custom into the bargain. Didn't the Jews 
 always bury the dead ? and they were the chosen people, 
 until they crucified our Saviour. And wasn't our Saviour 
 buried? Just imagine what the other way would have 
 been then. Why, it is too horrible and blasphemous even 
 to think of. Let the people who like it wait a bit, and not 
 be in such a hurry. They'll find themselves in a hotter 
 place by and by, if they don't mind. I've no patience with 
 them. If I could have my way, I'd have them all flogged." 
 
 The General Foreigner, knowing himself to be one of
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 3 1 
 
 them, felt offended in his personality, and became pale 
 with anger. 
 
 " Am I to understand," he said, " that you apply these 
 words to me ? " 
 
 " To you ? " said the burly man. " Certainly not. I 
 never insinuate things ; and I should never think of 
 insulting you by supposing — " 
 
 " You insult humanity," interrupted the General 
 Foreigner, feeling that like a certain other some one, he 
 must 
 
 " Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen " 
 
 in the estimation of his hearers. Moreover, the young 
 man of weak aspect had ventured to laugh. 
 
 '' How do I insult humanity ? " said the burly man. 
 
 '•By endeavouring to cast ridicule on an outcome of its 
 development." 
 
 " My dear sir," said the burly man, " excuse me. You 
 don't mean to say that humanity requires the dead bodies 
 of Christians to frizzle in a furnace ? And what is this 
 humanity that I should fall down and worship it, because a 
 lot of people set it up as their God ? Why, it's nothing, 
 when you come to look at it, but what they pretend to find 
 in all the men and women about, including fools and 
 malefactors and false teachers. I don't mean anything 
 personal." 
 
 At this conclusion the young man of weak aspect 
 laughed again : whereat the General Foreigner glared 
 suddenly, and shaking his fist in the face of the burly man, 
 said, 
 
 " Sir, it is personal, and what you say is a lie. Do you 
 understand me ? " 
 
 The train was just pulling up. 
 
 " Look here," said the burly man, " if you were not 
 such a little chap, I'd shake you for saying that. Good- 
 bye. Don't bear malice. I wasn't talking at you." 
 
 He then nodded to Bramsby and left the carriage. 
 The General Foreigner sent a fierce defiance after him, the 
 sound of which was dispelled by the shrill voice of a small 
 boy selling the Daily Telegraph. 
 
 " I wish there were many more like him," thought
 
 32 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 Bramsby. " His bluff shrewdness is worth a great deal. 
 I wonder who and what he is." 
 
 The train went forward, the burly man went his way, 
 the General Foreigner's indignation went off, and three 
 newspapers, belonging to Bramsby's three fellow-passengers, 
 went up. Nevertheless their talking went on by fits and 
 starts, till at last the newspapers went down, and the 
 General Foreigner began to instruct the young man of 
 weak aspect by cunning remarks that apparently went in. 
 Bramsby looked and listened without seeming to see or 
 hear. 
 
 " I want something to lay hold of," said Bramsby to 
 himself, " something that will give me an excuse for 
 cutting in. That poor empty-headed boy, who ought to be 
 tied to his mother's apron-string, is pompously swallowing 
 poison in sugar-plums. I shall get a chance presently." 
 
 But the General Foreigner spoke in a low voice, with his 
 head turned away ; and then they took to periodicals ; and 
 then the train stopped again ; and then two ladies came in, 
 the elder of them saying, " How full everything is ! I 
 never will travel again on the day of the dog show." 
 
 Bramsby lifted into the carriage a fat child, a small 
 rocking horse, a fur cloak, a shapeless bundle of wraps and 
 a miscellaneous collection of current literature, which 
 included the Record, the Nineteenth 'Centmy, Truth and the 
 Revue des Deux Mondes. The elder lady followed slowly 
 and smiled, thanking him in a comfortable voice, while the 
 General Foreigner, who had to make room inconveniently, 
 grumbled in several languages. She was short, large and 
 good-humoured. The younger one was tall, thin and 
 severe. There was nothing to show what they were 
 relatively to each other : but the fat child appeared to be 
 the property of the tall one, and also the newspapers, 
 except the Record. The General Foreigner looked at each, 
 then at both together, and elected to be silent : but the 
 large lady, who was brimful of benevolence, intended to 
 speak for his benefit and instruction, having heard him 
 express in a British monosyllable his objection to their 
 entrance. 
 
 " My dear sir ! " she said, '' do consider, I implore you, 
 how wicked it is to use such words. And all these infidel 
 writings, too ! Don't you know that God might strike you
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 33 
 
 dead all at once? And then, do you know where you 
 would go ? Oh ! if you would only hear Mr. Bellows ! " 
 
 " My dear madam," answered the General Foreigner, 
 stiffly, " I really am old enough — "" 
 
 " Yes, indeed you are ; and therefore you are nearer the 
 end. You look very ill. Indeed you look as if you had a 
 heart complaint and would die suddenly. My husband 
 was a physician, and I know something about symptoms. 
 And then — where would you go to ? " 
 
 " Not where you are, I hope,'" said the General 
 Foreigner, trying to smile. " Your prognostications are so 
 alarming." But he much misliked the result of her 
 diagnosis, and under the plea of wanting to smoke, for the 
 train was still stationary near the platform, went into 
 another carriage. 
 
 " My dear Martha ! " said the severe lady, " what is the 
 use of talking about old Bellows ? He only threatens fire 
 and brimstone, and promises psalm-singing on a damp 
 cloud." 
 
 " Why surely," said her large friend, " you would not 
 have him run after Mr. Stole or Dr. Cassocky ? " 
 
 " After //lem ? Not I. If you really wish to hear some- 
 thing that appeals to the pulsations of the great heart that 
 beats in — " 
 
 " Where, my dear ? " 
 
 " Oh ! never mind. I say that if you wish to hear some- 
 thing capable of appealing to the great heart of the country 
 and its intellectual condition, you will find it in the sermons 
 of Mr. Nohell. In //lem truth is put on a broad basis, not 
 confined within the narrow limits of restrictive dogma." 
 
 The poor Evangelical opened her eyes and her mouth, 
 quite bewildered by the combination of words. Bramsby 
 came to her rescue. 
 
 " There is a little difficulty about that," he said. 
 " Every fact is clearly distinct from all other facts — or there 
 would be only one fact — and, by reason of being a fact, 
 excludes whatever contradicts it, because truth is essentially 
 exclusive. That truth is essentially exclusive everyone 
 admits in the practical affairs of life. No one, for instance, 
 would doubt that the fact of to-day being Thursday quite 
 excludes the possibility of its being Monday or Wednesday. 
 How then can a preacher hope to make his followers truly
 
 34 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 believe anything, if he begins by ignoring the nature of 
 truth ? He can only train them down to be sceptics by 
 logical conclusion of his teaching ; and such they will be, 
 sooner or later, if they continue to follow him." 
 
 The tall woman tossed her head, and told herself aloud 
 that such things were not worth answering. The other 
 was delighted. 
 
 " There now ! " she said. " You can't get out of that." 
 
 " Pooh ! Nonsense ! " answered the Christian on a 
 broad basis. " Can't you see that its all Jesuitical cunning ? " 
 
 '' Nothing of the sort." 
 
 " I say it is : and I do know." 
 
 " Answer him then, my dear Penelope." 
 
 " Answer ^/la^ ? I wonder at you. Don't you see — " 
 
 '' I saw that you had the worst of it, my dear." 
 
 '^Ouoff!" 
 
 " Well, I am very much obliged to this gentleman for 
 what he said. I am sure, sir, that you believe in One 
 Mediator." 
 
 " Certainly I do," said Bramsby. " Every Christian 
 must." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, t/iat they must — not like those poor Roman 
 Catholics, poor things ! " 
 
 " And yet I am one of them." 
 
 " You ? Oh ! who would ever have thought it ? But 
 the others don't believe in One Mediator." 
 
 " Indeed they do, and must." 
 
 " Well, to be sure ! " 
 
 This crisis brought the conversation to a close, but not 
 the friendly relations that Bramsby's help in need had 
 established. The warm-hearted believer hi the theology of 
 the P.everend Samuel Bellows quickly recovered herself, 
 insisted on his eating some very good sandwiches out of a 
 bag that she carried on her arm like an old reticule, and 
 produced therefrom a small bottle of cherry brandy. They 
 talked and agreed on many questions, including the dog- 
 show, till at last she, and the disciple of Mr. Nohell, and 
 the fat child, and the wraps, and the newspapers that 
 agreed to disagree, were left on the platform while the 
 train steamed on. The two others had said nothing to 
 Bramsby and continued to do so. Bramsby tried a leading 
 article that led nowhere, and being tired, fell asleep.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 RAMSBY had supposed himselt to be 
 dozing, as in fact he was, when he thought 
 so : but that middle state between sleeping 
 and waking is deceptive. After a while he 
 slept soundly, dreaming in a confused and 
 fitful manner of the General Foreigner, 
 Mr. Bellows, the tall woman, Mr. Broad- 
 way Nohell, and the Baroness Diabolouski, 
 till a voice of extra power shouted through the open 
 window, " Puddleford, Puddleford ! Puddle — ford ! " 
 
 Waking with a start he found that he had passed his 
 own station and come to the third beyond. He jumped 
 out, saying, '' Well ! of all the stupid things that I ever 
 did. What ajii I to do ? I shall have to wait three or 
 four hours before an up train stops here, if there is one 
 to-night." 
 
 " What do you advise me to do ? " said he to the station- 
 master. 
 
 The station-master ruled that he had better get some 
 sort of conveyance to Osmundsbury, and pointed out a 
 short cut across the fields which would take him into a 
 green lane. 
 
 " At the end of that lane, sir," he said, '' turn to the right, 
 and keep straight on till you come to a hill and the ford 
 at the bottom of it, and then take the road that turns off to 
 the left. That will very soon bring you to the village of 
 Littlebourne, where the innkeeper has a dog-cart. The 
 Backwater train leaves Osmundsbury at 5.47. You'll catch
 
 36 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 it easy. I'll send on the luggage by the first train 
 to-morrow morning." 
 
 Bramsby crossed the field to the further gate that opened 
 into the green lane. At the end of the green lane was the 
 road, and on he went, passing a windmill, a blacksmith's 
 forge and a chapel of the Primitive Methodists, till the 
 road, turning down a steep hill, disclosed the ford below by 
 the light of the rising moon. 
 
 "Why, this," bethought, "is the very place where the 
 big brown bolted with me, a month ago. And the moon 
 is up too, as it was then. But where is the funeral 
 procession, that started a tractable three-year-old from his 
 propriety ? I don't see anything now except a lady riding 
 alone towards the ford. I wonder how she comes to be 
 alone." 
 
 But at that moment he saw something more, unmis- 
 takeably real. The lady's horse reared, swung himself 
 round and galloped up the hill, quite uncontrolled. 
 Happily he was galloping up-hill : but, a little further on, 
 where the road turned off sharp to the right, at the top of 
 the hill, there was a bit of rough grass unfenced with a 
 chalk-pit beyond. The runaway horse would certainly go 
 straight, and therefore into the chalk-pit. The danger to 
 the lady was imminent and a fatal result certain, unless he 
 were able to catch the horse and pull him up. But how 
 was this to be done ? If he were to stand in front of the 
 horse, going, as he was, at full speed, he would either be 
 knocked on one side, or the horse would stumble over him, 
 and throw his rider headforemost into the road. Moreover 
 the road up the hill was broad, and unfenced from the 
 rough grass on either side. The horse might gallop by at 
 his mad pace on one side or the other quite out of reach. 
 But he was coming on : there was not a moment to be lost 
 in deciding. Bramsby gave a rapid glance around, retired 
 a few paces backwards, and took up his position where some 
 stunted trees on one side and a high heap of stones on the 
 other, narrowed the space. He made a short aspiration and 
 planted himself in the centre of the road. The horse came 
 on, swerved, and tried to pass between him and the clump 
 of trees, but Bramsby stepped forward and powerfully 
 grasped the curb rein. He was thrown down by the horse 
 in that onward rush and dragged along the road a little
 
 THE BAN OK MAPLETHORPF. 37 
 
 way : but he kept his hold firmly anei sprang up. Then 
 he ran a few yards alongside of the horse, who was no 
 longer free to go at his own pace, until by a sudden jerk, 
 allowable in such a case only, he forced the unwilling 
 animal back on his haunches. 
 
 " You must get off," he said to the lady ; '* you really 
 must. This horse is thoroughly frightened. I will lead 
 him for you to wherever you are going." 
 
 Holding the horse with his left hand, he offered his right 
 arm to help her down. 
 
 " You have saved my life," she said, when she had 
 dismounted. " There is a chalk-pit a litde further on. I 
 never can thank you enough." 
 
 " I only caught hold of him as he passed by," said he. 
 
 " But you risked your life in doing it," she answered, 
 '' and I am afraid you must have been hurt when the horse 
 dragged you." 
 
 " Oh, that is nothing," he said, " and I could hardly be 
 said to have risked my life. I only risked a tumble — and 
 remember, I had seen the chalk-pit." 
 
 He then led the horse towards the ford, and she went on 
 to say, 
 
 " I have not had him long : but he has . always 
 carried me quietly till now. You must wonder why I was 
 riding alone so late. The fact is that I had been to see an 
 old woman, who was ill, and finding her very much worse, 
 I sent the groom for the doctor and stayed with her as 
 long as I could." 
 
 "What made the horse turn round and run away?" 
 said he. 
 
 " A funeral procession, that I saw clearly. But why it 
 terrified him so much I can't imagine. And what has 
 become of it, wherever it was going ? It ought to be in 
 front of us, coming up the hill ; but I see nothing now." 
 
 "And I," saidBramsby, "saw nothing when you saw that." 
 
 " Then you think that it was fancy ? " 
 
 " Not unless I could have fancied the same thing, when 
 I saw it at the same place, a month ago." 
 
 The young lady shuddered a little, and said, 
 
 " Did you ? Are you sure ? " 
 
 " Yes. And my horse bolted, and sent a dog-cart into a 
 ditch a little farther on, where there are two cross-roads
 
 3^ THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 beyond some park gates. The good man in the dog-cart 
 sent a volley of oaths after me." 
 
 " It must have been Mr. Blastmore. They say that he 
 swears on the smallest provocation. I saw you at the ball, 
 I think ?" ^ 
 
 Bramsby was quite sure that he had seen her ; but he 
 only said, " Yes, I was there." The lady was the heiress 
 of Maplethorpe. 
 
 They were then at the ford ; and the horse, remembering 
 the cause of his fright, refused emphatically to be led at 
 the length of the rein from the foot-bridge. 
 
 " But you ;////j-/ go somehow," thought Bramsby, "and 
 I will not wade." So he climbed into the side-saddle, and 
 forced him through, with the help of the young lady's 
 ridmg-whip. The horse bounded through the water, and 
 throwing up his head, tried to bolt. 
 
 " You see what he is when he is ruffled," said Bramsby. 
 " I hope that you will not ride him again." 
 
 " I will not," she said ; " I see that he is too much for 
 me." 
 
 " He nearly got away with me just now," said Bramsby. 
 " I can't attempt to get off till I have quieted him a little." 
 
 This he did sufficiently before they reached the lodge. 
 He sprang off while the lodge-keeper was coming to open 
 the gate, and said : 
 
 " I must apologize for riding when you were on foot. 
 But I had no alternative. If I had tried to get off sooner, 
 he would have been off too soon, and left me to scramble 
 back, if I could, or tumble and let him go. Be quiet, you 
 ill-tempered beast ! " 
 
 The last words were addressed by way of warning to the 
 horse, and accompanied by a pull that sent him a yard 
 backwards. But the horse fidgetted and snorted, rushing 
 forward at intervals and kicking out viciously, till they 
 arrived at the house, where the extent of lighted windows 
 betokened the presence of guests. The lady rang the bell, 
 and when the door was opened, Bramsby said to the butler, 
 ^ " Would you kindly tell me the shortest way to 
 Littlebourne ? " 
 
 Before he could reply, a gentleman, whose face he 
 recognized, crossed the hall, saying, " A telegram, of course ; 
 some people have nothing else to do ; " then catching sight
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 39 
 
 of the young lady as she entered, who was in fact his 
 daughter, he came forward to meet her. 
 
 " This gentleman has saved my life," she said. " That 
 horse ran away up the hill from Briansford and made for 
 the chalk-pit. We can never thank him enough." 
 
 " I was only too glad of the chance," said Bramsby, 
 " that enabled me to be of use. I was asking your butler if 
 he could direct me to Littlebourne. I unluckily fell asleep 
 in the train and missed my own station. The station- 
 master told me that I could get a conveyance of some sort 
 there. I want to get on to Osmundsbury, or, if it is not too 
 far, cut across the country in the dog-cart to Hunterscombe." 
 
 " Hunterscombe ? " said the young lady's father, '' then 
 you " 
 
 " My name is Oswald Bramsby." 
 
 " I thought so — I cannot hear of your going away to- 
 night. Littlebourne is just in the contrary direction from 
 this — on the left hand road after crossing the ford, and it 
 would be very late before you could get home. But in 
 any case I could not hear of it, and it gives me great 
 pleasure to make your acquaintance. A month or five 
 weeks ago, when we were at Backwater, we lost our way 
 among the hills, and my daughter and myself found our- 
 selves at Hunterscombe, where your uncle was very kind. 
 He showed us your most interesting house and rode with 
 us as far as the high road." 
 
 " I am very glad," said Bramsby, " to meet the agreeable 
 visitors of whom my uncle told me, and thank you very 
 much for your hospitality, but I am not fit to appear in a 
 drawing-room ; I have nothing with me, except what I 
 stand in, and I am rather muddy besides." 
 
 " Never mind that. I can't hear of your going away 
 to-night." 
 
 The end of the adventure was that he followed his host 
 upstairs, and about ten minutes afterwards appeared in the 
 drawing-room, where besides the daughter of his host and 
 her aunt. Lady Rossden, he found Mr. Twerleby, Sir 
 Henry Melford, and the young man of weak aspect, whose 
 name turned out to be Fetherhed. Mr. and Miss Bundleton 
 of Blumbury, who lived half way between Maplethorpe 
 and the county-town, arrived soon afterwards, bringing 
 with them two guests, the Baroness Diabolouski and the
 
 40 
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 General Foreigner. These were followed by the rector of 
 a distant parish — namely, Humbleton-in-the-Hole — with a 
 fat wife and tall daughter, and the Dean of Osmundsbury, 
 with his wife and daughter, and Lord Weybridge, whose 
 property bordered on Maplethorpe, and his wife, who was 
 Sir Henry's first cousin once removed, and their daughter, 
 who was married to one of the county members, who had 
 been unexpectedly expected to go somewhere and explain 
 his views. The unexpected absence of the county member 
 would have balanced the unexpected presence of Bramsby, 
 if a lady, who had been expected to arrive just before 
 dressing-time from the north of Scotland, had not caught 
 the measles : but inasmuch as she had caught the measles 
 and therefore was detained in North Britain, the numbers 
 were uneven, so that when dinner was announced there 
 must be one unprotected man in the procession. Bramsby, 
 seeing that Twerleby, who was wanted for that purpose, 
 was not seeing, because he wanted to take in Miss 
 Bundleton, gracefully claimed the last place on the plea of 
 being dressed in an irregular fashion and walked alone. 
 When the others were seated, he found that a chair for 
 himself was placed next to the lady of the house, who 
 nointed it out as his.
 
 thp: ban of maplethorpe. 41 
 
 The two corners of the table separated her equally from 
 him and from his opposite neighbour, Lord Weybridge ; 
 but the latter had taken her in, while Bramsby belonged 
 strictly to no one. She settled the question for a while by 
 talking to both, till the Baroness Diabolouski had said 
 something to Mr. Bundleton, and Lady Rossden had said 
 something to Lord Weybridge, while the broad back of 
 the Dean's wife was turned away from Bramsby, who thus 
 found himself talking tete-a-tete with Margaret Malmaines, 
 the Pearl of Maplethorpe. 
 
 " It was well for us all," she said, " that you missed 
 your own station and were coming down the hill : for 
 otherwise I must have been killed." 
 
 " Yes — and it was well for me that the horse bolted up 
 the hill, for otherwise I should not have had the pleasure 
 of being here." 
 
 '' The curious part of the adventure," she said, " was 
 that he went as quietly as possible till he came near the 
 ford. I distinctly saw the something that frightened him — 
 the funeral procession. It came slowly along the right 
 hand road, as if from the direction of Maplethorpe, towards 
 the ford, and the foremost in the procession had already 
 begun to cross it coming towards me, when the horse stood 
 quite still, snorted and trembled all over, then suddenly 
 reared and galloped back up the hill where you caught 
 him. Then what became of it afterwards ? I distinctly 
 saw the hearse with tall plumes and the dark figures 
 moving along after it. I remember for a moment wonder- 
 ing whose it could be, for I had not heard of anyone 
 dying in the neighbourhood lately." 
 
 " Did you see l/ial ? " he said. " It was just like what 
 I saw, but the procession seemed to have already crossed 
 the ford, before my horse took fright. As it was coming 
 on towards me up the hill, he bolted and galloped along 
 the rough grass at the side of the road to avoid it ; but 
 when I passed where it ought to have been, the whole 
 thing had disappeared, and I could see nothing but the 
 white road and the row of stunted trees blasted by 
 lightning or by the wind, through which the moonlight 
 was gleaming. After all, it could only have been some- 
 thing that looked like it — some strong effect of light and 
 shade."
 
 42 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " Yet I have often ridden by that place before," she 
 said, " though never so late. But I have driven by it 
 many times and never saw that effect. They call it 
 Briansford." 
 
 Bramsby saw that she had become very pale, and 
 said, " I cannot think that it could have been anything 
 more than some effect of shadow cast by the moon. 
 Perhaps you have never passed that way before when it 
 was just in that position." 
 
 " It was a childish fear," she said, " that came over me 
 — a dim remembrance of overhearing the nurses talk about 
 it when my grandfather died. They thought I was asleep : 
 but I heard what they said, and what I heard connected it 
 in my mind with the flickering firelight and weird shadows 
 dancing on the ceiling. I used to be frightened at the 
 firelight for a long time after that, and always dreaded that 
 the wicked Brian Malmaines, who was said to haunt the 
 ford, would come to the nursery and carry me away. I 
 asked my mother about it long afterwards, and she said 
 it was all nonsense. But she never would allow anyone to 
 talk about it : so don't mention it to my father." 
 
 Thought Bramsby, " I certainly did see what she saw — 
 whatever it was ; " but he answered, " Certainly I will not 
 mention it to anyone. There are plenty of ghost-stories 
 about, and people are fond of telling and hearing them, 
 especially at five o'clock tea. An untenanted house in 
 Berkeley Square furnished a great many different stories 
 for many years." 
 
 "They tell me," said she, "that all these things can be 
 accounted for by natural causes. Do you think so ? '' 
 
 " Many of them can," said Bramsby, " a great many, 
 perhaps most of them." 
 
 " Then you don't deny all ? " 
 
 " No : because if I did, I should have to deny what has 
 often been unexpectedly seen by credible witnesses — honest, 
 intelligent, in good health and not nervous. When all 
 those conditions are fulfilled, I don't see how we can fall 
 back on the theory of delusion, unless we are prepared to 
 doubt the evidence of sense, and either hang people with- 
 out examining witnesses or never punish anyone. But in 
 most cases we hear the story through a third or a tenth 
 person, without any means of testing it, and with an
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 43 
 
 evident probability of its having grown in the process of 
 teUing." 
 
 " Why is it," she said, " that people are now so fond of 
 hearing what they call ghost-stories ? I have heard my 
 father say that when he was a boy, it was the fashion to 
 laugh at them." 
 
 " Isn't it," said he, " a protest of the heart against the 
 cold scepticism which, under one name or another, is 
 being disseminated in every possible way ? Human hearts, 
 when they are not frozen by intellectual pride, long for 
 something beyond the perishable : and if you deprive 
 them of the supernatural, they turn to the preternatural. 
 If they are easily satisfied, they can be put off with ghosts. 
 If they want more and believe less, they take to spiritism. 
 Then again, the demand for ghost-stories has been much 
 stimulated, and the supply increased, by an organized 
 effort to prove as many of them as possible, in order to 
 ventilate theories against their reality." 
 
 " You have accounted for a great deal that puzzled and 
 worried me," said she, after a long pause. " I see now 
 why it is, and why one hears people say such very strange 
 things. What do you think about mesmerism ? " 
 
 " That it certainly is unlawful and leads to most 
 pernicious results." 
 
 "Well, I never liked the idea of it : but I should like to 
 know your reasons. I have been told that the Catholic 
 Church is against it, but I never heard exactly why." 
 
 " One reason alone," he said, " will, I am sure, be 
 sufficient to convince you. Can it be right to give up the 
 control of one's will to another person — the control of that 
 free will through which we shall be saved or lost ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. Nothing could justify that." 
 
 " But that," he said, " is precisely what happens when 
 anyone is mesmerised : and the power of the mesmeriser 
 over the mesmerised goes on, so that he can exercise his 
 influence from a distance, if he likes. Is l/ia^ safe ? " 
 
 " No. Horrid and abominable ! I have always had a 
 suspicion of it, without knowing why." 
 
 She then talked about Hunterscombe, till, during a 
 pause, Lord Weybridge asked her some question, and Mr. 
 Bundleton spoke to Lady Rossden, and the Rector began to 
 say nothing, and the Dean's wife began talking to
 
 44 '1"HE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 Bramsby, while her daughter and Mr. Fetherhed were 
 talking about him. Which they did in this way : — 
 
 The Dean's daughter, being rather weary of talking to 
 Mr. Fetherhed, because he appeared to her, as in fact he 
 then was, conceited and tiresome, looked about, and said, 
 
 " Do you know the name of the gentleman who came 
 unexpectedly just before dinner ? " 
 
 " Oh ! Ah ! " said Mr. Fetherhed. " No. I haven't 
 the honour of knowing who he is. I should say he is a 
 game-keeper out of place." 
 
 The meaning of this facetious remark was that Bramsby, 
 just before he left Basinghall Street, had tried on some new 
 clothes to wear at Hunterscombe, and therefore travelled 
 in them. 
 
 " He is a very distinguished-looking man," said the 
 Dean's daughter, decisively. 
 
 " Then perhaps he is a tragic actor — Hamlet in black 
 velvet. He thinks a lot of himself anyhow." 
 
 " Do you think so ? I never saw anyone more quite 
 entirely free from that. It really is quite refreshing to see 
 a young man so unaffected. One finds it so seldom." 
 
 The emphasis was suggestive, but not to Mr. Fetherhed, 
 who was tearing a leaf out of a pocket-book. 
 
 " I'm going to find out," said he, writing with a pencil. 
 *' Here it is. ' Who is that fellow that looks like a game- 
 keeper on the stage ? ' " He sent the paper by a footman 
 to Sir Henry Melford, saying, " He knows him, he does ; 
 for he spoke to him when he came in." 
 
 " Do you think it advisable to send notes about at a 
 dinner-party?" said the Dean's daughter. "Sir Henry 
 looks very much annoyed about it." 
 
 " Oh ! He's an awfully old bird. We're not so 
 particular now." 
 
 The answer was brought, written on the back of the 
 paper in a large and very clear hand. As he took it, the 
 words were visible to the Dean's daughter, and this is what 
 she saw : 
 
 " Do}it be an ass. He is a better man than you in every 
 7vay and has a longer pedigi-eeP 
 
 " I — I can't read this rot," said Mr. Fetherhed, hastily 
 crumbling up the paper and putting it into his pocket. 
 
 " And yet it was very plain," said the Dean's daughter.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 45 
 
 " Are you going to the cattle-show to-morrow at 
 Osmundsbury ? " 
 
 This opportune question turned the talking, while the 
 same question was having the same effect, but not oppor- 
 tunely, further up. Malmaines, who had sent three fat 
 bullocks and a yearling bull to the show, was talking about 
 his chances to Lady Weybridge, when, owing to a 
 momentary lull in the conversation at and about that end 
 of the table, others joined in and made their remarks, till 
 they had no more remarks to make. There was a clear 
 pause, not broken by so much as a monosyllable — one of 
 those inexplicable pauses for which one feels personally- 
 responsible, without being conscious of having done any- 
 thing by commission or omission to bring it about. 
 During a pause of that sort, the Dean broke silence in a 
 comfortable voice, and said to his host, 
 
 " We were so sorry that you were not able to be at the 
 lecture last Thursday. It was very well attended, and Mr. 
 Oldchurch gave us a most lucid explanation, with great 
 sobriety of manner, a happy choice of language, and 
 a vigorous delivery. It was thoroughly well argued, 
 thoroughl)- well done in every respect. It was a great 
 success and highly gratifying altogether." 
 
 " I was just starting for London," said Malmaines, 
 " about some tiresome business, and stupidly mislaid the 
 circular before I had time to read it. What was the 
 subject of the lecture ? " 
 
 " It was on the continuity of the Church." 
 
 " What Church did he lecture about? " said Mr. Fether- 
 hed, who was at a loss for something to say about the 
 cattle-show to the Dean's daughter. 
 
 '' I should like to do something to that fellow," thought 
 Bramsby. 
 
 "The Church of England," said the Dean, without 
 noticing the speaker, " the Church of Alban, of Austin, 
 of Anselm, of Laud — " 
 
 " And of Dr. Liddon," said Sir Henry Melford to Lord 
 Weybridge's daughter, who said, " Oh ! " 
 
 " The Church which has continued," said the Dean, 
 " from the first preaching of Christianity in this island, to 
 the present time, and which, by the blessing of God, will 
 remain to the end."
 
 46 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 '^ By supplying every sort of doctrine, as required," 
 remarked Sir Henry, in a very low voice : and the same 
 lady on his right hand said, 
 
 " You really are too bad. We can't help these things, 
 you know." 
 
 " I don't quite understand," said Malmaines to the 
 Dean, " how he could make out that our Church of 
 England is the Church of St. Anselm, who was sent by the 
 Pope, and who said Mass, which the Thirty-nine Articles 
 denounce as idolatry. I was taught quite the reverse ; 
 and so was everyone in my time. The Book of HomiHes 
 tells us that we were drowned in abominable idolatry for 
 eight hundred years or more, and the Homilies are said in 
 the Thirty-nine Articles to contain godly and wholesome 
 doctrine. In the Thirty-nine Articles, transubstantiation, 
 purgatory and invocation of saints, all of which were 
 believed in the days of St. Austin and of St. Anselm, and 
 up to the time of the Reformation, are distinctly denied. 
 The continuity theory is disproved by the inexorable logic 
 of facts — by the fact of doing away with the Mass, by the 
 fact of unteaching in an authorized prayerbook doctrines 
 previously taught, and by the fact of establishing a new 
 hierarchy under the headship of the sovereign. We 
 should have to re-write history from our own imagination, 
 and say that we pulled down the original Church for the 
 purpose of keeping it up. I don't like the ring of the new 
 theory. I don't mean anything against Mr. Oldchurch and 
 those who think with him. No doubt they are persuaded 
 somehow. But the thing itself is not honest." 
 
 " My dear friend," said the Dean, " there is a great deal 
 of truth in what you say ; and I thoroughly admire and 
 appreciate your straightforward way of putting it, which is 
 just like yourself. But the question is not exhausted by 
 the external facts that surround it, and (so to speak) 
 partially obscure it. There is a distinction between the 
 essential doctrine and practice of the Church Catholic 
 and those non-essential peculiarities, or (as the Scholastics 
 would have called them) the accidents, whose variations do 
 not affect the essence of the Church. Were I to point out, 
 as I hope to do on a more suitable occasion, the true state 
 of the case, we should, I am sure, be of one mind about it." 
 " I am quite ready to be convinced, if possible," said
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 47 
 
 Malmaines, " for it would bridge over a painful break in 
 the Christian history of England, and help to account for 
 our being divided from those whose co-religionists made 
 us Christians. But I can't see how such questions as those 
 which divide us from them, can reasonably be called non- 
 essentials. Surely, for instance, the question of whether 
 the bread and wine are or are not transubstantiated, is an 
 essential question." 
 
 "Put in those terms, it undoubtedly would be so," said 
 the Dean. " But there are other points to be considered. 
 We will discuss them at our leisure. I am sure that we 
 shall be of one mind." 
 
 "Not about that," said Mahnaines to Lady Weybridge. 
 
 " Do you know," said she, " I like the idea of it very 
 much." 
 
 " So do I," said he, " but facts are stubborn things." 
 
 "That discussion won't come off," said Sir Henry to his 
 neighbour on the right. 
 
 " What is your wicked reason for saying so ? " said she. 
 
 "The Dean and I," he answered, " are of one mind about 
 it. He knows as well as I do that Malmaines' common 
 sense would be too much for him." 
 
 " Really, I begin to think that you are going to turn." 
 
 " Not I, I assure you." 
 
 "For my part," said Mr. Bundleton, "I hold that the visible 
 Church of Christ is a congregation of faithful men, in which 
 the pure word of God is preached, and the sacraments be 
 duly administered according to Christ's ordinance, in all 
 those things that of necessity are requisite to the same." 
 
 "True," answered the Dean; "but that points to the 
 continuity of which I spoke. That visible congregation of 
 faithful men is not locally restricted by the nineteenth 
 article. The existence of such implies continuity." 
 
 " How about the eight hundred years and more ? " said 
 Sir Henry to his neighbour on the right, who uncomfortably 
 answered, 
 
 "Why surely, you don't take the Book of Homilies as an 
 authority ? " 
 
 Whereto he replied, 
 
 " The Supreme Head of the Established Church ordered 
 them to be read in all the churches." 
 
 "And," said the Dean, "the continuity of these is a
 
 48 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 clear proof that there is a visible Church, of which we and 
 the Greek Church and the Old Catholics, whom Dr. Dollinger 
 so illustriously represented, are branches." 
 
 " The Greeks won't have us," said Sir Henry, " and the 
 Old Catholics (who are the newest Protestants) haven't yet 
 made up their minds as to what they are to believe." 
 
 *•' I am afraid that yo?/ haven't either," said his neighbour 
 on the right. 
 
 He winced a little and said, "Can j-^?/ tell me where your 
 supreme authority is ? " 
 
 " What a question ! The Church, of course." 
 
 " But where is it ? Would you go about consulting the 
 faithful men ? or ask the Pan-Anglican conference ? " 
 
 Here they dropped the question with much emphasis, 
 as being inopportune and inconvenient. The lady began 
 talking about something else to the Dean, who was desirous 
 of talking about anything else. As were also Sir Henry 
 Melford and Lady Weybridge and Malmaines, who talked 
 with vigour, while Twerleby talked about everything to Miss 
 Bundleton, and the Baroness Diabolouski was instructing 
 Mr. Bundleton about the great future of the Established 
 Church on a broad and Apostolic basis, which had been 
 narrowed by crypto-Jesuits within its fold. 
 
 Twerleby had indeed tried everything that he could think 
 of, or rather, as the phrase goes, all he knew, to attract 
 Miss Bundleton, whose heiress-ship much attracted him. 
 Nay, he had even gone so far as to throw out a delicate 
 hint of her having inspired him with a serious scruple about 
 his secession from the Established Church. But Miss 
 Bundleton, though ready to supply him with tracts and 
 pamphlets, would by no means be attracted. She answered 
 absently and not always to the point, as if her attention 
 were elsewhere, till exhausted by the passive existence, he 
 fell back on plays ; which led on to a certain play then 
 popular ; which led on to play-going ; which led on to a 
 story connected therewith. 
 
 " A lady," he said, " of enormous dimensions, followed 
 in a defiant way by two very tall daughters with very short 
 manners and an overgrown boy in spectacles, was waddling 
 away in hot haste to the entrance of the theatre, where a 
 linkman had shouted for the second time, * Lady Buster's 
 carriage stops the way.' But as ill-luck would have it,
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. • 49 
 
 another lady, who was very small and nimble and looked 
 all about through an eyeglass, walked up quickly to the 
 carriage and got in. Whether she did so through being 
 short-sighted, or whether she had no carriage of her own, 
 and thought it convenient to be very sorry for the mistake 
 after she ha been taken home, I don't know : but the 
 rightful owner of the carriage was indignant, as befitted the 
 wife of Sir Benjamm Buster, who made a million and a 
 half by manufacturing mouse-traps. The overgrown boy, 
 who had a long neck and sloping shoulders like a champagne 
 bottle, ran off bawling after the carriage for the benefit of 
 the cabman, who advised him to go back to his mother and 
 asked him whether she knew that he was out. When he 
 had come back, one of the tall young ladies turned on him 
 sharply and said, ' What's the use of that ? Get a cab.' 
 The champagne bottle answered meekly, ' I'm sure I 
 couldn't help it : ' and the other tall young lady said, ' Hush ! 
 Everybody is listening.' Off they went in a four-wheeler, 
 and the last words of Lady Buster were, ' I know she did it 
 on purpose. I saw her laugh — I did. She musthd^v^ heard 
 the name. It's disgraceful. I'll bring an action, I will. ' " 
 
 Miss Bundleton, whose mind was at no time receptive 
 of the funny, though she always laughed in the right place 
 when Sir Henry Melford was talking to her, saw no fun at all 
 inTwerleby's narrative, but contrariwise felt indignant thereat. 
 
 " It's very wrong," she said, " to make out such things, 
 when it was quite different, just to make people laugh and 
 misrepresent it, and all for the sake of turning good people 
 into ridicule without any regard to anything, and only to 
 make people laugh at other people's expense, and the whole 
 thing invented. Her name is not Buster, — it's Bugster. 
 And she's my aunt. And her husband is not Sir Benjamin, 
 but Sir George, and never made mouse-traps. And George 
 isn't like a champagne bottle and doesn't wear spectacles. 
 And Kate didn't say, ' What's the use of that ? ' though she 
 is a little short, because she's so clever. And they didn't 
 go away in a cab, for the lady found out her mistake 
 directly, and drove back. It's all a parcel of inventions, 
 and I am surprised^ I must own, at your telling such things." 
 
 This (to express it in popular language) was a settler for 
 Twerleby, and for a moment, overbalanced him within ; 
 but he showed no outward signs of discomfiture. 
 
 D
 
 50 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " I agree with you quite," said he : and the tone of his 
 voice was so earnest, that Miss Bundleton was partially 
 pacified. " This," he said, " was the first time that I ever 
 told a story as a fact without sufficient authority for it. The 
 result has made me appear in a false light — made me seem 
 to be what I thoroughly despise. Of course I was not 
 aware that it was Lady Bugster's carriage that was taken by 
 mistake, or I should have seen through the story at once. 
 The whole thing has been invented, name and all, on the 
 fact that a lady mistook another lady's carriage for her 
 own : so that it really has no reference at all to Lady 
 Bugster, nor to her son and daughters." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose so," said Miss Bundleton. "I daresay 
 it was that. No doubt it was. Of course it was. That 
 will do about it." 
 
 Thus the pacification was sufficient for the purpose of 
 inducing Miss Bundleton to be talked with by Twerleby as 
 long as the General Foreigner was talking to his other 
 neighbour : so that she listened in an absent way, and said 
 " yes," or " no," as the occasion might seem to require. 
 But the story rankled, in spite of Twerleby's assurance that 
 it was not aimed at her aunt. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Bramsby had been talking again with 
 the Pearl of Maplethorpe, and by a spontaneous pairing of 
 the other talkers was left in possession of the opportunity* 
 till she rose from the table. 
 
 After the ladies had left the room, the conversation was 
 flat. The Dean was thinking that his remarks about Mr. 
 Oldchurch's lecture had been inopportune. Sir Henry 
 Melford was telling himself that, after all, it was a great 
 thing to be cared for — as he, without flattery from himself 
 appeared to be — and that Miss Bundleton was good and 
 amiable, and, an bout dii compte^ was the heiress of Blum- 
 bury, while he was not the heir of what he had been heir to. 
 Twerleby was depressed and diminished by his evident 
 failure. Lord Weybridge entered into some long questions 
 about schools with the Rector of Humbleton-in-the-Hole. 
 Mr. Fetherhed began to fish for information from the 
 General Foreigner : but the General Foreigner knew where 
 he was, and " wouldn't be draw'd." Malmaines talked 
 willingly to Bramsby till they went into the drawing-room, 
 where Miss Bundleton sang " Ruth," the Dean's daughter
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 51 
 
 played several nocturnes in seven sharps ; the Rector 
 whistled " The March of the Men of Harlech," accompany- 
 ing himself on the piano ; his daughter sang " Robert, toi 
 que j'aime," and the Baroness Diabolouski sang a national 
 song in some sort of language. 
 
 Lastly, all the men staying in the house, except the Dean, 
 who had gone to bed, met in a newly panelled room fitted 
 up for smoking. Mr. Fetherhed was attired in a sort of 
 lawn tennis costume of light blue striped with red and 
 yellow. 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF 8LUN03S
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 PHILOSOPHY IN A SMOKING-ROOM. BRAMSBY HAS TO 
 EXPLAIN HIMSELF ABOUT GREAT THINKERS. 
 
 ^AID the Rector to Malmaines in a low voice 
 aside, "I think this continuity is a mistake. 
 I mean, they push it too far, talking as if 
 we had been the same all through, when we 
 know that Augustine and the rest were regu- 
 lar papists. It's abdicating our position." 
 
 " Quite," said Malmaines. " And I don't 
 like this making up to Russo-Greeks and 
 ' Old Catholics,' as they are called. It isn't honest. The 
 Russo-Greeks are neither more nor less than schismatical 
 Catholics who deny the procession of the Holy Ghost from 
 the Father and the Son, which we affirm every Sunday in 
 the Creed. The ' Old Catholics ' are simply bad Catholics, 
 who set up for themselves because they couldn't have their 
 own way, and they haven't even decided what they are to 
 believe. Dr. Dollinger was professedly a Catholic, with 
 himself for his pope, and lived and died, poor man, in a 
 cave of AduUam, because he was too proud to acknowledge 
 that he was (as anyone could see) in a false position. He 
 was neither fish, flesh, nor fowl." 
 
 The Rector, who was comfortably habited in a loose 
 great coat that did the duty of a dressing gown, signified his 
 assent by a nod, and then said in a low voice, 
 
 " I think we have said enough about that just now." 
 " Why ? " said Mr. Fetherhed, who had overheard the 
 whole discussion. " As for me I don't go in for being so stiff. 
 It won't do in this age of bold philosophical speculation."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 53 
 
 "What has that to do with Dr. Bollinger?" said 
 the Rector. " I never heard that he speculated in 
 philosophy." 
 
 " I mean," said Mr. Fetherhed, stretching out his legs 
 and solemnly stroking a cigar of extra size, " I mean and 
 maintain, firstly, that great minds are not to be measured 
 by rule and line, and secondly, that in these days we 
 discuss everything freely." 
 
 " Everything?" said Malmaines ; " I should have thought, 
 that you, as a Catholic — " 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! Well, you know, one has to believe articles 
 of faith, and get scraped at Easter." 
 
 " What if the bold speculation should happen to clash 
 with the articles of faith and the scraping, whatever that 
 may be ? " said Malmaines. 
 
 Fetherhed laughed. 
 
 " That laugh has a false ring in it," said Bramsby, fixing 
 his eyes on him suddenly. 
 
 Fetherhed avoided the eyes, and answered, 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Let Theology mind its own business." 
 
 *' Philosophy deals with doctrines," said Bramsby, " that 
 cannot be cut loose from Theology. Vou know very well 
 that if—" 
 
 " Why, where have you lived ? " said Fetherhed. *' You 
 must have been asleep. Don't you know anything of 
 contemporary thought ? " 
 
 " I have heard of such a thing," said Bramsby. 
 
 "Then surely you must know that this is the age of 
 thinking? " 
 
 There was a pause ; for Twerleby, not wishing to unfold 
 himself, put away his pipe, and went away on the plea of 
 being tired. When he had gone, Bramsby said in a clear 
 voice, quite slowly to Mr. Fetherhed, 
 
 " You say that this is the age of thinking : I am ready to 
 show, if you will give me your attention for a few minutes, 
 that the representatives of what is called contemporary 
 thought are not only 7iot great thinkers, but in the true 
 sense of the words, are not thinkers at all." 
 
 Fetherhed put forth a patronizing smile, and said, 
 
 " WhatV 
 
 " Our host shall be the umpire, if he will," said 
 Bramsby. " Only it might keep him up too late perhaps."
 
 54 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " I don't care how late I sit up for that," said Malmaines. 
 
 " Before I begin," said Bramsby, addressing himself to 
 Malmaines, " I wish one thing to be clearly understood. I 
 neither intend nor wish to dej)reciate in the smallest degree 
 the ability of those who, following the lead of previous 
 teachers, and developing their doctrines, direct and represent 
 what is called contemporary thought. But I mamtain that 
 they are not thinkers at all in the true sense of the word, 
 because they reject an essential condition of true thinking. 
 Of course I don't mean thinking of this or that thing by 
 itself, but consecutive thinking, thinking a thing through 
 and out. My position is this : — That we cannot think 
 soundly on any question whatsoever, unless we have a 
 foundation of unquestionable principles on which all true 
 reasoning is based. In the concrete calculations of business 
 this is acknowledged by everyone. Nobody would dream 
 of making out an estimate for a building, if there were, or, 
 in his opinion might be, any question about the certainty 
 of arithmetic. Is it not so ? " 
 
 " Clearly," said Malmaines. " I only wish that I knew 
 what this foundation of unquestionable principles are," he 
 added to himself confidentially. 
 
 " But according to contemporary thought," said Bramsby, 
 " it is not so. Every fundamental principle has been denied 
 or doubted, in defiance of reason, of common sense, of 
 experience, and then we are coolly invited to fall down and 
 worship these repeaters and carriers-out of old and refuted 
 errors, who go by the big name of 'great thinkers.' But I 
 am afraid of wearying you." 
 
 "Me?" said Malmaines. "I am ready to sit here till 
 daylight. Please go on." 
 
 " That in every true proof," said Bramsby, "one or more 
 self-evident principles are implied, no one can deny without 
 shutting his eyes to the clearest facts of every-day life. For 
 instance, if a jury convicts a prisoner on the evidence of 
 eye-witnesses, the principle is implied that it is impossible 
 for a thing to be and not be at the same time and place and 
 in the same way. And if a man loses his purse, and infers 
 that it must either have been mislaid by himself or taken by 
 someone else, because it could not have walked away, the 
 principle is implied that every effect must have its cause. 
 And if he complains of getting three-and-sixpence in the
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 55 
 
 pound from a debtor, the principle is implied very much 
 that the whole is greater than its part. Is it not so?" 
 
 Malmaines answered " Yes," and the Rector signified the 
 same. Mr. Fetherhed had collapsed : but there he sat, lest 
 he should be suspected of retreating. 
 
 " Besides the self-evident first principles which are implied 
 in all sound reasoning," said Bramsby, " and which everyone 
 acknowledges in practice, there are certain fundamental 
 truths, which, though belonging to philosophy, have been 
 accepted by the common sense of mankind and incorporated 
 into the language of every-day life. When one says ' I,' 
 meaning oneself, whom one is conscious of being, and 'he' 
 or ' she,' meaning a man or a woman or a horse, and ' it,' 
 meaning a chair or a field, one implicitly affirms one's own 
 distinct existence and that of people and animals and things 
 outside oneself. Is it not so?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Malmaines. " No one, I should think, 
 except a lunatic, would deny that." 
 
 " When," said Bramsby, " we praise an action, as morally 
 right, we imply that certain actions are right absolutely, not 
 merely because we think them so, don't we?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Malmaines , " or anyone could make 
 anything right." 
 
 " Then again," said Bramsby, " when we use the word 
 ' substance,' we imply the philosophical distinction between 
 substance and accident — between things that are in them- 
 selves, as (for instance) an apple, and things that cannot be 
 otherwise than in something else, like the colour of the apple. 
 When we talk about the substance of anything, we mean 
 that which is essential to it, that without which it would not 
 be : and when we say, ' This account is substantially correct,' 
 we mean that although some accessory statements are or 
 may be inaccurate or doubtful, the essential facts are 
 correctly given. Again, when people say of a man that he 
 writes for money, or fame, or to do good, meaning that 
 money or fame or doing good is -the end that makes him 
 write, they implicitly affirm a final cause of his writing — a 
 cause for the sake of which he writes as he does write and 
 not otherwise. What do you say to that ? " 
 
 "I say," answered Malmaines, "that it certainly is so. 
 I never heard of final causes till now : but I have always 
 believed in what they mean, as everyone must, who isn't
 
 56 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 mad or drunk, or intellectually bumptious and wanting to 
 show himself off." 
 
 "And yet," said Bramsby, "all these things — all these 
 very first principles, acknowledged and acted on by all 
 reasonable beings in the common affairs of life, known to 
 the experience of every one, implanted in us by the 
 Creator of mankind — all these first principles, principia per 
 se Twta, have been denied and are denied by men who go 
 by the name of ' great thinkers ' and leaders of ' contempo- 
 rary thought' " 
 
 "What is the world coming to?" said Malmaines. " Its 
 dotage, I should think." 
 
 "Yes, final causes," said Bramsby, "are to be got rid of, 
 as out of date, like John Doe and Richard Roe : and yet 
 when a labourer works to support his family, the support of 
 his family is (whatever it may be called) the final cause of 
 his working, the end for the sake of which he does work. 
 But then, final causes were in the way of progressive scep- 
 ticism, being suggestive of the end for which Almighty God 
 created us. Therefore delenda est Carthago^ — we must cast 
 them aside. If common sense presumes to contradict ' great 
 thinkers ' — who, however, have the privilege of contradicting 
 themselves and each other without loss of their corporate 
 authority, — why, so much the worse for common sense." 
 
 "How can people be so blinded?" said Malmaines. 
 " And then — to call it philosophy ! " 
 
 "To the 'advanced thinker,'" said Bramsby, "all causes 
 are inconvenient. Secondary causes presuppose a First 
 Cause : and the intelligence and goodness of created beings 
 implies intelligence and goodness in the First Cause, because 
 no effect can exceed the nature of its cause, whether first or 
 secondary. And the First Cause, being necessarily Eternal 
 and Infinite — or He would have impossibly created Himself 
 before He was, and either eternally limited His own Being 
 or else have been limited by something else that was not — 
 He must be infinitely intelligent and infinitely good. But 
 this means that He is Almighty God, and suggest the idea 
 of the Atonement and so on. It must be denied, even at 
 the cost of talking nonsense ; and so the secondary causes, 
 as such, of course disappear from the creed of contem- 
 porary thought. And then — what is to be done with them? 
 The natural causes whose effects we see, are evidently effects
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 57 
 
 of Other natural causes : and that would lead to the question, 
 ' How did all this begin ? ' A natural cause can't start itself, 
 or it would act before it was. An infinite series of causes 
 and effects is impossible ; for a cause must precede its 
 effect ; and therefore there must be a First Cause, or there 
 would be no causes at all, and therefore no effects, nothing 
 that, in fact, we see around us — not even oneself And if 
 the First Cause of all these things that visibly are, were a 
 natural cause, it must either have caused itself before it was, 
 which is evidently impossible, or have always and necessarily 
 been, because it is impossible for anything to cause itself. 
 So that, if we admit that there are causes, we must, by 
 reason and common sense, be compelled to acknowledge 
 that natural causes are secondary causes, and that second- 
 ary causes imply a First Cause, who is Almighty God. Is 
 this clear ? " 
 
 "Quite clear," said Malmaines. "It is hard: but you 
 spoke so distinctly, and without hurrying over it." 
 
 " You see then," said Bramsby, " that causes are incon- 
 venient to advanced thinking, and in fact they have been 
 cast aside, as (for instance) being, we are told, 
 nothing more than our own successive apprehension of 
 phenomena. Thus, if you saw a blacksmith forging a horse- 
 shoe, and believed (as the blacksmith certainly would, if the 
 meaning of the words were explained intelligibly to him) 
 that he is the efficient cause of the horse-shoe, and the iron 
 its material cause, you would be quite wrong, though you 
 saw him forging the iron into a horse-shoe. Your successive 
 apprehensions made the apparent reasoning." 
 
 " Well, upon my word ! " said Malmaines, " one never 
 would have thought that anyone could — " 
 
 " And then," said Bramsby, " how about the reality of 
 the horse-shoe and the blacksmith ? If your successive 
 apprehensions can so perfectly imitate causation in the 
 forging of a horse-shoe, what grounds have you for believing 
 that the horse-shoe and the blacksmith are real ? What 
 right have you to take it for granted that they are not your 
 apprehensions like the causation ? The reality of the outer 
 world fades away, and you are either the only being or a 
 modification of an Unknown Something, or a development 
 of the same — or anything else, except what you are." 
 
 "This is downright infidelity," said Malmaines.
 
 SS THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " According to another of their theories," said Bramsby, 
 " cause is a series of conditions. And the meaning of this 
 curious assertion, which apparently leaves the said conditions 
 to make themselves, becomes quite clear when we are told 
 that, both in the physical and moral world (whatever the 
 moral world may in that case happen to be), there are 
 neither spirits nor bodies, but only groups of movements 
 present and possible, and groups of thoughts, present and 
 possible. The corollary is plain. Substance has to dis- 
 appear, or becomes one substance, of which all things are 
 modifications : and in fact advanced thought makes it either 
 a mere word or an unknowable thing. And there we are 
 again, just where the successive apprehensions left us : for, 
 if the spiritual and corporeal are only groups of movements 
 and groups of thoughts, our own reality and the reality of 
 everything else vanish at once, and leave nothing but 
 movements of nothing and thoughts without thinkers. And 
 then, how about all this in the practical order— in the regu- 
 lation of one's life ? How could we know (for instance) 
 that purity is a virtue, when we are told that everything is 
 relative, and that absolute judgments are false ? " 
 
 " Then why the devil do f/iey give an absolute judgment 
 about it ? " said Malmaines. 
 
 " That," said Bramsby, " has not been explained, because 
 nobody can make two contradictories true. Nevertheless 
 we are told that the relative character of truth is the chief 
 fact in the history of contemporary thought. ' Great 
 thinkers ' tell us that we have no right to say positively 
 that a thing cannot be and yet be at the same time and in 
 the same way ; yet any one of them would very much dis- 
 like to be told that he had had a comfortable and well 
 cooked dinner, when in point of fact he had had no food all 
 day. They would make us deny that the whole is greater 
 than its part — and that every effect must have its cause. 
 Yet they would object to receive half-a-crown in exchange 
 for a sovereign, and decline to be persuaded that they are 
 warm in cold weather, when deprived of clothes and fuel. 
 We mustn't, according to them, presume to say positively 
 that two and two make four, though the fact is likely to be 
 tolerated at present for the sake of its convenience in busi- 
 ness. A ' great thinker ' said that there may be another 
 logic somewhere : and if so, there certainly might be another
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 59 
 
 arithmetic, in which two and two make three or five, because 
 logic is as conclusive to common sense as arithmetic is." 
 
 " But these things are hideous, monstrous, abominable," 
 said Malmaines. 
 
 " Which accounts for so many people being caught by 
 them," said Bramsby. " Their monstrosity makes many 
 people infer that somehow they cannot be quite the con- 
 clusion meant, but a wrong interpretation of them, which a 
 little more knowledge would set right. Moreover many 
 people think, and many more have the impression without 
 thinking, that somehow a man may safely accept as a philo- 
 sophical student what he could not accept as a Christian — 
 which can only mean that two truths may contradict each 
 other, and therefore that there is nothing absolutely true. 
 They swallow these things in small quantities and by degrees 
 assimilate them." 
 
 " God help us all ! " said Malmaines. " This is very bad." 
 
 "In the meanwhile," said Bramsby, "the world that 
 follows fashions and floats on the current of events, is 
 dancing on the edge of a volcano. How can we expect that 
 in these days of unlimited private judgment and infallible 
 majorities, the predominant many, without religion or any 
 fixed principles, will reject the practical application of doc- 
 trines to which they are predisposed by self-love and original 
 sin ? How can we expect them to practise virtues that 
 require faith and self-denial, if they are once made to believe 
 that all our knowledge is relative — that there is nothing 
 absolutely true ? " 
 
 "A dreary look-out, indeed," said Malmaines. 
 
 " But after all," said the Rector, " there is a deal of good 
 sense in them, and with our institootions, you know, I 
 think—" 
 
 Bramsby waited to hear the end of the sentence, which 
 however was left unfinished. 
 
 " And now," said he to Malmaines, " what about the 
 ' great thinking ' from which all this has come, and which 
 we are expected to admire, as such, whether we agree with 
 it or not ? I have no reason, no need and no wish to depre- 
 ciate in the smallest degree the ability of the ' thinkers : ' but I 
 submit that unless reason and common sense are to be 
 turned out of court as false witnesses, their thinking is bad. 
 Sound thinking is impossible without a subtratum of abso-
 
 6o THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 lutely certain principles, because, in thinking out questions, 
 we have to prove on proofs, and proofs cannot go back in 
 infinitum. What then can we think of the thinking that 
 thinks away the foundations of thought — that denies or 
 doubts causality, and makes all truth relative, so that the 
 same thing may be true and not true ? If Truth — abso- 
 lutely such, and not merely as it appears in your opinion or 
 in mine — is the end at which all true thinking aims (as the 
 common sense of mankind believes it to be), they are not 
 thinkers at all in the true sense of the word, but only adroit 
 contrivers of intellectual man-traps. How is //^«/, umpire? 
 Have I proved that thinkers who deny those fixed and 
 unalterable principles which God has implanted in us are 
 not thinkers at all in the true sense of the word ?" 
 
 " I say that you have proved your case, and with admir- 
 able clearness," said Malmaines. 
 
 Mr. Fetherhed protruded his mouth in token of indefinite 
 objection : but he carefully said nothing. The Rector, who 
 was tired and sleepy, 
 
 "Paced the room with stealthy tread, 
 Took up his candle and went to bed." 
 
 The others followed, just as the clock in the hall struck 
 twelve.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 CONTEMPORARY THOUGHT IN THE PRACTICAL ORDER. 
 
 HAT'S a remarkable young man," said Mal- 
 maines to the Rector the next morning, 
 when they met on the staircase before 
 breakfast. " I think very highly of him in 
 every way. Did you notice the very fine 
 expression of his countenance when he was 
 speaking about the end for which God 
 created us ? " 
 
 " Yes, he put it exceedingly well," said the Rector. 
 " Nothing could be clearer or more conclusive than the 
 whole argument. It was all right, so far : but I wouldn't 
 get him on anything, you know, beyond that. Didn't you 
 see how he hinted about private judgment ? " 
 
 " But you can't deny the evils of the unlimited private 
 judgment that he spoke of," said Malmaines. 
 
 " Yes : but there was a sting in the tail of it. Wasn't the 
 whole thing against infidel principles — about religion, in 
 short ? He has got it all at his finger's ends. That pri- 
 vate judgment was a quiet cut at us." 
 " No, no," said Malmaines. 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know them," answered the Rector. 
 And with this mysterious warning the dialogue ended, while 
 contemporaneously Mr. Fetherhed was thinking that he 
 should like to have set Bramsby down somehow, as alto- 
 gether inconvenient and having no business to be there. 
 
 Twerleby was of the same opinion : but his dislike had a 
 deeper motive which he could not explain. He looked on 
 Bramsby as a man who would somehow stand in his way :
 
 62 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 and though he could see no reason for thinking so, the 
 impression remained. 
 
 " This is absurd," he said to himself. " What can he 
 possibly have to do with me ? He is not even a friend of 
 my uncle. He came here by chance ; and the chances are 
 that I never shall meet him again. And besides — how 
 could he cross my path anyhow, when his way of life is so 
 different from mine? But then — why have I this impression?" 
 
 The reason why was not far to seek. Twerleby had 
 allowed evil influences to undermine his faith by disordering 
 his will : but his conscience was not quite dead. It stirred 
 him at times ineffectually, as a broken paddle stirs the 
 water without moving the canoe ; and the result was that 
 superstition of the lower sort — the subjective superstition of 
 omens and impressions — affected him occasionally more 
 than he was willing to admit. 
 
 On his way down he met Mr. Fetherhed, who was 
 muttering to himself, " I am not going to be frightened by 
 that scare-crow of his." 
 
 " What scare-crow ? " said Twerleby. 
 
 " Why, last night, in the smoking-room, after you left. 
 He went on, I don't know how long, against modern 
 thought. When he had done, it was too late to answer 
 him : so I hadn't a chance." 
 
 " All the better for you," said Twerleby. " I advise you 
 to abstain from finding that chance, if you want to hold 
 your own." 
 
 There was a sneer in his voice, a sneer without mirth. 
 He despised the wretched boy whose Catholic training he 
 had contributed to undo in the quality of a Catholic, and 
 he hated himself in his heart for being what he willed 
 freely to be. 
 
 The Dean's daughter also and the Rector's daughter 
 were thinking about Bramsby and expressing their thoughts : 
 but inasmuch as neither of them had spoken to him or 
 heard him speak, or heard who and what he was, they 
 took him as he seemed and liked the seeming, till Lady 
 Rossden said, as she passed on to breakfast, 
 
 " Why, don't you know that he is the Roman Catholic 
 who has that queer old place, Hunterscombe, where there 
 are underground passages and nobody knows what, and an 
 old Priest that nobody ever sees beyond those hills ? "
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 63 
 
 The two young ladies considered the case for a moment, 
 said, " Oh ! Is he ? " and went to breakfast, while the Pearl 
 of Maplethorpe, standing at the open window of her bed- 
 room, thought how lovely the morning was, how strangely 
 beautiful and new everything seemed, from the blue hills 
 far away, and the well-timbered undulations of the park 
 between, to the cawing of the rooks and the distant tinkle 
 of a sheep-bell. Yet the morning was like other sunny 
 mornings in winter : and the park had always been there, 
 with the same hills beyond : and the rooks had always 
 cawed in the same tone. 
 
 On her way to the dining-room she met the Dean and 
 the Dean's wife, who had just agreed that Bramsby was a 
 dangerous man to be allowed inside Maplethorpe. The 
 Dean's wife said to her, 
 
 " Did you ever meet that Mr. Bramsby before ? " 
 
 " No," said the Pearl. Which was all that she was heard 
 to say about him by any of the guests then staying in the 
 house. 
 
 But the Baroness Diabolouski, who had been invited to 
 stay at Maplethorpe, was also thinking before breakfast, and 
 stating, in the strictest confidence to herself, what she 
 thought about Sir Henry Melford in relation to Miss 
 Bundleton. The question before her had nothing to do 
 with Miss Bundleton personally in the relation considered — 
 but it had much to do with a purpose of her own. The 
 case was this : It happened that she had successfully culti- 
 vated, first in Paris and then in England, the acquaintance 
 of Sir Henry's aunt, Lady Melford, by judicious flattery 
 that wore the semblance of simple appreciation. That lady 
 was of the strong-minded sort, and in theory her principles 
 were advanced : but she had laid down certain practical 
 limits thereto, and expected her friends to do the same. 
 Her neighbours in the county quite agreed with her about 
 the practical limits, but objected to the advanced theories 
 whenever they were made to understand them : but the 
 Baroness, while thoroughly and exactly agreeing with her 
 theories, not only furnished her with reasons for affixing 
 the limits, but made her seem to have thought them out 
 for herself. Out of this perfect agreement an intimate 
 friendship had grown, and a wonderful reciprocity of affec- 
 tion (all on one side) and much heroine-worship ; so that
 
 64 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 the Baroness's influence over her strong-minded friend was 
 very great. Why should it stop short of persuading her to 
 make Sir Henry her heir? And then — why should Sir 
 Henry be kept in ignorance of what she had done for him ? 
 And then ? The Baroness was a handsome woman, clever 
 and accomplished ; and Sir Henry had always been very 
 attentive to her. Miss Bundleton must, by some means or 
 other, be made to marry someone else. And that was 
 precisely what the Baroness was thinking of then. 
 
 But Miss Bundleton at Blumbury was contemporaneously 
 thinking that she preferred Sir Henry to all competitors ; 
 and she had reason to think, and did think, that in fact he 
 was a competitor for her, and that his competition was 
 favoured by her father. 
 
 The Baroness had the advantage of not being scrupulous 
 about ways and means, but Miss Bundleton, whatever she 
 might seem, had a will of her own; and the General 
 Foreigner had a purpose of his own, quite incompatible 
 with that of the Baroness. The General Foreigner, who 
 was acquainted with Sir Henry Melford's aunt through the 
 Baroness, had made way by the same method and gained 
 as much influence. That lady, though strong-minded, was 
 not impervious to personal admiration : and so the General 
 Foreigner was proposing to himself the question as to when 
 and how he should propose to her. What would happen 
 when he and the Baroness Diabolouski should know each 
 other's intentions ? They were sworn friends, professed 
 altruism, "^ and practised it when not tempted to do other- 
 wise : but in this case the duty would be incumbent on 
 each in equal proportions. It would be a pity that both 
 should be losers, and it would also be against the principles 
 of advanced altruism to take it for granted that the other 
 would like to accept the sacrifice : for as a " great thinker," 
 speaking of certain complex restraints to the excess of 
 altruism, says : " When altruistic pleasures have reached 
 a greater intensity than they now possess, each person will 
 be debarred from an undue pursuit of them by the con- 
 sciousness that other persons too desire them, and that 
 scope for others' enjoyment of them must be left." The 
 
 * Be it known to the unenlightened that altruism is an ingenious 
 device for stealing and pompously corrupting the Christian maxim of 
 " doing as we would be done by."
 
 THE EAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 65 
 
 scope was sure to be left: but what then? In the mean- 
 while the General Foreigner met Miss Bundleton in the 
 hall and escorted her to the breakfast table, where he 
 showed her elaborate attention while Mr. Bundleton was 
 reading the Osuiundsbury ObseiTer.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 REAKFAST in an English country house is 
 said to he a sociahle meal, as being conducive 
 to sociability : but in the same metaphorical 
 sense it might be called a representative 
 meal, because the breakfasters, if they 
 have not heard Mass, have probably just got 
 up, and therefore are fresh from sleep, and 
 therefore are more likely to show themselves 
 as they then happen to be. At Maplethorpe no one had 
 heard Mass, because, among other reasons, there was no 
 Mass to hear ; and accordingly Mr. Fetherhed, conscious of 
 having been unsuccessful in showing himself as he wanted 
 to seem, was very quiet, while Twerleby was more than 
 usually careful, and the Rector quite unusually cautious, and 
 the Dean's wife less than usually comfortable, all on account 
 of Bramsby. But Lady Rossden was quite usually dull, the 
 Rector's daughter very much as usual, the Dean's daughter 
 very much herself, and the Dean very much the Dean. The 
 Pearl was charmingly herself, Malmaines completely himself, 
 and Bramsby precisely himself Malmaines talked either 
 directly or inclusively to Bramsby, and just before leaving 
 the table said : 
 
 " You won't go before luncheon, I hope?" 
 " Thank you," said Bramsby, "I should like very much to 
 stay, but I ought to get home." 
 
 " Luncheon will be early," said Malmaines, " for we are 
 all going to have a look at the cattle-show. We can take 
 you with us into Osmundsbury." 
 
 Bramsby, finding that he would be in time for a train, 
 accepted the mvitation with more willingness than he was 
 willing to feel. After breakfast the Pearl said,
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLKTHORPE. 67 
 
 " Your uncle showed us Hunterscombe ; and now I must 
 show you this house, which, though much later, is interesting 
 in its way." 
 
 Maplethorpe, as it then was, dated from the later days of 
 Henry VIII. It was built round a quadrangle, which had 
 small turrets on the south and east. The principal entrance 
 was to the north. The drawing-room, whither they first went, 
 was a large room facing the south and west. It was panel- 
 led with oak, which the fashion of the last century had 
 caused to be painted in white and gold, leaving however the 
 stone chimney piece untouched. This was richly carved, 
 and the family coat of ^lalmaines, three pierced hands ar- 
 gent on a red shield, was blazoned in the centre of it. Gilt 
 and carved mirrors and some very good pictures hung on the 
 walls, which Bramsby examined with appreciation : then 
 |)assing through an ante-room from which a garden entrance 
 led to the terrace, they went into the library, a fine room 
 well in keeping with the rest of the house. 
 
 " And now," said the Pearl, " we must go upstairs to the 
 gallery." 
 
 They crossed the hall, where they met Mr. Fetherhed, 
 who was going out with an excessive cigar and a pair of 
 field-glasses. 
 
 " How beautiful the carving of this staircase is," said 
 Bramsby. " These massive oak columns, that support the 
 stairs, give to the eye an assurance of safety which is wholly 
 wanting in that hideous and untrue thing, a modern stone 
 staircase, hanging apparently in the air, where everyone sees 
 that it looks unsafe, and everyone knows that it exists on the 
 architectural lie of a concealed iron girder." 
 
 At the top of the stairs the Pearl led the way along a 
 a corridor and into the gallery, which extended along the 
 south front corresponding with one side of the quadrangle. 
 
 " This is indeed satisfying," said Bramsby. 
 
 " Yes, this is my favourite room," said the Pearl ; '• I am so 
 glad you like it. I love the quaint ceiling with the pendant 
 bosses (are they not called ?) and the deep carved oak frieze 
 above the tapestry and pictures. Those ebony cabinets, too, 
 are great pets of mine. I must show you the inside of them 
 and the curiosities in them another day. But come to this 
 window; we can see a long distance southwards. I fancy that 
 I can see the hills aboveHunterscombe, where we lost our way."
 
 68 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " Yes, there they are," said Bramsby. "They look very 
 well from here : but some people would say that they are 
 dreary and monotonous." 
 
 "There are some people who would say anything," said 
 the Pearl, " and dislike anything that is really beautiful. I 
 am quite unable to understand them. I have a delightful 
 recollection of those hills, especially where they led down to 
 Hunterscombe. I never had so agreeable a surprise. We 
 rode along the valley, not knowing where we were going, 
 when we suddenly came to a beautiful wood, that looked like 
 a forest as I saw it with the mist rising in the background. 
 And then there was the moat, and those romantic grey 
 walls, and the wonderfully interesting interior. It was a 
 series of surprises : and not the least of them was your 
 uncle. I had never met a Priest before : and he was just 
 what my ideal of a perfect Priest would have been, if I had 
 imagined one." 
 
 " He is an admirably good Priest," said Bramsby, " and 
 he was an equally good, guardian to me. He fills my place 
 at Hunterscombe better than I should : so that I can be 
 away without a scruple." 
 
 " I thought you were fond of it," said the Pearl : and 
 there was a slight expression of disappointment in the tone 
 of her voice. 
 
 " I atn fond of it," said Bramsby, " terribly fond of it, 
 considering the days in which we are living, and the dangers 
 of the days before us. But that is just why I took to a pro- 
 fession which, though I respect it very much as honourable 
 and beneficent in itself, is quite unsuited to me, such as I 
 am. I have a small estate that once was sufficient ; but 
 modern progress is trying to improve small estates off the 
 face of creation, while the most blatant nonsense is talked 
 about allotments, and three acres and a cow, and waste land, 
 when the cultivated land is not half cultivated, owing to un- 
 just pressure on the owners and occupiers of it by a one-sided 
 free trade. I am setting aside my own tastes and inclina 
 tions to make some money for the sake of the old place and 
 all that it involves." 
 
 " That is an heroic act," said she, " and all the more so 
 because it makes no appearance before the world that 
 applauds." 
 
 " This is the first time," said he, " as far as I know, that
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 69 
 
 anyone, except my uncle, has seen in it anything better than 
 a grovelling desire to make money for myself. The truth is, 
 that under all the circumstances of the case, it was an 
 evident duty, and I had to do it." 
 
 " Yes, but how many would have seen the duty, or have 
 done it if they did see it ? " said she. " How many are there 
 who would not have found a plausible reason for not doing 
 it ! My experience is very small : but I have noticed some 
 things rather more perhaps than girls generally do, because 
 I have had, in a way, more opportunities, having no brothers 
 or sisters, and living with people older than myself, es- 
 pecially my dear father. It seems to me that to do a hard 
 thing as a duty is harder than volunteering to do a harder 
 thing which everyone acknowledges to be so. We do like 
 to be thought well of." 
 
 " We do," said he. " But then the duty was so clear to 
 me, that I should have had no excuse for not doing it." 
 
 " But would it have been so clear to you if you had not 
 been ready to see it ? " 
 
 " No : but then again it was my duty to be ready to see 
 it. It comes back to that." 
 
 " Yes : but I have not found people so ready to do dis- 
 agreeable things as a mere duty." 
 
 " I can't deny," said he, '' that I have an inclination to 
 shrink from such things. Doing a duty as a mere duty is 
 an act of obedience, which is peculiarly obnoxious to our 
 tempter the devil, who knows too well how to deceive. 
 But I should not have the excuse of being deceived : and so 
 it comes back to what I said." 
 
 " Yes, but it also comes back to what / said. It was 
 clear to you because you were ready to see it. And now 
 we must be moving on ; for luncheon will be early on 
 account of the cattle-show." 
 
 " I see that I must give in," said Bramsby. '' I must 
 hope to be less unworthy of the favourable judgment by try- 
 ing to accept the position with more patience and do the 
 unwelcome work less badly." 
 
 " I keep to my opinion," said she, " I hope that you will 
 not think me pretentious." 
 
 " Certainly not," said he, " I never could think that, 
 unless I had lost all power of distinguishing one character 
 from another."
 
 70 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " I was put SO early," said she, " into the position of an 
 older person, as the lady of this house, that sometimes, I am 
 afraid, I take upon myself too much." 
 
 " If I have any judgment at all," said he, '' you certainly 
 do not." 
 
 They were then walking along the gallery, and the Pearl, 
 pointing out a little window in a turret room on the north 
 side, at the further end, looking into the quadrangle, said, 
 
 " I love that old courtyard and the turrets at odd corners, 
 and the old family portraits on the walls. Poor dear old 
 place ! I am so very fond of it. People ask me sometimes 
 why I don't want to go to London in the season : but I 
 am never tired of being here." 
 
 " Nor should I, if I were you," said Bramsby. " And 1 
 think moreover that not going to London now is no loss." 
 
 " So I have thought," said she. " From what I have 
 heard it seems to have become a school of reckless extrava- 
 gance and frivolity, without anything to recommend it. I 
 sometimes wish to go abroad for a short time. There are a 
 few places that I should like to see. I should like to see Rome.'" 
 
 " Rome," said Bramsby, ^' contains more objects of in- 
 terest than any city in the world, and represents the two great 
 civilisations of the world — the pagan civilisation, that cul- 
 minated in ancient Rome, and the Christian civilisation 
 made by the Church in Christian Rome. But Christian 
 Rome has been in the hands of worse than Vandals, ever 
 since it was taken by the foulest treachery that ever dis- 
 graced a crowned head." 
 
 " Well, I never could see how it could be right," said the 
 Pearl, '' though I have heard it defended by people who 
 ought to know much better than I do." 
 
 " How can it be justifiable," said Bramsby, " to attack a 
 weaker neighbour, suddenly, without any pretence of a 
 quarrel, and steal his possessions ? Any man who did that 
 on a smaller scale would be hanged as a pirate. You would 
 appreciate the city of the Seven Hills. I wish that I could 
 be there to be your cicerouer 
 
 They were approaching the eastern end of the gallery, 
 and the Pearl went on to a door on the left hand side. 
 
 '' This is the chapel," she said, '' or rather was. I am 
 afraid that you will shudder at the desolation : but what can 
 we do } "
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 7 I 
 
 " Nothing," said he. " It was meant for what it was. 
 There is nothing else to be done with it.'' 
 
 The chapel was very much like other domestic chapels 
 of the days when saying or hearing Mass was high treason. 
 Bramsby gave once glance at it, and said to himself, " It 
 certainly has been utilized after the fashion of the Reformers." 
 
 He did shudder, as the Pearl had predicted ; for the 
 chapel where the Holy Sacrifice had been offered, where 
 many a missionary Priest had said Mass at the risk of being 
 imprisoned and tortured and cut down from a gibbet to be 
 butchered ahve, and where Christians had come on foot 
 many miles at the same risk for the love of God, was now 
 used as a common lumber-room, filled with discarded trunks 
 and cast-away furniture, including a harpsichord, a blunder- 
 buss and a broken card-table that stood where the Altar had 
 been. 
 
 " I am sorry that I brought you here," said the Pearl, 
 when she had shut the door. " I don't often go in ; and the 
 servants never will come to this end of the gallery after dark, 
 for they declare they hear all sorts of queer noises like 
 hammering and heavy footsteps, and as if things were being 
 torn down and dragged away. My father dislikes its 
 being left so ; but he doesn't see his way to a remedy. One 
 of our acquaintances advised him to turn it into a billiard- 
 room ! j\Iy father stopped him at once by saying that 
 nothing should ever induce him to do so." 
 
 " If I believed as he does," said Bramsby, '' I should feel 
 as he does and leave it as he does. He didn't make it so, 
 and being a Protestant, he can't restore it. The only thing 
 that might be done would be to remove the things that make 
 it a lumber-room," 
 
 '' I will ask him to do it," she said, '' and I am sure that 
 he will have those things taken away. What a terrible pity 
 it seems that Christians are so divided I In this neighbour- 
 hood there is High Church and Low Church and Broad 
 Church : and Archdeacon Maniple at St. Emerita's in 
 Osmundsbury has high celebrations : and Mr. Oldchurch 
 says, that in spite of all these apparent differences, there is 
 a visible continuity in our Church from the time of King 
 Lucius, who was the brother of St. Emerita. I don't under- 
 stand it, but my mother was so very good, and she always 
 told me that I must be satisfied with things as they are.
 
 72 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 and avoid ' curious and unlearned questions,' as St. Paul 
 tells us." 
 
 " We can do no more," said Bramsby, " than follow the 
 dictates of conscience by the light that God gives us, taking 
 care not to put any impediment in the way of it. By the bye, 
 — the harpsichord would look very well in the gallery." 
 
 At this sudden transition, the Pearl, not knowing what to 
 answer, and fearing to enter into curious and unlearned 
 questions, opened the door of the nearest turret and said, 
 
 " There is a secret place here ; no one knows it but 
 my father and myself. So I must ask you not to speak of 
 it. If anyone who knew it were to get in, it would be easy 
 to hide there and rob the house. I think there must be a 
 way out somewhere below, but my father has not explored 
 it. I found out the entrance when I was a child." 
 
 They went into a little circular room on one side of the 
 chapel, that seemed, and indeed was, used as a housemaid's 
 closet, and therefore contained the usual assortment of 
 brooms, dust-pans, empty coal-scuttles, and so on. Pushing 
 aside these humble aids to domestic comfort, the Pearl 
 touched a spring and showed an inner closet. 
 
 " This dark turret," said she, " where I could hardly see 
 on a dark day, used to excite my imagination. It looked 
 so mysterious to a child, and reminded me of the dark 
 winter mornings when the rooms were made untidy for the 
 chimney-sweep. One day I found the door open and a 
 pair of steps inside. I climbed the steps and saw some 
 chinks of light. I felt about, found a bolt at one end, 
 fastening a low door, and pushed it back. Then I saw an 
 open space behind, large enough for one or two to stand up- 
 right, and a tiny window in it looking down into the library. 
 I went in, and saw a ring in one of the boards of the floor. 
 I pulled it up, and there saw a litUe rough staircase lead- 
 ing down into a sort of panelled box, about seven or eight 
 feet every way, with a low stool in it, and a basket and a 
 bit of very mouldy bread as hard as a stone, lying near 
 the basket. I wish that my father would explore it. I 
 feel sure that there is some way out below. He told me 
 not to venture in further, for fear I should hurt myself. 
 You won't speak of this, I am sure." 
 
 " Without any reservation whatever," said Bramsby, " I 
 promise you that I will not."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 73 
 
 As he spoke, they heard footsteps behind them. It was 
 the Baroness Diabolouski ghding by. She had come into 
 the gallery from her bedroom, where she had just been 
 directing a letter to somebody whose name bristled with a 
 strange combination of consonants. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said she, coming in. " May I 
 look too ? All is so interesting in this house, — yes, every 
 corner of it." 
 
 The Pearl much disliked the tone of this apology and its 
 implied connection with Bramsby's presence : but she made 
 no sign. " I am sorry," she said, " that I missed you 
 before I began to show Mr. Bramsby the house, as you 
 appear to take an interest in it." 
 
 " I was going to have asked you to show it to me," 
 answered the Baroness, " but I had a business letter to 
 write. What is this ? " 
 
 " Some place of concealment, I believe," said the Pearl. 
 
 " How very romantic ! No doubt it was made during 
 the civil wars." 
 
 " Mr. Bramsby can tell you more about it than I can," 
 said the Pearl, " for he has a place very like it at Hunters- 
 combe." 
 
 " These places of concealment," said Bramsby, '' or 
 hiding-holes, as they are generally called, were made when 
 saying or hearing Mass had been made high treason, 
 punishable by hanging and quartering." The Baroness 
 made no reply, but smiled incredulously for the instruction 
 of the Pearl. 
 
 " If," said Bramsby, " you will look into Burns' Eccle- 
 siastical Lata, under the heading of ' Popery,' you will see 
 what the laws against Catholics were. You would probably 
 find the book somewhere in this house by the side of 
 Burns' JiisticeT 
 
 " Toleration was not known in those days, you know," 
 said the Baroness, and leaving the ambiguous term to do 
 as much mischief as it could, she quickly added, while 
 slipping away: " I must have a Httle walk before luncheon. 
 This place is so very attractive to me." 
 
 " Yes, to do mischief in, if you can," thought Bramsby. 
 " Shall I venture to say what I think of — what I am sure 
 that she is ? It might do good, and it might do harm." 
 
 But, whatever it would have done, he was not able to
 
 74 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 to make the attempt: for while he hesitated, the Pearl spoke. 
 
 " We have very little time," she said, " on account of 
 that tiresome cattle-show at Osmundsbury, and so we had 
 better go into the garden now. You would like to see the 
 outside of the house from the terrace. I can't bear these 
 cattle-shows. One of my father's tenants ruined himself, 
 they say, by showing." 
 
 " I never could see," said Bramsby, " that anyone gained 
 much by them, except perhaps the publicans ; " and then 
 they went downstairs, and out on a terrace through a 
 garden door. 
 
 The house was a good specimen of the domestic archi- 
 tecture in the Tudor style, and in complete proportion, as 
 such houses always are. The hill on the south side had a 
 gentle slope, with a woodland country beyond. The 
 terraced garden was bounded by stables and by a large 
 wood, which also crowned the hill to the north. The 
 kitchen gardens were out of sight. 
 
 " This is very beautiful," said Bramsby, "and completely 
 characteristic of the English home-life that was — the life 
 which modern radicalism is seeking to destroy by the help 
 of modern principles and modern habits." 
 
 He had hardly spoken when he heard someone say, 
 
 " Oh, yes ! But I couldn't be kept moping in the 
 country where there is nothing to do, and nothing to hear, 
 and nobody to see and nobody up to the day. That sort 
 of thing is exploded." 
 
 It was Mr. Fetherhed, walking with the Rector's wife and 
 Lady Rossden. The Dean and the Dean's wife, Twerleby 
 and the Rector with his daughter pounced upon them from 
 behind a clipped yew hedge. The conversation was dis- 
 persed, and soon afterwards a sonorous bell gave notice 
 that luncheon was ready. 
 
 ;y^^^: -^ff^Tr?^':
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HE luncheon, having been ordered at a 
 quarter to one instead of at two o'clock, 
 after a ten o'clock breakfast — an institution, 
 by the bye, much adapted for shortening 
 the day — was little more than nominal, and 
 then they set out for the cattle-show. The 
 Dean and his family were going home and 
 went in their own carriage. The Rector 
 and his daughter went with Lady Rossden and the Pearl 
 in a barouche. The Rector's wife remained at home, 
 having a headache. Malmaines went on horseback by 
 short cuts that he knew. Bramsby went in a dog-cart with 
 Twerleby and Fetherhed, much misliking the companion- 
 ship. 
 
 After the cattle-show, there were two more dinner-parties at 
 at Maplethorpe, with a big shooting party between. On the 
 third day Mr. Fetherhed went away after breakfast, and 
 Twerleby after luncheon. Lady Rossden, in her normal 
 state of persevering dulness, remained for a few days, 
 contemplating a journey to Rome, and how nice it would 
 be if the Pearl would go with her. 
 
 " It would be such a good opportunity for you," she 
 said, when proposing it after breakfast. 
 
 " And for me too," she added to herself, in confidence. 
 " When I get her alone quietly, I shall be able to show 
 her that she mustn't be led away by the attractions of that 
 young Bramsby and his old place." 
 
 The Pearl, though wishing to visit the Eternal City, 
 disliked the prospect of going there under such guidance. 
 
 " I might as well be in Cheltenham," she thought, "and 
 besides I should be leaving my father alone."
 
 76 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 She thereupon declined on the latter plea thankfully, 
 but forgot to moderate her appreciation of the chance 
 offered. Thereupon Lady Rossden told her brother what 
 a pity it was that the poor child should be deprived of so 
 great and unexpected a pleasure, and so improving too ;, 
 and caused him to feel that, unless he persuaded the 
 Pearl to go with her, he would be acting very selfishly. 
 Malmaines, who knew that, after all, he was not selfish and 
 loved his daughter immensely, considered the question 
 during the whole of two days, and having made up his 
 mind, went in search of the Pearl, who was in the library, 
 where she had just found Burns' Ecclesiastical Laiv. 
 
 " What are you reading, you dearest child? " said he. 
 
 The Pearl, having just found the place, held up the 
 volume and explained the fact. 
 
 " It was about the penal laws that Father Bramsby spoke 
 of at Hunterscombe," said she. " The Baroness Diabo- 
 louski tried to laugh it off: and Mr. Bramsby told her that 
 she would see a list of them in this book, and probably 
 find the book somewhere in the house. Here it is ; here 
 are the penal laws." 
 
 Malmaines took a sheet of paper out of a blotting-book^ 
 marked the place, and said, 
 
 " I will read every word of it, but not just now." 
 
 He then put the book on a writing table and walked 
 about, while the Pearl, puzzled by his hesitation, waited to 
 hear. 
 
 " Your aunt," said he at last, " has been talking to me 
 about taking you with her to Rome. Wouldn't you like 
 to go?" 
 
 " Very much," answered the Pearl, "but not without you. 
 I will not do that unless you tell me to go." 
 
 " And you," said Malmaines, " have always been so good 
 and (young as you are) so right-minded, that I can't find it 
 in me to do so. But the difficulty might be got over, I 
 think. Your aunt wants to start this day week and I can 
 manage to follow about a fortnight later." 
 
 " Can you really ? " said she. 
 
 " Yes, quite by that time." 
 
 The Pearl considered the case for a moment, and felt 
 satisfied. 
 
 " By the bye," said Malmaines, "yesterday I heard of a
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 77 
 
 lady's-maid who seems to be satisfactory : and I was re- 
 ferred to Father Bramsby. She has been abroad. You 
 had better write about it." 
 
 "And see her as soon as possible," added the Pearl. 
 " The time is so short. Where does she live ?" 
 
 " Somewhere near Hunterscombe. You had better write 
 to Father Bramsby about her." 
 
 The Pearl went out and Lady Rossden came in, saying, 
 " Are you busy ? " 
 
 "No," said Malmaines. "We were only talking about 
 a maid that I had heard of." 
 
 " Where does she come from ? " 
 
 " From a village, I don't know which, near Hunters- 
 combe." 
 
 " Is she a Protestant ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Oh!" 
 
 Malmaines waited to hear more, and finding no more to 
 hear, smiled gradually. 
 
 "My dear Julia," said he, "remember that you recom- 
 mended old Suj)reme. What is your distinction between 
 a Catholic cook and a Catholic lady's-maid ? The only 
 difference that I can see is, that good cooks are few, and 
 sufficient lady's-maids plentiful. The distinction, I am 
 afraid, is more gastronomic than spiritual." 
 
 " I never heard of gastronomy," said Lady Rossden, 
 retreating in confusion. " I don't know what it means." 
 
 "Well, my dear," said he, "it means literally the law 
 of the stomach." 
 
 These last words were too effectual. Lady Rossden, 
 anxious to dispel the etymology that made an open con- 
 fession for her, turned about and said : 
 
 "I never advised you sending him in a dog-cart to 
 that chapel somewhere." 
 
 "That," said Malmaines, "was implied in your recom- 
 mendation of him. He would not have taken the place 
 otherwise. Doesn't Augustus Twerleby go to ]\Iass from 
 your house ? " 
 
 " Why, of course, I can't lock him in. But I don't send 
 him. He doesn't go in a carriage of mine." 
 
 " Neither do I send Supreme, in fact. A Catholic 
 tenant of mine takes him, and Augustus takes himself.
 
 78 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 Where is the — " 
 
 " As to Augustus," interrupted Lady Rossden, " you 
 know what a terrible blow his turning was. But I am not 
 without hopes of his giving it up after awhile." 
 
 " You had better not hope for that," said Malmaines, 
 moving by degrees towards the door and looking at his 
 watch. 
 
 " Why not?" said she. 
 
 "Because those fellows are always good for nothing." 
 
 " What fellows ? " 
 
 "The men who find out the errors of Rome when it 
 suits their purpose, or their pocket, or their convenience, 
 or their passions. I could name — " 
 
 " That will do," said Lady Rossden retiring with dignity. 
 " I have letters to write. I never could have believed that 
 you would ever talk in that way — never, never. It really is 
 very sad — very. What do you believe in ?" 
 
 "And what ^o you believe in, if you examine it? You 
 believe, against reason and common sense, in a sect whose 
 pope is public opinion — a subject of a bigger sect that 
 originated in a revolt of the passions, and made a new 
 religion on the basis of denial. The pretended Catholicity 
 of what you call the Church is simply an offensive alliance 
 of differing sects against the Catholic Church." 
 
 " I am surprised at you," said she. " You ought to be 
 ashamed of talking so. I believe in 'Jesus Christ and 
 Him crucified.'" 
 
 " Of course you do, or you wouldn't be a Christian at 
 all. But what do you believe about Him in relation to the 
 Church which He founded? He tells us that He founded 
 it on a rock, against which the gates of hell shall not pre- 
 vail : and you assume it to be the sum of contradictory 
 teachings — an abstraction from a general Something that you 
 suppose yourself to find in the whole collection of apostates 
 from the Catholic Church." 
 
 " This is dreadful ! " said Lady Rossden. 
 
 " It is," answered Malmaines, " for I don't see my way, 
 quite." 
 
 " Oh ! do^^ said she, " do talk it over with Archdeacon 
 Maniple." 
 
 " Nonsense." 
 
 " Well, then— the Dean."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 79 
 
 " Thank you. I had enough of him the other evening. 
 I am sorry that I have been betrayed into saying so much. 
 You had better forget it." 
 
 Lady Rossden had nothing to say and therefore said 
 nothing ; but a happy thought occurred. 
 
 "I see how it is," she thought. " He wants to find the 
 continuity of the Church. I must get him to read the 
 lecture. I have ordered several copies to be sent here. 
 That will satisfy him." 
 
 Malmaines, puzzled by the sudden glimpse of his own 
 soul, wondered, examined his conscience, as well as he 
 knew how, and failing to find a clear conclusion, had an 
 attack of scrupulosity. But the case itself was clear. 
 Hunterscombe had made a strange impression on him, an 
 impression deeper than it seemed at the time, and so had 
 the conversation in the smoking-room. Bramsby had fixed 
 both in his heart by saving the Pearl's life. Lady Rossden 
 was quite sure that his mind would be settled by the com- 
 fortable words of the Reverend Basil Oldchurch, while he 
 was equally sure that he had gone too far to go back, and 
 not far enough to see his way.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 ALMAINES, though he had not spoken ot 
 rehgion to anyone except his sister, who 
 guarded the secret as a noxious thing not to 
 be let out, mysteriously found himself an 
 object of interest and sympathy to various 
 persons unknown. One morning in the 
 week following his dinner party, he received 
 by post Mr. Oldchurch's lecture, neatly 
 printed, two octavo volumes on the Thirty-nine Articles, 
 the Life of Maria Monk, and a theistic sermon by Mr. 
 Voysey. The reason of this was that he had been to 
 Hunterscombe, liked the old Priest, made much of 
 Bramsby, and expressed no disapprobation of St. Anselm 
 for his allegiance to the Holy See. These causes of sus- 
 picion would seem small, even when taken together : but 
 the anti-Catholic nose is keen. The lecture had been sent 
 by the Dean ; the exposition of the Thirty-nine Articles by 
 old Bundleton ; the theistic sermon and the Life of Maria 
 Monk by the General Foreigner. But these were not 
 all. The Baroness Diabolouski sent a spasmodic poem on 
 Giordano Bruno, while Mr. Fetherhed, who was better 
 than he seemed and more silly than he looked, had for- 
 warded from London a copy of Hell Opened to Christians. 
 Malmaines, having surveyed the curious collection, 
 marvelled much. He was a very good-tempered man, but, 
 thinking that someone had "poked fun" at him in an
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 8l 
 
 unwarrantable way, as if truth were of no importance, he 
 felt irritated. 
 
 " Look here," he said, " a nice lot to get at breakfast ! " 
 
 "I don't see anything to be surprised at," said Lady 
 Rossden. "Some friend has sent you a copy of the lecture 
 that you were not able to hear — an admirable lecture. 
 You really 7nust read it." 
 
 " That I won't ; I know the theory and never heard a 
 more impudent falsification of facts — historical facts — as 
 well known and as certain as the battle of Inkerman, which 
 directly contradict the continuity theory." 
 
 " Do consider," said Lady Rossden, protesting by looks 
 and deprecating gestures that plainly alluded to the pre- 
 sence of the Pearl. 
 
 '"'' I am considering," said Malmaines, throwing the Life 
 of Maria Monk into the fire, and then holding the theistic 
 sermon before her. " Look at this." 
 
 " Very dreadful," said she ; " it must have been sent 
 as an advertisement." 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Somebody has played the fool with 
 me. If I can only find out who he is, I'll cram it down 
 his throat. But here are two more. What is this — about 
 Giordano Bruno ? " 
 
 He handed the spasmodic poem to the Pearl, who 
 presently put it down, saying, 
 
 " Blasphemous and revolutionary. Too abominable to 
 go on with." 
 
 Lady Rossden caught sight of Hell Opened to Christia?is, 
 and a brilliant thought occurred. " Father Bramsby," she 
 said, "must have sent that to frighten you and make you turn." 
 
 " Nonsense ! " 
 
 " Not at all nonsense. Who else is likely to have sent it ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; but he didn't." 
 
 " Well, I shall always think that he did — either he or 
 his nephew." 
 
 " Do you really mean that ? " 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Then you force me to do a very disagreeable thing ; 
 but I can't help it." 
 
 " What ? Why you wouldn't surely—" 
 
 Malmaines put the book into his pocket, and poked the 
 theistic sermon between the bars of the grate. 
 
 F
 
 82 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 "But you know," said Lady Rossden, "you really 
 mustn't — " 
 
 " Mustn't do what?" 
 
 " Why, it was what you said just now. You spoke as if — " 
 
 " Here are the Thirty-nine Articles and the lecture," said 
 he. "They are in your line: and I don't want them. 
 You might give them to Miss Bundleton, or to the Corpo- 
 ration of the Sons of the Clergy." 
 
 He then began to leave the room, and she began to 
 feel desperate. 
 
 " Indeed you mustn't," she said. " He would think it 
 so odd — such an insulting question." 
 
 "Mustn't what? and who is he2 and how should I be 
 insulting anyone? " 
 
 "Why, you spoke as if you were going to ask — but I 
 can't believe that you would ever dream of doing such a 
 thing." 
 
 " Such a thing as what? " 
 
 " Why, asking him — Father Bramsby — whether he sent 
 that book. You couldn't, you know." 
 
 " I couldn't do otherwise, my dear Julia," said Malmaines, 
 opening the door. "I couldn't think of leaving you under 
 a false impression. It wouldn't be fair." 
 
 He closed the question by shutting the door from the 
 other side. Lady Rossden remained silent, and so did the 
 Pearl : but the Pearl meditated much, while her aunt was 
 saying to herself at intervals, " It really is too annoying. 
 It might be the means of bringing them together — just 
 what one wanted to prevent." 
 
 The expressive silence continued till they rose from the 
 table, and then, having in vain sought counsel from herself, 
 she appealed piteously to the Pearl. 
 
 " Do try," she said, " to persuade your father not to 
 do that." 
 
 The Pearl, who had forgotten that part of the discussion, 
 looked up and mutely enquired, 
 
 " Didn't you hear him say that he was going to ask the 
 Priest at Hunterscombe whether it was he who sent that 
 book?" 
 
 " Yes, I remember now." 
 
 u Well — but, you know, it would be such an improper 
 question to ask anyhow, whether he sent it or not."
 
 ♦ THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 83 
 
 " He won't mind it," answered the Pearl, moving onwards. 
 " It will only make him laugh. I am quite certain that 
 he didn't send it." 
 
 " So is your father. Then why ask the question, when 
 you are both so satisfied ? " 
 
 '* To satisfy you, Aunt Julia, I suppose." 
 
 " I a/zi satisfied. I spoke as I did because I was not 
 acquainted with him. After what you have said I quite 
 believe that he had nothing to do with it — I do indeed ! 
 So there is no reason for asking, but every reason for not 
 asking. It would be so extremely rude, you know, and 
 make your father so misunderstood. You really ought to 
 speak to him about it — you, who are everything to him, 
 and have such an influence. For /n's sake you ought — 
 indeed you ought." 
 
 " My father," said the Pearl to herself, when Lady 
 Rossden had retired feeling very hot and prickly, "is the 
 best and kindest of men and the dearest of fathers. But 
 he certainly will ask the question. I could not prevent 
 that — if I were to try."
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HILE the curious contents of the postbag 
 were causing Malmaines to feel irritated 
 during the next few days, Lady Rossden 
 alarmed and the Pearl perplexed, the givers 
 of the disturbing gifts were themselves 
 disturbed otherwise and variously. Mr. 
 Fetherhed, under the influence of a French 
 novel, had engaged himself to a ballet 
 dancer, and misliking the prospect, was thereby reminded 
 to say his prayers. One result was that he had a sudden 
 scruple about his manner of talking before Malmaines : 
 and thus it happened that the latter was unexpectedly 
 furnished with strong instruction through the post. 
 
 Old Bundleton was laid up with the gout, and his curate 
 had taken to wearing a biretta : while the Dean had been 
 invited to mediate between a High Church incumbent and 
 a Low Church parishioner who was making things un- 
 pleasant. 
 
 The General Foreigner and the Baroness Diabolouski 
 were suffering from a partial divergence of interests, which, 
 though purely personal and in no way affecting their unity 
 as permanent conspirators against the Church of God and 
 the morality of man, occasioned a negative estrangement 
 between them as private individuals. 
 
 The Baroness had, as we have seen, introduced the 
 General Foreigner to her valued friend Ada, Lady Melford : 
 and the General Foreigner, having improved the acquain- 
 tance, had formed an intention that differed essentially from 
 hers on the same point. The Baroness meant him to he
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 8^ 
 
 an exponent of her own merits : but the General Foreigner 
 so valued the said lady that he even entertained the idea 
 of permanent possession. Wonderful were the effects of 
 this valuing. It limited his advanced theories by spon- 
 taneous repression, developed rural tastes of which he had 
 hitherto been unaware, and made him think that landed 
 property was beneficial — in England. Indeed, he was so 
 agreeable and agreeing, that she invited him to come again 
 after his visit to Blumbury. The Baroness, who received 
 an invitation at the same time, wished that she had not 
 introduced him, while he lovingly wished that she were 
 happening to go somewhere else : but they travelled by the 
 same train, and he carried her railway rug. 
 
 After their arrival, they continually wished as before. 
 The Baroness told herself elliptically that she never would 
 again — never ; and firmly resolved that she would do some- 
 thing in reparation to herself. The General Foreigner played 
 a waiting game, in view of a future visit without her, when 
 he might hope to meet with a clearer sort of encouragement. 
 On the third morning he announced, with many expressions 
 of regret, that important business compelled him to shorten 
 his visit : and when Lady Melford had replied that he must 
 come again later, he thankfully departed for a time. The 
 Baroness, who was anxious to avoid the danger of strained 
 relations, felt relieved, but not persuaded.
 
 CHAPTER Xr. 
 
 ^jN the course of another fortnight old Bundle- 
 ton had recovered from the gout, and his 
 curate was going to St. Emerita's at Osmunds- 
 bury. The Dean had been able to smooth 
 down the differences between his friend and 
 the aggrieved parishioner. 
 
 Mr. Fetherhed was keeping out of the 
 way, while somebody was mediating in his 
 behalf. The mediator told the young woman that his 
 client's income quite depended on a healthy father, who, in 
 the event of the proposed marriage, would stop his allowance 
 permanently and cut him off without the traditional shilling. 
 Thereupon she considered firstly, that to marry a fool 
 without money would be a bad bargain : secondly, that, 
 au bout du compte, he had a character to lose, and thirdly, 
 that he must therefore pay for not marrying her. The end 
 of it was that Mr. Fetherhed's father agreed to pay five 
 hundred pounds, wisely adding that his son must be made 
 to feel the consequences of his folly by repayment out of 
 his allowance. This persuasive condition had a salutary 
 effect on young Fetherhed. 
 
 The General Foreigner *vas in Paris, waiting for another 
 invitation from Lady Melford, while the Baroness, having 
 returned in excellent health and spirits to Blumbury, was 
 distributing tracts to the cottagers and preparing to give a 
 lecture in the schoolroom on the work of the reformers. 
 
 Bramsby had left Hunterscombe, and gone back with 
 much dislike to London, where he found a letter that called 
 him to Paris on law business. 
 " This," he thought, " is how 
 
 savmg It. 
 
 IS now one has to lose tmie in 
 Quick travelling multiplies journeys : and in the
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 87 
 
 course of the year we spend more time in locomotion than 
 we save by its quici^ness. Yet by reason of all this hurrying 
 to and fro, whatever the purpose of it may be, people 
 suppose themselves to get more out of their life. And now 
 having relieved my mind by a grumble, I must be off on 
 this wearisome business. The whole work is wearisome, 
 because the work and myself are mismatched. But I am 
 doing it for the sake of Hunterscombe, and I must go on." 
 
 The railway carriage was full and fusty : so he tried 
 another, which had only one occupant ; who, however, 
 turned out to be Mr. Blastmore. The latter, recognizing 
 Bramsby, muttered the British word of emphasis in a low 
 growl. Bramsby settled himself and spoke. 
 
 " I am very glad," he said, " to have this opportunity of 
 expressing my regret for having been the cause of your 
 accident on the evening of the Hunt Ball at Osmundsbury." 
 
 " All right," answered Mr. Blastmore. " You couldn't 
 help it. I could see that. It was that d — d unbroken colt 
 with no mouth and rotten reins." 
 
 " That was it," said Bramsby. " And I did all I could 
 to avoid it. But it was provoking." 
 
 " To be pitched into the mud in one's evening toggery — 
 eh?" said Mr. Blastmore with a bluff laugh. "Well, never 
 mind. You hadn't a pleasant ride. I hope you didn't 
 come to grief." 
 
 "No," said Bramsby, "he was checked by the hill, and 
 went on quietly. He had been frightened by something or 
 other at the Ford. It was an odd chapter of accidents. 
 Some business at a farm house detained me so late that I 
 had to get a mount as best I could from the farmer. So I 
 borrowed that three year old who bolted with me and (to 
 my sorrow and shame, though I couldn't help it) knocked 
 you over in the mud. I have often thought of it and 
 wanted to explain how it happened." 
 
 " Never mind about that," said Mr. Blastmore. " You're 
 a d — d good fellow, you are. I can see that. I know I'm 
 a rough sort of a customer when I'm put out — though I 
 don't mean any harm, and not much of a drawing-room 
 man at any time, but I can see a thing or two. And I 
 hope you'll come and stay with me at Cubton. I shall be 
 uncommonly glad to see you, and I'll give you a better 
 mount than you had on the big brown."
 
 88 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 At one of the stations half-way down the line Mr. 
 Blastmore got out, shaking hands and renewing the invita- 
 tion. The train went on, and Bramsby reflected. 
 
 "This," he thought, "is the second friendly acquaintance 
 that I have made within three weeks by means of horses 
 running away. The second was by saving a life, the first 
 by nearly destroying one. My new friend might be more 
 careful in his choice of epithets : but he only means to make 
 an emphatic sound. Why can't somebody persuade him 
 to say Amsterdam instead ? It would do as well for him 
 and shock no one." 
 
 His thoughts then wandered off to Maplethorpe : but he 
 suddenly checked himself, and after saying a chaplet of the 
 Rosary, read The Times. When they stopped again, three 
 more travellers came in and contmually talked out of the 
 newspapers till the train had reached Folkestone. 
 
 " I am glad," he thought, " to have done with that sort 
 of ' Commentary on the Sentences.' " He then verified the 
 ownership of his portmanteau, followed a porter to the 
 steamboat, and having paid him, tried to amuse himself by 
 a critical notice of the passengers, till a voice not unknown 
 and yet not familiar, uttered a sound of distress close to his 
 left ear. The sound became articulate, and explained itself 
 thus : 
 
 " Really this is too dreadful ; I never would have come 
 if I could have foreseen it. But who could ever have sup- 
 posed that a courier would catch the measles just before 
 starting, and that maid of yours have to follow us to Paris, 
 when I had left mine behind to lake care of things in 
 Backwater, thinking that the other would be ready ? What 
 am I to do with all these loose packages that had to come 
 because there was no room for them in the boxes, and this 
 dreadfully heavy dressing-bag, and the travelling-clock, and 
 the jewel-box and fur-cloak and umbrellas, besides all your 
 things?" 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself about them. Lady Rossden," said 
 Bramsby ; " I will be your courier as far as Paris, and engage 
 one there for you, if you will allow me." 
 
 " That is kind of you," said Lady Rossden, quite forget- 
 ing her implicit opinion that he ought to be nowhere. " I 
 don't know what I should have done, for I am a very bad 
 traveller, and haven't been abroad for twenty years — indeed,
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 89 
 
 — it must be nearer five-and-twenty — and everything had 
 gone wrong, and I couldn't go back, because I had pro- 
 mised my niece to take her to Rome. It really is too good 
 of you to take so much trouble." 
 
 The word "too" was of course intended to serve as 
 an emphatic substitute for " very : " but the implicit 
 opinion had something to do with the choice. Glad 
 she was and thankful to him for helping her : but after 
 the first spontaneous burst of gratitude she wished that 
 her friend in need were either somebody else, or him- 
 self otherwise than as he was, and began to consider 
 how she could manage to combine his services with as 
 much absence as possible. In the meanwhile, not seeing 
 her way to that reconciliation of required presence with 
 desired absence, and feeling herself pressed by the claims 
 of good breeding, she chatted pleasantly, according to her 
 measure of things, till a plunge and a puff caused her to 
 go below suddenly. The Pearl helped her down, and 
 leaving her in a comfortable state of quiescence, came 
 again on deck. Bramsby hesitated, and then approached. 
 
 " You are a good sailor," he said after a period of 
 silence that might be called a pause, if he had spoken to 
 her before. 
 
 " I never was on the sea till now," answered the Pearl, 
 " but I find the air pleasant in a way." 
 
 Bramsby wished that he were able to be like the sea- 
 air — in a way : but the way that he desired accorded not 
 with the sudden check which he had found necessary when 
 thinking of Maplethorpe. He looked about for some 
 excuse to move on — someone that he knew, someone that he 
 could speak to — but all were strangers, except the Pearl. 
 
 " This is culpable folly," he thought, " and still more 
 culpable weakness. I told myself when I left Maplethorpe, 
 that it was out of the question, and it is out of the question. 
 Where is the self-control that I supposed myself to have ? " 
 
 It was just where it had been, — in his own strong will : 
 but self-control cannot make a man not feel what he does 
 feel, nor persuade himself to feel it otherwise than as he 
 does. He had willed so strongly against his own inclining, 
 that not till now had he admitted the fact by which he was 
 embarrassed and wounded, though there was no outward 
 sign of his being so.
 
 90 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPt. 
 
 The Pearl looked at the moonlit sea, and said, " This is 
 a lovely picture : but we ought to be in a sailing vessel." 
 
 The remark was natural, and the noise of the engine 
 emphasized its truth : but the word " we" made him shiver. 
 
 "Steam is doing its best," he said, "to destroy or mar 
 the beauties of nature everywhere. We live in an age of 
 mechanism, that makes things easy and ugly." 
 
 " Yes, easy and ugly," said the Pearl. " The beautiful 
 is never eas}^- to reach. At least so it seems to me. But 
 I am going out of my depth, I know so little." 
 
 Again Bramsby wished against his own inclining, that 
 he or she were not there : but there he was, talking to her,, 
 while the moonlight sparkled on the silvery sea. 
 
 " It may be little," he said, " as an examiner would 
 measure it : but you have done what is better and much 
 less common, — you have thought. If most people would 
 read less and think more, they would be wiser than they 
 are." 
 
 " I have thought a little," she said, "or tried to think as 
 well as I could ; for I had no brothers or sisters, and my 
 mother died when I was eight years old. And I have 
 lived so much with my father, who does think." 
 
 " Yes, he does think," said Bramsby, " and thinks well. 
 I have had proofs of it." 
 
 "When was that?" 
 
 " When the Dean was talking to him about the Con- 
 tinuity theory. He at once grasped the whole question 
 and completely disproved the thing in a few words. And 
 again in the smoking-room, when a question cropped up, 
 and I found myself driven to go into it rather deeply, he 
 took it all in, though it was quite new to him." 
 
 " A strange thing happened after that," said she. " A 
 little more than a week ago the post brought him a copy 
 of Mr. Oldchurch's lecture and a book about the Thirty- 
 nine Articles, and three or four shorter writings quite 
 detestable. Who the givers were I don't know. The last 
 opened was a book called Hell opened to Christians. Who 
 could have sent that ? " 
 
 " The only solution that I can find," said Bramsby, after 
 pausing to consider, " seems too far-fetched and im- 
 probable." 
 
 " What is it ? "
 
 THE DAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 9 1 
 
 " That Mr. Fetherhecl had a scruple about his disedifying 
 talk before your father. I could see that he had more 
 religion in him than he allowed to appear on the surface, 
 and being what he is — somewhat silly, — he took a foolish 
 way of making amends. No other solution of the myster\- 
 occurs to me. But I may be wrong as to the fact, and 
 probably am wrong." 
 
 " I believe that you are right," said the Pearl, " for it 
 must have been sent (like the rest) by someone who was 
 at Maplethorpe when you were there. Your presence just 
 then had something to do with it — " 
 
 She broke off, and added quickly, '' Your being a Catholic. 
 They were afraid of your influence — " 
 
 " And of your father's supposed inclining,'' said Bramsby. 
 " They were easily frightened." 
 
 " Do you think so ?" 
 
 " Only by reason of not having seen any cause for it." 
 
 " You would, if you had been there later. Some remarks 
 of his set me thinking : and I wish that I had asked him 
 about them before I left home. He is like a brother to 
 me, besides being the best of fathers : but somehou< I was 
 unwilling to speak till he had said something. I am sorry 
 now that I did not. It would have been a great help to me." 
 
 Bramsby waited and listened, hoping for something 
 more explicit. The Pearl saw the difficulty and said, 
 
 " I had been thinking in the same way, and wanted to 
 think as he did, not only because he is my father, but also 
 because we have always thought alike, ever since I was 
 old enough to understand what he meant. And there- 
 fore — " 
 
 " My dear Margaret, why are you staying up there in 
 the cold ? " said a voice that aggressively preceded the 
 speaker coming up from the cabin. The owner of the 
 voice was, of course and evidendy, Lady Rossden, who, 
 having recovered from the effects of the first plunge into 
 the trough of the channel, had much remembered her 
 reservations respecting the advantages of Bramsby's help 
 in need. 
 
 " I should have come before," she said, protruding a fur 
 cloak and a pair of rounded eyes, " if I had not been so 
 very ill. But really you will catch your death of cold, if 
 you stay any longer. Isn't it so, Mr. Bramsby ? "
 
 92 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE 
 
 " I hope not," said Bramsby. " The wind is south. 
 But you know best." 
 
 " Well, you see, she is under my charge at present," said 
 Lady Rossden : " and I //u/si take care of her." 
 
 " No one could be more careful," said he, offering his arm. 
 
 " Thank you," she said. " You are so kind. I do dread 
 tliose horrid stairs that seem to roll away from one's feet." 
 
 When they had descended into the cabin, she said, 
 " Good-night. Thank you so much." And Bramsby said 
 to himself, as he turned away, " Yes — as long as you can 
 make use of me." 
 
 When he again stood on the deck, looking out at the 
 silvery sea, he was conscious of a change that made him 
 come to conclusions with himself. On the one hand, it 
 seemed evident that Malmaines was going to be a Catholic, 
 while the Pearl was only waiting to do the same. On the 
 other hand, were there not examples, more than a few, to 
 make him feel uncertain of the event? And then in what 
 way would this concern him ? That it did concern him 
 separately he could no longer deny : but would it affect his 
 future in relation to her ? From what she had said, and 
 what she had not said, the inference was hopeful ; and her 
 father liked him evidently, was grateful to him for saving 
 her life : but inferences from a not impartial reading of 
 words and silence are doubtful, and the evidence of manner 
 may be wrongly taken. Time must elapse and might 
 stretch out into months before the question could in any 
 way be solved. He shivered and left the spot where she 
 had been. 
 
 The moonlight sparkled on the water, whilst the engine 
 thumped and jolted as before : but he took no heed of 
 anything, till a man, coming behind him as he moved on, 
 said in French, 
 
 " I think that I had the honour of meeting you in Paris 
 at ." 
 
 " I remember it w^ell. Monsieur le Cure," said Bramsby. 
 " I have often wished that I could meet you again." 
 
 " And I," said the Cure, " have often wished for an 
 opportunity of seeing you again. We agreed so well — 
 which is always pleasant to the weak side of human 
 nature — and you puzzled me in an interesting way by 
 appearing (without any intention on your part) in several
 
 THE 1!AN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 93 
 
 different characters. You are evidently a good Catholic, 
 and so I have no difficulty in asking you which is most 
 your own." 
 
 " I am a landlord," said Bramsby, " by inheritance, a 
 very small student of St. Thomas by mental inclination, 
 a lawyer by profession unwiUingly : and I could find it in 
 me to be a soldier, if anything worth fighting for were 
 practically possible now. I became a lawyer to make 
 money, for the sake of my old place, where the Faith has 
 been kept under much pressure of persecution and poverty." 
 
 " You are a worthy successor," said the Cure, " of those 
 Christian heroes." 
 
 " If you come to England again," said Bramsby, " I 
 hope that you will pay us a visit." 
 
 " It would give me very great pleasure," said the Cure. 
 " I certainly shall avail myself of your kind invitation, if I 
 am able to do so." 
 
 '' My uncle, who is the Priest of the mission," said 
 Bramsby, " lives in the old house and manages the 
 property for me ; so that I can be an absentee without the 
 sin of absenteeism. But, by the bye, could you recommend 
 me a courier for a lady, or rather for two ladies who are 
 travelling alone ? " 
 
 " I can," said the Cure, " or rather, I can help you to 
 get one — one that I can fully recommend." And then 
 they talked of other things till the passengers began to 
 disembark at Boulogne.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 ^HEN Bramsby had escorted Lady Rossden 
 and the Pearl to Paris, he did the business 
 for which he had come, engaged the recom- 
 mended courier, and then, having no 
 further excuse for being where the Pearl 
 was, began to return. Further excuse he 
 certainly had not ; for Lady Rossden, being 
 prudent according to her knowledge of 
 what she wanted, considered that he had " done everything, 
 quite everything " for them, and with many thanks made 
 herself together with the Pearl seem to disappear from his 
 way of life. When they parted, there was an indefinable 
 something in the tone of the Pearl's voice that left a 
 different impression : but was the impression true ? Subtle 
 is the language of tones : and without certainty of their 
 cause who can be certain of their meaning ? That she felt 
 an interest in him was evident, and evidently the interest 
 had grown : but of what nature was it? Was he, in rela- 
 tion to her, simply the owner of Hunterscombe, who had 
 saved her life, and whose company was agreeable to her, 
 or was he something to her in relation to herself? This 
 was the one question that concerned him then : and hope, 
 such as it was, or might be, was the only answer. Think- 
 ing of her only, and feeling certain about her, except in 
 relation to himself, he began his journey back to London 
 on a dark and stormy evening in January. 
 
 While he was waiting for the train, his attention was 
 averted from porters and portmanteaus by seeing the 
 General Foreigner, who had come to say " Bon voyage "
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLE'JHORPE. 
 
 95 
 
 to a friend. The recognition was mutual, but inasmuch 
 as neither of them cared to renew the half acquaintance 
 made at Maplethorpe, both seemed as if they had not 
 seen, and Bramsby passed on saying to himself, " Hortato?- 
 scelerum yEolides. What a scoundrel you are — scoundrel 
 with a short and unlawful adjective prefixed ! Your life is 
 consecrated to the devil by desecration of all that is true 
 and good. That British epithet, of one syllable, might be 
 duly applied without swearing; for it would simply express 
 what you are working to be. I dont know which is the 
 worst, you or the Baroness Diabolouski ; but she is more 
 adaptable to circumstances and therefore more dangerous." 
 
 If he had known that she was then giving a lecture in 
 the national school-room at Little Blumford on the work 
 of the Reformers, he would have thought more about her 
 in the same way : but he had no means of knowing so 
 much, and remembering the Pearl continually, he even 
 forgot that he had just seen again the General Foreigner. 
 
 The General Foreigner, who was consulting with his 
 friend about regenerating the world by depriving everyone 
 of the right to hope for the Beatific Vision, found himself 
 interrupted by a poor man whom he had somehow known, 
 and who much wanted two francs for something. But the 
 General Foreigner, not recognizing in him any regenerative 
 principles, closed his purse and gave him a general direc- 
 tion to ask the Priests. Bramsby gave him the two francs 
 and walked on, thinking of those lines in the Needy Kuife- 
 Grinder : 
 
 " I give thee sixpence ! I'll see thee damned first, 
 Wretch whom no sense of wrong can rouse to vengeance : 
 Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded, spiritless outcast." 
 
 The General Foreigner moved away, and Bramsby moved 
 on, but not far, before he heard another sound of distress, 
 quite different from the first. "■ Troubles," he thought, " of 
 one sort or another are many and various in this life of 
 trial, but a terminus is an unlikely place for them to be 
 apparent in. What can it be ? I had better pass on and 
 know nothing : yet somehow this inclines me to be im- 
 prudent." 
 
 He looked and saw in a secluded angle of the station,
 
 96 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 dimly lighted by the fitful glare of the lamps, a young girl 
 crying bitterly. She was English evidently, from the words 
 " Oh, what shall I do ! " that made themselves audible 
 even above the howHng wind and sharp pattering of the 
 rain on the roof of the terminus. . She was very beautiful, 
 about the same age as the Pearl, and was apparently 
 trying to hide the sobs that forced him to stop. 
 
 This was too much for him, and he said, without any 
 further consideration, 
 
 '' Can I do anything for you ? " 
 
 She looked up, lowered her eyes and said, 
 
 " No, thank you. It is very kind of you to ask the 
 question : but there is nothing to be done that you can do 
 for me — a stranger, of whom you know nothing." 
 
 " Anyhow," said he, " you are a lady in some sort of 
 trouble : and if I can help you, I will." 
 
 She burst into tears, and said presently, '' You are so 
 kind and chivalrous, that I cannot refuse to tell you what 
 my trouble is. I travelled this evening from a suburb 
 beyond Paris, and unfortunately, being very tired, I fell 
 asleep — it was only for a few minutes — but when I woke 
 my purse was gone. There was nobody then in the 
 carriage, but some people had got out at the station before. 
 It held all the money that I have. I was returning to 
 England, having sent my luggage on before me to Folke- 
 stone. If I could borrow enough to take me home, I 
 should be saved from this painful and difficult position." 
 
 " Allow me to lend you the money for your journey," 
 said Bramsby, taking out his purse. 
 
 '' No — would you really ? Oh, how can I thank you 
 enough ! But you must give me your name that I may 
 know whom I have to thank, and where to send the money 
 when I get home." 
 
 Bramsby wrote the direction on a card, gave her what 
 she required for the journey, and passed on. " It is better," 
 he thought, " for her and for me, that I should not be seen 
 travelling with her, strangers as we are, and after this. I 
 onder who she is. It was rather odd that she didn't o^ive 
 
 w 
 
 her name when I gave mine. There is that foreign 
 scoundrel again — saying good-bye to another scoundrel as 
 bad as himself. I saw them both eyeing me when I spoke 
 to her. I must trv to find out who she is."
 
 THE BAN OF INIAPLETHORPE. 
 
 97 
 
 " You're the good Samaritan," said a voice from behind 
 him as he was getting into the train. 
 
 It was the voice of Mr. Fetherhed, who was returning to 
 England after the " arrangement," and he was therefore 
 in exceedingly good spirits and amiably inclined, even to 
 Bramsby. 
 
 " You'll never get your money back," said he. 
 
 '' Why not? " said Bramsby. 
 
 " You know her then ? " 
 
 " No — I never saw her before, and probably never shall 
 see her again." 
 
 " You'll be done : but you won't say." 
 
 '' If I am," said Bramsby laughing, •' I will let you 
 know." 
 
 " Mind you do. I should like to know who she is. 
 She's awfully pretty. 'Pon my honour, I could have found 
 
 it in me to try to help her myself, only — don't you see? 
 
 I got let in for something lately, and that makes me careful. 
 Once caught, twice shy, don't you know. How are they 
 getting on in Ilsetshire ? That Baroness Devilwousky will 
 be doing some of them, if they don't look out." 
 
 " I shall have to make restitution," thought Bramsby. 
 " for saying that you are a fool, though you arc something 
 of that sort. I only wish that certain other ])eople would 
 see her as she is, and be careful to keep her away. Once 
 1 nearly spoke about her, and then let myself be interrupted. 
 This poor silly fellow has blundered it out to me, who 
 didn't want to be told : and I, when I ought to have 
 spoken, allowed myself to be turned aside by a few words 
 about something else. I must remedy that, and just now 
 see what there is below the surface in this poor fellow." 
 
 " If they don't mind, she'll be up to something, I know 
 she will," said Fetherhed. " I heard her pretending to be 
 a High Church Protestant, when she was talking to the 
 Dean, and making old Bundleton believe that she was an 
 Evangelical. And all the while she believes in nothing 
 l)ut the devil." 
 
 '' That other foreigner from nowhere," said Bramsby, 
 " is just as bad : but she knows better how to make her- 
 self everything to everyone without ceasing to do mischief 
 or trying to do it, wherever she goes." 
 
 " I don't know about that," said Fetherhed. '' I only 
 
 G
 
 98 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 thought that she was a humbug, and Hkely to get some- 
 thing out of one or another." 
 
 " What sort of something ? " 
 
 " Money, I suppose. That's what people want to get." 
 
 " Well, she might be ready for a chance, if she could 
 see her way : but I am not supposing that. You could 
 see what the man is by what he said when we were travel- 
 ling together from London : and she is of the same sort. 
 There are plenty of such people, and have been for many 
 years. Their business is to deceive the simple and the 
 careless by false principles — catholics by liberalism, 
 Protestants by No Popery. They will sympathize with 
 anyone for the chance of leading him to the devil." 
 
 " I don't quite believe all that,'"' said Fetherhed. 
 
 "All what?" 
 
 " Well, about modern thought. Weren't you alluding to 
 that ? " 
 
 " Not directly. I was speaking of false and destructive 
 principles in general, to propagate which there is an 
 organized conspiracy." 
 
 " Organized ? " 
 
 "Yes, organized, as anyone may see in the action of the 
 governments of France and Italy for years past, and in the num- 
 ber and activity of false teachers throughout Christendom." 
 
 " Well, of course, I don't go in for Crispi and that sort 
 of thing : but the thinkers, that you were so hard on in the 
 smoking-room at Maplethorpe, have nothing to do with that." 
 
 " Haven't they ? When people deny the foundations of 
 certainty, don't they make faith and morals open questions ? 
 and if such things are open questions, the Catholic Church 
 which decides them dogmatically cannot be the one true 
 Church : and since there is no other Church that possibly 
 can be the one Church of God, it would follow that God 
 has never revealed Himself to us at all. If that were a 
 fact, we should have to be agnostics, and Christian teach- 
 ing would be an imposture. What would you have to say 
 then against Crispi and the rest for trying to pull it down ? " 
 
 " I should say that they know better and only do it out 
 of cussedness." 
 
 " Granted, but if you say that to men who deny absolute 
 certainty, you only beg the question. They would answer 
 that the outcome of progressive thought is the measure of
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 99 
 
 truth, and that progressive thought has shown the Cathohc 
 Church to be -against the happiness of mankind. How- 
 could you answer a man who would stick to that, whatever 
 you might say or prove ?" 
 
 " I should tell him that it's an act of tyranny anyhow." 
 '' And he would tell you that if it were so, every law 
 would be tyrannous, because every law represses someone 
 for the benefit of the whole community. So long as he 
 continues to maintain, in defiance of reason, common sense 
 and experience, that all truth is relative, and that the 
 Catholic Church is incompatible with the best interests of 
 niankind, you can't make him admit that Crispi and Co. 
 are resisting the known truth and acting tyrannously." 
 
 " I should tell him," said Fetherhed, " that I couldn't 
 agree with a man who talked in that way." 
 
 " Which he," said Bramsby, " would have known before- 
 hand. But the corollary is that you must give up your 
 great thinkers, whose teaching leads to Crispi's practical 
 conclusions against the Catholic Church." 
 
 " Well, you know, I wouldn't go their lengths." 
 " That's all very well : but it isn't safe to swallow poison- 
 ous teaching and then make an act of faith, by way of an 
 emetic. Some of it, at least, is likely to lurk in the system." 
 " But I don't believe all they say. I use my own judg- 
 ment — " 
 
 " Which without previous instruction would not save you 
 from being misled. Take the disinterested advice of a man 
 who has lived longer than you have, and — I say it with no 
 depreciation of you — a man who knows more about those 
 things. Don't listen to false teachers, thinking yourself 
 a match for them. You only expose yourself unarmed 
 against poisoned weapons." 
 
 Fetherhed seemed impressed, and Bramsby added, 
 '' You will, I am sure, agree with me, on reflection." 
 " Ah, well," said Fetherhed, stretching his legs and 
 looking at his boots, " it's all very good and that sort of 
 thing. But you know — one must be up to the day." 
 
 " I am much afraid," thought Bramsby, " that I shall 
 not have to make restitution for saying that you are 
 a fool. But your guardian angel will, I hope, be able to 
 keep you sufficiently straight, by reason of a general dis- 
 position on your part not to go to the devil."
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 fjACKWATER is a small watering-place 
 and old-fashioned withal, so far as that 
 quality is possible in the England of to-day, 
 when everyone goes everywhere, and every- 
 thing is everywhere else, and every place 
 looks as if it might be anywhere. 
 
 The only thing that showed sameness 
 was the shape of the ladies' hats, which 
 was like nothing so much as that of the ladies' hats worn 
 elsewhere. The day was dark and dreary, as Longfellow 
 says when he speaks of rain falling into our life. Puddles, 
 caused by rain falling on the pavement in the yard of 
 " The Crown and Sceptre," filled the spaces between the 
 time-worn stones, when a horse was brought out for some- 
 body to mount. The someone was Bramsby, who owing 
 to some hitch about the purchase of the farm that gave 
 the occasion of his mount on the big brown, had come to 
 Backwater on that business, and was now setting out for 
 Hunterscombe. The horse was a handsome old screw, 
 that Bramsby kept in the quality of a favourite. 
 
 " But you carry me still, and very well, you dear old 
 fellow," said he. 
 
 "There's a deal of work in the old horse yet," said the 
 ostler, who had known him many years. 
 
 As he rode out of the yard, Bramsby met Sir Henry 
 Melford, who was on his way to the station. 
 *' What brings you here ?" he said. 
 
 " A horse that I heard of," said Sir Henry : " but I don't 
 like him. What brings yoi/ ? " 
 
 '' Business — other people's business, perpetual business, 
 business that keeps me away from Hunterscombe and
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE, lOI 
 
 makes me, half my time, seem to myself as if I were some- 
 body else. But I can't help it. The work is honourable 
 and beneficent, but uncongenial to me." 
 
 " I wish that you were clear of it," said Sir Henry. 
 " Good bye, I have to catch a train," 
 
 Bramsby rode on, looking at the blue sea and the white 
 sails and the sea-gulls dipping on its surface. 
 
 " Beatus ilk,'' he thought, 
 
 " Qui prociil } I ego tits 
 Ut prisca gens viortaliuni, 
 Patcrna rura bolnis exci cct sicis, 
 Soiatus oiiuii fanore." 
 
 And then he thought of nothing but the Pearl while the 
 old horse trotted pleasantly along a soft bit of rising ground. 
 
 About a mile beyond Backwater, the road, leaving the 
 coast, turned off to the left and wound its way along a 
 narrow valley with slopes of grass and arable on either 
 side, until it crossed over a break in the ridge of the downs 
 and led again towards the sea. Bramsby loved the long 
 line of coast and the neighbouring scenes, and most of all 
 the inherited home that gave a localized meaning to them, 
 but he took no notice of the scenery now, till he came to a 
 well-remembered spot. The road there was following the 
 turns of an undulating coast-line, whose height above the 
 sea level varied from forty feet to fifteen, except at one 
 place, about twr^ miles from Hunterscombe, where the 
 rocky framework had crumbled away and left a sort of 
 winding path among the fragments. The furthest of these 
 was long and sloped upwards towards the sea, forming a 
 sort of natural pier with a tiny bay on one side. When 
 the tide was in and the sea calm, you could walk to the 
 end and look straight down on the rippling water. Bramsby 
 had often done so when a boy, and so had all the boys in 
 the neighbourhood at odd times ; but now, when he saw 
 in the dim twilight a woman doing likewise, he pulled up 
 without knowing why. 
 
 " Surely," he thought, " I am not going to have another 
 adventure so soon. And this would be so horrible. But 
 somehow I don't like the appearance of it. There is no 
 one about here who would go in the dusk to meditate by 
 the sad sea waves. And the sea is rough too."
 
 102 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 He turned off the road and threading his way between 
 the fragments of rock, reached the cHfif. Before he had 
 gone half way, he saw her disapp^ nr from where she had 
 stood, and then he heard the splash of a body falling into 
 deep water. Springing off his horse, he ran to the spot, 
 plunged into the sea and caught her, as she rose to the 
 surface. This was easy to a man who could swim ; but 
 his difficulties began then. The plunge had terrified her ; 
 and she clung to him so closely that he was in imminent 
 danger of sinking. 
 
 " Don't be afraid," he said. " Hold by my arm, and 
 leave the rest to me. Please do. You mi/s^, or / must 
 leave you!' These last words enforced obedience : he 
 caught her right hand in his left, and struck out for the 
 shore. A few strokes would bring him into shallow water : 
 but the place v/as exposed, and waves were rolling in. 
 Before he could touch the ground, a bigger wave caught 
 him sideways, dashed him violently against a piece of rock 
 and broke into a shower of spray. A man with less power 
 of will would have let her go, for he was nearly stunned, 
 but the spray partially revived him, and making a desperate 
 effort, he started again, and swam with her to the shore. 
 
 She was unhurt, but not Bramsby. He felt very faint, 
 and when he had landed her safely, fell sideways, apparently 
 unconscious. She tried to revive him, by sprinkling sea- 
 water on his face, and seeing no effect, burst into a passion- 
 ate flood of tears. 
 
 " I know who you are now," she said, "the only one in 
 all this desolate world who ever befriended me. And 
 now in return for saving my useless life, I am the cause of 
 your death. Oh ! what shall I do ? Where can I get 
 help ? There is a cottage not far off" — I remember seeing, 
 it. If I could only find my way — " 
 
 By the light of the rising moon, she scrambled upwards 
 among the rocks into the road, and hurried on towards the 
 place where she imagined the cottage to be. Bramsby 
 remained unconscious, and the tide, still rising, was slowly 
 creeping towards the spot where he lay.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 T was now six o'clock, and Father Bramsby, 
 having just finished his office by the light 
 of a reading-lamp in the old hall at 
 Hunterscombe, looked at his watch. 
 
 " Detained there by that business," he 
 thought. " Life is short and law is long. 
 His clients would be amazed if they knew 
 how heroic it is in him to go on with that 
 work. A grand young fellow he is, and a great example 
 — a great example for others to follow according to their 
 powers, if they would only try to do so. Well, he must be 
 here soon. I will go out and meet him. He said he 
 should ride home the lower road by the sea." 
 
 While he was putting on his hat, he heard a sound 
 outside that starded him — the sound of a horse neighing 
 on the other side of the bridge beyond the moat. He 
 threw open the great door, and saw by the light of the 
 rising moon the old horse, riderless. 
 
 '' My God," he murmured, "/«/ Voluntas Tiia. But 
 this is the heaviest blow that I have ever had." He led 
 the horse to the stables, and calling to the coachman, said : 
 " Saddle the cob, get on him and follow me as quickly as 
 you can — the short way — over the hill towards Back- 
 water. Something must have happened — the horse has 
 come back without him." 
 
 So saying, he mounted the old horse and trotted off by the 
 bridle path through the wood. The coachman saddled the 
 cob in haste, and^following Father Bramsby, caught him up 
 before he had reached the second turning. They rode on 
 in silence by the nearest way to the Backwater road — the 
 way by which he had gone with Malmaines and the Pearl
 
 I04 'i'HE BAN OF MAPLETHOkFK. 
 
 two months before. They crossed the hill, passed through 
 the village into the high road, and, after riding a litde wa\-, 
 saw a girl, in dripping clothes, running towards them. 
 
 " For God's sake," she cried, " come and help. I have 
 been looking for someone I don't know how long, and 
 couldn't find the cottage. Come with me." Tears were 
 streaming down her face. 
 
 "Who? What?" said Father Bramsby, pulling up his 
 horse. 
 
 " Mr. Bramsby," she said. " He saved me from drowning, 
 and he's hurt — down there on the shore. I know his name." 
 
 Father Bramsby waited to hear no more. He and the 
 coachman hastily dismounted, and leaving their horses in 
 the road, followed her down to the little bay on one side of 
 the jutting cliff. They found him lying where he had 
 fallen. The sea had by this time reached his head. A 
 few minutes more and the sea would have covered him. 
 Father Bramsby knelt down, looked at him anxiously and 
 lifted his head a litUe. 
 
 " Oswald," he said, '^ Oswald, my boy ! wake up. We 
 must be off." 
 
 Bramsby opened his eyes, fixed them on his uncle for a 
 moment, and began to move his limbs. 
 
 •'Yes," he said, "just help me up. I have had some 
 .sort of a tumble. I shall remember all about it presently. ' 
 
 " All right. Squire," said the old coachman, raising him 
 up to his feet. 
 
 " This is not the first time that you have picked me up,"' 
 said Bramsby. " I shall be all right soon." 
 
 " You have had a heavy shake," said Father Bramsb}'. 
 " Thanks be to God that it is no worse. A night's rest 
 will put you to rights." 
 
 " How can I thank him enough ? " said the girl, who 
 had stood by them pale and motionless. " The sea was 
 very rough and dashed him against the rocks. It happened 
 when he was saving my unworthy and useless life." 
 
 " Your life is certainly not useless," said Father Bramsby, 
 " for you brought us here : and in your power it is and 
 will be, as long as you liv€^ to make it useful for yourself 
 and others. W^e are all unworthy — more or less, — and our 
 business is to make ourselves as little unworthy as possible 
 by corresponding with the grace of God, Who alone can
 
 THK BAN OF MAPLETHORPK. IO5 
 
 enable us to do so. But you are soaked. The sea-water 
 is dripping off you still. You must come with us, and put 
 up at Hunterscombe to-night. He is my nephew and the 
 owner of the place." 
 
 " Thank you,"' she said, " thank you a thousand times. 
 I accept it most gratefully, for I have nowhere to go. 1 
 came home to my old nurse, who lived near here, and 
 found her dead. If you would only help me to go some- 
 where to-morrow and live by doing something, I should 
 thank you for ever.'' 
 
 " I will help you as much as I can,"' he said. " To- 
 morrow morning we will talk about it. But just now — " 
 
 " I am right enough," said Oswald Bramsby. " I 
 had a bit of a knock or something, and it made me feel 
 confused for a while. I can walk well enough now. But 
 why did you come here, and how did you know where to 
 lind me ? ' 
 
 "The old horse came home, Squire," said the coachman. 
 " and told us, as you may say, that something had happened, 
 and then we met the lady in the road." 
 
 " You had better ride on," said Father Bramsby, " and 
 get home as quick as you can. Change your clothes and 
 drink some hot brandy and water. You must be chilled 
 after lying there so long, wet through." Then turning to 
 the coachman, he added, " You had better ride with him. 
 There is nothing to be alarmed about, I feel sure, but I 
 should like the doctor to see him in the morning." 
 
 Bramsby mounted with a little help, and rode awa}-, 
 thinking of the Pearl. 
 
 '■^ Deo g)-atias ."' he said to himself. " If my uncle had 
 not been brought here, I should have had to be alone witli 
 this poor beautiful girl. Somebody would see us of course, 
 and of course tell somebody else, who would tell somebod}- 
 else, who would make out some romantic story to fit in 
 with it, which others would repeat in corners behind m\- 
 back. That and nothing less is what I have escaped through 
 his coming here. Deo gralias .'" 
 
 " We have two miles to walk," said Father Bramsb}-. 
 " But they say that one never catches cold from sea-water." 
 
 " I don't feel so cold," she answered, " and now that yon 
 have saved him, I care not at all to prolong a useless and 
 burdensome life."
 
 To6 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 ' " My dear young lady," said he, " didn't we settle that 
 IList now? Vou saved his life by showing me where to find 
 him. Was t/iaf being useless ? The troubles of life are 
 indeed burdensome while they last : but if we bear them in 
 a right spirit, we shall find a treasure inside the burden." 
 
 " You speak so beautifully," said she. " If I had known 
 you before, you would have made something of me, for T 
 feel your influence now — feel it strangely. But no. Don't 
 waste your very instructive words on one who is unworthy 
 of them." 
 
 " Why," said he, '' do you suppose yourself to be un- 
 worthy of hearing common sense, when you have just 
 called it instructive?" 
 
 " Because my heart is hardened by grief and ill-treatment." 
 
 " I don't believe in the hardening. It may be frozen 
 over the surface : but a little sunshine would thaw it." 
 
 " No. There is nothing to melt it." 
 
 " Suppose we try." 
 
 " No. If anyone could do it, you could. I feel such 
 confidence in you. But — " 
 
 " If you have confidence in me, you will listen to what I 
 say, listen to an old man who knows you already better 
 than you know yourself." 
 
 " I 7u/// show my confidence in you," she said. " I will 
 show you the greatest possible confidence. I will tell you 
 the miserable and humiliating story of how I was deceived, 
 partly through my own fault, in leaving home as I did, — 
 a story that I have not told even to my nearest relation." 
 
 " Whatever you may say," said Father Bramsby, " will 
 be between ourselves. You will be telling it to a man 
 who is in the habit of hearing what is not told elsewhere, 
 and of sympathizing with the sorrowful, from whatever 
 cause the sorrow may come. Speak freely, as if to your- 
 self. You may rest assured that I shall feel for you and 
 with you and not misunderstand you." 
 
 " I am sure of that," she said, " quite sure, though I 
 have known you scarcely half-an-hour. There is something 
 in you that tells me so : and therefore I will tell you every- 
 thing except my name, which no longer concerns me, 
 because I mean to go by some other name, and work for 
 my living somewhere, till I die — anywhere — it matters not 
 where or how."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. I07 
 
 " This," thought Father Bramsby, " would be the better 
 for being modified : but I must let her talk herself out in 
 her own way." 
 
 " My father and mother," she said, "died when I was a 
 child, and I was adopted by an uncle, my mother's only 
 surviving brother, who sent me to a boarding school in the 
 north of England, and paid for my education. I left school 
 about eighteen months ago, and went to live with him. 
 He was an old bachelor himself, and I believe he thought 
 I should be a trouble and a difficulty to him. At all events 
 he wanted me to marry a great friend of his, who said that 
 he liked me : I refused, for I couldn't endure him : and my 
 uncle was furious. He said in his anger that if I persisted 
 in refusing his friend, he would cast me off and I might go 
 where I liked : but when I look back, and remember his 
 generosity and many acts of kindness, I feel sure that he 
 would not have carried out his threat, and that if I had 
 only exercised a little patience, all would have been well. 
 But, unhappily, my temper was roused. I said I would 
 never marry that man ; so I took my uncle at his word and 
 left my home. Aly father had spent all his money and left 
 me penniless. I had made friends with a lady, a Pole, I 
 think she was, who had been staying for some time with a 
 neighbour of ours, and told her of my troubles. At her 
 suggestion and by her advice I went to Paris with her : I 
 ran away from home, in fact, without a word to my poor 
 good uncle, and met her at the station. She introduced me 
 to a family in Paris, as a sort of companion, or to teach 
 English by continual chattering ; they were friends of hers 
 — you understand the position ? " 
 
 " I do indeed," said Father Bramsby. " Poor dear 
 child ! " 
 
 " That was how I went to Paris. I went by my mother's 
 name, as my friend advised. It was all strange to me. I 
 ■didn't like it at all. Odd kind of men used to come to pay 
 evening visits. The people of the house seemed to me 
 very odd — fast or something worse, — and I sometimes 
 thought of writing to my uncle and asking him to forgive 
 me and let me return home ; but unfortunately I kept 
 putting it off. Well, as I said, I met various people in that 
 house, people from everywhere, and amongst them a very 
 good-looking and polished Count (from Prussian Poland, he
 
 Io8 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 said), who, to make a long story short, attracted me and 
 proposed to me. He said that, being a Catholic, he 
 couldn't be married in a Catholic church, because I was a 
 Protestant. I knew very little about religion beyond having 
 gone to the parish church on Sundays with what they call a 
 Church-service in my hand : and I liked the little that I 
 had seen of the churches in Paris. I was quite ready then 
 to believe as he did and be a Catholic. I felt it, and I told 
 him so. He said that I should require a long time for 
 instruction, and that it was necessary to be married without 
 delay, because his father, who had arranged a marriage for 
 him with an heiress, would have means of preventing ours. 
 I knew nothing then of how or where civil marriages are 
 made in Paris, I trusted to him entirely, and so, while we 
 were at that gloomy-looking office, I believed myself to be 
 really married in that way, by a man who, as I was told, 
 was the appointed official. But after the ceremony, or 
 whatever it may be called, as I drove back with him to the 
 house a little way out of Paris, where his apartments were 
 (our temporary house, as he called it, until our marriage 
 could be declared), an unaccountable misgiving seized me 
 that all was not right. After we arrived at his house, I 
 (Questioned him closely, and not being satisfied, disbelieved 
 him, and then reproached him. We had a terrible scene. 
 I declared that unless he could satisfy me and have our 
 marriage openly recognised by his parents and solemnized 
 in some short of church, I would have nothing to do with 
 him and would return at once to the lady whose house I 
 had left. He implored me not to bring such a disgrace 
 upon him, assured me of his devotion, and said he would 
 go home the very next day, and procure for me all I asked. 
 But I remained firm. I said he must go then and there — 
 that either he or I must leave the house at once. So he 
 consented to go. He went and I saw him no more. The 
 next morning I had a short note from him, with no date, 
 telling me to stay where I was until he should return with 
 the consent of his parents to our marriage, and saying that 
 he had left some money for me at his bankers to go on with. 
 I waited on ; I am afraid you will think me very foolish. 
 I ought to have gone away at once. But I really cared for 
 him, or rather, for what I supposed him to be, and believed 
 in him through it all."
 
 THE HAN OF MAPLETHORPE. I09 
 
 " Indeed, I don't think you foolish," said Father 
 Bramsby. " You acted with admirable firmness and 
 courage." 
 
 " Well, I waited," said she, " day after day, week after 
 week, still hoping and believing that he would return with 
 the consent of his parents to our marriage. It was summer 
 when he went away, and then it was winter. The money at 
 the bank was all gone, though I had lived as economically 
 as I could, and deprived myself of everything except the 
 bare necessaries of life. I was beginning to wonder what I 
 should do, when at last I received a letter from him, dated 
 from somewhere in Prussian Poland. He said that his 
 parents would not consent to his marriage with me ; that he 
 had feared this all along, and that therefore the marriage 
 ceremony which he had gone through with me was not a 
 real one, but that, as I had gone through that ceremony 
 with him, and had ever since been living in his house and 
 at his expense, no one would believe my story, and my reputa- 
 tion was for ever gone. He concluded by saying that he 
 could not live without me, and that if I deserted him, he 
 would commit suicide. He entreated me therefore to go 
 to him, and said that he would brave the anger of his 
 parents and everything else for my sake. He gave the name 
 of a place where I was to write to him, and said that if I 
 would write to him there and promise to go to him, he would 
 send me money for the journey. I never answered his letter 
 at all. I saw through his hideous attempt to practise upon 
 my despair and my utter loneliness." 
 
 " God bless you, my child, for that decision," said Father 
 Bramsby. " But it was an awful trial, alone and friendless 
 as you were." 
 
 " I determined," she said, " to leave France and seek 
 my own living. I sold all the jewels that I had except the 
 rings that I wore, and paid the rent. I had found nothing 
 of his in those rooms except a bottle of some cosmetic for 
 dyeing hair, and a sheet of writing paper, that I found under 
 a window curtain, with the date and an address in London 
 written on it in his handwriting. I went — I hurried away 
 to Paris — " 
 
 " Let me interrupt you for a moment," said Father 
 Bramsby. " Have you got that paper ? " 
 
 " Yes, but I don't see — "
 
 no THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 "Never mind that. Keep it. But you were saying that 
 you went to Paris." 
 
 " Yes, on my way to England. When, on arriving in 
 Paris, I looked for my purse to pay for the tickets at the 
 station, I found that it was gone. Whether my pocket 
 had ijeen picked, or whether I dropped it in hurrying 
 away, half maddened as I was, I know not. That purse 
 held all the money I had, — little enough, but all. There I 
 was — alone in Paris, without money and without a friend, 
 or even an acquaintance that I could bear to see. I was 
 rescued from that horrible position by — but didn't he tell 
 you about it ? " 
 •'Who?" 
 
 " He who saved my life to-day." 
 
 " No. I never knew till now that he had seen you 
 before." 
 
 "Yes, he saw and noticed my distress. It was at the 
 railway terminus in Paris. He saw that I was English and 
 vithout friends. He asked the cause of my grief, and when 
 he learned it, lent me the money for my journey. Througti 
 his charity I was able to leave Paris that night and come to 
 England, on my way to a cottage not far from here, where 
 ■\ woman lived who had been my nurse. My intention 
 was to stay there while looking out for some sort of work to 
 support myself by. But first I went to Backwater, and sold 
 my rings for seventy pounds— I think they were worth 
 more, — so that I might have money to live on in the mean- 
 while, and went to my old nurse's cottage. I found that 
 she had lately died ; and then I had to consider what I 
 should do next. The people in the cottage promised to 
 fmd some sort of conveyance for me and my luggage, but 
 I scarcely knew where to go. I strolled along the road and 
 wandered off to the shore. My heart was full of rebellious 
 and repining thoughts. My own solitude and the solitude 
 of the place seemed more than I could bear. Life appeared 
 intolerable at the time, and hopeless in the future. I did 
 not, I think, throw myself deliberately into the water : but 
 I felt a strange dizziness come over me as I looked over the 
 edge, and a strong temptation to let things take their course. 
 But we are not now far from the cottage where my luggage 
 is ; I must get my purse and repay the money that your 
 heroic nephew lent me."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. Ill 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear child," said Father Bramshy. " !)(> 
 you suppose that he would be repaid by the sale of your 
 rings? Leave that alone, till you are in different circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " No," she said, " I must pay it. Not paying what 
 one owes is dishonest." 
 
 " True," said he. " And if that were generally remem- 
 bered, the country would be in a much better stale. But 
 when the lender wishes to wait, you are in no way required 
 to force it on him. As to your remaining at that cottage 
 to-night, it is already settled. I won't hear of it. Such a 
 tiling would be against the traditions of Hunterscombe. I 
 will send for your luggage." 
 
 "This is really too kind of you," she said, "and after I 
 had nearly caused his death — " 
 
 " Remember," said Father Bramsby, " that he would 
 have been drowned, if you had not shown me where he was." 
 
 "How," she said, "can I ever thank you enough? 
 What can I ever do to show what I feel ? " 
 
 " Suppose," he answered, " I ask you to do a thing for 
 my sake, in spite of any disinclination that you may feel 
 Will you do it?" 
 
 " Yes, I will, whatever it may be. I promise, without 
 asking what it is." 
 
 They were now half-way up the hill between the village 
 and Hunterscombe. Father Bramsby stood still and fixeti 
 his eyes on hers. 
 
 " Pray to God," he said. " Pray earnestly and trulw 
 with a full purpose of doing His Will. You have had the 
 narrowest escape of going to judgment with the guilt of self- 
 murder on your soul. Your not throwing yourself into the 
 sea would not excuse you; for by your own showing you 
 did 7iGt resist the temptation to let yourself fall in. As): 
 His pardon for that and pray for light, promising t(^ 
 follow it." 
 
 " I will," she said, " I will indeed." 
 
 " Pray," he said, " with a great love. You innst love 
 God : and in fact, who has more reason to do so than you, 
 whom His mercy has saved from appearing before Him 
 charged with mortal sin ?" 
 
 She burst into tears and said, 
 
 " I didn't deserve any mercy. I have been very wicked."
 
 112 J'HE BAN OF AIAPLE THORPE. 
 
 Father Bramsby walked on without speaking. " My own 
 opinion," he thought, " is that she knew httle or nothing of 
 what she was doing. But I mustn't say anything about that 
 just now. Poor dear child ! There is good stuff in her, 
 very good, and so strong that nothing but the guidance of 
 the Catholic Church can deal with it. I will offer the Holy 
 Sacrifice for her to-morrow morning, and pray for her 
 continually." 
 
 When they had descended the hill, passed through the 
 wood and come within sight of Hunterscombe pictured in 
 the moonlight, the moon having just risen above the trees, 
 he stood still again. 
 
 " Here we are," he said, " at the old place where the 
 Faith was kept in the worst of times, against every sort of 
 temptation to fall away. That meant the love of God. 
 You understand me." 
 
 "I do understand you," she said, "I do indeed. I 
 understand more than \ can put into words or explain to 
 myself." 
 
 They walked on and soon stood before the old house. 
 When the great door was opened, Father Bramsby took her 
 by the hand and led her in. 
 
 " I am afraid," said he, " that we have kept the dinner 
 waiting."
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HE evening ended early at Hunterscombe. 
 In the morning after Mass the doctor came. 
 " There is nothing," he said, " to be at 
 all alarmed at, but the young Squire has 
 had a heavy blow, and he had better keep 
 quiet for three or four days." 
 
 When the doctor had given judgment, 
 they went to breakfast, and after breakfast, 
 when Bramsby had retired to keep quiet, Father Bramsby 
 said to the young lady, 
 
 " Suppose we take a little walk about the place this fine 
 morning." 
 
 They went out, and met a peacock showing his fan-like 
 tail of many colours with much complacency. 
 
 "People call peacocks conceited," said he, "as if they 
 were human beings ; but the peacocks follow their instinct 
 simply, while human beings, to whom God has given the 
 faculties of intellect and free will, often use both in opposi- 
 tion to the Giver." 
 
 "/have," said the young lady. "The animals are 
 better." 
 
 " How could they be better or worse than you or any 
 other human being, when they act irresponsibly by the 
 instinct given them? No. The difference is that God 
 orders the instinct of animals, and we order ourselves. 
 Therefore human beings often fail to fulfil the end of their 
 creation and animals do not." 
 
 " I see," she said. " How interesting all this is, and so 
 new to me ! Life seems quite a different thing to me since 
 
 H
 
 IT4 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 I came here. But I see more and more liow wicked I have 
 been. I can hardly believe that God will forgive me." 
 
 "You nmstn't say that, nor think it. God always for- 
 gives those who repent and turn to Him. Despair of God's 
 mercy is one of the sins against the Holy Ghost." 
 
 " I will not do so any more. But mayn't I think of what 
 I have done?" 
 
 "Yes," he replied, "but not too much, nor too often. 
 Have an habitual sorrow for every sin that you remember or 
 don't remember to have committed : but don't be con- 
 tinually thinking about them. You would become un- 
 healthily scrupulous, and, instead of looking to God for 
 direction, you would, in fact, be looking to yourself. You 
 would be under the inexorable tyranny of your own scruples 
 — of misleading scruples — of scruples that bewilder the mind 
 and contract it, and involve the true state of the case in a 
 net-work of sophistry. You mustn't do that. Be habitually 
 sorry for all sins that you may have committed, and from 
 time to time express it in prayer to God. We call that 
 making an act of contrition : and Catholics are taught to do 
 so. But don't be looking too much into yourself. Look to 
 Almighty God with love and confidence, depending abso- 
 lutely on Him. And now I have said as much as I can 
 venture to say." 
 
 " Why?" said she. "What you say is so beautiful and 
 convincing." 
 
 " Let us talk of your immediate future," said Father 
 Bramsby, "and see if I can be of use to you directly or 
 indirectly." 
 
 " But I want to know more about religion," she said. " I 
 never heard anything intelligible about it till I knew you, — 
 never thought about it. Won't you teach me ? " 
 
 " What do you want to be taught ?" 
 
 "Everything. I mean everything that I ought to know, 
 if I am to know how to do the Will of God. You have told 
 me to love Him, and serve Him. But if He is God — if 
 He has made Himself known as God to man, — there must 
 be some infallible teaching of what we are to believe about 
 Him. But I have never been able to find anything like 
 that. Before I went to Paris, where the people among 
 whom I was thrown showed no signs of practising any re- 
 ligion, I heard the most contradictory doctrines taught as
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 115 
 
 certainly true : so that, to believe in the Established Church, 
 I should have had to believe that there is and is not a 
 Real Presence ; that Baptism is and is not necessary ; that 
 the Church of England, whatever it may teach, is a con- 
 tinuation of the Catholic Church from which it broke off, 
 and that we must and must not believe in Hell. How could 
 anyone who thought at all believe that God had founded 
 such a Church as that ? The consequence was that I lost 
 all belief in religion. You, by appealing to my heart yester- 
 day, made me long to find the truth which you say does 
 exist and which you believe in. Do help me." 
 
 "I think," said Father Bramsby, "that you have begun 
 to help yourself. You have seen where the Church of God 
 certainly is not : and if you look a little further, you will see 
 where it is. Not in one of the many sects, is it? " 
 " No, certainly not." 
 
 " Is it then in them all put together ? Or is it — " 
 " No, no. I see where it is — where it must be, if it is at 
 all, and I want to belong to it. I do indeed." 
 
 " You are going faster than I expected," said Father 
 Bramsby. " If you are in earnest — I quite believe that you 
 are, — there is no difficulty in the case. I will begin to 
 instruct you at once, and I will help you in that, and in 
 every other way to the full extent of my power as long as I 
 live. May God bless you, my dear child, and give you 
 grace to persevere as you have begun." 
 
 " You are a friend indeed," she said, " a friend of the 
 truest and highest sort. Your instructions are just what I 
 wanted. But how did I come to this, when I had never 
 thought so seriously of it before ?" 
 
 " By the grace of God and your own will to accept it. 
 The temptation on the sea-shore was providentially over- 
 ruled for your good by making you think seriously and 
 strongly. Almighty God protected you and brought good 
 out of the greatest evil. You see how good He has been to 
 you and how He helps you now." 
 
 "I do indeed," she said. "I never can love him suffi- 
 ciently." 
 
 " None of us can do that," said Father Bramsby, " be- 
 cause He is Infinite and our love is finite, and the finite 
 cannot be equal to the Infinite. But we can try to do our 
 best ; and He measures our actions by our will, which, by
 
 Il6 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 His grace, we have the power of ordering rightly. Well, 
 then, I will begin the instruction while we are walking here. 
 And then you would do well, I think, to stay in the out- 
 quarters of the Convent in Backwater. If you like to do so 
 — and I strongly advise it, situated as you are, — I will write 
 to the Reverend Mother when we have finished our walk." 
 
 " I should be most thankful to go there," she said ; " it is 
 just what I want. And she might be able to help me to do 
 something." 
 
 "Yes, better than I could. Then I will write to her, and 
 also to the Priest. You will like him, lam sure. He is an 
 old friend of mine, and a warm-hearted, apostolic man." 
 
 " Mightn't I go to-day, with your letter ? I ought not 
 to be here." 
 
 " True, my dear child. It would not be advisable to 
 stay here long, though it would give me great pleasure. 
 But don't be in such a hurry as that. Before you leave this 
 house, I must be sure of your being taken in at the Convent. 
 But I can send the letter by hand, if you wish it, and get the 
 answer this afternoon." 
 
 " Thank you so much for that, and for all your kindness. 
 It would be better so— I feel sure that it would." 
 
 "You are quite right," said Father Bramsby, turning back 
 towards the house. " I will write the letter now and send it 
 off; and then begin the instructions. But, by the bye, 
 before I write, I must ask one question. We were intro- 
 duced to each other in so unceremonious a way that I have 
 not yet the pleasure of knowing your name." 
 
 " I was just thinking of that," she said. " I had intended 
 to change my name and let no one know who I am. I did 
 so partly in Paris, by the advice of the friend who took me 
 there, and was called Gertrude Fairleigh." 
 
 " Yes, you said something of that sort when you were 
 trying to persuade me that you were hardened." 
 
 "And so I was, till you softened me. My name is 
 Gertrude Warringford." 
 
 " Have you ever lived in this country ? " 
 
 " Yes, after I left school about two years ago, I went to 
 my uncle at Cubton ; but I was not there very much, I was 
 visiting friends in the North." 
 
 "Then Mr. Blastmore is your uncle ? " 
 
 "Yes, he is. Do you know him ? "
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPK. IT7 
 
 " I met him once, and he was very friendly. I think that 
 you might be reconciled by and by." 
 
 " No — never, never. He would never forgive me. And 
 besides, after being the victim of such a horrible trick and 
 attempted deception — " 
 
 "My dear child, that was another person's wickedness, 
 not your's." 
 
 "I'hen he would say I was justly punished for not having 
 consented to do as he washed. I know him so well. I 
 know he would never forgive me." 
 
 " Well," said Father Bramsby, " time and opportunity 
 will show. But I must go in and write the letter."
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 N the course of the afternoon Father Bramsby 
 received the Reverend Mother's answer, to 
 the effect that she could and would receive 
 Miss Warringford at the Convent, and 
 accordingly the old coachman drove her to 
 that place on the following day. 
 
 She left Hunterscombe soon after break- 
 fast in a very old yellow chariot, formerly 
 belonging to Oswald Bramsby's grandfather. It was drawn 
 by two light cart-horses from the home-farm. Father 
 Bramsby handed her in, and Oswald followed them to the 
 door. When the carriage door was opened, she fell on her 
 knees and said, 
 
 " Give me your blessing. Father. You have indeed been 
 a father to me, poor creature as I am." 
 
 " God bless you, my very dear child," said Father 
 Bramsby, making the sign of the Cross over her; "you will 
 see me soon, if I am alive and well." 
 
 " Oswald," said he, as they went into the house, " you 
 have saved a soul and brought out a fine character." 
 
 " No, uncle," said Bramsby. " I only saved her from 
 being drowned. Vou have brought out what was in her, 
 not I." 
 
 " You saved her life, my dear boy," said Father Bramsby, 
 " to say nothing of having begun to soften her heart in Paris 
 by an act of charity that very few men would have seen 
 reason for. Of course, I tried to do my best as a Priest 
 when the occasion offered : but you gave me the occasion. 
 Causa causce est causa causaii"
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. II9 
 
 " If I judged rightly in Paris," answered Oswald, " and 
 saved her life at the cost of a ducking and a rap against a 
 rock, I owe to you the teaching that would have made me 
 inexcusable for not doing both. Propter quod u?iuni guod- 
 qiie tale, et illnd tnagis.^' 
 
 " Get along with you. It won't do, in spite of your 
 scholastic axiom. And now — about this invitation to Maple- 
 thorpe, that came by this morning's post. You see Mr. 
 Malmaines asks both of us, or either, and as soon as either 
 or both can. Could you go there to-morrow, if you were to 
 write by to-day's post ? " 
 
 " Yes, I could do that, for one day." 
 
 " Very well. Then I will go afterwards, as soon as I can. 
 There is a funeral to-morrow, and I have a good deal to do 
 just now." 
 
 " But it would be such very short notice." 
 
 " Never mind the short notice. He says the sooner we can 
 go the better, as he has promised to join his daughter and 
 Lady Rossden abroad, — and that it will do, if he hears in the 
 morning. By the bye, Monica Greswolde was to go there 
 as lady's-maid. I was written to about her. I suppose 
 Miss Malmaines and her aunt have started?" 
 
 " Yes, I met them on board the steamer. Monica was to 
 join them in Paris. And that reminds me of having met 
 Mr. Blastmore in the train from London. He was as 
 friendly as possible, in spite of the untoward accident that 
 introduced us to each other. He is a good-hearted man ; 
 and I don't believe that his copious use of the British 
 monosyllable amounts to really wishing anybody any harm. 
 But certainly his language might be improved."
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 RAMSEY'S words referring to Mr. Blastmore, 
 " Certainly his language might be im- 
 proved," was just what might have been 
 said of the General Foreigner in the after- 
 noon of the same day, when, leaving his 
 luggage at Great Blumford station, he pro- 
 ceeded on foot to Blumbury. He swore 
 quite as much as Mr. Blastmore had ever 
 been known to swear, even under the heaviest pressure of 
 provocation. The difference was that, whereas Mr. Blast- 
 more relieved his feelings by making an articulate noise 
 without any malicious intention, the General Foreigner 
 blasphemed with deliberate and instructed malice, as only a 
 renegade from the Church of God can. 
 
 When he approached Blumbury, he composed his face 
 and considered two points : firstly, what excuse he should 
 make for paying a morning visit from nowhere, and secondly, 
 how he should contrive to get a private interview that he 
 wanted. The second question was answered soon by the 
 appearance of the Baroness Diabolouski, coming out of a 
 cottage with a bundle of tracts in her hand. 
 
 " Where did you come from ? " said she, in English. 
 " Why do you ask that from me ? " he said, turning up 
 his nose, mouth and eyelids. 
 
 " Whom else am I to ask ? " said she. 
 " Who ? Your friend, your dear friend. She can tell you 
 all. But my offended dignity shall be revenged. We have 
 been friends, close friends, but — " 
 " What are you talking about ? "
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. [21 
 
 " Do not pretend not to know," said he. " Did I not see 
 it in your face when you laughed at my exposition of the 
 Unity of Italy and demonstrated that it was the same thing 
 as the Unity of England ? " 
 
 " I laughed," she said, " because, between ourselves in 
 the strictest confidence, there is no resemblance at all be- 
 tween them. You know tJiat^ as well as I do, and how and 
 why. No one, except you, saw that I laughed, and no one 
 knows better than you what the Unity of Italy means in 
 fact. What have you to complain of? " 
 
 The General Foreigner considered his case, and finding 
 no other definite cause of complaint, began to feel dimi- 
 nished in his moral dignity. He shuffled about, pulled his 
 neckcloth together, and muttered an inarticulate assertion 
 of himself as he was. 
 
 " What do you mean by this obscure accusation ? " said 
 the Baroness Diabolouski. "Are you mad? Have you 
 forgotten who and what I am, and what I have done for our 
 common cause, and what I did for you when you were in 
 danger of being arrested for debt in Paris ? You have 
 forgotten that, but I have reason to remember it. JMust I 
 tell you why?" 
 
 The General Foreigner protested by waving both hands 
 outwards and straining his body up. 
 
 "I have not forgotten it," he said. "No one has ever 
 doubted my honour. I promise to pay it soon." 
 
 " I never spoke of it till now," said she. " But when you 
 insulted me, when you talk of being revenged — " 
 
 " Pardon rne. I was indignant at being treated so by 
 iier, when I had reason to expect — " 
 
 "Who is 7/^;-.?" 
 
 " Miladi Melforde." 
 
 " But what did she do ? " 
 
 The General Foreigner verified by gestures his unwilling- 
 ness to give a definite reply. She looked him over in a 
 critical way and laughed. 
 
 " You don't mean," she said, " that you proposed to her? " 
 
 The General Foreigner assented by a solemn inclination 
 of the head, whereat she shook hers. 
 
 "I had reason to believe," said he, "reason to feel con- 
 fident — " 
 
 " Nothing of the sort," she said ; " if you had asked ine^ I
 
 122 THE BAN OF .MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 could have saved you from that mortification. She is the 
 most difficult of women to win ; for she has no intention of 
 marrying again. The riglit man might be found ; but she 
 has not found him yet, and probably never will. My dear 
 friend, yoii are not the man. I can assure you of that, 
 because I know her so well. I should have rejoiced at your 
 success, for your sake, and for every reason. You know 
 that. You imist know it. But I cannot make an impossi- 
 bility possible. Why did you never think of Miss Bundleton ? 
 I have been playing the part of a staunch Protestant with 
 great success. Come there now with me, and say that 
 you called on your way before leaving the county. Mr. 
 Bundleton will say to himself, ' How very friendly of him ! ' 
 and he will invite you. They are very simple, botli of them. 
 If you only play your cards well, you may win the heiress 
 and not wait long for the i)roperty. He is about fifty years 
 older than his daughter, and he has bad fits of the gout." 
 
 This was a very tempting suggestion in itself: but the 
 General Foreigner, foreseeing that her advice would only lead 
 to another refusal and suspecting that she knew as much, 
 rejected it with much irritation. 
 
 " I have not your histrionic talent," he said with a sneer. 
 " You are a born actress. And besides, you know very well 
 that Sir Henry Melford stands in the way. I could see 
 that at Maplethorpe." 
 
 " Mr. Bundleton," said she, " does not encourage that. 
 Sir Henry is not Low-Church enough. If you would only 
 distribute a few tracts, go to the parish church on Sunday, 
 say the responses there with a long face and sing the 
 hymns very loud, you know — " 
 
 " Do it yourself," he roared. " Enough of this foolery." 
 
 "■ Be civil," said she. " I have borne your rudeness more 
 than once to-day. I will not bear it any more." 
 
 " Pardon the outburst, my dear friend," said he. " It 
 was natural. Imagine me giving tracts and singing hymns ! 
 But you must help me in another house, where you must 
 contrive to become intimate." 
 
 " Where ? " 
 
 " At Maplethorpe." 
 
 " Impossible. Think no more of that." 
 
 " Why ? I have no rival there ? " 
 
 '' You have or will have a rival — I am sure of that — and
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 23 
 
 a dangerous one. I mean Mr. Bramsby of Hunterscombe." 
 He uttered a hideous imprecation and the expression of 
 his countenance became rapidly worse. 
 
 '' You W//J-/ help me in that," he said. 
 
 •'Always supposing that I can," said she. 
 
 " All things are possible," said he, " if opportunities are 
 utilized. Nay, we can make opportunities, Voi/ can make 
 opportunities there, and utilize them. Xo one knows better 
 than you how to adapt yourself to everyone and everything. 
 She is so beautiful — " 
 
 " Which is more than you are," thought the Baroness. 
 *' Oh ! the impudence of ugly men ! " 
 
 " She is so beautiful," he repeated. '' I am madly in 
 love with her." 
 
 " You have transferred your affections rather quickly from 
 her to Lady Melford and back again. But that is nothing. 
 Human hearts are inscrutable ; and we have no free will, 
 though we seem to exercise a great deal of freedom when 
 we want something. Well ?" 
 
 " And then," said he, " there is the delight of undermining 
 her belief. Think of that." 
 
 " I understand you," said the Baroness Diabolouski, 
 " and, as I said before, I will do all that I can. And now, 
 unless you are willing to call at Blumbury, we had better 
 not run the risk of being seen talking together any more 
 just now. The people might ask who you are, and why 
 you are here. That would not be a good preparation for 
 making love to the heiress of Alaplethorpe." 
 
 The General Foreigner appreciated the reason given, and 
 after a few words expressive of eternal friendship limited by 
 annihilation only, began to go. 
 
 " Wait a moment, now that I think of it," said the 
 Baroness Diabolouski. " Mr. Bramsby saved a girl from 
 being drowned the day before yesterday. He and the old 
 Priest, his uncle, took her to Hunterscombe. Mr. Bundle- 
 ton heard of it at Osmundsbury last evening. Inferences 
 might naturally be drawn and might be suggested, by 
 means of reports, where they would be damaging to him." 
 
 The General Foreigner smiled hideously, like a devil in 
 human shape. 
 
 " By the bye," he said, " I was nearly forgetting to tell 
 you that I saw him talking to that girl, your J>rolegee, at the
 
 124 I'HE BAN OF iMAPLETHORPE 
 
 Paris terminus. She appeared to be in distress and he 
 gave her mone)'. Your story must be interpreted by — 
 means of that." 
 
 '' Who ? What girl ? You don't mean Miss F ? " 
 
 " Yes, exactly. The one you introduced me to in Paris." 
 
 " Did she see you ?" 
 
 " No, I took care that she did not. Now remember your 
 story must be connected with that." 
 
 '' But we must be careful," said she. " His character is 
 well-known and quite above suspicion." 
 
 '' Then what do you advise ? " 
 
 " That it be cunningly and vaguely whispered about in 
 corners — so that it should not reach his ears, for then 
 he could disprove it — say, an engagement broken off in 
 order to marry the heiress of Maplethorpe, or — but I 
 must find out more about her and where she is. Leave it 
 to me." 
 
 The General Foreigner grinned like a cat with its back 
 up, and set off at a brisk walk towards Great Blumford 
 station, telling himself that opportunities at Maplethorpe 
 would be utilized for his benefit. He repeated this from 
 time to time in a jubilant way aloud ; but Lady Melford's 
 decisive refusal rankled in his mind, while the Baroness 
 Diabolouski, though a dear friend in wickedness and neces- 
 sary in his present designs, had irritated him much by pro- 
 posing that he should carry tracts and sing hymns for the 
 purpose of being refused by Miss Bundleton. Thinking of 
 all this, he stood at the junction of two roads, absorbed in 
 defensive thoughts : but it so happened that a horseman in 
 a red coat and top boots was coming along the other road 
 on a hard-mouthed horse ; while the General Foreigner, 
 dressed in a very short coat and a pair of varnished boots, 
 was gesticulating to himself. 
 
 " Hi ! D — n you, get out of the way," said the horse- 
 man, coming up from behind. 
 
 The General Foreigner, feeling offended, said in a loud 
 voice, " You are a pig ! " whereupon Mr. Blastmore (for he 
 it was) applied the double thong of his hunting whip in such 
 a fashion that the General Foreigner jumped into the air, 
 and then wriggled about regardless of his moral dignity. 
 
 Mr. Blastmore rode on, and having once relieved his 
 irritation at being called a pig, thought no more of the
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETPIORPE. 1 25 
 
 occurrence. The General Foreigner longed for a knife and 
 an opportunity. But not having either for present use, 
 nor any recollection of the chastiser's face, he decided on 
 considering the affair as an accident. 
 
 '^ It was an awkward movement of his arm," said he to 
 himself: and this he repeated at intervals as a protest 
 against the counter-evidence of sensation.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ^HE Baroness Diabolouski, unaware of what 
 had befallen her dear friend, walked on 
 towards Blumbury, considering the strained 
 relations. The strain had indeed been 
 relaxed by her expressions of willingness 
 to co-operate against Bramsby and the 
 Pearl, for the General Foreigner's abomi- 
 nable advantage : but then, the little 
 game had to be played out, and her plan might not fall in 
 with his. Both were quite unscrupulous about means to 
 an end ; but he was malicious by preference and vindictive 
 without any sort of restraint. 
 
 " I must be careful," she thought. " If I were able to 
 get for him what he wants now, it would be easy : but how 
 can I do that ? The man is out of his wits, drunk with 
 excess of self-esteem. Just imagine a beautiful girl like 
 her — and an heiress into the bargain — marrying that ugly, 
 undersized, snub-nosed, ill-bred, spiteful little brute ! Who 
 and what is he ? A most contemptible adventurer, who 
 began by living on his wits, then lived on the money of an 
 idiotic wife, who lived long enough to repent having 
 married him, and now is and always will be a detestable 
 snob — fierce without courage, passionate without love, 
 cunning without judgment, ambitious without ability. 
 Yet, by the favour of those whom he serves with malicious 
 eagerness to raise himself above his proper level, he passes 
 among many for what he is not and never could be. The
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 127 
 
 spirit of revolution must be a very powerful spirit, to have 
 made me consort with such a low, ungrateful, heartless, 
 lying, selfish, treacherous, and altogether and in every way 
 hateful beast as he is. But I cannot help it. I must go 
 on. We cannot avoid our fate. I have deliberately 
 apostatized — yes, apostatized. Why should I object to the 
 word, when I consent to the fact ? It is true that I was 
 persuaded by my husband, whom I loved passionately till 
 he forced me to hate him : but I made it a final act of m}- 
 will. I cannot go back. I will not, — no, never." 
 
 If she had thought accurately, which deserters from the 
 Church of God never do, she would have said that she 
 intended to make it final by continuing to will as before, 
 and then she might have asked herself why she persisted 
 in making a daily preparation for dying in despair. But 
 she preferred to accept the suggestions of the devil, there- 
 by admitting two contradictories, viz., that she had no free 
 will, and that she had nevertheless bound herself by an act 
 of free will. 
 
 " I cannot go back," she said to herself, " but I might 
 possibly make my life here more tolerable than it is. If I 
 could only get rid of that offensive beast ! I was ashamed 
 of introducing him at Blumbury, ashamed of his being 
 taken to Maplethorpe as my friend. Happily no one 
 liked him at either place. He has been refused by Lady 
 Melford, and, as I think, without any ceremony. I neither 
 could nor would get him invited to Maplethorpe : and even 
 old Bundleton looked at him out of the corner of his eyes 
 suspiciously. I must take care not to speak of him ever in 
 this county. If no one invites him, perhaps he will not 
 come. Perhaps I I wish I could say it without the 
 perhaps ! but he is such a sneaking scroundrel and so 
 cunning in his cruel and cowardly malice — " 
 
 Here she broke off, quite forgetting the malice of sin and 
 her own persistence in it, and moved on one side of the 
 road to let a horseman pass. The horseman was Sir 
 Henry Melford, who pulled up, took off his hat, and showed 
 signs of readiness to converse. 
 
 "Have you had good sport?" she said, seeing him 
 attired in fox-hunting fashion. 
 
 " Good enough," said he. " A friend of my father used 
 to say that he wondered why people, instead of going their
 
 128 THK BAN OF MAPLETHORPK. 
 
 own way, consented to go where a fox chose to take them." 
 "That," said the Baroness Diabolouski, ''depends on 
 what the people are, and what they wish to do. I love 
 English fox-hunting and country life in England altogether. 
 The more I see of it the more I admire it." 
 
 Sir Henry dismounted and walked by her side. 
 " You have been a close observer," said he. 
 " I have been a close observer of this country," she said, 
 " because I saw in it everything that most attracted me, all 
 that I had longed for and not found. There is something 
 inexpressibly charming to me in an English country-house. 
 The men, as well as the women, are so domestic." 
 " Some are," said he. 
 
 " Well, we can hardly expect it from all in these days, 
 when there are so many facilities for locomotion and so 
 many temptations to make use of them. But surely the 
 domestic character prevails." 
 
 "That depends on one's measure of what it ought to be." 
 " Yes, but the measure must be in proportion to the 
 circumstances fairly considered." 
 
 Sir Henry, remembering that he had not yet given a 
 practical example of domestic life, and having reasons of 
 his own for declining to express his views thereon, gave a 
 general assent. 
 
 " True," he said. " Fair play is a jewel, and a sort of 
 jewel that I have not much experience of." 
 
 " I know that," she said, in a tone of suppressed 
 emotion that made him feel vaguely uncomfortable. 
 
 " After all," he said correctively, " I have enjoyed life 
 as much as other men — quite as much." 
 " Yes, by making the best of it — " 
 
 " I can't venture to say that. What have I ever done ? " 
 " What could you do, without your ancestral property 
 and without a profession? It was a cruel injustice. I told 
 Lady Melford, when I was there last, that she ought to 
 repair it — m//s^ repair it — in the future by making you her 
 heir. She admitted that I was right. She will leave it to 
 you. I ami sure that she will." 
 
 The Baroness Diabolouski was a handsome woman, and 
 her eyes were educated. Sir Henry, though a man of the 
 world and well provided with resources against unpleasant 
 positions, became alarmed, and looked about nervously, to
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 29 
 
 assure himself that Miss Bundleton was not within seeing 
 distance of the educated eyes. Considering the case, while 
 the educated eyes were expressing the unsaid and unsay- 
 able, he saw that he must answer thankfully, and then — 
 get out of the way as soon as possible. So he said : 
 
 " That was indeed a most kind and friendly act. I 
 cannot sufficiently express what I think of it and how 
 deeply I appreciate it, for I have to ride home now, on 
 business that I cannot put off. Let me look forward to the 
 pleasure of doing so when I shall have time to say all that 
 I feel." 
 
 Thereupon he mounted his horse, took off his hat grace- 
 fully, and cantered away, thinking much. 
 
 " Not all that I feel," he thought, " but all that ought 
 to be felt in return for — " 
 
 Here he paused in search of words. 
 
 " What am I to call it ?" he thought. " Well, never mind. 
 Her attempt, if successful, would do good to me, if I live 
 long enough to survive my uncle's widow, who is only five 
 years older than myself. And so I am grateful for it. 
 But I never expected to have personal experience of such 
 a fright — no, never. I couldn't have believed that I should 
 ever be so near losing my presence of mind. I was 
 almost frightened out of my wits for a moment or two — I was 
 indeed. I had to run away — there is no doubt about it." 
 
 The Baroness Diabolouski was aware of that. If Sir 
 Henry had seen her face just then, he would have seen a 
 startling change in the expression of the educated eyes. 
 This he was unable to see, because he was riding away 
 from her : but he had seen in those eyes an indefinable 
 something that made him say to himself when he thought 
 of it, 
 
 " I find myself inclining to suspect that Bramsby was 
 right."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 a • 
 
 R. Fetherhed, with more wisdom than 
 might have been expected from him, had 
 prophesied that the Baroness Diabolouski, 
 '' if they didn't mind, would be up to 
 something ; " and Sir Henry Melford had 
 found, much to his discomfort, that she 
 was up to something quite incompatible 
 with his allegiance to Miss Bundleton. It 
 remained yet to be seen what further something or some- 
 things would be done by her, under the pressure of circum- 
 stances made by herself. She had tried her powers of 
 fascination on Sir Henry, and failed, after having com- 
 mitted herself to a perceptible advance, regardless of Miss 
 Bundleton's claim. But her intention still was to setUe 
 herself in the county of Ilsetshire, if possible, and keep out 
 the General Foreigner. She hated Sir Henry, and 
 promised herself to remember him in a practical way, 
 occasion serving : but in the meanwhile she set the question 
 aside as inopportune, retired to her bedroom for the 
 purpose of considering the whole case, and soliloquized thus : 
 " When a woman has bitterly and proudly rejected the 
 consolations of faith, she is still a woman, because she can- 
 not be turned into a man ; but she is morally neither a 
 man nor a woman. However she may appear externally, 
 she has the characteristics of neither ; and her husband, if 
 he is worth anything, or, not having gone in for the same 
 thing, has any regard for himself, will find that he has 
 made a mistake." 
 
 After this general statement, which amounted to an 
 implicit confession of sinning against light, she proceeded
 
 thp: ban of mapi.ethorpe. 
 
 131 
 
 to apply it individually as concerning herself at the present 
 crisis. 
 
 "I must therefore own," she thought, "that an averao-e 
 landed proprietor in Ilsetshire would not be much benefited 
 by marrying me. But that would be his affair. I have 
 nothing to do with it beyond insuring the position — nothino- 
 at all. That position, which I mean to have somewhere 
 in this county, if acquired cunning and an indomitable will 
 are of any value, will free me from the offensive conse- 
 quences of the principles into which I plunged and clin^ 
 to now, as a moth flutters round the flame that wiU 
 finally destroy it. When my husband had corrupted 
 my principles, and, having done so, had left me nothing to 
 feel but hatred and contempt, I hated the world that I had 
 known, and longed for anything that would upset it. I can- 
 not and will not go back from that. I care not for what 
 may come of it. Why should I ? The world, as it is in 
 Ilsetshire, will last my time : and after that, I shall have no 
 reason for caring about consequences to others. The time 
 was when I shrank from saying explicitly, Non sennam, 
 though the course that I had taken implied the meaning of 
 those words. But I have said so since, and pride, which I 
 have long cherished as the only friend of the embittered, 
 binds me to it. All that I can do now is to make the best 
 of the life remaining to me here. I cannot repent. My 
 will is too strong for me to resist — " 
 
 Which it was, no doubt, she being under the influence 
 of the Devil, and refusing to pray for the grace of God. 
 So she turned her thoughts to the purpose intended, and 
 considered, firstly, whether, by judicious adaptation and 
 modified use of the educated eyes, and a persuasive 
 appearance of agreement about everything, she might hope 
 to fascinate Malmaines. When she had thought of this, 
 and thought it feasible in a country-house with no Miss 
 Bundleton between them, she meditated on the means of 
 getting herself invited to Maplethorpe, and considered, 
 secondly, that if he should happen to show a passive resist- 
 ance, then would she even put up with old Bundleton, to 
 get rid of the General Foreigner. Therefore the conclusion 
 was that she must attract old Bundleton and keep him in 
 abeyance to fall back on, failing Malmaines ; having so 
 decided, she began to dress for dinner.
 
 132 
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 Her wardrobe being, like herself, remarkable for its 
 resources and curiously adaptable, furnished a costume in 
 exact accordance with the character that it represented. 
 She wore a black robe of plain silk, rich and thick, that 
 showed off her figure without seeming to have been too 
 exactly fitted. The dress was high enough to be distinctly 
 not a low one, but just low enough to be surmounted by a 
 diamond necklet. The diamonds might or might not be 
 real, circumstances considered ; but if they were not real, 
 no one, except a jeweller, would have known it. The 
 effect of the necklet was that her well-shaped throat 
 appeared advantageously in form and colour, while a 
 small head-dress of Valenciennes lace, fastened by a 
 diamond pin, contrasted harmoniously with the raven 
 blackness of her hair, and the diamond, unobtrusively 
 placed, lent brilliancy to the clear, olive tint of her com- 
 plexion. When the process of dressing had been com- 
 pleted, and the final touches given, she settled her counten- 
 ance, took a general survey of herself in the glass and 
 went forth to attract old Bundleton for the purpose of 
 keeping him in reserve. 
 
 Old Bundleton, comfortably ignorant of what was in store 
 for him, sat in an arm-chair of blueish black leather reading 
 The Record, A large pair of silver spectacles hanging 
 below the bridge of his nose caused him to raise his eyes, 
 read downwards and open his mouth. His face was fat 
 and flabby. His hair stood up, short and yellowish white. 
 His fat legs were set widely apart, yet appeared to demand 
 more room. The Baroness Diabolouski cast a furtive 
 glance at him when she entered the room, and affirmed 
 with much emphasis to her confidential self that nothing 
 but dire extremity could — No. It was too much. Neverthe- 
 less he must be kept in reserve : and keeping implied 
 catching : and catching implied attracting. Therefore she 
 must begin to attract him, and seem to like the process. 
 
 There was one difficulty by reason of having two strings 
 to her bow. Old Bundleton was of the Evangelical per- 
 suasion and Malmaines was not. A too explicit agreement 
 with the one would spoil her little game with the other. 
 By her lecture in the schoolroom at Little Blumford she 
 had not committed herself to anything further than adhesion 
 to the Church of England as by law established. She had
 
 THE BAN OF INIAPLETHORPE. 
 
 133 
 
 praised the men who made it: and that pleased old 
 Bundleton. She had shown it to be essentially different 
 from the Catholic Church : and that would accord with 
 what Malmaines had said to the Dean. If she had distri- 
 buted tracts, old Bundleton had given them to her for that 
 purpose; and she had never read them. All was right, so 
 far ; but in order to keep it so, she must be steadfastly 
 indefinite, and in case of difificuldes, fall back on general 
 principles or vigorous rhetoric. This would be easily 
 managed under normal conditions. On that evening every 
 week, at seven o'clock, the village choir practised hymns, 
 and Charlotte Amelia Bundleton was won't to squall in 
 unison (more or less) with them. Consequently dinner was 
 at six o'clock, and at a quarter to seven Charlotte Amelia 
 disappeared suddenly, dressed in a fawn-coloured ulster 
 topped up by a scarlet hat with a straight black feather in 
 it, that stuck out at right angles from the front. The prac- 
 tice, including intervals, would go on for an hour, or, in 
 other words, till eight o'clock : and then she would have a 
 talk with the new curate about the school children. So 
 that, with one thing and another, she would not appear in 
 the drawing-room till nearly nine o'clock : and the Baroness 
 Diabolouski would therefore have the use of more than two 
 hours available for the purpose of reserving old Bundleton. 
 
 During the first hour she amused him continually by a 
 succession of curious anecdotes, very interesting as such, 
 and all true because he believed them. He was much 
 pleased, and felt flattered by the distinction. A handsome 
 and clever woman was making herself most agreeable, for 
 his benefit only, and more agreeable than she had ever 
 been to anyone else in his hearing. This was evident 
 proof to old Bundleton that she valued him (which indeed 
 she did at her own price) and showed her appreciation of 
 his principles. 
 
 " And some of her stories," he thought, " are so diverting. 
 I have not laughed so much these forty years. And then, 
 some of them are so touching — enough to move the heart 
 of a stone." 
 
 She ended the series, as she had predetermined and 
 arranged in her own mind to do, with a pathetic story of a 
 girl — an intimate friend, of course, — who, being an heiress, 
 and therefore exposed more than others to be deceived by
 
 J 34 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 unworthy men, was attracted by a well-born man, from 
 whom a family property had been left away. The sequel, — 
 as she pointed out (and who could do so better than her- 
 self who had invented it ?), showed how justly he had 
 been deprived of the estate ; for he neglected her and 
 ran through her property. The place was sold by 
 auction. . . . "^ 
 
 Old Bundleton wept aloud, and said : 
 
 " How very dreadful ! What a wicked scoundrel ! Poor 
 girl ! But, you know, her father was very much to blame. 
 I can't think what he could have been thinking about. 
 When I married, all my property was put in settlement 
 for my children, so that I have no power over a penny of it, 
 and after me, everything will go straight to Charlotte Amelia. 
 And if she marries, it will, of course, be settled again. The 
 trustees have my authority for enforcing that, if anything 
 should happen to me in the meantime. So that, if her 
 husband were not what he should be (which God forbid !) 
 he wouldn't be able to play ducks and drakes with the 
 property. He couldn't even raise money on it. That's the 
 way to do : and your friend's father ought to have done so. 
 I consider his conduct to be highly reprehensible." 
 
 The Baroness Diabolouski complimented him on liis 
 practical wisdom, and opening the piano, executed some of 
 Wagner's music, much to the astonishment of old Bundleton, 
 who told himself that he had rather hear something with a 
 tune in it. Then they played at bezique, till the return of 
 Charlotte Amelia, and lastly went to family prayers in the 
 dining-room. 
 
 When the Baroness Diabolouski had retired for the night, 
 her conclusion was, firstly, that old Bundleton, with everything 
 '' tied up" on Charlotte Amelia, would be a very unpleasant 
 pill without any gilding ; secondly, that Malmaines was to 
 be struggled for by all means lawful and unlawful ; thirdly, 
 that in a very extreme case, horrible to contemplate, old 
 Bundleton might be put up with, provided that he would 
 insure his life in her favour for a sufficient amount; and 
 fourthly, that in order to get him into suitable dispositions 
 for doing so, if required, she must persuade him to be 
 
 * The dots represent details interesting to old Bundleton but not to 
 the reader.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 135 
 
 hypnotized, 'Mn fun, just to show some interesting 
 phenomena." 
 
 The latter device was excellent, given the consent of old 
 Bundleton. The difficulty was that he had a great fear of 
 being done anything to.
 
 1 W^^^'W'^'W^'W^^-^'^^^ 
 
 f^Z^t 
 
 ^^^^^'i'^-^ '^m '^' ' ^ 
 
 i^^!lM^'i 
 
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 ^sas^^^mm 
 
 ^^^^ 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 N the next morning Bramsby was leaving 
 Hunterscombe, while Charlotte Amelia was 
 examining the needlework at Little Blum- 
 ford school, and old Bundleton inspecting 
 the parish church of Blumsmore in the 
 quality of rural dean, and the Baroness 
 Diabolouski sorting her opinions for use at 
 Maplethorpe or Blumbury, as the case 
 might be. They differed much from each other, and still 
 more from her own practice : but what of that under the 
 pressure of circumstances ? Self preservation is the first 
 law of nature : it was her duty to preserve herself from 
 inconveniences, including the General Foreigner. She had 
 only to be careful at Maplethorpe till Malmaines had begun 
 to be attracted, and then nothing that she could say in 
 pursuance of her purpose could be of evil omen. 
 
 AoKU) 
 
 l-iev ovcev pij/xa gvv Kepcei Katcov. 
 
 But before she had arrived at this conclusion, Bramsby 
 was arriving at Maplethorpe. Would he be of evil omen to 
 her, or she to him, or both to each other, or neither to 
 either ? The question did not occur to her, nor to Bramsby, 
 who could think of nothing but the Pearl, when he ap- 
 proached Maplethorpe. 
 
 Malmaines was near the house, waiting to receive him. 
 
 " I am so very glad to see you," said he. " It was very 
 kind of you to come on such very short notice."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 37 
 
 "The only question about it," said Bramsby, "was 
 whether I should be able to come. Given the capability, 
 half-an-hour's notice would have sufficed ; for as to the 
 pleasure of coming, cela va sa?is dire.'" 
 
 " I was the more anxious to secure you now," said Mal- 
 maines, " because, as soon as I can get off, I am going to 
 Rome for a month or six weeks. My dear child has gone 
 there with my sister." 
 
 "Yes. I met them on the steamer." 
 
 " Did you happen to hear whether the new maid had 
 come in time? " 
 
 " She had not : but she followed them to Paris." 
 
 "The courier failed them quite, I heard, being taken ill." 
 
 " Yes, I was their courier as far as Paris, where I got a 
 good one for them." 
 
 " Then it w^as you who found him ? My sister only wrote 
 that the new one they had got pleased her much. You are 
 always coming to the rescue — " 
 
 " I was fortunate in being there." 
 
 " Anyone might have been there : but you, being there, 
 did the best thing. How often does one find people 
 doing the best thing, when not doing it is open to them ? 
 Anyone might have been walking towards the ford when 
 my dearest child was in imminent danger ; but yoii saved 
 her hfe. God bless you for it ! Shall we go in ? Luncheon 
 will be ready soon." 
 
 They went into the library : he took a small volume out 
 of a drawer, and said : 
 
 " I had some presents by post the other day, after you 
 were here — all in one morning. Do you remember the 
 Continuity nonsense cropping up when you dined here that 
 evening ? " 
 
 " I do," said Bramsby, '' and heard you upset it. There 
 was a pause in the conversation at the time." 
 
 " Well, a few days afterwards I received a treatise on the 
 Thirty-nine Articles." 
 
 " From whom ?" 
 
 " I don't know. It might be old Bundleton. And some- 
 body (perhaps the Dean) sent me Mr. Oldchurch's lecture. 
 Someone — I can't imagine who — sent the Life of ]\Iaria 
 Monk, which I threw into the fire : and someone sent me an 
 Italian poem on Giordano Bruno. Who could havesent that?"
 
 138 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 '■' The most likely person," said Bramsby, " of all whom 
 I met here, is the I3aroness Diabolouski : but I may be 
 quite wrong." 
 
 " I believe that you are right, now that I think of it. 
 But that was not all. Somebody else made me a present of 
 this. Look at it." 
 
 " Hell Ope7ied to Christians, — good gracious ! yes, Miss 
 Malmaines told me about it. I am not easily surprised, 
 l,mt I 7uas surprised at such a book being sent to you ! It 
 was written for careless people who won't think — who need 
 to be stirred up by a strong appeal to their fear of God's 
 judgments. But who in the world could have sent it ? That 
 IS the puzzle. This fly-leaf has been torn off, and here — 
 yes, here it is — a part of a name in the corner — e r h e d. — I 
 leave you to make out the name." 
 
 Malmaines burst out laughing. 
 
 " I," said he, " can only make it into Fetherhed. But his 
 way of talking wouldn't have led me to suspect such a book 
 from him." 
 
 " Perhaps that was why he did send it. He is much 
 better than he seems. I shouldn't wonder if he had a 
 scruple about his way of talking before you, and being silly, 
 did that as an act of reparation. I can find no other way 
 of accounting for it." 
 
 " Exactly so," said Malmaines, " I see it clearly now, 
 since you explain the why and the wherefore. But how 
 did you see it ? " 
 
 " By looking into Fetherhed. I travelled with him from 
 Paris, and had an easy chance of taking his measure." 
 
 " Yes, but you couldn't have done that without something 
 behind." 
 
 "Well," said Bramsby, after a pause, "there may have 
 been something behind, but nothing of the occult sort." 
 
 " What was it then ? " 
 
 " Nothing but a little cultivated common sense that suited 
 you in the smoking-room when we somehow got on some- 
 thing like philosophy." 
 
 "Yes, you did, and you made me wish to hear more." 
 
 " About contemporary thought? " 
 
 "Not exactly. I meant the genuine philosophy, such as 
 you understand and believe in. I should like to hear some- 
 thing about that."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. (39 
 
 " I know very little," said Bramsby. " I am but a very 
 small student of those things ; and my time is now taken up 
 in other ways. But I may be able to explain something 
 that will suit you. When I was driven to speak about the 
 ' great thinkers/ I tried to show what comes from denying 
 the foundations of thought, and I might go on to show the 
 danger of false doctrines in philosophy, and how closely 
 connected philosophy is with religion. Philosophy is worse 
 than nothing unless it tells the truth, because it goes into 
 the depths of thinking, and goes in for tracing each truth to 
 its ultimate cause. So that we can't go wrong about philo- 
 sophy without going wrong about religion, which is God's 
 Truth as it concerns us in ordering our life here for the life 
 hereafter. And our life hereafter depends on our ordering 
 or not ordering our will according to our knowledge. False 
 thinking, in other words, errors in philosophy, lead therefore 
 to errors in Faith." 
 
 At this moment luncheon was announced and philosophy 
 had to be postponed. After luncheon they went out riding, 
 and Bramsby was mounted on a horse lately bought for the 
 Pearl. 
 
 ''I should like to know what you think of him," said 
 Malmaines, " for I could see that you are a judge. He 
 seems quiet, and he carried me very pleasantly yesterday : 
 but I want to ride him oftener, and see him ridden, and try 
 him in every way before I put my dearest child on him." 
 
 " I saw the hounds near the ford," said Bramsby. " If 
 we could manage to fall in with them, you would be able 
 to see how he behaves." 
 
 They setout in that direction, but saw nothing of the hounds. 
 
 "They have gone away," said Malmaines. "And now 
 about the philosophy. There is, undeniably, one fact about 
 it, which you pointed out before luncheon, that concerns 
 everyone, and warns everyone either to seek at the right 
 source or not seek at all." 
 
 '' Yes," said Bramsby, " it must he so, because, as I 
 said, philosophy deals with things, which, if true, are true 
 absolutely and eternally in God, who is Truth : and there- 
 fore false philosophy about any one truth is destructive to 
 faith. For instance : — Is the human soul in the whole body ? 
 or is it in the pineal gland, or in some other part of the 
 body ? "
 
 140 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " I don't know," said Malmaines. '' But how would the 
 wrong doctrine about it clash with faith ? '"' 
 
 " By implicitly denying the resurrection of the body." 
 
 '' How does it do that,)if the soul is somewhere in the body?" 
 
 " By not being truly united to the body. If your soul is 
 not in your whole body — all in all of it, and all in every 
 part by totality of perfection and of essence (which being 
 immaterial it can be, having no parts,) if it is not so — all in 
 all of it, and all in every part — your soul and body are not 
 the one you by which you are known. The movements of 
 your body would be directed by a soul that stays in one 
 part of it,* as a ship is steered by the man at the wheel.f 
 The man at the wheel is in the ship, but he and the ship 
 are two, and so would your soul and body be, if your soul 
 were in one part only of the body. And then, how about 
 the resurrection of your body ? " 
 
 " I see the difficulty," said Malmaines. '' We should 
 have to fall back on the imnipotence of God." 
 
 " But we must remember," said Bramsby, " that God 
 cannot contradict himself, and therefore cannot cause a ;r- 
 union of two things which He had not previously united. 
 Now the resurrection of the body is the reunion of the 
 souls and the bodies which death had separated : and 
 therefore they must have been previously united — united, 
 as I said, in totality of perfection and essence. | God, 
 being omnipotent, can do anything that does not involve a 
 contradiction in terms. He cannot do that, because He is 
 Truth, and cannot contradict Himself, and therefore cannot 
 make a thing to have been what it never was." 
 
 " True," said Malmaines, " evidently true. I see that my 
 someivhere, which looked so innocent at first sight, is quite 
 irreconcilable with the Apostles' Creed." 
 
 " And implicitly denies another article of faith," said 
 Bramsby. " It is of faith that in Christ there are two 
 natures, the divine and the human. But if soul and body 
 do not truly form one nature — which they would not do, if 
 the soul were set to work in one place, like the man at the 
 wheel in a P. and O. steamer — He would have three 
 
 * Summa, P.I. Q. LXXVI., a. 8. 
 t Comm. Sc7it.y I Dist. viii. Q. V. a. 3. 
 
 X St, Thomas, Stimina, P.I. Q. LXXVI. a. 8. Comvi. Sent. I. Dist. 
 viii. Q. V. a. 3.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. I4I 
 
 natures. There would be in Him the divine nature, the 
 nature of a human soul and the nature of a human body." 
 
 " There would," said Malmaines. " Moreover, the 
 doctrine in question contradicts my own consciousness of 
 my own unity. I am as certain of my own unity as I am 
 certain of my own existence : but, if my soul lived in a 
 corner, its union with my body would be metaphorical, as 
 we say that a good horseman is one with the horse that he 
 rides. Hullo ! I thought I heard the hounds. Here they 
 are, coming towards us." 
 
 " Suppose we get into this big field," said Bramsby, 
 *' and wait for them and see how the new horse behaves." 
 
 They did so, and when the hounds had come by without 
 exciting the new horse, they went back into the road, 
 where soon afterwards they met a traction engine, coming 
 at them down a farm-road on the right and puffing 
 aggressively. There was no man with a red flag in front — 
 nothing to warn them of the fact. 
 
 " This is abominable — I must report it," said Malmaines, 
 as he put his horse into a canter in order to get down the 
 hill before the engine could be upon them. Bramsby 
 followed, and they just cleared the turn up to the farm 
 before the engine bumped and hissed into the road, but 
 without disturbing the equanimity of the new horse. He 
 cantered on quietly, not pulling an ounce, and going 
 straight to his front. 
 
 " I think that you may feel satisfied about this horse," 
 said Bramsby. Under the greatest provocation he has 
 neither pulled nor shied." 
 
 " Yes, he is just the horse that I wanted for her," said 
 Malmaines. " And now, if we turn off" at the windmill on 
 the left, we shall have a pleasant ride through some lanes, 
 round by Blumbury, where old Bundleton lives, rejoicing in 
 his congregation of faithful men, who may believe what 
 they please, if they will only keep clear of the old faith and 
 not make a row. But I should like very much to hear 
 something more on the same lines that you were on when 
 the hounds came by." 
 
 " Shall we try a false doctrine about the origin of the 
 human soul ? " said Bramsby. 
 
 " Yes, do go on with it. These things are more interest- 
 ing to me than anything that I ever heard."
 
 142 THE BAN OF xMAPLETHORPE. 
 
 *' Yes, they are interesting, in the higher sense of the word, 
 to a man like you, who thinks and is straightforward. I 
 only wish that such things had a better exponent." 
 
 " Well, you have made it quite clear to me, as far as you 
 have gone, though I knew nothing before of what you 
 were talking about." 
 
 " Was your soul created by God," said Bramsby, '' or 
 generated with your body ? " 
 
 " It seems to me," said Malmaines, " though I don't 
 know why, that it must have been created. The other 
 supposition has a bad ring in it somehow. But I do 
 remember hearing a man say — a pompous fellow he was — 
 that St. Augustine taught it." 
 
 " The man was wrong," said Bramsby, '' though ever so 
 pompous. St. Augustine did not teach it ; and before his 
 time the true doctrine was generally believed. The reason 
 why he appeared to hesitate was that the Pelagians had 
 made use of it to deny original sin." 
 
 " Then, in fact," said Malmaines, " he only wanted to 
 be sure of its not clashing with the dogma." 
 
 " Yes, and he said so. That it did not so clash w^as 
 clearly proved. You would find all that in Father 
 Liberatore's treatise DeW Anima Umana — which ought to 
 have been translated long ago, and would, if readers were 
 not — what they are." 
 
 " In the meanwhile," said Malmaines, " I should like to 
 hear more about it." 
 
 " St x\ugustine's meaning about the doctrine," said 
 Bramsby, " is evident in one of his letters to Optatus-. 
 Later on he thanked the defenders of the true doctrine."* 
 
 " That was clear enough, certainly," said Malmaines. 
 '' By the bye, how did the Pelagians make out that it dis- 
 proved original sin ? " 
 
 '' Their argument was this : If original sin is transmitted 
 to us from Adam, so must our souls be, because sin is in 
 the soul : and therefore, since the huma,n soul is not trans- 
 mitted, but created by God, original sin is impossible." 
 
 " I suppose that it can be answered," said Malmaines, 
 " but I don't see how." 
 
 " The human soul," said Bramsby, " is infected with 
 
 * DcW Anima Umana, Liberatore, pp. 205-2o5. St. Augustine, 
 De Origine Aiiimce, lib. i. c. 19.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 43 
 
 original sin by its union with a body derived from Adam, 
 in whom was the beginning of sin. Sin, whether 
 original or actual, is and must be in the soul ; for we sin 
 by an act of the will, and the will is a faculty of the soul. 
 Sin cannot be in the soul as God created it — or God would 
 be the cause of original sin in us, which is evidently 
 absurd — but He infuses that soul into a body derived from 
 Adam, so that it becomes one human nature with the body, 
 and thus incurs the infection.* The body cannot sin, because 
 it has neither intellect nor will, and therefore has no moral 
 character : but it can transmit an infected nature instru- 
 mentally, as the atmosphere brings an infectious disease 
 without being susceptible of it ; or as a leaden pipe may 
 impregnate with the poison of the lead pure water running 
 through it. Is that clear ? " 
 
 " As clear as anything can be. I should like to hear 
 more, if there is anything more to hear. I infer from what 
 you said that the creation of each individual human soul 
 by Almighty God may be called a Catholic doctrine." 
 
 '' Certainly it may. But I am only maintaining its 
 reasonableness, not obtruding authority." 
 
 " You needn't be afraid of that, I can assure you," said 
 Malmaines. 
 
 " Well then, we have the authority of great Doctors and 
 Fathers of the Church — for instance, St. Jerome and St. 
 Leo, and the belief of the faithful, both Greek and Latin. 
 The Master of the Sentences and St. Bonaventure taught it 
 as Catholic doctrine. St. Thomas of Aquin, the prince of 
 theologians and philosophers, called the opposite doctrine 
 heretical.! Cardinal Bellarmine said that the creation of 
 the soul was believed by all the faithful — /// eliam agricol(X, 
 fabric sutcves, nmliercula', piieri, hoc sciaiit, — and that any- 
 one publicly teaching the contrary would have the worst 
 reputation among Catholic people. It must be remembered 
 that such questions are worked out in the Catholic Church 
 by means of her great theologians, who give theological 
 proofs of what the faithful have always previously believed. 
 It must be also remembered that the judgments of the 
 Catholic Church are not always made known by councils 
 
 * St. Thomas, Q. Disp. Q. III. De Potentia, a. 9 ad 3. 
 t Summa, P.I. Q. CXVIII. a. 2.
 
 144 '^'^^ ^'^^ ^^^ MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 or by decisions of Popes, but oftener through the ordinary 
 teaching of the whole Church everywhere. You would 
 find that stated in a brief of Pope Pius the IX. to the Arch- 
 bishop of Munich ; and in fact, if it were not so, we should 
 be confronted by an impossibility. For then no doctrine 
 could be a doctrine of the Church till it had become so by 
 means of a definition. Therefore, before that definition, the 
 doctrine would be and not be a doctrine of the Church. 
 Whence it would follow that a thing can be and not be at 
 the same time and in the same way." 
 
 " Clearly so," said Malmaines, "there is no getting out of 
 it. By the bye, you spoke of St. Thomas as the greatest 
 of philosophers and theologians. No doubt you have 
 authority for that." 
 
 " Yes, I have the highest authority in the Catholic 
 Church, the highest authority on earth to a Catholic. For 
 instance. Pope Clement the VIII. said that his works were 
 quite without error, sine iillo prorsus errore. Innocent the VI. 
 declared that whoever keeps to his doctrine will never be 
 found wandering from the truth, and that whoever opposes 
 it will always be suspected. Leo the XIII., in his Encyclical 
 ^ternt Fatrls, speaks of him as being inter scholasticos 
 Doctoi'es omnium princeps et niagister. I might go on : but 
 that will do, I think." 
 
 " It will indeed," said Malmaines. '' I don't know how 
 anything could be stronger. Moreover, wouldn't the 
 denial of that doctrine somehow interfere with the 
 immortality of the soul ? " 
 
 " That," said Bramsby, " is just what it does do. If the 
 human soul is not created by God, it must be generated 
 like the human body. But the human body dies and 
 corrupts. Therefore if the human soul is generated, the 
 human soul must perish : for an immaterial thing cannot 
 by any process whatever come out of a material thing. I 
 might go on to shov/ why the human soul is by its nature 
 immortal, so that it never would cease to be, unless (to 
 suppose what we know will not be) it were annihilated by 
 the omnipotence of God. But that will do for some future 
 time. And here we are back again and there are two 
 ladies in a pony carriage coming to call." 
 
 Charlotte Amelia drove the pony carriage and the 
 Baroness Diabolouski was with her — very much.
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 
 i ri^ 
 
 (5! 
 
 li 
 
 f 4 5 
 
 HOUGH the visitors had come together, 
 their knowledge and meaning were different. 
 Charlotte Amelia supposed the Pearl to be 
 at Maplethorpe, and came there comfort- 
 ably as a neighbour, and as having 
 pleasant recollections of meeting Sir Henry 
 Melford there at dinner. The Baroness 
 Diabolouski knew that the Pearl w^as away, 
 having heard the fact in the village-shop at Little Blum- 
 ford ; and she came to begin the attraction of Malmaines, 
 who was to be struggled for by all means lawful and 
 unlawful. 
 
 Charlotte Amelia appeared in a jacket of black Melton 
 cloth over a tightly fitting skirt, largely patterned in 
 shepherd's plaid. She wore a pair of bright yellow driving 
 gloves thickly sewn with red at the backs. She had a 
 bluish grey hat, short, small and obtrusive, with a scarlet 
 feather that came at you when she approached. 
 
 The Baroness Diabolouski was dressed in a Polonaise of 
 sealskin, ct la Princessc, as it was called. It reached to her 
 feet, which were as well made as her boots, and it fitted 
 her fine figure closely. She wore a sealskin hat with a 
 large ostrich feather, black and drooping. Her gloves, 
 evidently made by Jouvin, were dark brown, matching the 
 sealskin, and fitted so exacdy that even the outlines of her 
 nails could be seen. During the drive her hands were 
 kept warm by a sealskin muff. Altogether the costume 
 was most effective in itself and completely becoming to her. 
 Wherein it differed widely from the get-up of Charlotte 
 Amelia, which indeed misbecame the wearer as much as
 
 146 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 possible, and looked oddly out of place besides. Curious it 
 was that the Baroness Diabolouski, who dressed herself so 
 well, should have expressed approval of the same, and 
 more than that, suggested it, but then it may be said that 
 some people are bad advisers of others in the matter of 
 dress, though they can advise themselves very well.- 
 Non omnia possumus omnes. 
 
 When Charlotte Amelia had said how sorry she was at 
 hearing of the Pearl's absence, and the Baroness Diabolouski 
 had settled her muff on the nearest table, Bramsby, having 
 been introduced to Charlotte Amelia, began to converse in a 
 suitable manner, and Malmaines fell to the lot of the 
 Baroness, who thereupon said : 
 
 '' Your beautiful and charming daughter must be quite 
 happy in that most interesting of all places in the world, 
 the Eternal City." 
 
 " I have not heard from her since their arrival in Rome," 
 said Malmaines, " for, according to their last letter, they 
 would not be there till the day before yesterday." 
 
 " The classical memories are so inexhaustible," she said. 
 
 "■ And the Christian memories, too," said Bramsby, in a 
 parenthesis, while sympathizing with Charlotte Amelia 
 about the evils of board-schools. 
 
 " Yes, they are inexhaustible there," she said : " and 
 they belong to the whole world — " 
 
 " If the whole world would have them," said Bramsby, 
 between two sentences about the board-schools. 
 
 The Baroness Diabolouski considered this as inoppor- 
 tune and not to have been heard : so she adroitly turned 
 the memories of Rome into memories of the Pearl, who 
 would leave beautiful memories of herself wherever she went. 
 Malmaines acknowledged the compliment with becoming 
 modesty, and said that he was hoping to follow her in 
 about ten days and remain in Rome a month or six weeks. 
 
 This announcement disconcerted the Baroness Diabo- 
 louski a little, for she had promised herself to capture 
 Malmaines during the Pearl's absence : but having con- 
 sidered beforehand the possibility of such impediments to 
 progress and provided for them, she felt equal to the 
 occasion, and said : 
 
 " You will have a double pleasure, both of you — the 
 pleasure of seeing and appreciating that wonderful city,
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 147 
 
 and the pleasure of returning to your most attractive home. 
 As the old ballad says : ' There's no place like home, and 
 especially when you have such a home as this. I am very 
 glad that you are able to go and go soon, though it will 
 prevent my asking a favour that I was going to ask. I 
 have painted a few interiors of beautiful rooms, and I 
 should have liked immensely to take one of the gallery 
 upstairs." 
 
 " It will be at your service as soon as you like, whether 
 I am at home or not," said Malmaines. 
 
 *' You are most kind," said she. " Thank you so very 
 much. It will take so very well, if I can only do justice to 
 it. If I succeed, I shall paint a replica of it, and have the 
 pleasure of asking you to accept whichever is best." 
 
 She then talked of other things most agreeably — avoiding 
 the controvertible, and wishing all sorts of evil things to 
 Bramsby for being there, till Charlotte Amelia said placidly, 
 
 *' We shall be driving home in the dark if we stay any 
 longer." 
 
 At these words of comfortable warning, the Baroness 
 Diabolouski took up her sealskin muff, and began to go 
 gracefully. Malmaines and Bramsby attended them to the 
 carriage, and when it had driven away, were silent with an 
 t^mphasis. Malmaines broke the silence by saying, 
 
 " She is a clever woman." 
 
 *' I suspect," said Bramsby, " as I said before, that it 
 was she who sent the poem on Giordano Bruno." 
 
 " I think you are right, and I tried to find out by leading 
 up to the subject, but she wouldn't ' be draw'd ' — at least 
 before you. I should like to know why you think so ? " 
 
 '' By a general something about her that I cannot define. 
 I know the sort." 
 
 Malmaines, without knowing the sort, had a misgiving 
 about her, and affirmed inwardly that he would tell his 
 opinion to the Pearl, as soon as he could find an oppor- 
 tunity, after his arrival in the City of the Seven Hills. 
 
 Charlotte Amelia drove homewards carefully, looking 
 comfortable, and understanding precisely as much as she 
 did understand. 
 
 The Baroness Diabolouski talked about everything 
 except Malmaines and Bramsby, making herself exceed- 
 ingly pleasant and causing Charlotte Amelia to seem as
 
 148 
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 if she had done much of the conversation, when, in fact, 
 she had only listened and assented in a comfortable way, 
 thinkino- all the while of Sir Henry Melford ; who was then 
 congratulating himself on having ridden away from the 
 Baroness Diabolouski, who, when arrived at Blumbury, 
 retired to her bedroom and opened her mind vigourously to 
 herself. The sum of her cogitations amounted to this : 
 Bramsby was in the way, because he perceived more than 
 was convenient, and therefore he must be suppressed per 
 fas et nefas. The Pearl might be in her way by influencing 
 her father to resist the attraction . of • the educated eyes, 
 faultless toilette, conversational powers, various accomplish- 
 ments and complete adaptabilitity. Therefore she must be 
 won over by suitable means in accordance with her 
 character, principles and state of mind. Malmaines would 
 paradoxically be in his own way, as well as hers, by going 
 to Rome too soon, ignorant of his own good fortune. 
 Therefore Lady Melford and old Bundleton would have to 
 share the advantage of her company in the meanwhile, 
 that is to say, Lady Melford first and old Bundleton last. 
 This arrangement would give her time enough to win over 
 the Pearl and capture Malmaines. But first of all, 
 Bramsby must be suppressed. 
 
 Having settled these points, and written to Lady Melford 
 an expansive letter, calculated to insure the required 
 invitation, she wrote to Lady Rossden as follows : 
 
 My dearest Lady Rossden, 
 
 Your most welcome letter foimd me at Blumbury the day 
 before yo7ir departure for Rome, whilst I was p?eparwg to 
 <rive a lecture in the national schoolroom at Little Blumford, 
 on the work of the Reformers. The lecture was, I am told, 
 successful ; dear old Mr. Bundleton was, as he is sure to be, 
 most kind about it, though of course he would have ivishedfor 
 something more in accordance with his own views. Mr. 
 Oldchurch was there and quite approved of the lijie that L 
 took, ivhich was to explain the value of necessary reform, as 
 such, a7id therefore, as considered apart from pectdiar doctrines 
 that marred the W07'k. 
 
 We called at Maplethorpe to-day, and found Mr. Bramsby 
 there, quite at home and much faiwired. From what / have
 
 TH1-: BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. I49 
 
 heard (and uiy informant is trustworthy ) he seems to he a 
 niati who has a false character in the county^ so far as he is 
 known in it — wJiicJi is not much. I give no opinion^ bid 
 leave you to draw your own conclusions from what my friend 
 said. Certain it is that Mr. Bramsby 7vas seen talking in a 
 most earnest a?id excited manner to a beautiful girl at the 
 termi?ius in Paris, and that he paid her fare and travelled 
 ivith her to England. I must beg you to consider this as 
 betiveen ourselves. I have., as you know., the greatest horror 
 of detraction : and after all, it may possibly ?wt be 7vhat it 
 seems. I tell it that you may be on your guard. I must 
 bring my letter to an end; though most unwillingly, for the 
 dressing-bell rang a quarter of an hour ago, and I fnust ivrite 
 to your brother asking him to forward this, because I stupidly 
 forgot to ask him where you are. 
 
 With kindest regards to your dear niece, 
 
 Believe me, dearest Lady Rossden, 
 
 Yours most ajfectionately, 
 
 Terese Diabolouski. 
 
 P.S. In the course of a little time I shall be able to find out 
 the truth, because I happen to know something about the young 
 lady, poor thing ! But at all tunes you must be very careful 
 not to commit yourself about it. It would be a horrible thing 
 to have an action for libel brought against you : and as I am 
 told, according to the curious law in England, " the greater 
 the truth the greater the lib el. ^^ 
 
 " That^' said she to herself, " will make her silent, 
 suspicious and obstructive. By and by I shall cause the 
 sea-side story to be spoken of, with suitable additions and 
 subtractions : but it will never be told to her by me.^' 
 
 She then dressed herself in a tea gown of black velvet 
 trimmed with old point lace, and went into the drawing- 
 room, where, as old Bundleton remarked, she made herself 
 very pleasing. 
 
 There was a small dinner party on that day, and one of 
 the guests was Sir Henry ^lelford. Charlotte Amelia, 
 though she had allowed herself to be indirectly counselled
 
 150 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 by the Baroness Diabolouski about shepherd's plaids and 
 driving gloves and hats with threatening feathers, would not 
 be led by anyone to wear any other evening dress than 
 white muslin, inasmuch as Sir Henry had said once that 
 he liked white muslin. Therefore nothing could have per- 
 suaded her to dress herself otherwise. Therefore her dress 
 was good in itself and becoming to her. Sir Henry had 
 begun to love the simple girl, who implicitly loved him. 
 The Baroness Diabolouski was to them as if she were not.
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 ^^ HEN Malmaines and Bramsby had written 
 their letters, and considered, each in his 
 own way, what appeared to each about 
 the Baroness Diabolouski, they met again 
 at dinner, forgetting the visit and remem- 
 bering the previous conversation. Sup- 
 reme being an artist in cookery, cooked a 
 perfect little dinner, consisting of a 
 consomijie de volciille, one perfect entree, a saddle of small 
 Southdown mutton, and some iced coffee cream that does 
 or did go by the name oi parfaite. 
 
 After dinner they retired to the smoking-room, Malmaines 
 remarking that a drawing-room without a lady in it is like 
 Hamlet with the part of Hamlet omitted. When he had 
 lit a cigarette, he said, 
 
 " I hope that you are going to philosophize again." 
 " Suppose we talk of matter and form," said Bramsby, 
 " and begin by asking a question. Can there be such a 
 thing as an indeterminate sound ? " 
 
 " I am not sure that I quite understand," said Malmaines. 
 
 " I mean that you can't emit a generic sound — a sound 
 
 that is neither a word, nor a syllable, nor a musical note, 
 
 nor an inarticulate utterance — a sound that is not some sort 
 
 of a sound." 
 
 " Most certainly not." 
 
 " And yet," said Bramsby, after a brief pause, " when 
 we use the word voice, we mean something that in some 
 way is : for as a fact there are voices of different sorts, and 
 there can't be different sorts of nothing. Take again the
 
 152 THE BAN OF MAPLE THORPE. 
 
 example of the violin. Sound is in it — a sound of its own, 
 — different from the sound that is in a harp or a flute or a 
 French horn ; and yet the sound in the violin has no actual 
 existence until the bow drawn along the strings causes 
 it to be." 
 
 " True," said Malmaines. " The sound and the voices 
 are a fact." 
 
 " Voice then, itself," said Bramsby, '• is a something 
 that cannot actually be, yet in some way or other certainly 
 is, because you and I and the rest of us have a voice and 
 no one can have what in no way is. Somehow it must be ; 
 and since it cannot actually be, until the sound of it comes 
 forth, its only possible way of being is what is called in 
 scholastic language in potentia, or, in other words, being 
 able to become an actual souiething by union with another 
 something that comes into being simultaneously ; as actuating 
 the voice makes, for instance, the spoken word. The voice 
 is the determinable thing. The articulate utterance 
 determines it." 
 
 " Clearly so," said Malmaines. " I had a voice before 
 I spoke, or I couldn't have spoken. Therefore it somehow 
 was, but not actually till I did speak." 
 
 " From this you see," said Bramsby, " the meaning of 
 matter and form in the visible world around us. Accord- 
 ing to the conversational language of the period, ' material ' 
 means ' important,' and anything that is done without 
 affecting the doer, is curiously called a ' matter of form.' 
 But in scholastic philosophy it is not so : nor could any 
 intelligible reason be given why it should. For matter, 
 even in the most modern language, is understood to mean 
 something unformed, which, in one way or another, is 
 formed into something. Well then, materia prima (in con- 
 tradistinction to materia secunda, which means any material 
 already existing that may be made up into something, such as 
 wood or iron) materia prima is a determinable thing that only 
 potentially is ; and the substantial form is that which deter- 
 mines the said mate7-ia prima, or in other words gives to it 
 substantial being, and hence it is called the substantial fo?'m. 
 Hence the matter {materia prima) is potentially anterior to 
 the form, as the voice is potentially anterior to the emission 
 of some sort of sound : but it {materia prima) cannot 
 actually be till it is actuated by a substantial form. The
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. T53 
 
 substantial form actuates the matter, as the emission of a 
 particular sound actuates your voice ; and thus materia 
 prima becomes a substantial being {ens), in the same way 
 as actual marble becomes a statue by means of the 
 ' accidental form ' given to it by the sculptor. The 
 difference is, that the marble {materia secundd) has a sub- 
 stantial being beforehand, and viateiia prima has not. 
 Vou see then that materia pi-ima, or in other words, matter 
 without form, is next to nothing {prope nihil) as St. 
 Augustine says, but certainly not pure nothing. It cannot 
 be pure nothing : for without some potentiality, some 
 physical aptitude to be an actual something, it would be 
 impossible and therefore never could he, in any way."* 
 
 "One can't deny that," said Malmaines, " nor penetrate the 
 mystery that lies beyond." 
 
 " Just so," said Bramsby. " We are surrounded by 
 mysteries beyond. For instance, the action of your will on 
 your body is a fact of which you are quite certain ; but 
 there is a mystery in it that you can't penetrate. Potential 
 being is mysterious : but you can see by means of reason- 
 ing and common sense that there is such a thing. That 
 which has no actual being either can actually be, or cannot. 
 If it cannot, it is impossible, and therefore never could be 
 made into anything. If it can, it must have some aptitude 
 to be actually, and therefore cannot be nothing. Compare 
 the substantial form of a piece of gold with the accidental 
 form of a bracelet made out of that gold, and compare the 
 materia prima, which becomes actuated by that substantial 
 form, with the materia seen n da, or already actuated matter, 
 viz., the gold. The gold would not be gold, unless the 
 substantial form of the gold had actuated materia prima ; 
 nor would the bracelet be actually a bracelet, though it had 
 the aptitude to be one, unless the goldsmith had given to 
 it the accidental form of a bracelet. The second form was 
 given to that which already had actual being : the first was 
 not. But in both cases there was a something that had an 
 aptitude, and a something that made it to be what it after- 
 wards was. Without the aptitude of the gold the goldsmith 
 couldn't have made the bracelet — he couldn't, for instance, 
 
 * " Materia prima aliquo modo est, quia est ens in potentia. 
 Snmma contra Gent., lib. II. cap. 16.
 
 154 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 have made it of sand or of cotton, — and without mate7-ia 
 primely or whatever anyone may like to call the mysterious 
 thing which we can neither penetrate nor by right reason 
 deny, all that visibly is in the visible world would not 
 actually be, because there would not have been anything 
 with the aptitude to be what the visible world is : for the 
 book of Genesis tells us that the world, as it is, was not 
 made out of nothing, like human souls, but was originally 
 unformed : ' The earth was without form and void.'* The 
 old pagan philosophers couldn't get so far as that,f nor 
 could Moses have suitably put it so to an ' uncultivated 
 people.' i But there it is for anyone who will consider it 
 intelligently and without prejudice." 
 
 " Yes, there it is clearly," said Malmaines. " Mysterious 
 it is ; but I can't get out of it, and don't wish to do so. 
 Please go on." 
 
 '' In every change that we see," said Bramsby, " whether 
 of substance, or of an accident inherent in a substance as, 
 for instance, the colour of one's hair or the colour of an 
 apple, there is something that somehow remains as the 
 subject of the change, because otherwise there would not 
 be a change, but annihilation and creation. When a man's 
 hair becomes grey, the hair remains ; but when a substance 
 is changed into another substance (as, for instance, when 
 we assimilate our food) what is it that remains then ? 
 Something must remain. We cannot get out of that unless 
 we are prepared to deny the existence of visible substances, 
 and attribute every change to invisible atoms that cause 
 everything to be in all their wonderful varieties by rushing 
 about and bumping together. This is the atomic theory." 
 
 " Good gracious ! " interrupted Malmaines. 
 
 "These atoms are," said Bramsby, "asserted to be all 
 of the same sort, and immutable : so that if the atomic 
 theory were true, substantial changes would be impossible. 
 If you reject that theory — " 
 
 " Which I do, most certainly," said Malmaines. 
 
 " You therefore," said Bramsby, " admit that substances 
 
 * Genesis^ I. I. 
 
 + " Non existimabant esse entia nisi corpora sensibilia." — Snjnma, 
 P.I. Q. xliv. a2. 
 
 Ij: "Non enim polerat Moyses rudi populi primam materiam expri- 
 mere nisi sub similitudine rerum eis notarum." — Siafuna, Q. Ixvi. a. 4.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 155 
 
 do change, and that inasmuch as a change is not annihila- 
 tion and creation, but a process by which one thing 
 becomes another, something remains as the subject of the 
 change. Now what is that thing which remains all through 
 the change ? It can't be a substance, because the substance 
 changes — is a different substance afterwards from what it 
 was before, as, for example, when food is assimilated. But 
 can it be an accident — an accident being, as you know, a 
 something that inheres in a substance as the colour of an 
 orange does." 
 
 " Evidently not," said Malmaines, " for an accident, not 
 being in itself, but in a substance, couldn't possibly last 
 through the change of the substance in which it was ; nor 
 could it be the subject of a substantial change. But that 
 which neither is a substance, nor inheres in a substance, 
 has no actual being. Therefore, since the subject of a 
 substantial change is neither, and yet in some way is (or 
 there would be no change at all, but an annihilation of one 
 substance and a creation of another), it can only l?e 
 potentially, because there is no way in which it can 
 actually be. I quite see that." 
 
 " Then we see," said Bramsby, " that materia prima is 
 that something which remains through all substantial 
 changes. St. Augustine gave thanks to God for having 
 taught him what materia prima is. He it is who showed 
 the analogy between it and the voice, and gave the 
 example of singing and speech, which actuate the potential 
 ens that we call voice '^ 
 
 " All this is clear and convincing," said Malmaines. 
 " Where is the difficulty ? " 
 
 '' Often in the imagination," said Bramsby. " Many 
 people, as Father Liberatore says, 'try to imagine what 
 can only be inferred through reasoning and quarrel with 
 materia prima because they can't succeed. Potential Toeing 
 cannot be directly perceived. It can only be understood 
 in relation to actual being : for how can we speak intelli- 
 gently of an aptitude without knowing first what that 
 aptitude is to do ? But people talk of materia prima as if 
 it were a heap of clay, ready to be made into Minton's 
 china. They try to imagine the unimaginable, and failing 
 of course to do so, appeal to public derision against an 
 absurdity of their own making. Certain it is that so long
 
 156 THE HAN OF M A I'l.KTHORPK. 
 
 as we confuse the potential with the actual, so long 
 shall we be in a muddle about materia prima. The 
 question, when summed up, amounts to this : Without 
 materia prima there would be 110 substantial changes. 
 And then how about the reality of substances, if their 
 changes are not real when, if we are sure of anything, they 
 clearly seem to be so ? Now, if we admit a substantial 
 change, we must admit a subject of the change, — a some- 
 thing that remains through it ; for otherwise there would 
 be nothing changed, but a new thing made. That subject 
 cannot, as we have seen, be a substance, nor an accident. 
 It can't be the form, because the form, inasmuch as it 
 determines, cannot remain through the changes. Nor can 
 it be the actuated matter, because that would suppose the 
 enduring of the same form by which it was actuated. 
 Only a determinable thing can endure through a change of 
 substance : and if it does not endure, or if there is no such 
 thing, substantial changes are only apparent. If the sub- 
 stances that seem to change do not change, what reason 
 have we for believing in their existence ? I can only say 
 that if I had got myself into such a muddle, and, by some 
 fault of my own, didn't see my way out of it, I should be 
 driven to doubt the reality of the visible, and a foi'tiori of 
 the invisible." 
 
 " A cheerful conclusion," said Malmaines, " for anyone 
 who didn't see his way out." 
 
 " And then," said Bramsby, " how could you have the 
 same body that you had ten years ago, if the body that 
 you now call your own is quite disconnected from the body 
 that you called your own then ? The body that you con- 
 tinued to call yours has quite changed in that time ; and 
 unless a something has lasted through, as the subject of 
 the change, what right have you to say that you are the 
 same composite human being, the same man ? Your 
 human Ego is neither your soul alone nor your body alone, 
 but the composite ens known as you. If therefore, while 
 your body changes, there is no lasting subject of the change, 
 you are not the same you that you were then. Again — 
 where is the connection between the remains of a decom- 
 posed body and the living body which it once was ? 
 There would be no connection between the two. The dust 
 that remains would have no more to do with the body
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 ^57 
 
 decomposed than the dust in the road. It would be totally 
 dififerent from what it was at the moment of death : and 
 there would have been no subject of the seeming change 
 nothing that had remained. How could it become again 
 the same body that was alive in this world ? How about 
 the resurrection of the body ? It would not be a rising 
 again of the same body — it would be a new creation. And 
 we should be driven to the same conclusion that we came 
 to before, against the people who suppose the human soul 
 to be located somewhere like the general manager of a 
 railway. If then there is no such thing as materia prima, 
 the remains of the body would be cut off quite from the live 
 body, and therefore its reunion with the soul would be a 
 contradiction in terms ; which cannot be, even by a miracle, 
 because Almighty God is Truth, and cannot contradict 
 Himself. So that if we deny the doctrine of matter and 
 form, we implicitly deny an article of Faith {i.e. the 
 resurrection of the body), besides implicitly denying all 
 changes of substance and leaving no substance to be 
 changed. The atomic theory which amused you just now, 
 takes refuge from this dilemma, by making a ridiculous 
 VvciA oi materia prima oixi-^ own, i.e. an enormous number 
 of atoms, which by rushing about and bumping together, 
 produce, as its exponents assert, the visible world that we 
 see, and everything in it. That foreigner from no particular 
 country, who came here to dinner with Mr. Bundleton, 
 would delight in eternal atoms, because that theory would 
 do away with creation and lead to materialistic Pantheism. 
 The Baroness Diabolouski, if it suited her purpose, would 
 be sentimental over them, and feelingly discant on their 
 wonderful work." 
 
 " I have not been able to make out,'* said Malmaines, 
 " what she exactly believes or thinks. Have you ? " 
 
 " From what I have seen of her," said Bramsby, " I am 
 almost sure that she is a Catholic, who has pracdcally 
 apostatized without ceasing to believe what she denies." 
 
 " Well," said Malmaines, " do you know, I have had a 
 sort of suspicion about her. That friend of hers looks like 
 a revolutionist, and she brought him to Blumbury. Old 
 Bundleton would believe in anyone who pretended to 
 admire the Thirty-nine Articles. So much for them : and 
 now, if it would not bore you, I should like to go over the
 
 158 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 same ground again — what you said when we were riding, 
 and what you have said here — for the things are stiff, and 
 quite new to me." 
 
 This was done, and the philosophical talking lasted till 
 half-past twelve. When they had said " Good night," 
 Malmaines told himself again that he must explain the 
 Baroness Diabolouski to the Pearl, as soon as he got to 
 Rome ; and Bramsby was thankful for having had an 
 opportunity of explaining her to Malmaines.
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 .....>- 
 
 .(ill 
 
 1 
 
 ■-•-'^•■-'■'i 
 
 -^HILE old Bundlelon was considering the 
 Baroness Diabolouski to be a monstrous 
 sensible woman of excellent principles, and 
 the latter was again atfirming to herself that 
 except under the direst necessity she 
 " really could not, no, she couldn't," :\Ial- 
 maines was opening one out of half-a-dozen 
 letters which had been put before him at 
 breakfast. 
 
 He turned it over two or three times, opened it, looked 
 at the signature and said, 
 
 " Why this is from the Baroness Diabolouski." 
 " I thought so," said Bramsby. " Doesn't she want to 
 befijin the interior without any delay ? " 
 
 "Yes, without any delay," said ^[almaines, "for it was 
 brought by a groom." 
 
 The letter was as follows : 
 
 Dear Mr. Mal/naines, 
 
 Bhtmhury, Wednesday night. 
 
 On considering the shortness of the tinie at my disposal 
 for doing as much of the interior as would enable me to fi?iish 
 it elseivhere, I came to the conclusion that I had better begin it 
 at once. I ivill therefore take advantage of your ki?id per- 
 mission^ and biing my paint bo\\ o^r., to-morroiv morning at 
 eleven o'clock. The ?'eason of this is, that, till I hear from a 
 friend with ivhom I am going to stay after leaving here, I 
 cannot say ho7U soon I may be leaving the fieighbourhood. I
 
 l6o THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 ought to have thought of it at the time, instead oj on my way 
 back ; but in com^ersation 07ie thing leads on to another, and 
 puts out what one was going to say. Please forgive my 
 stupidity, and believe me, 
 
 Yojirs sincerely, 
 
 Terese Diabolouski. 
 
 " I suppose I must be in waiting," said Malmaines. 
 " Come and look at the stables before she arrives." 
 
 They went there, made their remarks on the horses 
 with much gravity, as the manner of Englishmen is, and, 
 returning by eleven o'clock, saw the Baroness Diabolouski 
 arriving in old Bundleton's barouche. 
 
 " I hope they are well and flourishing at Blumbury," said 
 Malmaines, when he had set up her easel. 
 
 " Yes, well and flourishing, always kind and as devoted 
 as ever to the Thirty-nine .Articles." 
 
 " No doubt. By the by, somebody sent me a book about 
 them, a little while ago. I don't know who I am to thank 
 for the present. He is the most likely person that I know." 
 
 The Baroness Diabolouski expressed assent by a smile, 
 but not in words. 
 
 " I had several presents of literature that morning," said 
 Malmaines, " and among the lot was a poem on Giordano 
 Bruno. I wonder who could have sent that ? " 
 
 " No one in this neigbourhood, anyhow," said she, 
 looking as evidently surprised as true surprise could have 
 made her. 
 
 " Evidently she didn't send it," thought Malmaines, " or 
 she wouldn't have looked so surprised." 
 
 "Evidently she did send it," thought Bramsby, "or she 
 wouldn't have made herself look so exceedingly surprised." 
 
 " She didn't take it to herself," thought Malmaines, " nor 
 suppose that I suspected her." 
 
 " She felt possibly suspected," thought Bramsby," and 
 therefore turned it away from herself just a little too much." 
 
 "Whoever sent it," said Malmaines, "made a great 
 mistake. The next time, I suppose, I shall have a copy of 
 verses in praise of the devil." 
 
 " A few enthusiastic young men," said the Baroness 
 Diabolouski, " said and did deplorable things in glorification
 
 THE BAN OF MAPI.ETHORPE. l6l 
 
 of him ; but they were only a few. The whole affair has 
 been much exaggerated." 
 
 Bramsby said nothing, whereat Malmaines, taking silence 
 for consent, said : 
 
 " Well, I daresay it has." Bramsby, however, con- 
 tinued to say nothing : but the Baroness Diabolouski, 
 not at all inferring that he therefore had nothing to 
 say, hastened to let well alone, and carefully avoided 
 the controvertible. This required much attention and 
 skill, seeing that she had not yet been able to make out 
 what Malmaines' inclinings were. Was he going to be a 
 Catholic ? or was he an aesthetic admirer of the Catholic 
 Church, and at the same time a local believer in his own 
 version of Anglicanism? 
 
 " I could find it out in conversation," she thought, " if 
 that man were not here. He is always trying to cross my 
 path : but I hold his good name in the balance of my will. 
 I have the means of blighting his prospects here, and if he 
 goes on interfering with me, I luill blight them." As this 
 thought passed through her mind, she involuntarily looked 
 round at Bramsby, whose head was half turned away. The 
 next moment she had bent again over her easel, and then 
 changed the conversation gently from the Rome of the 
 devil to the Rome of our Lord's Vicar, and became poetical 
 thereon, quoting various authors, Christian and unchristian, 
 in praise of a wonderful something to be afterwards defined 
 as the inclinings of Malmaines might happen to propose. 
 But things had happened so that Malmaines, by happening 
 to stand in a suitable position, that is, a little way off, 
 with his back to the light, had seen her look directed 
 at Bramsby and misliked it. The look was momentary, 
 but sufficient. It expressed an intense and almost preter- 
 human hatred of Bramsby, that made him revoke his 
 benign interpretation of her meaning about the glori- 
 fication of Giordano Bruno, in spite of Bramsby's re- 
 ticence. 
 
 " I don't like that," he thought, and then he listened 
 patiently to her versatile talking till they went to luncheon. 
 When they had finished and she was again at her easel 
 considering the situation, Malmaines and Bramsby set out 
 to ride in a general direction — there and back. 
 
 As soon as they were beyond earshot Malmaines pulled 
 
 L
 
 l62 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 up for an instant by an involuntary impulse, and said with 
 much emphasis, 
 
 " I don't like that woman." 
 
 " I never did," said Bramsby. 
 
 " Yes, but you didn't see what I saw when she didn't 
 know that I could see her. I shall never forget the look 
 she gave at you. It was fiendish, downright fiendish." 
 
 " I should have expected that," said Bramsby, " if I had 
 thought about it. She knows that I see through her, and 
 hates me m exact proportion to the damage that she fears 
 from me. She is playing a little game here, is afraid that I 
 shall expose it, and evidently means to crush me if she can. 
 She would not be scrupulous about the means ; and there- 
 fore her look, when she thought you were not looking at 
 her, was likely to be hostile." 
 
 " I am bound by courtesy," said Malmaines, " to let her 
 go on with her painting till she goes away from this neigh- 
 bourhood, to make faces at you from a distance. But it is 
 a great bore, and I mean to keep out of her way." 
 
 " Yes, do," said Bramsby, " if I may venture to say so." 
 
 *' You may say anything to me ;" said Malmaines. "What 
 is your idea — what is she at here ? " 
 
 " Well, she is a widow, a handsome woman, and, from 
 one cause or another, a sort of adventuress. I don't know 
 her history, but I don't believe in her at all ; nevertheless 
 she has friends in the country who do believe in her. And 
 she is — what she is : she mig/it manage to put you into a 
 very embarrassing difficulty ; that is why I thought it would 
 be as well that, as you suggested, you should keep out of 
 her way, while she is coming every day." 
 
 " I see," said Malmaines, "but I never should have thought 
 of that. I never should have thought enough of myself." 
 
 " I know you don't," said Bramsby, " — not half enough — 
 and that was why, when you asked my opinion, I ventured 
 to speak as I did." 
 
 " Well, then," said Malmaines, " I shall take care of 
 myself: and you are quite safe." 
 
 " I am not so sure of that," said Bramsby. " Two 
 things have happened within the last few^ days that might 
 be turned against me. Three days ago I saved a young 
 lady who fell into the sea off a ledge of rock near Hunters- 
 combe, and I had, curiously enough, seen her two or three
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPt:. 1 63 
 
 days before at the Pans terminus, where she was in great 
 distress, having lost her purse. I lent her the amount of 
 her journey to England, and I have reason to believe was 
 observed by that friend of the Baroness, that foreigner from 
 nowhere, who was brought here to dinner by Mr. Bundle- 
 ton. If he did see me give her the money, as I think (he 
 was passing along the platform at the time), he might tell 
 it to the Baroness, and she might connect it with my rescue 
 of the same young lady from the sea. You can imagine 
 what a malicious person might make out of it. Don't you 
 know ? people would say, ' she was privately married to 
 him, and tried to drown herself because he deserted her.' " 
 " I am glad that you have told me," said Malmaines, 
 "because if anything of the sort were to be set about, I 
 should be able to say that I knew what it was made out of. 
 Do you know who she is ? '"' 
 
 " Yes ; I do : but I don't feel at liberty to say." 
 " But you must consider yourself. Someone in the 
 country should be able to say, ' I know all about the girl.' " 
 " True, and that someone can only be yourself. She is 
 Mr. Blastmore's niece, who went or ran away from his 
 house to Paris, with the Baroness Diabolouski. She got 
 into a very painful kind of trouble, my uncle says, through 
 no fault of her own ; he knows all about it — under secrecy 
 of course." 
 
 " What, that pretty Miss Waringford, who was for a 
 short time at Cubton ? I wondered what had become of 
 her." 
 
 " Yes, the same. At present she is staying at the 
 Convent at Backwater until she can do something for her- 
 self. Old Blastmore (as far as I know), seems to have cast 
 her off. He was affronted because she would not marry 
 some friend of his and because she ran away. I never met 
 her or knew anything about her until I saw her in Paris, 
 not knowing who she was, but seeing a friendless English 
 girl in great distress, and not knowing how to get home." 
 " You have done what was best and kindest for her," 
 said Malmaines. " If anyone talks nonsense to me about 
 the adventure, I shall tell him more than he likes. And 
 now let us hear something philosophic." 
 
 " Suppose we go a little further into the doctrine of 
 Matter and Form," said Bramsby. " You have seen that
 
 164 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPL. 
 
 materia prima is, in scholastic philosophy, a potential 
 thing, which is made actual by a substantial form ; and 
 you have seen that materia seciinda is something, which, like 
 wood in the hands of a carpenter, or marble in the hands 
 of a sculptor, is made into something — as, for instance, the 
 carpenter gives to the wood the accidental form of a work- 
 box — or as the sculptor gives to the marble the accidental 
 form of a man. The terms, material 2.\\^ formal, apply to 
 every case whatsoever in which there is something 
 determinable and something determined. In baptism, for 
 instance, the water is sacramentally determinable — that is, 
 capable of receiving — and it is determined — that is, it does 
 receive the sacramental efficacy through the fully-intentioned 
 words pronounced by the baptizer. Again, if I, as a 
 Catholic, do something against the law of the Catholic 
 Church, the nature of the act itself is determinable by my 
 own knowledge and consent — because I might do it either 
 ignorantly, or through negligence, or with knowledge and 
 consent. In the first case the nature of the act would be 
 quite undetermined, and therefore purely material ; for, if 
 moral right and wrong are to have any intelligible meaning, 
 my will determines my act, and I cannot consent without 
 knowing what I mean and consent to. In the latter case 
 there would be a formal act. I should have determined its 
 nature by my own will. Hence the Angelic Doctor says 
 that all sin is in the will,"^ and the law of England impHes 
 the same by awarding capital punishment for wilful murder, 
 and lesser punishment for manslaughter, and no punish- 
 ment at all for an involuntary act of homicide — thus 
 affirming imphcitly the scholastic distinction between 
 material and formal." 
 
 " Clearly so," said Malmaines. " And now, while I 
 think of it, I have a question to ask. If substantial forms, 
 by actuating materia prima, give being to the visible world 
 around us, which I suppose to include animals, the sub- 
 stantial form of a human creature must give being in the 
 same way to him or her. But what is the substantial form 
 of a human creature ? " 
 
 " The human soul," said Bramsby. " The difference is, 
 
 * Summa. P. 2a. 2ce. Q. XLVI. a2., also Q. LXIV. a8., also 
 Qusest. Dispp. De Male. Q. III. a8. &c.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 65 
 
 that the substantial fonn of a brute is material — that is, 
 dependent on matter as a co-principle,, and therefore 
 perishes with its body ; while the rational soul of man, 
 being created out of nothing by God, is naturally 
 immortal."* 
 
 " But," said Malmaines, " there must be some form — 
 something that gives being, before the human body is a 
 human body." 
 
 " Just so. The anima sensitiva, and prior to that the 
 anima vegetativaJ^ 
 
 '' But," said Malmaines, '* when the human soul, created 
 out of nothing, is made the substantial form of a human 
 being, the anima seiisitiva must cease to be so, and there 
 must be a moment, a point in time, as it were, when 
 there is no form." 
 
 " You are a born philosopher," said Bramsby. 
 
 " No," said Malmaines. " I have only a little common 
 sense." 
 
 " Which is most conspicuous in scholastic philosophy," 
 said Bramsby. " Well then — about the previous form 
 disappearing — ^just compare the advent of the new form 
 with the impression of a seal on sealing wax, made after a 
 previous impression. When the new impression is made 
 on the wax, the former impression is, ipso facto^ undone, 
 and for an instant nothing remains but the impressionable 
 wax. Again, suppose the action of a ray of the sun through 
 a burning-glass on a piece of pumice stone — what happens? 
 The porous stone becomes transparent glass, which means 
 that the pumice stone no longer is. The same thing 
 happens when the rational soul replaces the previous forms 
 — vegetative and sensitive — of the human being. When we 
 speak of a new form (a substantial form, as the human 
 soul, or an accidental form, as the form given by the seal 
 to a piece of wax) we imply some sort of generation ; 
 because the form gives being to the new thing without 
 creating it, and there is no third something between 
 generation and creation. As the light of the sun concen- 
 trated by the burning-glass takes possession of the earthy 
 pumice stone, transmuting it into the transparent substance 
 which we call glass — so does the immortal soul, infused by 
 
 * Cornoldi. Fil. Scol. speculativa di San Tommaso. p. 466.
 
 1 66 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 God into the human body, seize on it, and transmute it into 
 the human covipositum, the Uving Ego. But all generation 
 necessitates a previous corruption. We can see that in the 
 generation of anything sown in a garden, and were it not 
 so, the peas or the potatoes would be either created or not 
 produced, because nothing can be otherwise than by 
 creation, or some sort of generation, except Almighty God, 
 Who eternally and necessarily is. Therefore we cannot 
 suppose an exception in our own case. All then that is 
 not God must have come to be at some time, either by 
 creation from nothing, or by some sort of generation 
 that clearly implies the previous corruption of something 
 else. And since, by the infusion of the created rational 
 soul, the animal being not created, but generated, becomes 
 a human being, it follows that whenever a rational soul by 
 union with materia prima, gives being to a human creature 
 there is a sort of generation,* because the body, to which 
 the soul gives the being of a human creature is itself not 
 created." 
 
 "I understand you," said Malmaines. "The created 
 rational soul, by its union with materia prima, gives being 
 ipso facto to the human body ; as the impression of the seal, 
 by its union with the previously impressed and afterwards 
 defaced wax, gives being ipsofacto\.o the finally sealed wax." 
 
 " Precisely. As the union of the seal's impression and 
 the impressionable wax makes the impressioned wax, 
 which is one with its accidental form, so does the union of 
 the human soul with materia prima make one suhstancef — 
 the human being. I might go on to say that the human 
 or rational soul, the finally substantial form of the human 
 body, contains virtually the previous forms which had pre- 
 ceded it in the course of generation, and that it does what- 
 ever the more imperfect forms had done.t But we mustn't 
 go too far." 
 
 "All this is quite clear to me," said Malmaines, "and 
 
 * Corpus, antiqiiam formetur, habet aliqiiam formam : ilia aiiteiii 
 forma non manct aniina advenieute. Adventits enim animoc est per 
 qtiamdam gene rati one >n ; gencratio autem unms non est sine corniptione 
 alterins.—Q. Disp. a3 adi2. Questio De Spiritualibus Cre- 
 
 ATURIS, 29. 
 
 t Siimma, P.I. Q. XXIX. ai ad 5. 
 X Snmma, P.I. Q. LXXVI., a 4.
 
 THE BAN OF IMAPLETHORPE. 16/ 
 
 therefore should be clear to other people ; for I never read 
 or heard of these things till you spoke of them. I should 
 like to hear more, but here we are close to the stables." 
 
 On their way to the house they saw old Bundleton's 
 barouche driving away with the Baroness Diabolouski in it ; 
 and Malmaines thereupon went into the gallery to inspect 
 the artistic performance. 
 
 " I don't pretend to know about painting," said he to 
 Bramsby, " but it seems to me that she won't make much 
 of this. What do you think ? " 
 
 " It is out of drawing and the perspective is wrong," said 
 Bramsby, " which is not a hopeful beginning. And if she 
 messes about with her colours in this way, you will be 
 favoured with her company for an indefinite time." 
 
 " But I won't," said Malmaines. " No, that I won't. I 
 won't appear at all when she comes. I shall be sorry to 
 seem discourteous — I never was so before in all my life, — 
 but really I feel that I must with that woman. I shall start 
 for Rome as soon as I can manage to get away. But 
 suppose that she stays on at Blumbury, or comes back 
 there — I mean after I come back, and wants to leave her 
 painting things here — what is to be done ? " 
 
 " Get the housekeeper to have what is called a cleaning 
 up — a general displacement, and setting topsy-turvey and 
 hiding things under big white cloths, — you know what I 
 mean. I have seen it done now and then at home — at 
 stated times by old Mrs. Coverdale." 
 
 " Was she the dear old woman who answered the big bell, 
 that first day when we lost our way ? " 
 
 "No doubt. She was my mother's housekeeper, and has 
 lived in the family fifty-six years. She makes a great to-do 
 at stated times, during which process my uncle and myself, 
 if I should happen to be at home, are most uncomfortable." 
 
 " Bravo ! That is a happy idea. I will have it done. 
 But now — must you go this evening ? Can't you stop until 
 to-morrow ? " 
 
 "Unfortunately no," said Bramsby. "I must be off by 
 the seven o'clock train this evening." 
 
 Malmaines looked at his watch. 
 
 " It is now only half-past four," he said. " Suppose we 
 come into the Library and have a little more philosophizing. 
 1 have ordered dinner at a quarter to six o'clock."
 
 ' MlIllHJlllJIIIIIWIIIIIII'«IIIU1.«».nrnir.llllll l l|l|lll«l«imilllWI HI H IH ■IIIHIH I'llll ■■■■II IMIWI B 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 FEBRUARY afternoon in England is often 
 very chilly, as it was then, and a bright wood 
 fire warmed and lighted the old Library at 
 Maplethorpe to the satisfaction of Mal- 
 maines, as he and Bramsby entered it. 
 
 " Up there," said he, " near the picture of 
 Roger Malmaines, you can see, by the 
 firelight glistening on the glass, the queer 
 little window that looks down from the turret in the gallery 
 near the Priest's hiding-hole. Margaret told me that she 
 showed it to you." 
 
 " She did," said Bramsby. '' What an interesting story 
 it could tell of those who looked through it in bygone 
 times ! " 
 
 " So it could," said Malmaines : " but just now I want 
 most to hear yo2/ speak. What can you tell me during the 
 little time we have before dinner ? " 
 
 They sat down near the fire place and Bramsby said : 
 " We all of us have to think, more or less, or suppose 
 ourselves to think : but most of us don't know how we do 
 our thinking, such as it may be. That brings us to a very 
 difficult question — to what is called the origin of ideas, 
 first considering what the intellect is and what it does. 
 Now the distinctive characteristic of the intellect is its 
 power of perceiving universals — of perceiving a thing in 
 the abstract. A universal idea is something intellectual- 
 ly represented, a something abstracted by the intellect, 
 a something common to many, a something that as 
 such is one and as represented is many, because it
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 69 
 
 never is really separated from the concrete thing in which 
 we find it. Take as examples, beauty, man, width. In 
 each of them there is a something which truly is, but not 
 really as such, by itself. Beauty has not a separated real 
 being, but renUy is in a beautiful landscape, in a beautiful 
 woman, in a beautiful flower, &c. Man really is in this or 
 that man, width in a wide street, justice in just people, and 
 so on. The intellect, as everyone knows, can understand 
 singulars also, or we couldn't have an intelligent knowledge 
 of any individual person or thing : but its primary and 
 distinctive business is to perceive universals, to perceive 
 them as universals, and not as we find them in the con- 
 crete. Evidently there is such a thing as justice because in 
 fact there are just people, and no one can be what in no 
 way is : but it 7'eally is in the just person or in the just 
 action. It cannot, as understood by us, have a real being, 
 because we understand it in the abstract, and the real, as 
 we have seen, is really found in the concrete only. And 
 now we come to the origin of ideas. You will, I think 
 find it out for yourself, by thinking of some universal idea 
 and carefully noticing what appears. Think, for instance, 
 of luidth, and see whether you don't find yourself imagining 
 a dim representation of something wide." 
 
 " True," said Malmaines, after a pause. '' I am like 
 the man who had been talking prose all his life without 
 being aware of the fact. It is as you say : but I never 
 noticed it before." 
 
 " Because your attention had not been called to it," said 
 Bramsby. " When we speak or listen or read, we give our 
 attention to the meaning of the ideas that follow each other 
 rapidly, and we don't consider the mode of operation, just 
 as we don't consider, when we are walking, how we move 
 our legs. To see how we think of a universal idea, we 
 must purposely think of one, and observe what we have to 
 do. The scholastic axiom that the intellect understands by 
 means of the senses, (nihil in intellecUt quod prius no7t 
 fiierit in sensu) merely affirms the necessity of a sensible 
 object imagined, from wliich the intellect intellectually 
 abstracts the intelligible. For instance, from the imagined 
 figure of a man the intellect abstracts in its own way (that 
 is intellectually) the specific essence of man." 
 
 " One thing," said Malmaines, " bothers me, though I
 
 lyo THE BAN OF IMAPLETHORPE. 
 
 feel sure that you are right. How can the intelligible be 
 abstracted from the sensible ? " 
 
 " No how," said Bramsby, " if it meant abstraction 
 physically, as quinine is abstracted from bark. But the 
 meaning is, that the intellect abstracts in its own way what 
 the sensible object imagined presents to it as intelligible. 
 The sensible object imagined gives you (for instance) an 
 individual man. The intellect abstracts that which con- 
 stitutes man, that which is therefore to be found in every 
 man, and without which the word ' man ' would have no 
 meaning, ' Man ' really is individual man, or how should 
 we say that any individual man is a man ? But that 
 which is abstracted is one thing common to all men. 
 Therefore, as such, what is abstracted is not real, but 
 intelligible only, and therefore is accessible to the intellect 
 only, as the perfume of a rose can be smelt but not seen." 
 
 " It seems to me," said Malmaines, " that the intellect 
 must be passive as well as active. It seems to strike me 
 that I receive something somehow." 
 
 " And so you do," said Bramsby. " The intellectual 
 light, given to us by God, illumines the sensible object 
 imagined, as a flash of lightning at night illumines a 
 building before you. The intellect receives intellectually 
 that which the intellectual light has impressed on it, as the 
 eye receives really the impression of the Church tower, or 
 the cottage or the windmill, which the lightning has made 
 visible to your eyes. This, by the bye, gives you an 
 example of the distinction between priority of nature and 
 priority of time ; for you find in it an evident priority of 
 nature, but not of time. You know that the intellectual 
 abstraction must be somehow preceded by that from which 
 it abstracts, as a building must be made visible to you 
 before you can see it. But in neither case can you find 
 an interval of time between the two facts, that suddenly 
 a thing is perceptible and that you see it." 
 
 " The distinction is quite evident," said Malmaines. " I 
 can't move my arm without a somehow previous act of my 
 will : but in time I do both simultaneously." 
 
 " And again," said Bramsby, " there is priority of nature 
 in playing at sight. The player plays the notes that he or 
 she has read, or he would not know what notes to play : 
 but if the priority were of time, playing at sight would be
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 171 
 
 impossible. I may as well go a little further and point out 
 parenthetically an evident analogy between the origin of 
 ideas and our own origin. You will find it in the ordinary 
 use of the words ' conceive ' and ' conception,' as applied 
 to ideas, not only in English but in other languages. 
 Again, there is an analogy between the origin of ideas and 
 the origin of natural bodies. As materia prima is poten- 
 tially all that it will be or may be when actuated, so in its 
 own way is the intellect potentially all the intelligible that 
 will or may inform it. InteUectus ijiteUi^^^eiido fit omnia. 
 The actuated matter is one with its substantial form, and 
 the intellect, when understanding, is one in its own way 
 with what it understands." * 
 
 "The analogy is evident," said Malmaines, "and so is 
 all that you have told me about the origin of ideas. But 
 now — suppose one denies it, preferring some other doctrine 
 — what then ?"' 
 
 " That," said Bramsby, " is too big a question to be 
 answered off hand, and in the time that remains to us. 
 But you will see at once this much : If you deny the 
 co-operation of intellect and sense in the thinking subject 
 who perceives the intelligible in the sensible, you destroy 
 the unity of the composite ^a'^^? ^^"^^ find yourself in imme- 
 diate danger of falling either into materialism, which denies 
 the reality of the spiritual, or into some idealistic ' ism,' in 
 which life is a dream and no one knows who the dreamer 
 is. Have I exaggerated the importance of these things 
 that we have been talking about yesterday and to-day ? " 
 
 " Certainly not. I don't see how you could if you tried." 
 
 " Nor do I ; for religion, and therefore morals are in- 
 volved in the choice. There is safety in being ignorant of 
 all philosophies : but any man who, voluntarily or other- 
 wise, is liable to the infection of the false, had better be 
 grounded in the true, if he has any regard for his own 
 salvation." 
 
 " I saw that," said Malmaines, after a short silence. " I 
 saw it when you were here before, from what you said in 
 the smoking-room. That was why I wanted so much to 
 hear more. And now, having heard more, I find myself con- 
 firmed in the conclusion that I then came to. I had been 
 disgusted by the continuity humbug, and the next morning 
 
 * Summa, P. I. Q. LXXXVI ai ad 3.
 
 72 
 
 THE 15AN OF MAPLETHORPP:. 
 
 I was further disgusted by being warned against listening 
 to you, for fear of being caught in a Catholic trap. I said 
 to myself, if the religion in which I was brought up is the 
 true religion, it will hold its own in the mind of any honest 
 man who says his prayers : and if it is not, the sooner one 
 knows it tlie better. My conclusion was in favour of the 
 Catholic Church, because I had never before heard anyone 
 speak against infidel doctrines with any force at all. I saw 
 that you had something to stand on, and that you were 
 ready to give a rational account of what you professed. I 
 said to myself that as God is omniscient, His Church is not 
 likely to be without sufficient knowledge of what it requires 
 for its own defence against its contradictors. From this I 
 inferred reasonably, as it seems to me, that being able to 
 give an intelligible account of what one believes (which I 
 couldn't, and no Protestant that I ever knew could) shows a 
 great probability of having something intelHgible to believe ; 
 which is what one would expect, supposing that God Incar- 
 nate, infinitely wise and good, founded a Church, as the 
 Gospel tells us that He did. Whether I betrayed my 
 thoughts unintentionally, or whether the devil betrayed the 
 confidence that I didn't repose in him, I know not ; but, as 
 you know, I received a supply of contradictory instruction 
 by the post, including " Hell Opened to Christians'^ The 
 upshot of it was that I wanted to hear something more from 
 you, and something further from my dear friend— if I may 
 venture to call him so, having only seen him once, — Father 
 Bramsby, who, as you know, has promised to come soon." 
 
 " Since you have done me the honour of confiding this 
 to me," said Bramsby, " I am bound in conscience to say 
 that, as far as I know, you couldn't choose a better man, 
 though he happens to be my uncle." 
 
 " I am sure of ///;//," said Malmaines, " and sure of j;^?/ / 
 so sure of you, that I should gladly and thankfully entrust 
 you with — what I love most in this world." 
 
 It was impossible to mistake the meaning of these 
 words, overwhelming for an instant by reason of their 
 immense import. Bramsby paused for recollection of 
 speech, and almost for breath. 
 
 " I cannot," he said, " mistake your meaning, nor 
 sufficiently express what it is to me. But the answer is not 
 for me alone to (!;we"
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 173 
 
 " Then, unless I have strangely deceived myself," said 
 Malmaines, " the answer will be given soon. And now — 
 do you remember seeing the old Chapel that looked like a 
 lumber-room ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and I remember hearing that it pained you." 
 
 " It did : though up to that time I could not see my way 
 to do anything about it. But when I had begun to have 
 doubts about being able to remain in the Church of 
 England as by law established, I immediately began to pray 
 that God would show me which is the true Church. Then 
 Margaret told me what you said about having the lumber 
 removed out of the old chapel. I had it done accordingly, 
 and I have said my prayers there every day, before the place 
 where the old altar once was. Lastly I decided on con- 
 sulting your uncle, and seeking instruction from him; for I 
 know by experience that an intelligible answer about 
 religion is not to be got from any parson, however intelligent 
 he may be about other things." 
 
 "Now," said Bramsby, "I see what has been puzzling 
 me. I see why you, without any previous knowledge, have 
 understood those deep philosophical questions, as you did, 
 at once and clearly. It was so surprising. But prayer for 
 light, with the single intention of following it, is a wonderful 
 clearer of the mind." 
 
 "I wish," said Malmaines, "that we had leisure for 
 more. But the dinner bell will ring in a few minutes, — and 
 within an hour you will have to be on your way to London 
 — and I shall have to wait before I can see you again. 
 Well, I shall see you off by the train — I have ordered the 
 brougham at twenty minutes to seven — and then — I shall 
 look forward to your return."
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 HILE Bramsby was on his way to London, 
 Malmaines driving home after taking him 
 to the station, and the Baroness Diabolouski 
 perfecting plans against both, — for the two- 
 fold purpose of setthng herself in the 
 county and keeping out the General 
 Foreigner, who had firmly resolved that 
 she must help him to marry the heiress of 
 Maplethorpe in compensation for Lady Melford's refusal 
 and Mr. Blastmore's double thong, — the Pearl, on the day 
 after her arrival in Rome, was conversing with an apostate 
 Priest. He had been introduced to them in Paris and was 
 much patronized by Lady Rossden. The oily scoundrel 
 said nothing to her against the Catholic Church directly, 
 hut hinted in parentheses and advocated by false contrasts. 
 The general tendency of his talking was as bad as 
 possible ; for anyone believing in him would have been 
 loo-ically led to believe in no Church at all, and therefore in 
 no revelation, and therefore in no certain religion. The 
 Pearl did not believe in him, but his talking was injurious 
 to her, left, as she was, without any counteracting influence 
 during the ten days that followed, and hearing contradictory 
 beliefs, all of which agreed in implicitly denying the 
 foundations of faith. 
 
 One man maintained the continuity of the Anglican 
 Establishment, as having been unbroken from the days of 
 St. Anselm and before — till now. But that — inasmuch 
 as she knew that St. Anselm was a Catholic, which the 
 Protestant Archbishop of Canterbury is not — would only 
 suggest that faith is relative to circumstances.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 75 
 
 Anotlier scouted the notion of any visible Church, there- 
 by pointing out quite unintentionally, that since an invisible 
 Church would imply a teaching authority without a teacher, 
 and make it impossible for anyone to know whether he or 
 she believed rightly or wrongly. Agnosticism would be the 
 logical outcome. 
 
 A third was enthusiastic about the Mahometans, and 
 affirmed that Mahometanism does not essentially differ from 
 the religion of most Protestants in England. But if so (she 
 thought) most Protestants in England would not be 
 Christians, and then how about their claiming to be 
 Christians ? And how about the Established Church and 
 the dissenting bodies that account themselves to be 
 Christians? And how about the continuity theory claiming 
 for the Established Church identity with the Catholicism of 
 the Early Church ? and how about Christianity in general, 
 if "most Protestants" were not essentially different from 
 Mahometans and the Catholic Church was idolatrous.^ 
 Such questions crossed her mind from time to time, in con- 
 sequence of what she heard in the detestable society that 
 Lady Rossden had collected for the purpose of dissuasion 
 at any cost. So anxious was Lady Rossden to keep her 
 away from the Church of God, that she w'as contented 
 to be in a set socially low and more or less disreputable. 
 She felt ashamed of it, and sometimes wished that she had 
 either not come to Rome or not brought the Pearl with 
 her. Occasionally she had a sort of scruple about having 
 introduced such a set to a young girl, her brother's only 
 child : but how was she to get rid of them ? The question 
 grew in importance as the time drew nearer for the arrival 
 of Malmaines, who most certainly would not thank her for 
 her trouble. Moreover, Mr. Oldchurch would say that she 
 had gone too far. Like the General Foreigner, they must 
 be got rid of somehow : so she resolved to go off to 
 Florence, intending to return just before Malmaines' 
 arrival. 
 
 " Anyhow," she thought, '' Margaret has not seen or 
 heard anything at all likely to make her turn." 
 
 Which indeed was the truth, the whole truth and nothing 
 but the truth, as far as the proposition went ; for the Pearl had 
 been designedly and carefully made to see Catholic Rome, 
 not as it is, but as it is not — and the impression of Rome
 
 1^6 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 as it is not, but as its calumniators, cunning or ignorant, 
 represent it, is the most dangerous of all impressions on a 
 young and thoughtful mind. 
 
 Before they left Rome, to return as if they were some- 
 where else, till Malmaines, by arriving distinctly in his own 
 character, should keep all inconvenient people at a 
 distance, the new maid, who came from Humbleton-in-the- 
 Hole, was the cause of trouble without any fault on her 
 part, either by will or judgment. 
 
 Monica Greswolde was a servant of the old sort ; a sort 
 that modern habits, if universal, would exterminate. The 
 Pearl, who had not acquired modern iiabits, valued her 
 very highly, whereas Lady Rossden disparaged her as 
 much as she cautiously could, not doubting her worth, 
 which indeed she knew very well, but disliking her presence 
 as likely to promote "turning" by the silent influence of a 
 good example. Lady Rossden, remembering that she had 
 but a short time wherein to exercise authority, inasmuch as 
 her reign would end with the arrival of Malmaines, made 
 the most of what she had. Her game was to catch out 
 Monica Greswolde in an overt act of exciting to turn, and 
 then silence her permanently by threats. Therefore she 
 watched her with the vigilance of a detective, and on the 
 morning before they went to Florence found an occasion 
 sufficient for her use. The method of discovery was objec- 
 tionable, for indeed (if the truth must be told) she appeared 
 in the Pearl's room after a too lengthy pause outside the 
 door ; but it served the purpose of enabling her to hear 
 Monica Greswolde say that the Ploly Father was deprived 
 of his temporal power by downright robbery. The state- 
 ment was incontrovertible, if words are to have any 
 meaning, or if anyone's properly is to be secure : but 
 hatred of the Holy See blinds people to their own temporal 
 interests, and makes them fail to understand that by defend- 
 ing the spoliation they justify the socialists. Lady Rossden 
 took it for granted that of course the Pope ought to be 
 nowhere, and therefore had no right to property anywhere ; 
 but of that she said nothing. She only considered the 
 abominableness of exciting to turn, and bided her time to 
 explode. 
 
 The Pearl, quite unaware of anything unusual, left the 
 room to write a note, while Monica Greswolde, no less
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 77 
 
 ignorant of difficulties in the way of a quiet life, calmly 
 remained for the evident purpose of packing. When the 
 Pearl was quite absent and Monica Greswolde was absorbed 
 in the work of smoothing dresses into the depth of a big 
 wicker imperial, Lady Rossden came to the front, and said : 
 
 *'You must understand that I have the charge of my 
 niece and am responsible to my brother for it. I will not 
 allow any tamj^ering with her religion. You have no right 
 to talk about the Pope and the Romish Schism to her. If 
 you do so again I shall do my duty, and send you away as 
 unworthy of being trusted. Yes— unworthy of being 
 trusted — Do you understand me ? " 
 
 Monica Greswolde did and did not understand her, but 
 understood enough practically for her own guidance. The 
 Romish Schism was pure gibberish to her, as it would be 
 to anyone else who knew the meaning of words and facts : 
 but she clearly understood that if she were sent away then, 
 the Pearl would be left under the influence of the devil's 
 own servants ; and therefore, having one of Solomon's fools 
 to deal with, who would be much improved by strong 
 treatment, she wisely said nothing, because there was 
 nothing to be said that would not be better left unsaid. 
 But when Lady Rossden had walked away, crowing over her 
 triumph, the case puzzled her prudence. The Pearl had 
 questioned her more than once about the Catholic Church. 
 If she had done so without any serious meaning, the question 
 would be closed, at least for the time being. But if she was 
 in earnest, how could Monica Greswolde find it in her 
 conscience to make herself seem as if she had nothing to 
 answer ? Lady Rossden's reign would end soon, but how 
 about Malmaines ? Would Lady Rossden have been so 
 peremptory, were she not supported by him? And then — 
 how about remaining in his service — remaining under a law 
 that it might be impossible to keep with a clear conscience? 
 
 " I can't go on so," she thought, " I shall have to leave 
 her. But she is such a very dear young lady." 
 
 Tears came into her eyes : but at the same time the 
 courier came into the room to see whether the luggage was 
 ready. The luggage was quite ready, and so was Monica, 
 but in a different way. She had been tried unbearably by 
 having her conscience represented as at war with itself, 
 and the courier had to bear the consequences. 
 
 M
 
 178 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " A nice sort of a fellow you are," she said, " to be 
 shackling about doing nothing, like the rest of you, who 
 never did a stroke of work, but go about on jobs now and 
 then, and hang about amusing yourselves till you are short 
 of money. Look at these cloaks that you pretended to 
 strap up, and this dressing box with the cover all twisted 
 crooked. Do you call ^/la^ properly done ? You ought to 
 be ashamed of yourself. Where have you lived all your 
 time ? I don't believe you ever were in any service at all. 
 I have travelled abroad before now and much further 
 than we are going, and seen many couriers and travelling 
 servants : but I never did see such a stupid, good-for- 
 nothing fellow as you." 
 
 " My dear Mees," answered the courier meekly, " I had 
 not the time for to do the things as I wish. Miladi wills 
 that I make the coffee for her — and I must make it — and I 
 must pack the pot after. What can I do? " 
 
 " Get along with you," said Monica, softened by the 
 apology. " We shall have to be off in a few minutes." 
 
 " I shall arrange the cloaks and the box now," said he. 
 " Siee, it shall do very well. But — pardon me — what 
 troubles you ? You had the big tears in the eyes when I 
 came in ?" 
 
 " Oh ! nothing, nothing at all," said she. 
 
 " It is somethings," said he, " I know that. My Lady 
 Rossden speak so loud — I heard her. She is one devil — 
 But it will not be so — I think. I know more of Maple- 
 thorpe than you know. Supreme is my uncle, my father's 
 brother. I, too, am c/ief. " 
 
 "Then how do you come to be travelling with us?" said 
 Monica, looking at him suspiciously. 
 
 " My master was travelhng," said he, " and I had to 
 leave him for I had been ill. The doctor told me that 
 change of air would be good. I can speak Italian : 
 and so I took this engagement. Perhaps it may be that I 
 shall go to England. My uncle wish to retire, because 
 he is old ; and he will recommend me. Perhaps we shall 
 be at Maplethorpe together. Who knows ? " 
 
 " Well, to be sure," said Monica, looking round the 
 room to see that nothing had been left out. 
 
 " I should be so happy," said he, in a very insinuating 
 voice, approaching a few steps nearer.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 179 
 
 " There, that will do," said she. " The luggage is quite 
 ready." 
 
 The Pearl re-appeared to put on her travelling cloak. 
 Lady Rossden came out of her own room softly, breathing 
 defiance against all promoters of turning. Within an 
 hour they were on their way to Florence with a Ritualist 
 in a Roman collar, a socialist in a dirty shirt, and a hard 
 featured woman of severe aspect, who sorted tracts out of a 
 shiny black bag. 

 
 CHAPTER XXVr. 
 
 the same day Father Bramsby came to 
 Maplethorpe late, having been detained by 
 a sick call at Dripstone Shelford ; and 
 soon afterwards he found himself sitting 
 down to a perfect little dinner prepared by 
 Supreme. When the dinner had been 
 finished off by a cup of perfectly made 
 coffee, Malmaines remarked — and not for 
 the first time — that a drawing-room " seems to have no 
 meaning without a lady in it." 
 
 "Do you ever happen to smoke?" he said. 
 " I do, in a small way," said Father Bramsby. " Somehow 
 modern life seems to make one require it. Hurry, worry, 
 change and laborious amusement obtrude even into 
 Hunterscombe. I can't read The Times after breakfast 
 without feeling myself in the midst of it all." 
 
 " Some people," said Malmaines, as they went into the 
 smoking-room, "seem to think that political economy is to 
 be the universal specific against all difficulties, material 
 and moral." 
 
 " They build," said Father Bramsby, " on a loose 
 foundation. Sound political economy is impossible without" 
 Christian principles and Christian practice ; for it requires 
 more than laws and regulations can do. It requires co- 
 operation of classes and of individuals and a Christian love 
 of one's neighbour, rich or poor, for the love of God. It 
 people would as a rule, instead of as an exception, do their 
 duty to God and their neighbour, there would be no need 
 of so many books on political economy. Without Chris- 
 tian principles and practice they will never get a sound 
 system, whatever they may say or do.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. l8l 
 
 '' Noil tali auxilio, nee defensoribus istis teuipus ^g^t-' 
 
 " I have always thought so," said Malmaines, Hghting a 
 cigarette. " I should like to go a little further into that 
 when you have time, but just now I have something more 
 important on hand, something that concerns myself imme- 
 diately and in which I want your help." 
 
 " Anything that I can do for you, in any way,'' said 
 Father Bramsby, " I shall always be glad to do." 
 
 *' Two or three things that happened." said Malmaines, 
 ^'when your nephew came here, through Vv^hat proved, 
 thank God, a happy accident, made me begin to ask 
 myself whether the Established Church, in which I had 
 been brought up, and whose claims I had taken for 
 granted, could possibly be the Church of God. During 
 dinner the recent invention of continuity was talked of and 
 pompously advocated. I really couldn't stand such a 
 gross falsification of the plainest facts ; and I said so as 
 civilly as I could. It startled me, because, though I had 
 heard of it incidentally, I had never till then, taken in what 
 it meant. Afterwards, in this room, a sort of intellectual 
 challenge from a silly young fellow brought out your 
 nephew : and what he said made me see that he had fixed 
 foundations of thought, previously unknown to me. It 
 set me thinking, because I saw that he spoke in the 
 character of a well-instructed Catholic. To make a long 
 story short, I prayed for light, prayed for it in the old 
 chapel, having had the place cleared from lumber by your 
 nephew's suggestion. The result has been a growing 
 conviction that I could not with a safe conscience remain 
 outside the Catholic Church. When he came again, I told 
 him so. No one knows it yet, except him and you." 
 
 " By praying for light," said Father Bramsby, '* you did 
 the one thing needful. I only wish that others in the same 
 posidon would do the same. Rationally, the question lies 
 in a nutshell, for there is no third thing in reason between 
 a visible Church and Agnosticism. If God has not 
 revealed Himself to man. He is the Unknown and the 
 Unknowable, and we have practically nothing to consider 
 about Him. But if He has — as authentic history shows, if 
 there is any authentic history, and that there surely is — 
 if He has revealed Himself, as He has, He must have 
 given some intelligible marks, of some sort, by which His
 
 l82 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPK. 
 
 Will may be known. But that implies what is called a 
 visible Church. Now, if we read the Bible, we find a 
 visible Church, in one way or another, all through the 
 Old Testament ; and in the New Testament we find that 
 God Incarnate founded His visible Church, with which He 
 would always be, and against which the Gates of Hell 
 could not prevail. Now what does all that mean if we are 
 left without any certain means of knowing what we 
 ought to believe and what w^e ought to do ? " 
 
 " It would have no meaning," said Malmaines. " That 
 was just what I thought." 
 
 " And then," said Father Bramsby, " where is the visible 
 Church ? If God in His infinite goodness, has founded a 
 Church, for the temporal and eternal benefit of mankind. 
 He clearly has not restricted it to races or localities. But 
 where can we find a universal religion, one everywhere and 
 everyw^here one, adapted for all peoples, all states of life 
 and all minds, except in the Catholic Church, which, in 
 spite of the world, the flesh and the devil, teaches the same 
 doctrine everywhere, and in every quarter of the globe 
 shows a supernatural character, a supernatural protection 
 and a supernatural life? Try any other religion called 
 Christian. You will find it depending either on the State 
 or on private opinions multiplied. Excluding these, as not 
 fulfilling the conditions required to make us believe in all 
 or any of them as the Church founded by Our Lord and 
 taught by the Holy Ghost, nothing remains for us to 
 believe in, as such, except the Catholic Church, which, 
 besides being one and universal, is distinguished by 
 holiness of precept and of practice, and by apostolic fervour 
 and heroism, as anyone may see now — if he will — in the 
 lives, for instance, of our foreign missionaries. The con- 
 clusion is clear in reason and common sense. But, after 
 all, Faith is what makes one say Credo: and Faith is a 
 gift of God. So that praying for light, as you did, with 
 the single purpose of following it, was the most practical 
 thing that you could do. Many good souls quite incapable 
 of following any argument, have found their way into 
 the Church through simple readiness to do the Will of 
 God." 
 
 " I have had," said Malmaines, " the clearest evidence 
 that Faith is given by God in answer to prayer : that gave
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. I 83 
 
 me the final and quite exclusive certainty. But I was led 
 up to it by what your nephew said on philosophical 
 questions." 
 
 " In most cases of conversion," said Father Bramsby, 
 " the convert has approached by one or another bye-road. 
 I can well believe that sound philosophy would lead you 
 into the main-road." 
 
 ''We went into the origin of ideas," said Malmaines, 
 ''and Matter and Form and the creation of the human soul, 
 and more than that." 
 
 " Oswald would be in his element. Didn't you find 
 scholastic philosophy accord with common sense?" 
 
 " Yes : that was what attracted me so much." 
 
 " And in the origin of ideas you recognized yourself as 
 the thinking subject, thinking as a composite being would 
 and as you know yourself to think." 
 
 " I did. And now about further proceedings." 
 
 " Have you any difficuldes about anything? " 
 
 " None on my own account. What I don't know, I 
 take for granted beforehand, as being taught by the Church 
 of God. But I should like to ask two or three questions, 
 that I may be able to answer, if they are poked at me. 
 For instance, people declare that the Cathohc Church 
 makes new doctrines. They said so when the Infallibility 
 was defined by the Vatican Council." 
 
 " Ask them," said Father Bramsby, " to explain how a 
 doctrine, notoriously believed in the Church from time 
 immemorial can be made new by being defined ? If the 
 Vatican Council by defining the infallibility of Our Lord's 
 Vicar, as such, in faith and morals, made ipso facto a 
 doctrine not previously believed in the Catholic Church, 
 the same Council must have made a new doctrine when it 
 defined the Being of God." 
 
 " I ought to have seen that," said Malmaines. 
 
 " How could you," said Father Bramsby, " without 
 knowing anything about it ? If you had known that 
 doctrines are defined against the deniers of them, you would 
 have had an answer ready." 
 
 " Then they bother one," said Malmaines, " about what 
 they call Maryolatry." 
 
 " First of all," said Father Bramsby, " they confuse 
 divine honour which, as the Penny Catechism says, is due
 
 184 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 to God alone, with the inferior honour due to the Saints as 
 eminent servants of God, and make the two into one under 
 the ambiguous name of worship. Secondly, they show 
 themselves to have a very loose knowledge of Christianity, 
 for if they clearly understood that her Son is God incarnate, 
 they would not fail to see that, as the Mother of Him Who 
 is God, she evidently ought to be honoured by us more 
 than any other created being, human or angelic. If they 
 would examine their own loose impression about it, they 
 would find that all the while they had implicitly denied the 
 personal Unity of the God-Man, and supposed a human 
 Person distinct from the Divine Person : which is the 
 heresy of Nestorius." 
 
 " Now that you put it before me," said Malmaines, " I 
 recognize for the first time clearly my own former 
 impression." 
 
 '' If," said Father Bramsby, "■ the Person of Our Lord 
 were separate from the Person of God the Son, there would 
 be no hypostatic union ; and therefore our Lord could not 
 be God, and therefore the death of His holy Humanity 
 could not, thus separated from His Divinity, have redeemed 
 the world. The more you consider this, the more clearly 
 you will see that we cannot look on the Blessed Virgin as 
 an ordinary woman without being logically driven to deny 
 the Incarnation. And that again (as I have said) would 
 clash with the Redemption : for evidently no mere man 
 could have redeemed the whole human race, but only one 
 who as man could satisfy justice by suff"ering, and as God 
 could make the satisfaction sufficient."^ How could that be 
 without a hypostatic union ? How could a separate human 
 person satisfy for the sin of the whole human race against 
 the infinite Majesty of God ?" f 
 
 " In short," said Malmaines, " the Protestant irreverence 
 to the Mother of God is incompatible with an intelligent 
 belief in Christianity, because it logically uproots the 
 foundations of Christian belief. No wonder that infidelity 
 is now making such progress in England, though the 
 English are naturally religious. Logic ivill assert itself 
 practically, sooner or later." 
 
 * Contra Gent : iv. 54. Ex traditioue Ecclesice docennir, <sfc. 
 t Summa. P. iii. Q. I. a 2 ad 2.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPJ.ETHOKPE. 185 
 
 *' It will indeed," said Father Bramsby, " and there is 
 worse, I fear, to come." 
 
 " I have often thought so,'' said Malmaines. " Well, 1 
 mustn't go on asking questions. I must leave it to 
 you." 
 
 " I can manage to stay to-morrow," said Father Bramsby, 
 " and come again towards the middle of next week, if that 
 will suit you. I am sure that I shall have no difficulty 
 about receiving you into the Church then, because you 
 have done so much for yourself. In the meanwhile I will 
 put you on the way and begin now, if you like." 
 
 " Yes, now," said Malmaines. " I only wish that mv 
 darling child were beginning to receive such instruction. I 
 hope to join her the week after next."
 
 CHAPIER XXVII. 
 
 ^HE instruction went on most successfully 
 indoors and out of doors, during the whole 
 of the following day and half the next. 
 Then Father Bramsby went back to 
 Hunterscombe, promising to send some 
 books, and return in a few days. Mal- 
 maines remained in possession of a Penny 
 Catechism and began a long letter to the 
 Pearl. This letter could not be written off-hand, nor in a 
 day, being intended to explain conclusively why his con- 
 science compelled him to leave the Church of England as 
 by law established. There was no apparent necessity for 
 taking all this trouble at an inconvenient time, when he 
 was going to see her so soon, and knew nothing of Lady 
 Rossden's desperate attempts : but he said to himself, in 
 the fulness of his heart, 
 
 " I 7ni/sf write and tell my dearest child all about it." 
 Therefore he began to write, and so did the Baroness 
 Diabolouski, but in a different way. Irritated beyond the 
 power of expression at finding her visits to the Maplethorpe 
 gallery rendered useless in furtherance of her plans for 
 settling herself in Ilsetshire, she determined to write to Lady 
 Rossden and obtain her help. Malmaines, carrying out 
 his plan as expressed to Oswald Bramsby, had luncheon 
 carefully prepared for her on each day of her visit to the 
 gallery — excusing himself by pressure of urgent business 
 from presence thereat. She found herself therefore alone, 
 day after day, and her sketch, begun out of drawing, 
 appeared to progress, so to say, backwards, promising 
 discredit to her powers, rather than otherwise. The result 
 was that, much to the satisfaction of Malmaines, she left a
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 187 
 
 note for him with the butler two da}s before Father 
 Bramsby's second visit, saying that various engagements 
 obliged her to discontinue the completion of her sketch, 
 and to finish it on some future occasion. Her letter to Lady 
 Rossden was as follows : 
 
 My dearest Lady Rossdeii^ 
 
 Yoii will be siirpi-ised at hearing from iiie again so soon 
 — and I slioidd be surprised at myself, considering Jww bad a 
 co7'respondent I nsually am, if the cause of my meriting 7ve?-e 
 less than it is. A fact has come to my kr,ou'ledge, apparently 
 by accident, but really by Divine Providence, that compels me 
 to take up my pen for the sake of those who are deai'est to you. 
 Since you left England for Rome, wisely, as it seemed then, 
 but unhappily as it has turned out, an organized scheme has 
 been set on foot to entrap your good and most religiously- 
 minded bi'other in the mesches of Romanism. Mr. Bramsby 
 has been staying at Maplethoipe. He came quite alone, and 
 he 7vas witJi Jiiin all day long. I assure you that he was, for 
 1 7vas there painting an interior of the galh ry, and I saiv 
 him 7Vorking on the scrupulous conscience of your good bi'other 
 by looks and silence and cunningly contrived ivords. After- 
 wards Father Bramsby ( ! ) came, and stayed 7vith him, and the 
 same conspiracy luas carried on, but with more efect, I fear, 
 because Father Bramsby, who is affiliated to the Jesuits, has 
 the preternatural training and astuteness of that dreadful 
 society, 7vhose ramifications extend into every Roma?i Catholic 
 household. If yotir excellent brother ivere not going so soon 
 to Rome, I should implore you to return ivithout a momenfs 
 delay. I feel sure that if you could help me to have some talks 
 with him, we should be able to shoiv him 7i'hat they are ! 
 But as he means to go to Rome in a fe7U days, I only say, for 
 God's sake use all the influence that you have witJi him. In 
 the greatest haste, to catch the post. 
 
 Believe me ever your most affectionate friend, 
 
 Tercse Diabolouski. 
 
 This bill of indictment has four flaws in it. In the first 
 place, neither of the Bramsbys had said a word about 
 religion to Malmaines, till Malmaines had morally com-
 
 1 88 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 pelled them to speak. Secondly, neither of them had ever 
 been educated by Jesuits. Thirdly, most Catholic families 
 live where Jesuits are not, so that the means of ramifying 
 are not apparent. Fourthly, no one knew better than her- 
 self why and whence the affiliation theory was set up m 
 spite of reason and facts. But such trifles were of no 
 importance to one who was an Evangelical at Blumbury, 
 a semi-Ritualist with Lady Rossden, a broad State and 
 Church Protestant with Lady Melford, an Atheist with the 
 General Foreigner, and an apostate Catholic in her con- 
 science. The fiction suited her purpose, her temper and 
 a remedial process just considered. For her purpose was 
 to settle herself in Ilsetshire and keep out the General 
 Foreigner, as underbred and altogether unpleasant. Her 
 temper counselled revenge against Bramsby as an opponent 
 of her matrimonial scheme. Her remedial hypothesis was 
 to impede in every possible way the reception of Malmaines 
 into the Church. Why should she not suppress Bramsby 
 by means of the report in preparation, and having won the 
 confidence of Malmaines, by the help of Lady Rossden, 
 argue from particulars to generals, blacken the Church of 
 God, and disgust Malmaines with Bramsby and Catholicity ? 
 The prepared report would suppress Bramsby long enough 
 to serve her purpose, and Lady Rossden would recommend 
 her to Malmaines in the hope of settling him back in the 
 Established Church. The scheme was a bold one, not to 
 say hazardous, because it supposed what she had no means 
 of knowing, that is, whether Malmaines had determined on 
 being a Catholic, or not. On the other hand, she had 
 appeared in Ilsetshire as an adopted member of the 
 Established Church, high, low and broad ; and even had 
 lectured in the National school at Litde Blumford on the 
 work of the reformers. But what of that, when duly 
 explained ? On the other, could she not show how she 
 had acted with prudence for the good of others and 
 according to their capacity ? Twerleby had seen her ten 
 days before coming out of the Oratory Church in Brompton : 
 and no one but herself knew that she had gone in, not to 
 say her prayers, but to peep about and be seen. She would 
 incidentally mention it to Malmaines and appeal to 
 Twerleby. As to the lecture at Little Blumford, she would 
 say (like the modern conservatives when they do the work
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 1 89 
 
 of the radicals) that she had given it to prevent worse : 
 and then she would wind up with a scruple about the law- 
 fulness of the well-intentioned act, showing thereby what a 
 conscientious Catholic she was. This done, and Augustus 
 Twerleby made to bear witness to her Catholicity, Lady 
 Rossden made use of against herself, and the educated 
 eyes instructed to express devotion to Malmaines, the rest 
 would be a question of detail. 
 
 But what if Lady Rossden, incensed at her appearance as 
 a devout Catholic, after all that she had written about 
 the Jesuits ramifying, should in her wrath, show the said 
 letter to Malmaines? The consequences would be fatal. 
 Malmaines would disbelieve in her devout Catholicity, old 
 Bundleton in her Protestantism, Lady Melford in her trust 
 worthiness, and Lady Rossden in her altogether as a 
 "horrid creature not fit to be admitted into any house.'' 
 Nevertheless the hazardous game must be played some- 
 how, because Malmaines was at present failing to see the 
 advantage of marrying her. Therefore a judicious letter 
 to Lady Rossden appeared to be a necessary first step 
 towards setding herself in Ilsetshire and keeping out the 
 General P'oreigner. But she deemed it advisable to re- 
 write the letter in such a way that, while the no-poper)- 
 passages were omitted, enough would be said to arouse 
 Lady Rossden.
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 
 
 
 
 HE Baroness Diabolouski and her intended 
 instruments were at cross purposes. Mal- 
 maines was received into the Church without 
 giving her an opportunity for opportune 
 congratulations, and Lady Rossden saw 
 no reason for coming to England when 
 Malmaines was going to Rome. Neither 
 would she write, for the same reason, a 
 warning letter to Malmaines, although the Pearl had not 
 been persuaded to believe in the continuity of severance 
 and the oneness of contradictories. 
 
 " I cannot understand how Mr. Oldchurch can talk so," 
 said the Pearl, to Lady Rossden in Florence. "I was 
 taught just the reverse of that, and so was my Father and 
 so was every Protestant. If the Established Church is the 
 same as the Church that was in England in the days of St. 
 Augustine, why did they make a new hierarchy in Queen 
 Elizabeth's time and teach what had not been taught by the 
 original Church ? And why doesn't Mr. Oldchurch obey the 
 Pope as St. Augustine did ? " 
 
 " My dear," said Lady Rossden beginning to write a 
 letter "you don't understand the question. But I have to 
 write to several people just now." 
 
 She never renewed that conversation ; but many volumes 
 of anti-catholic literature were placed in the Pearl's way. 
 
 " I shall be able to convince my brother," thought Lady 
 Rossden, " when he comes here, and sees and knows and 
 reads. I shall be able to point out — " 
 
 What she was going to point out did not appear, for the 
 apostate Priest, who had followed them to Florence was
 
 THK BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 191 
 
 announced before she could think out her sentences. But 
 Malmaines was received into the Church of God, while the 
 Pearl was continually not reading the volumes extensively 
 provided for her use ; and many hours before the oily apostate 
 came to do, as far as he could, the work of the devil, Mal- 
 maines had made his First Communion. 
 
 In this, as in every step that he had taken since his first 
 question in conscience, his action was characteristic of him- 
 self and therefore distinctly straightforward. Instead of 
 going to Hunterscombe, as Father Bramsby proposed, he 
 went to Osmundsbury. 
 
 " Were I to consult my own inclination, he said, " I should 
 prefer Hunterscombe to any other place. I have every sort 
 of reason for doing so. There I received an impression 
 which, though dim indeed and partly defaced by prejudice, 
 remained fixed, and afterwards inclined me to enquire. 
 From there your nephew Oswald came. From there you 
 came. For every reason except one, I should like to make 
 my First Communion there. But I wish to make the fact 
 as public as possible before I leave home, and there is no 
 better way of doing so than by going to Osmundsbury. 
 Moreover, I wish to make it clearly understood, as far as I 
 can at present, that I was not persuaded by anyone, but 
 sought instruction spontaneously. My worthy neighbours, 
 who know nothing about the action of grace, and couldn't 
 give an intelligible account of what they suppose themselves 
 to believe, will say of course that I was caught, like a jay 
 attracted by gooseberries : and that is another reason for 
 going to Osmundsbury, where I don't know the Priest 
 and never saw him. I wish to declare myself as openly as 
 possible. Am I right ? " 
 
 " Evidently right," said Father Bramsby. " I should not 
 have advised so much : but as you have so decided, I can 
 only see that you are doing the best thing and just what I 
 should have expected from you." 
 
 "Wouldn't it be well," said Malmaines, "for you to 
 write a line that I could give to him ? He might think that 
 I was pretending." 
 
 " He wouldn't think that," said Father Bramsby, " but I 
 had better write, for his and other people's information, but 
 first and foremost, for you, and nobody else. You mustn't 
 have anything to bother you, or to think of, except what you
 
 192 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 are going to do. So you had better see him first and give 
 him my note and make his acquaintance. You will like him, 
 I am sure. He is an old friend of mine." 
 
 The note was written ; Father Bramsby went back to 
 Hunterscombe and Malmaines went on as before, writing 
 his explanatory letter to the Pearl. He had nearly finished 
 it early in the small hours, went to bed and after sleeping 
 well, rose at five. 
 
 At six the old family coach came to the door, and 
 Supreme was there by appointment. 
 
 " Get in, my dear old friend," said Malmaines, "I want 
 you to go with me and pray for me." 
 
 Supreme bowed in the style of bygone days, and said : 
 
 " This Sare, is the happiest day of my life. I have always 
 prayed for you, and I said always to myself that you would 
 be Catholic one day." 
 
 When the family coach, with lamps lighted, drove away 
 from the door, a heavy fog stiffened the air and made the 
 darkness felt. 
 
 "This," he thought, "represents in its own symbolical 
 and pictorial way myself as I was — stagnant and muddled. 
 When I shall liave come near to Blumbury, where old 
 Bundleton and Charlotte Amelia are conscientiously snug in 
 their invincible ignorance, the day will begin to dawn, as I 
 first began to see a glimmer of hght when I had made the 
 acquaintance of Bramsby. A little later, when old Bundleton 
 is beginning to turn round in bed, the light of day will be as 
 clear to me as the light of Faith is. How strange it seems 
 now that anyone can be contented to base his hope on 
 shifting sands with Agnosticism beneath ! But are they 
 content with it ? They don't look so : and I don't see how 
 anyone but old Bundleton and Charlotte Amelia can be 
 contented with belief in a religion that contradicts itself, 
 and whose appointed teachers differ in fundamental 
 doctrines. How can they suppose themselves to have any 
 Faith at all, when the Church to which they belong teaches 
 every sort of doctrine, from schismatic Catholicity to implicit 
 Agnosticism? /couldn't suppose it. I tried, and told my- 
 self that I ought : but do what I would, I couldn't make 
 myself believe that I did believe in it. There must be many 
 more in the same position. I can't be so very diff"erent 
 from other people. And, besides, I do know, from their
 
 THE KAN OF MAPl,i: IHORPE. 1 93 
 
 own admissions, that many who pass as devout beUevers in 
 the Establishment, don't beheve in it at all as the Church of 
 (iod. They don't believe in it : but they shrug their 
 shoulders and look away and catch at Continuity, or dead 
 branches, or an invisible congregation of faithful men, or a 
 general unknowableness made respectable by the High 
 Sheriffs and the Privy Council, or a comfortable Something 
 that makes the most of this world and solemnly bows to the 
 next, hoping to come right somehow at last, if there is any- 
 thing certain to come right about. They saw further than I 
 did, or I should have done then as I did afterwards : but 
 there they are, looking away still and shirking the answer to 
 their own questions. Melford doesn't believe in it, and 
 says so : but he won't say to himself ' What then ? ' Charlotte 
 Amelia is an impediment now, I fancy — 'I have married 
 (or would marry) a wife and therefore I cannot come,' — 
 like the man in the Gospel — but impediments will never be 
 wanting, as long as a man is either ready to be impeded or 
 afraid of facing them. Experience tells me that more people 
 are kept away from the Catholic Church by the fear of 
 round eyes staring at them, than by fear of trouble or 
 loss. They are frightened away by a big bogey, and silence 
 their own doubts instead of trying to clear them up. The 
 real impediment is there, put up by themselves. It is true, 
 that on coming into the Church, as things go, one has to 
 begin life again at a disadvantage : but what of that in 
 comparison with the end for which we were created ? Old 
 Bundleton and Charlotte Amelia are in good faith, and 
 stick to the congregation of faithful men, as a dogma which 
 they have never doubted. I can't say as much for those 
 others. Well ! I wish that things were otherwise. I shall 
 pray continually, as long as I live, that my dear country 
 may again be — if not again the island of saints as it once 
 was — at least a Catholic country, when I shall have been 
 dead and buried and forgotten. But I mustn't be thinking 
 of these things now when I have to prepare for my First 
 Communion. I must think of that." 
 
 And he did think of it thoroughly, not distracted by any- 
 thing. The family coach went on at an even pace, and 
 soon after half past seven, drew up at the door of the Priest's 
 house in Osmundsbury. Father Bramsby's note was sent 
 in, and the Priest came out. 
 
 N
 
 194 I'HE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " I have often prayed for this," he said, " because every- 
 thing that I have heard of you led me to expect it." 
 
 "Yes, my Father," said Supreme, "he was always so 
 good. I have said to myself often that he would be 
 Catholic, I have prayed for that always." 
 
 "You will breakfast with me, I hope," said the Priest. 
 " My housekeeper will take care, as she generally does, of her 
 old friend Supreme. I shall offer the Holy Sacrifice for 
 you this morning." 
 
 " And I, Sir, shall have the pleasure to hear the Mass and 
 offer my Communion for you," said Supreme. 
 
 About nine o'clock Malmaines, having made his First 
 Communion and his thanksgiving, breakfasted with the 
 Priest. After a long and agreeable conversation that 
 founded a solid friendship, he returned in the family coach 
 to Maplethorpe, feeling quite sure that he had never been 
 so happy as he was then. 
 
 When passing the lodge at Blumbury, he saw oldBundleton 
 and Charlotte Amelia walking down the drive. 
 
 Quoth old Bundleton, " What can he be coming from 
 Osmundsbury for, at this time of day ? I begin to believe 
 that he has turned."
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 BOUT the same hour in the morning of the 
 next day, while old Bundleton was telling 
 Charlotte Amelia that his tea had got cold 
 in consequence of pausing to lament the 
 progress of Popery at Maplethorpe,Twerleby, 
 in London, was reading a letter from ]\Ial- 
 maines, and Fetherhed, sitting at the same 
 square table in the same club, was ordering 
 his breakfast. 
 
 " How do they get on at iNIaplethorpe ? " said P^etherhed. 
 " My uncle has got in," answered Twerleby. 
 " In what ? " said Fetherhed. " He hasn't gone and 
 married Mrs. Devilwousky, has he ? " 
 
 " I won't answer such nonsense as that," said Twerleby. 
 "Well," said Fetherhed, "she was setting her cap at him 
 as hard as she could. But what has he got into ? " 
 " Into the Church." 
 
 " That's awfully jolly ; I thought he would somehow." 
 "Perhaps you converted him," said Twerleby, half con- 
 cealing a sneer under a hollow laugh : wiiereat Fetherhed, 
 conscious of having furnished Malmaines with a copy of 
 Hell Opened to Christians, felt himself colouring. 
 
 "You need not deny the impeachment so modestly, like 
 a girl blushing," said Twerleby. " Do you suppose that I 
 could suppose that anyone could suppose that he could be 
 converted by you ? " 
 
 Fetherhed misliked the manner of the relief. But a relief 
 it was ; and he so rejoiced at it as such, that being at a loss 
 for a suitable answer, he simply re-affirmed the awful jolliness 
 of the conversion.
 
 196 
 
 THE IJAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " You said that before," said Twerleby. 
 
 " And why not ? " said Fetherhed. " / avi glad of it : and 
 I don't care how often I say so. Hang it, ain't you glad ? " 
 
 " Of course : but I don't see the awfulness, nor the 
 jolliness, and least of all the awful joUiness." 
 
 "That's a way of speaking. Anyhow I am awfully glad 
 of it, and — " 
 
 " You are awfully excited." 
 
 " I don't know about that : but I do feel very glad." 
 
 " So you have said several times. How long is it since 
 you took to being pious ? '" 
 
 "Well, if it comes to that," said Fetherhed, " I took to 
 going the other way when you set me on it." 
 
 " What do you mean ? " said Twerleby. 
 
 " What I say," said Fetherhed. " You did do that, you 
 know." 
 
 " Well, upon my word !" said Twerleby. " It only shows 
 how careful one ought to be about what one says to 
 people who can't distinguish one thing from another. 
 Because 1 talked about theories put forth by different 
 writers, and supposing you to be safe, didn't controvert 
 them then and there, I find myself appearing as a corruptor 
 of principles. 1 never will talk to you again about anything 
 beyond the news of the day." 
 
 The defence was ingenious ; for though it directly falsified 
 the fact, he had the advantage of being able to deny the 
 intention. The final statement was emphatically true, by 
 reason of his desire to seem a good Catholic, especially now, 
 before Malmaines. 
 
 "Look here," he said, "you mustn't attribute to me the 
 theories that I quoted too loosely perhaps. I ought to have 
 been more careful ; but I took it for granted that you read 
 between the lines, as they say." 
 
 " All right," said Fetherhed ; " but I didn't understand it 
 so. I certainly got on very queer lines, and if I have got off 
 them I owe it to Bramsby. I didn't like him at first, 
 because he made me look rotten — and you too, I can tell 
 you, only you kept quiet — but afterwards I thought a lot of 
 him, when I came to think it over when I was in trouble. 
 And then I travelled with him from Paris and thought 
 afterwards of things that he said then, more than I did at 
 the time. I said to myself, ' What a beastly sneaking thing
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 197 
 
 it is to be a liberal Catholic ! ' And then I went to my 
 duties — et voila. I owe it to him, that's a fact." 
 
 " He seems to be a very kind man," said Twerleby. 
 
 " Yes, he is, and a lot more. What is there to laugh at 
 in that ? " 
 
 " Nothing : and I didn't laugh. I simply stated a fact 
 that I learned from you. I hardly know him to speak to." 
 
 " Well, he is kind, for the matter of that. I saw him 
 volunteer to help a poor girl that he never saw before. I 
 don't know anyone else who would have done it." 
 
 "What did he do?" said Twerleby. 
 
 " Well, you know, it was a peculiar case." 
 
 " Yes, I inferred as much. A young man and a young 
 woman, the principal parts in a novel or a play." 
 
 '* I say that it wasn't anything of the sort," said Fetherhed. 
 *' I am not going to be made a fool of by you any longer." 
 
 "You needn't do or be anything any longer with regard 
 to me," said Twerleby, in the softest of tones. " But I did 
 not and could not make a fool of you. You were doing 
 that for yourself. Didn't I tell you that you shouldn't have 
 talked as you did in the smoking-room at Maplethorpe ? 
 If you had been led by me, which I totally deny, I must 
 have led you to be so well influenced by Bramsby. Now, 
 then, what was the peculiar case ? " 
 
 " Well, she was in an awful fix, her purse had been 
 stf)len ; she couldn't go on (she wanted to go home to 
 England), and couldn't go back without money to pay for 
 the journey or the fiacre. I don't know what she would 
 have done, if he had not lent her the money for her journey 
 home." 
 
 " Did he get it back again ?" said Twerleby. 
 
 " I chaffed him about that," said Fetherhed, " but when 
 I thought over it, after I had had a long talk with him all 
 the way from Paris to London, I saw that he knew best 
 about everything, and I wished that I had done it myself. 
 She was not an every-day sort of girl, I can tell you. I 
 wonder who she is." 
 
 " You had better ask her protector," said Twerleby. 
 
 "What's the use of that?" said Fetherhed. " I tell you 
 he didn't know her." 
 
 " And I never said that he did. But I suppose that he will, 
 if she means to pay. Well, it was remarkably kind of him."
 
 198 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " It's a beastly shame to insinuate in that way against 
 him and against a young lady that you never saw." 
 
 " My dear fellow, you must be going off your head, quite. 
 I said it was remarkably kind of him : and so it was. 
 Where is there any insinuation in that?" 
 
 "Why, of course, it was the 2vay you said it." 
 
 " What way ? " 
 
 " Why, the stress on the word ' remarkably, ' " 
 
 " But wasn't it quite remarkably kind ? You said as 
 much yourself in other words." 
 
 " It was the so?-t of stress." 
 
 " What sort of stress ? " 
 
 " A sort that implies more than you said." 
 
 " I don't know how to remedy that, not having taken 
 lessons in elocution. I was quite unaware of making so 
 suggestive a stress." 
 
 " That's all very well," muttered Fetherhed, as he got up 
 to go. 
 
 " Please don't go away with a false impression about it," 
 said Twerleby. " You have no right to put meanings on 
 me that are not mine." 
 
 " All right," said Fetherhed, walking away. 
 
 •'If you ask my opinion about him," said Twerleby, " my 
 answer is that you couldn't take the advice of a better 
 man." 
 
 It cost him much to say this, because he hated Bramsby 
 as a rival at Maplethorpe, a man who stood between him 
 and the Pearl. But he had to say it, cost what it might, 
 just as he had to pretend that Fetherhed ought to have 
 understood his former instructions differently. Fetherhed, 
 having pulled up and objecting to the aforesaid instructions, 
 was dangerous ; for certainly Malmaines would not tolerate 
 them. Therefore they must be suppressed, even at the 
 cost of telling a lie and "climbing down." He reddened 
 up to the roots of his hair, and muttering a short but deep 
 malediction on Bramsby, he sought relief by reading again 
 the letter before him. It ran as follows : 
 
 " Aly dear Augiisfi/s, 
 
 " Y021 will, I am sure, 7'ejoice to hear that I have been 
 received into the Church and made mv First Communion.
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. T99 
 
 / u<a7it to see you before I leave home, which^ if I am alive 
 and ivell, will be o?i Saturday. So you had better come at 
 once.^^ 
 
 " What can this mean ? " thought Twerleby. 
 
 He put this question to himself several times, but nothing 
 occurred to him suggestive of an answer. One thing alone 
 was certain. By hook or by crook he would have to make 
 himself seem as if he had not needed \.z "climb down."
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Twerleby's Arrangements. 
 
 RIDE, that insatiable vice and meanest of 
 sins, by which Adam was led to rebel 
 against Almighty God, and immediately lay 
 the blame on his wife instead of on his 
 own will, is as fertile as ever in devices 
 favourable to itself. Twerleby was con- 
 fronted by the proximate fear of having to 
 climb down before Malmaines (with a clear 
 loss of character as a Catholic) for having tried to climb 
 up in tiny imitation of the fallen angels ; and he wanted to 
 persuade himself that somehow there was no question of 
 climbing down. 
 
 "After all," said he to himself in a hansom cab, with his 
 portmanteau on the top, " where is the difficulty ? I 
 have never said anything 'advanced' before my uncle, nor 
 to anyone, except to a few men that he doesn't know. I was 
 bewildered by the nonsense of that fool Fetherhed : and 
 that is the end of it." 
 
 Which, being interpreted, meant firstly, that Fetherhed's 
 recollections had forced him to shuffle out of his own 
 meaning, or, in other words, climb down ; secondly, that he 
 had shown no outward sign of doing so, but, contrariwise, 
 had asserted himself to the disparagement of Fetherhed ; 
 and thirdly, that, after all, he had not denied any belief or 
 opinion of his own, but only affirmed the incompetence of
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLE'JHORPE. 20I 
 
 Fetherhed to understand philosophical distinction. His 
 linal conclusion was that he had had a narrow escape and 
 got out of it triumphantly. 
 
 On his way to the terminus, he met Bramsby, stopped 
 the hansom, shook hands warmly and said: "You have 
 heard of course the good news about my uncle. Deo 
 
 " Ves," answered Bramsby. " I have heard that he has 
 been received into the Church. I never heard better news 
 nor less unexpected. From what I have seen of him, when 
 I met you at Maplethorpe, and since, I was sure that he 
 would. He is so completely straightforward, that he would 
 never put nor allow any impediment between his own soul 
 and the end for which it was created. As you say, Deo 
 gratiasT 
 
 He grasped the proffered hand with significant emphasis, 
 and passed on. Twerleby hurried back into the hansom, 
 feeling diminished and irritated ; yet unable to give or 
 admit the reason of his being so disturbed without making 
 a short and sharp examination of conscience, which in his 
 chosen state of mind would not be convenient. Bramsby 
 had said nothing more than the bare truth ; but words, like 
 everything else that any person or thing receives, are 
 received in the recipient's own way. Quidquid recipitur 
 per modum 7-ecipiendi recipitur. Twerleby, conscious ot 
 deserving to be mistrusted, and feeling sure that he was 
 mistrusted, felt himself pointed at in contradistinction lo 
 Malmaines. 
 
 " This amateur theologian," he muttered, " this muscular 
 metaphysician, whose attorneyship supports him as an 
 absentee landlord, is dogging my steps : and the only 
 remedy clear of the laW, is vicarious defamation of character 
 by directed report. His reputation and mine are incom- 
 patible. The one or the other must fall : and I don't mean 
 to be the one." 
 
 Yet Bramsby was not mistrusting him then, but saying to 
 himself, " What a pity that he won't follow his better 
 nature, as he did just now ! " which charitable judgment 
 was right in reason, for Twerleby had, at the moment, felt 
 what he said about Malmaines, — felt it in spite of himself, — 
 and shown the fact so clearly in his voice and manner, that 
 an adverse judgment would have been rash. But it passed
 
 202 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 away like a disregarded warning from a guardian Angel, 
 which perhaps it was, and left its false impression. 
 
 "It might," thought Bramsby, "be the beginning of 
 better things." 
 
 And so indeed it might, without any notable advance in 
 the way of perfection, but this time he was mistaken. In 
 Twerleby's mind there was no question about better things, 
 but a strong wish to stand well with Malmaines. This 
 permanent wish was conducive to prudence in the lowest 
 sense of the word, and made him very reticent during 
 his journey to Maplethorpe ; insomuch that he would not 
 commit himself to any opinion about anything in which any 
 principle whatsoever might appear. One fellow traveller 
 was very communicative of opinions and respected all ; but 
 no positive statement could he extract. When the train 
 stopped at a station, Twerleby went into another carriage, 
 bought several newspapers from a bawling boy, and spoke 
 to no one, till, at the end of his railway journey, a porter 
 opened the door and let him out. 
 
 During the drive to Maplethorpe he reviewed the case, 
 considered his policy, and believing in his own diplomatic 
 power, told himself gently that he was not climbing down. 
 
 In the meanwhile Malmaines was waiting for him, wanting 
 him, trusting him. And why not? Bramsby had been 
 taken in by one short seeming, in spite of previous know- 
 ledge and experience and a deeper insight of character 
 than Malmaines had. However shrewd we may be — ^how- 
 ever prudent and however well provided by natural and 
 acquired means against a surprise, — fallible we are, and never 
 more so than when the means of information are almost 
 within our reach. Malmaines was precisely in that position. 
 The means of knowing what his nephew had grown down- 
 wards to be were just out of his reach ; and he had no 
 apparent reason for searching after them. 
 
 " Bramsby is a dangerous man," said Twerleby to his 
 confidential self, " who must at all hazards be put down. 
 Fetherhed might be mischievous, and therefore he must be 
 kept out of the way by judicious depreciation." There was 
 indeed one little difificulty that might have taxed his 
 diplomatic skill at this time very much ; yet even in that he 
 was favoured according to his desire. The difficulty was to 
 reconcile his Catholic appearance before Malmaines with his
 
 THE BAN OF xMAPLETHORPE. 203 
 
 ambiguous demeanour before Lady Rossden, whose affection 
 had increased in proportion to the evidence. True it was 
 that she had made him her heir long ago, and would not, in 
 any case, disinherit the only child of her favourite sister. 
 But then he had debts and they were beginning to press. 
 Of course he could show how unjust they were and how 
 badly he had been treated, and why it was not his fault : 
 but they were heavy, and their payment by her would 
 require some act of renunciation on his part. Now he had 
 nothing to renounce except his religion, such as it was in 
 him : but to do that, though it would please her, would 
 make it impossibe for him to stand well with Malmaines. 
 The position might have been critical and might be so in the 
 future. His policy must be to keep up the ambiguous 
 demeanour before Lady Rossden, and not be at Maple- 
 thorpe when she was there. In the meanwhile she was 
 conveniently away, and Malmaines conveniently alone. 
 
 Twerleby laughed in the style of Hobbes ; but the 
 laugh was hollow. A voice within him said, "Will you go 
 on to the bitter end, sinning against light?" and he 
 answered, like the Baroness Diabolouski, "I cannot go 
 back : I — ivill not." In that state of mind he reached 
 Maplethorpe just before sunset.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 WERLEBY came to Maplethorpe confiding in 
 the privative power of evil, that makes evil 
 things be and flourish by privation of good, 
 without which they would not have any 
 being to disgrace. But when he arrived 
 there he found that something quite apart 
 from his calculations had recently happened. 
 Malmaines was ill, and the butler, as soon 
 as he had opened the door, stated the fact in a low voice. 
 
 " Not anything serious, I hope," said Twerleby. The 
 butler echoed that wish, but gave no opinion. 
 
 "But how is it?" said Twerleby. "He wrote to me 
 yesterday." 
 
 "Yes, Sir," said the butler; "he wrote his letters in the 
 morning and then drove out in the dogcart. I am afraid he 
 caught a chill. He was taken ill in the night." 
 
 Twerleby went upstairs and found Malmaines in bed, 
 holding a rosary. His face was pale and his eyes were 
 closed, but he roused himself with an effort and said : 
 
 " This is very kind of you, to come so quickly: I did want 
 to see my dearest child and bring her home. But now — I 
 don't know." 
 
 " I hope you will soon be all right," said Twerleby. " The 
 cliange will set you up." 
 
 " I am doubtful about that," said Malmaines. " I feel 
 very ill, I never felt as I do now. But, however it may be, 
 God's will be done. He knows best. My only regret would be 
 to leave my darling child unprotected. But He will watch over 
 her. You must pray for me and for her. She is so good
 
 THE l!AN OF MAPLETHORPP:. 205 
 
 and so intelligent, and we have thouglit so much together on 
 the same lines, that I feel confident of her coming into the 
 Church. But I have had advantages and helps that she has 
 not : and therefore I wrote a long letter to her, showing how 
 I was led on by reason and common sense to that conclusion 
 which the light of Faith made absolutely certain. When 1 
 wrote it, I wondered why I did so, because I was going to 
 see her so soon : but man {)roposes and God disposes. Pray 
 for me, whether I live or die. Pray that I may either have 
 a happy death now, or live to persevere. Pray for her. Pray 
 for her conversion, and pray for her afterwards, especially if 
 I am not here to protect her." 
 
 His head, which he had raised a little while speaking of 
 the Pearl, fell back on the pillow, and his eyes closed. 
 
 " Wait a little," he said. " I shall be better presently, and 
 I have more to speak of." 
 
 Twerleby shuddered and trembled, not daring to promise 
 he would pray, yet fearing to face the cause of his hesitation. 
 Conscience again warned him, and again he listened, oscil- 
 lating between knowledge of his duty and free consent against 
 it. That bed seemed a deathbed : and he shrank shuddering 
 from the idea of death, because he knew well what would 
 follow, if he should die as he was. But he turned his eyes 
 from the sight, his mind from the warning, his will from its 
 instruction, and freely chose that course which always, im- 
 plicitly at least, means rejection of grace. 
 
 " I am below par," he thought, or rather told himself to 
 think. " I have had no breakfast to speak of and no 
 luncheon ; and now it must be nearly six o'clock." 
 
 This was completely untrue: for he had breakfasted well, 
 eaten sandwiches during the journey, and instead of being 
 below par, needed starvation as a check on the pride of life. 
 Yet, by the action of a perverse will and the help of a strong 
 pulse, the sophistry sufficed as an interruption, and continued 
 to do so till Malmaines, moving uneasily in his bed, opened 
 his eyes and looked up. This made Twerleby look down, to 
 avoid looking aside, lest being looked at, he should happen 
 to be looked into. But Malmaines, knowing no more of his 
 nephew than what he had rightly believed of him in days 
 gone by, took the looking down for a sign of attention, and 
 without any preamble, spoke of the business before him. 
 
 " I have had," he said, " a very important thing to do
 
 2o6 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 lately, and I did it, yesterday evening, as well as I could, — 
 meaning to do it more perfectly later on — and that was to 
 make a new codicil to my will. This property of Maple 
 thorpe was, as you know, the inheritance of my dear wife, by 
 the will of her father, who had no other children. She 
 would have made it mine, but I objected to that, because I 
 had married her for herself, not for the property. She then 
 left it to me absolutely by will, and that I agreed to, for the 
 sake of our child, as a power of protection against fortune 
 hunters and other unworthy men, pretending to be what 
 they are not." 
 
 Twerleby winced at this definition of unworthiness and 
 almost wished that he had not come, but he said with a great 
 effort, as if to himself spontaneously, "Wise and unselfish 
 always." 
 
 " After her death," said Malmaines, " I made use of the 
 power vested in me, and made a will leaving this estate as 
 well as my own personal property to Margaret and her issue ; 
 but providing that if she were to marry a foreigner, and there- 
 fore probably live abroad, the estate should come to you and 
 my own patrimony to her. I appointed my sister Julia and 
 yourself as her guardians. But since then things have 
 chanc^ed. My sister has made you her heir and left you her 
 house in London, which agrees with your tastes and habits 
 better than a country life would do : and my dearest child 
 has CTfown up to show — what she is — a strong character, 
 and that she has a love for this place and great interest in it. 
 I said to myself, she ought to have it absolutely as her own ; 
 and I intended to make a new will to that effect. But quite 
 lately, for reasons that I will explain by and by when I have 
 rested a little, I wished to leave things differently, and there- 
 fore I drew up a codicil to my will. In this codicil, among 
 other things that I will tell you presently, I retained my 
 sister as Margaret's guardian until she comes of age, and I 
 have left this estate in trust for certain objects which T have 
 mentioned. The trustees I have named are Margaret her- 
 self Sir Henry Melford and Father Bramsby, who is (without 
 any depreciation of anyone) the wisest and most prudent 
 man I could find. I cannot go into my reasons now ; I 
 will do so by and by. Meantime I wish you to know where 
 they both are — the will and codicil also, — in that despatch 
 box on the table, duly signed and attested. If I get well,
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 207 
 
 I will take them with me to Rome — if not, you must do so, 
 and give them into Margaret's own hand. And there too, 
 on the table, is a long letter to her. It should have gone to- 
 day, but in the confusion they forgot it. Take it with you 
 downstairs, and see it off to-morrow. Will you ? " 
 
 " I will," said Twerleby. 
 
 " I must ask you to wait a little for the rest of it," said 
 Malmaines : "and meantime, please pray for me. I feel 
 very ill, and if, as I think, I am in danger of death, I should 
 like to know it as soon as possible. Father Bramsby is in 
 the house. Ask him to come. You will find him m the 
 library, I think." 
 
 Twerleby left the room, and going to the library, found 
 Father Bramsby saying his office. Father Bramsby looked 
 up and, shutting his breviary, rose from his chair. 
 
 " My uncle," said Twerleby, " wishes to see you. He 
 thinks that he is in danger ; but — " 
 
 " You must pray for him," said Father Bramsby. "He is 
 in danger. I am sure of that. He got a very bad chill 
 yesterday standing about in the east wind. He wanted to 
 put everything straight before leaving home, and was giving 
 orders about some repairs to farm buildings. Th^y sent for 
 me, by his desire, at six o'clock this morning. I came at 
 once. You must pray for him, and for that poor dear child, 
 who would be deprived of his protecting care when she most 
 needs it. He is ready to go — most ready, but according to 
 our poor human judgment he cannot be spared. You must 
 pray — pray for him now." 
 
 Twerleby bowed assent, but dared not say that he would. 
 
 " The Priest," he said to himself, " will do that. I have 
 too much before me just now. What can there be in this 
 new codicil ? " 
 
 To this question there was no answer, seeing that he had 
 no lawful means of knowing, inferring or guessing what the 
 codicil was, until after it had been given to his cousin ; but 
 it occupied his mind in a speculative way, long and con- 
 tinually, till he was interrupted at last by the reopening of 
 the door. 
 
 Father Bramsby came in, and said in a voice that trembled 
 with emotion, " I have given him the last sacraments. If 
 you have anything to say to him, you had better say it now." 
 
 Twerleby heard and shivered. In attack or defence he
 
 2o8 THE BAN OK INI APLETHORPE. 
 
 would liave risked his life without a moment's hesitation, 
 desperately facing the endless future : but he dreaded the 
 sight of a death-bed, and shrank from its mute appeal to him- 
 self as he ought to be. Nevertheless he went with com- 
 parative willingness, as a lesser evil than being alone with a 
 man who evidently saw through him, and who might say 
 something to which the answer must be "yes" or "no.'' 
 Given the case as it stood, presence of mind required 
 absence of body. 
 
 He went of course to see Malmaines, because there was 
 no alternative other than such as would put him to open 
 shame : but he went slowly, and when he had reached the 
 door, stood outside, in abject fear of the impending appeal to 
 his conscience. How long he would have stayed there is a 
 question that must remain unanswered in this world. But 
 certain it is that he stood there till a housemaid, passing by, 
 forced him through fear of shame to enter the room. When 
 he had done so, the devil helped him to do the rest without 
 showing himself. 
 
 " I hoped," said Twerleby '' that you would have got well 
 sooner." 
 
 " Put t'hat out of your head," said Malmaines speaking 
 slowly and with difficulty. " I am dying. I felt sure that I 
 should die of this illness : but the end is coming sooner than 
 I expected. Don't send for the doctor. He has done all 
 that medical knowledge and experience and skill could do. 
 God wills that I shall die very soon, and therefore it is 
 best so. I leave my darling child— my only one — to Him. 
 And now, about my last will. But first of all I have a word 
 to say concerning yourself When I asked you to pray for 
 me a little while ago, I saw on your face no sign of an in- 
 terior response, but rather the reverse. If it is so, the only 
 inference is that you are not as you were. Is it so, or is it 
 not ? " 
 
 " No," said Twerleby, with the readiness of a man who 
 dares not trust himself to pause. "I am just what I was." 
 
 "Yes, but are you what you were seven or eight years 
 ago ? " 
 
 " Yes, I am," said Twerleby, driven to recklessness by his 
 own free will, that would not accept this, the fourth distinct 
 opportunity offered within an hour. Given the perverse 
 will, one ambiguous term was no worse than another. A man
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 209 
 
 who cuuld say ihat he was what he had been, meaning that 
 he then was what he was a short time before, would not be 
 deterred by conscience from saying that he was what he was 
 seven or eight years before, meaning that he was the same 
 individual. 
 
 Malmaines, looking into his eyes, said, " Are you telling 
 me the whole truth ? " 
 
 Evasion of this was impossible: but Twerleby had gone 
 too far to recede, being what he was and intended to be. 
 
 " Yes," he said. " The whole truth. What more can I 
 say ? " 
 
 "That will do," said Malmaines. " You will then do all 
 that I have asked you to do, and you will pray for me and 
 for her? " 
 
 " Of course I shall ^ 
 
 " Thank you. By and by when I have rested a little, I 
 will tell you more — if I can. I have not been able to speak 
 to Father Bramsbv about the codicil. I will leave you to do 
 that." 
 
 " Of course," answered Twerleby, " I will do all that you 
 wish." 
 
 "Show him — " said Malmaines, "the will and codicil, 
 when I am dead, and tell him all that I have said to you. 
 He will explain it to my dear child. I would tell him my- 
 self but I fear I shall not be able. Ask him to come when 
 you have both dined." 
 
 Twerleby left the room, and gave the message ; then, 
 being again alone he found his own presence too much. 
 His sophistical excuses had served him under the excite- 
 ment of a crisis and the unresisted pressure of tempta- 
 tion ; but when he was left alone to reckon with the 
 fresh memory of what he had done, the clear evidence 
 of what his doings had been made him feel so diminished 
 in his own sight, that self esteem was powerless against 
 it. In this abnormal state of a man who had l)een train- 
 ing himself downwards, two resolutions only were possible. 
 He must either penitently reverse his own principles and 
 actions, or look for counsel and present support to the devil. 
 He had it in him to choose the former, because he knew 
 whither his duty pointed, and the offered grace of God was 
 clearly marked by the unwonted prickings of his conscience. 
 He even inclined for a while to do so, partly through fear of 
 

 
 2IO 'IHE BAN OF IMAPLETHOKPE. 
 
 God as his Judge, and partly by the influence of the higher 
 motive remembered. There was a struggle between the 
 better impulse and the bad habit, a short struggle in time, 
 but exhaustive as a proof, because his will was so clearly in 
 opposition to his conscience that compromise was im- 
 possible. The choice therefore, if wrong, would be as nearly 
 final as a human creature could make it, not being at the 
 point of death. He knew that, and he knew in the abstract 
 how uncertain the time of our death is : but death seems 
 more or less far off to a man in good health, unless he means 
 to remember that he knows not when it will be, nor how 
 sudden. Twerleby summed up his case, took counsel with 
 pride which had led him to the abyss, and electing at all 
 hazards to go on as he had begun, defended himself before 
 his offended conscience by a torrent of sophistry. 
 
 Before he had exhausted his supply of sophisms, Father 
 Bramsby entered the room and stood still before him, looking 
 into his eyes. Twerleby lowered his head when he heard 
 the sound of the opening door, but he felt the force of their 
 expression and the authority of the Priest and the holiness 
 of the man. He mentally cowered under that look, and 
 again felt an inclination to renew the struggle with himself, 
 or rather to let his conscience plead against the perversity of 
 his will. It did plead and pleaded strongly, again leaving 
 him without excuse. 
 
 " Has the Doctor come ? " he said. 
 
 " Yes," said Father Bramsby, " but some hours ago he 
 did all that could be done." 
 
 "You don't mean, I hope, that my uncle is worse." 
 
 " I mean that, in my opinion, he will not live through the 
 night — perhaps not an hour from this time." 
 
 "This is terribly sudden. I didn't think that his condition 
 was so serious. Are you sure that it is so ?" 
 
 " Yes, I grieve to say that I am sure of it. We imist 
 accept the Will of God ex anivio, but we may feel the loss — 
 and I do indeed feel it. If you have anything of impor- 
 tance to say, you had better lose no time. If not, I shall go 
 back to him." There was no answer in words, but only an 
 inarticulate indefinite sound. Father Bramsby said no more, 
 but went back to Malmaines and remained with him. 
 
 Soon afterwards dinner was announced, and Augustus 
 Twerleby dined alone, wishing that he could decently
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 211 
 
 disappear from the house till the Priest had left it. He dined 
 in haste, and returning to the library began to read Childe 
 Harold. Of that he became tired after a while, or, to 
 express the truth more correctly, he felt uncomfortable, 
 because it made this world as hopeless as his own decision 
 had made the next. So he rei)laced p]yron's works, and 
 after searching the shelves, took out Oliver Twist, which to a 
 certain extent was comforting as a distraction, because the 
 sins described were not his. Yet he soon grew weary of it. 
 
 " I read all this long ago," he said to himself, " and I 
 want something different — more in my own line of thought." 
 
 This he was not likely to find at Maplethorpe : and 
 therefore, after trying Malthus, as the most unchristian 
 author represented on the bookshelves, he began to compose 
 an essay for the Esoteric Examiner, on the various systems 
 of Philosophy. The task was hard, because in fact he had a 
 very superficial knowledge of any, with none of the true : 
 but it served the purpose of keeping out other thoughts. 
 
 Hours passed while he was thus occupied, till at last hav- 
 ing written three pages on the progressive relativity of Truth, 
 and feeling sleepy, he began to go upstairs. Halfway up he 
 was met by the old Priest, who said : 
 
 " I must ask you to send me into Osmundsbury this 
 morning : I should like to start as soon after five as possible. 
 I'hat will be in about an hour and a half." 
 
 " By all means," said Twerleby " but won't you have some 
 breakfast before you start? " 
 
 " No, thank you. I am r;oing to say Mass for him. He 
 died a few miyiutes at^o. God rest his dear Soul." 
 
 Twerleby shuddered and passed on.
 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 ^ HEN Augustus Twerleby reached his own 
 room that night, he carefully locked the 
 door, and tried the lock to assure himself 
 that it was safe. 
 
 " I must get some sleep," he muttered, 
 '' or I shall be quite done up — but first I 
 had better read this codicil. I might 
 have something to do about it. What can 
 It be ? Why should he have wished to alter his will ? The 
 envelope seems the biggest part — what new thing could he 
 have to add ? There are two papers here, I see, a sheet of 
 foolscap — that is the codicil — and a letter, the one he spoke 
 of as explanatory." 
 
 The codicil filled about half a page of foolscap. It was 
 in the handwriting of Malmaines and was witnessed by the 
 butler and Supreme. Twerleby read the document, grow- 
 ing white and red as he did so : and, replacing it in the 
 envelope, took out the explanatory letter addressed to the 
 Pearl. 
 
 " I suppose," thought he, " I must read this too ; he said 
 it would explain his reasons for the codicil. A thousand 
 pounds to that old Priest, and not so much as a paltry 
 hundred to me ! Very likely indeed that I shall let this go 
 forth as his last wishes! Of course he wasn't right in his 
 head — his last illness was coming on. The witnesses 
 certainly don't know what was in it, for here he says in the 
 letter that his instructions are to be kept secret. So far 
 so good."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 213 
 
 When he had read the codicil and letter a second time, 
 he replaced them in the envelope and held council with 
 himself. After a while he went to bed, but being unable to 
 sleep, tossed about, muttering from time to time inarticulate 
 sounds of displeasure, till he rose late for breakfast, looking 
 pale and excited. 
 
 " I am out of sorts," he said, "and no wonder. It was 
 all so sudden, and this was a worrying thing to decide on. 
 He must have been mad — quite mad to have thought of 
 such a thing — upsetting everybody for an idea. Well, 
 I can't help it. It was put upon me — yes, put upon me 
 — for Margaret's sake, if for nothing else, I must act." 
 
 When he had composed his face and verified the result 
 in a looking-glass, he went slowly downstairs, breakfasted 
 quickly, smoked four cigars under a hornbean in the park, 
 and, retiring into the library, walked up to a cabinet made 
 of carved oak. 
 
 " This," he thought, " is the place for it at present. I 
 can't let it appear. No one but a lunatic would do that. I 
 had better lock it up here ; then if worst comes to worst, I 
 could find it, as if mislaid. But it won't be asked for. 
 The lawyer can't have heard of it, and the two witnesses 
 of course know nothing of its contents, or, if they did, will 
 not be present when the will is read. Of course I shall only 
 i)rove the proper will itself. Later on, I may be able to 
 make use of the codicil, or if not, take it out and burn it, 
 as occasion serves, thereby doing good service. He was 
 clearly mad when he wrote it. But I had better seal the 
 ])acket first — with his own seal. By the bye, there is that 
 letter to her, that he told me to have posted to-day. I must 
 first see what is in it, and then take it to her myself; I must 
 go to Rome after the funeral." 
 
 Without any delay — for these thoughts passed through 
 his mind while he was looking for the keys of the cabinet, — 
 Augustus Twerleby sealed the codicil with the signet ring 
 habitually worn by Malmaines — the signet ring that had 
 been brought to him that morning from the hand of the dead. 
 He sealed it with red wax, opened the cabinet, and with a 
 smaller key unlocked the centre compartment, which con- 
 tained three small drawers. He put the document in the 
 centre one, covered it with a few letters, relocked the little 
 door, and detaching its key from the bunch, hid it in a far
 
 214 1HE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 corner of the side compartment, between some tied-up 
 letters ; where no one but himself could find it. Then lie 
 relocked the cabinet and replaced the keys in a drawer of 
 tiie writing table, saying to himself, " I had better not take 
 the keys away yet, all must be found as he left it." He 
 then sat down, and taking some papers from his pocket, 
 tried to go on with his essay. 
 
 But in spite of progressive truth he was on bad terms 
 with himself, and had to remain so, because he remembered 
 that he should have to remain at Maplethorpe, where he 
 would be continually reminded of unpleasant things with- 
 out any reminding from anyone, continually wishing himself 
 elsewhere, and continually trying to account for his self- 
 dissatisfaction. 
 
 He had scarcely completed a sentence when the butler 
 came into the room, carrying a note. The note, when 
 opened, was as follows : 
 
 My dear friend, 
 
 I am vnmetisely distressed at the sad news that I have 
 just lieard. Mr. Biindleton met the carriage coming back 
 from Osmundslmry. I wish to see you as soon as possible, for 
 I have something of the utmost importance to say. Can you 
 come this mo7'?iing? My kind host and his daughter are 
 going into Osmundsbury on some business, so we shall be 
 uninterrupted. 
 
 Yours most sincerely, 
 
 Thrse Diabolouski. 
 
 Twerleby folded up the note, and said to the butler, 
 "There is no answer," adding, "I feel very unwell. I 
 think I had better take a ride, or I shall knock up. Will 
 you kindly ask them to get a horse ready for me." 
 
 Soon afterwards Twerleby rode across the park in search 
 of health : and the search, being guided by circumstances 
 that he had made, guided him to Little Blumford. He 
 much objected to meeting the Baroness at such a time ; 
 but, inasmuch as his reasons for not refusing to go were 
 cogent, he chose the lesser evil grimly, and taking a 
 circuitous way through lanes and fields to avoid observation
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 215 
 
 trotted continually except when he was cantering. Thus he 
 arrived in due course at Blumbury unobserved. 
 
 The Baroness Diaholouski, who wore a black silk dress 
 most becomingly made, looked becomingly grave, and said, 
 
 " What a terrible loss ! and so sudden ! " 
 
 "Awful!" said Twerleby, "and so sudden that he had no 
 lime to arrange anything. I must go back at once." 
 
 " I will not detain you," said she, " more than a few 
 minutes : but I have something to mention that you ought 
 to know, if you don't know it already. Do you happen to 
 remember that beautiful English girl, who was a sort of 
 companion to the daughters of Madame . . ." 
 
 " I have seen so many who had done that," answered he, 
 interrupting her. 
 
 " Yes, but this was about a year or a year and half ago. 
 I told you about her, and asked you, as you will remember, 
 I think, when I was passing through Paris and left her there, 
 to be kind to her, because she knew no one. Well, she is in 
 England now — and in this neighbourhood. She is Mr. 
 J31astmore's niece." 
 
 Twerleby began to show signs of going, and said hurriedly, 
 " That is impossible. I never set eyes on Mr. Blastmore's 
 niece, if he has one. You told me in Paris that the girl you 
 wanted me to be kind to came from the North of England, 
 :ind she had another name quite different from Blastmore. 
 liut really I have a very indistinct recollection of the whole 
 thing. I must be off." 
 
 " Wait a moment," said she. " I did not tell you then 
 who she was, because she begged me not to tell anyone ; 
 and she 7c>o?f/d caW herself by her mother's name. Circum- 
 stances compel me to tell you about her now. She did 
 come from the North of England then, for she had only just 
 left school. Her father and mother were dead. Old Blast- 
 more paid for her education, and when she came to live with 
 her uncle, he wanted her to marry some old fogie, a friend 
 of his, very rich. The girl wouldn't. He stormed and she 
 ran away from home, and followed me to the station, when 
 I was returning to the South of France through Paris. I 
 had met her once or twice here ; and to make a long story 
 short, she asked me to help her. I did the only thing that 
 I could, and wrote to her uncle, at her request, to say that 
 she had resolved not to return home. I heard quite lately
 
 2l6 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 that she had been deceived by a false marriage, and was 
 deserted — but what is the matter with you ? " 
 
 " I am very unwell," said Twerleby. " I was unfit to 
 come. I wouldn't have come for anyone but you." 
 
 Said the Baroness to herself, " It is as I suspected. He 
 has let out all that I wanted him to show — and without 
 knowing that he has done so — which is just how I wanted 
 him to do it." 
 
 " Now I really must go," said Twerleby, moving towards 
 the door. 
 
 "Wait till I have finished," said she. "It really is 
 important — I shall not keep you five minutes. That you 
 see is a very grave charge against somebody. Now the 
 question is — and it is a question for me, who brought her 
 into the house that she only left to fall into such a horrible 
 trap — the question is this : Who is the man, unworthy to be 
 called a man — the wretched scoundrel, liar and sneak who 
 did that ? " 
 
 " How can I possibly know who he may happen to be ? " 
 said Twerleby. " Tell me all about it when I come again. 
 I will come in a day or two. I really must go." 
 
 " I have but one word more to say," answered the 
 Baroness, " and don't excite yourself so very much, just as 
 if it did concern you. Well, I have been told by a friend 
 of mine who saw it, that a man with the same coloured hair, 
 and in other respects answering the description of the man 
 who had deceived her, was seen to give her money at the 
 Paris station. Then she came to England, and not having 
 courage, I suppose, to face old Blastmore, she tried to 
 drown herself at Hunterscombe. She was rescued by the 
 same man who had given her the money in Paris, and the 
 next day his old uncle took her to the convent at Back- 
 water. Do you see any connection between all this and the 
 false marriage ? " 
 
 " It is no concern of mine," said he, feeling a very sharp 
 twinge of conscience. 
 
 " Do you, or do you not see it ? " 
 
 Twerleby clenched his teeth and said in a hoarse voice, 
 
 " Of course 1 do." 
 
 " And so do I," said she. " And it is your concern, for 
 Lady Rossden ought to know what kind of man it is who has 
 been received and made much of at Maplethorpe. But you
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHOKPE. 21 7 
 
 must be very careful or you might get into the most serious 
 trouble. You must never speak of it to anyone except to 
 her, and charge her to be cautious too. But you ought to 
 tell her, and as soon as you have the opportunity. I suppose 
 you will be going to break the sad news to them as soon as 
 possible, and that is why I asked you to come to-day. But 
 these things are better said viva voce.^\ 
 
 Twerleby made a gesture of assent, and hurrying away 
 mounted his horse. The Baroness, having consulted a 
 time table, went out, and took a walk in the direction of 
 Great Blumford. They thought of each other, but differ- 
 ently. Each thought of the other from a matrimonial point 
 
 of view : but he affirmed that he would be d if he 
 
 did, while she assured herself that he would "have to 
 doit." 
 
 This resolution, though sudden and apparently new, was 
 not so really : It was rather the revival of a previous one, 
 made when she first met him three or four years before, 
 and temporarily abandoned. She had failed in her struggle 
 for Malmaines. Old Bundleton was no longer to be thought 
 of, even as a last resource, being evidently too obtuse, or too 
 cautious, to see it. How then was she to settle herself in 
 Ilsetshire ? Twerleby had no landed estate ; but he was 
 the next heir to Maplethorpe, failing the Pearl — that every- 
 one said. Then he was connected with the county, and he 
 was Lady's Rossden's heir, and Lady Rossden had a house 
 in London and was well off. 
 
 " I hate him," she said. " We know each other too 
 well. But it must and shall be. He cannot escape." 
 
 Twerleby rode fast, much faster than ]\Ialmaines would 
 have liked his horse to go on the hard road, saying to him- 
 self with grim irony, " How much better it is that people 
 don't know what will happen after their death ! Everything 
 moves on and we are drawn into the current. But I will 
 not be drawn into linking my fate with that she-devil. No, 
 not if I have to seek refuge in Kansas or among the Zulus. 
 I feel that she tried to frighten me by mysterious hints of — 
 but if she makes any attempt against me, I shall let the 
 Ilsetshire people know what she is ; and that would settle 
 the question permanently. But I don't care what she does." 
 
 This he repeated several times with excessive emphasis, 
 while she was telling herself that she had frightened him.
 
 2 15 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 and, in case of need, would " frighten him more, still more, 
 indefinitely more." 
 
 Towards mid-day, she, having turned off to Great Blum- 
 ford station, instead of going on to the village of that name, 
 walked in, smiling sweetly, took a return ticket to Backwater, 
 and gently drawing down her veil, awaited the arrival of 
 the train. 
 
 When the train came in she found an empty carriage, 
 travelled therein quite alone, reached Backwater a little 
 before one, and getting into a fly, drove to the convent 
 where Gertrude Warringford was. 
 
 When the Baroness Diabolouski, great in resources, and 
 sometimes too strong in attack and defence — as indeed the 
 General Foreigner had known her to be, and Sir Henry 
 Melford also, when he rode away in quite unwonted terror 
 — found herself at the outquarters of the convent, a difficulty 
 crossed her proposed visit to Miss Warringford, because the 
 latter, having a reason for objecting thereto, did object, 
 and sent word that she could not receive her. Thereat the 
 Baroness was more nearly disconcerted than she had ever 
 been : but her resources were not exhausted. She tore a 
 leaf out of a pocket-book, and wrote on it these words : " I 
 have come for yoiLr sake, hoping to serve you and believing 
 that I can. I am not surprised at your blaming me. How 
 could you do otherwise ? But I was as much deceived as 
 you were. I implore of you to see me for a few 
 minutes." 
 
 Having twisted up the paper she said to the lay sister 
 " Will you kindly give her this?" 
 
 The paper was given, she was shown into a room and 
 Miss Warringford came forward to meet her, looking 
 doubtful. 
 
 " My dear Gertrude," said the Baroness trying to get 
 within kissing distance, while the young lady retreated in 
 proportion, " I have been longing so to see you. Yesterday 
 I heard quite by chance that you were here." 
 
 " It was very kind of you to take so much trouble," 
 said Miss Warringford, stepping back half a pace. " I 
 don't know why you trouble yourself at all about me." 
 
 " Oh ! don't say that ! " exclaimed the Baroness, in a tone 
 so naturally sad and fervently natural, that nature was 
 almost exceeded. " I have reproached myself ever since
 
 THE r.AN OF MAPLETHORPK. 2lCj 
 
 lOr being indirectly the cause of your misfortunes by intro- 
 ducing you to that house, though, God knows, I believed 
 them to be good and true." 
 
 " I never said anything to the contrary," answered Miss 
 Warringford. 
 
 " But do tell me," said the Baroness, " what was he like ? 
 The nephew of an old friend of mine who used to go there 
 sometimes, was then in Paris, and I begged him to be kind 
 to you when I left. I told him nothing about you, except 
 that you came from the north of England and knew nobody. 
 Was that the man ? I have had a reason for thinking so 
 lately." 
 
 " I don't know," said Miss Warringford. " He never 
 mentioned your name to me," 
 
 " Was his hair light or dark ? " 
 
 " He had light hair, but I have thought since that he 
 may have made it to be so, for after he went away, the 
 concierge gave me a bottle that was found in his dressing- 
 room and it was for making dark hair light." 
 
 " Was he an Englishman?" 
 
 " No, he called himself a Prussian Pole, and said he 
 was a liberal Catholic. He went with me to the Protestant 
 Church in Paris, and as I could not speak German, he 
 always spoke French. But he had a permanent address in 
 London ; that I know, and most of his letters came from 
 England. This I saw by the envelopes, for he never 
 allowed me to read any. He always went for them himself." 
 
 " I introduced three or four people to you," said the 
 Baroness, " and I mentioned you to others, I only know 
 that /le was one of them, can you give me that address in 
 London ? If I can only find out which it is, I will trace 
 him wherever he may be, and will force him to do you 
 justice, or be cut by every one. I can do that, and I 7t'///." 
 
 " Please don't," said Miss Warringford. " I will have 
 nothing to do with apostates or liberal Catholics. His 
 address in London has nothing to do with me now, and I 
 don't want anyone to find him for me. It was my fault ; I 
 ought not to have been so easily deceived ; but, by the 
 infinite goodness of God, it was the means of bringing 
 me into the Church." 
 
 While she was saying this, which indeed she did with 
 more emphasis and evident meaning than the Barones.s
 
 220 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 liked, the latter, listening sufficiently and coming to a 
 conclusion, said within herself : 
 
 " She neither knows which of them was the deceiver, nor 
 who the man really is. Therefore I am quite safe, a.nd 
 if I set going by untraceable report an accusation against 
 — well, never mind who — no one will be able to contradict 
 it. I have found out what I came for. No one, except 
 the man w^ho shall know that I do know, could prove the 
 contrary : and he dares not, because his proof would 
 condemn himself. " 
 
 " I am so delighted," she said, '• to find you so truly 
 happy. Your uncle must in time see how it all is. In the 
 meanwhile, you cannot be better placed than you are here." 
 
 " Hadn't you better try the same way of being truly 
 happy ? " said Miss Warringford. " When I saw you last, 
 you were quite outside the Church of God and gloried in 
 being so." 
 
 " You heard me talking to people of that sort," answered 
 the Baroness, " and so, on the principle that ' birds of a 
 feather flock together,' you credit me with their opinions. 
 Well, good bye for the present. I have to catch the one- 
 twenty train, or I should have to wait till three." 
 
 And without trying any more to get within kissing 
 distance, the Baroness Diabolouski departed, but without 
 showing undue haste. 
 
 "When I see you again," she said, opening the door, 
 "you will understand me better. I must contrive to see 
 you again before I go to London." 
 
 " I certainly will not see you again," thought Miss 
 Warringford. " You were an Evangelical at Blumbury, 
 an atheist in Paris ; and now you would make me believe, 
 without your saying it, that you are a good Catholic. I 
 will have nothing to do with you." 
 
 " I certainly will not come again," thought the Baroness, 
 " your remarks are inconvenient. You have told me all 
 that I wanted to know ; and I don't want you any more. 
 I can manage the report, so that nobody will be able to 
 disprove it." 
 
 When old Bundleton and Charlotte Amelia came home 
 at five o'clock, she said, "Only think! I have been to 
 Backwater. I am so very fond of the sea breezes."
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 
 
 
 V o o / 
 
 ^HEN a man has rejected the grace of God, 
 the character of his Hfe depends on the. 
 balance of motives ; and that balance 
 again depends on whether a given tempta- 
 tion is greater or less than his desire to 
 stand well with the world. Twerleby had 
 rejected the grace of God after *:he special 
 grace of conversion and many other graces, 
 in the use of which he had deliberately not persevered : so 
 that the balance of motives, as then suggested, inclined him 
 downwards, because his temptation was not confronted by 
 danger of losing the world's esteem. He acknowledged the 
 fact, as such, because he could not avoid doing so, when 
 he had betrayed, and intended to betray, the confidence 
 of a dead man : but he called it by another name. '' I am 
 under the eternal law of necessity," he said : and if we 
 omit the adjective, substituting, " I have put myself there 
 and will not go back," so it was. It was the old fallacy of 
 confusing /le cess it as cousequentuc with necessitas consequeutis. 
 The third day after his exciting interview with the 
 Baroness Diabolouski was the day of the funeral, after 
 which the will was read. Knowing the substance of it, 
 and having the unpleasant codicil carefully hidden away, 
 so that its existence was unknown and unknowable, he 
 listened with comparative indifference, chiefly intent on 
 getting away, and quickly travelling to Rome for the benefit 
 of Lady Rossden and the Pearl. 
 
 This he accomplished without difficulty, because the 
 only people who had come to the funeral were as anxious 
 as he was to go away. They were three — Father Bramsby,
 
 22 2 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 Oswald Bramsby and the family lawyer — the neighbour- 
 hood having been represented by empty carriages that 
 followed in single file. The cause of their emptiness was 
 not in the will of the neighbours, but in Twerleby's arrange- 
 ments. The neighbours would have come if they could, 
 because they had liked and respected Malmaines more than 
 anyone else in Ilsetshire : but Twerleby, having persuasive 
 reasons of his own for keeping silence about the recent 
 events at Maplethorpe, had made known in writing that in 
 consequence of the sudden shock he felt quite unequal 
 to so much. 
 
 Which indeed was true in a sense, and so true, that if a 
 later train could have fitted in with his purpose of travelling 
 rapidly to Rome for the benefit of Lady Rossden and the 
 Pearl, by that he would have gone, to avoid the company 
 of the three other people. But in fact he went with them, 
 having in his pocket the letter that Malmaines had written 
 to the Pearl. 
 
 " I — forgot to put it into the letter box," he said to him- 
 self, as he walked through the station. " There is no use in 
 posting it now. I shall travel as fast as the post, and — " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by a truck, that, barely missing 
 his toes, caused him to swerve, so that the sentence 
 remained unfinished. 
 
 In the meanwhile the Pearl, who was again in Rome, 
 expecting a letter from her father and wondering why she 
 had not received it, was in a state of grave perplexity. The 
 more she thought of what he had said and implied after 
 receiving Mr. Oldchurch's pamphlet and the commentary 
 on the Thirty-nine Articles, the more clearly it appeared, 
 so far as the evidence went, that she was inclining strongly 
 to the Catholic Church ; and she had such implicit confi- 
 dence in him, that his doing so would have made her feel 
 free to follow the same inclining. But on the other hand, 
 he had not said anything about it to her, nor before her 
 directly, while all that she had learnt when a child from 
 her mother and from him since, at least implicitly pressed 
 her to remain where she was. Her own inclining to the 
 Catholic Church dated from her acquaintance with Oswald 
 Bramsby, had grown with that, seemed as if it depended 
 oh him : and therefore she admitted neither, but accepting 
 provisionally the status quo, waited to see whether
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 223 
 
 Malmaines could throw light on the question and satisfy 
 her once for all, one way or the other. This might seem 
 on the surface rather like trifling with the gravest of all 
 questions; but in fact it only showed that she had more 
 confidence in her father's judgment than in her own, and 
 mistrusted her own inclining by reason of its apparent 
 cause. 
 
 " Ah I " said the younger Supreme, one morning to 
 Monica Greswolde, "she should be Catholic, why not?" 
 
 "Get along with you," answered Monica. "You know 
 nothing about it. They're all being taught to believe that 
 we are bound over to tell them a pack of lies. They're told 
 they mustn't listen, because we're so cunning." 
 
 " Yes — but do the young lady think like that ? " 
 
 " Not quite : but she believes as her father believes. 
 That's what heresy does for a dear dutiful child like her. 
 It turns Catholic obedience against Catholic truth." 
 
 " That is very grave. But perhaps he shall make 
 himself Catholic." 
 
 " I am always praying for that," said Monica ; " you 
 must pray for that. He's a truly good gentleman, and she 
 is the dearest young lady that I ever knew." 
 
 " I shall pray always for that," said the younger Supreme. 
 And so the colloquy ended with the departure of Monica, 
 who turned away to hide her tears, while Lady Rossden, 
 having just entered the hotel, was reading a telegram 
 from Twerleby. The telegram was as follows : 
 
 " My uncle died early this morning after a sudden and 
 short illness. I shall be with you as soon as possible." 
 
 Lady Rossden, uttering an exclamation of horror, gave 
 it to the Pearl, who read it, and went to her room without 
 saying a word or showing any sign of anything.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 IRTUE," says Rousseau in his detestable 
 novel La Noiivelle Heloise, "is so necessary 
 to our hearts, that, when we have once 
 given up the true, we make another 
 in our own way." This is just what 
 Twerleby was doing when he arrived at the 
 Eternal City, now ruled by rascals even 
 worse than himself. He had come down 
 to measuring virtue by results in payment : and as it would 
 evidently pay him better to deceive the Pearl about her 
 father's conversion, so did he act. He went to an hotel, 
 sent for Lady Rossden on pretence of illness, and when she 
 came, presented the letter that Malmaines had given for 
 transmission by post. 
 
 " Perhaps you had better keep it," he said, "at least for 
 the present. It might upset her. I know what is in it, 
 because he told me." 
 
 "You don't mean," said Lady Rossden, "that he has 
 turned — " 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Twerleby. 
 
 " How very dreadful ! but is it known in the neighbour- 
 hood ? " 
 
 " Yes ! in a way, but with a mystery about it. I 
 managed that." 
 
 " But are you sure they won't speak of it to Margaret? " 
 " Well, if they do, it will only be as a conjecture." 
 " But you must tell them not." 
 
 " I can't do that. Nor can you. Leave them to their 
 own thoughts. They think that he was got hold of."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 225 
 
 This was pure invention, seeing that Twerleby had not 
 seen any of the said people since the event referred to : but 
 it answered his purpose, just as he had calculated that it 
 would. 
 
 " Yes, indeed," said Lady Rossden. " They got hold of 
 him as they got hold of you. But, my dear Augustus, don't 
 you begin to see it now ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do," said Twerleby. 
 
 " Ah ! how very very thankful I am," said she. 
 
 And so was Twerleby, because he saw in her thankful- 
 ness a near prospect of her paying his debts with compara- 
 tive willingness. They were emphatically silent for a while, 
 and then Lady Rossden began to open the letter. 
 
 " My dear aunt," said Twerleby, by way of protest, " I 
 wouldn't do that." 
 
 " Nonsense, my dear. She's under my charge, and I 
 have a right to use my judgment. I am surprised at 
 you." 
 
 " Well, it was a point of honour, you know, because the 
 letter was entrusted to me. But of course you are right." 
 
 She read the letter through — read every word of it, and 
 commented on every sentence. The process was lengthy, 
 for the letter was very long, and her comments were very 
 verbose. Lastly she looked up and said, " I shall burn 
 this." 
 
 " I hope not," said he. " Other people may know that it 
 was written : and may have overheard that it was given into 
 my charge : and if she were ever to hear of it, you know — 
 I think you had better keep it for a while." 
 
 " How very wise of him," thought Lady Rossden. '' I 
 forgot to think of that." 
 
 " Yes, you are right," she said. " But, oh ! my poor dear 
 brother ! " 
 
 She then began to cry, and being really fond of him, 
 cried much. Lastly, she went home to luncheon : but 
 Twerleby did not accompany her. 
 
 '' I had better not," he said. " Margaret might ask too 
 much about it : and besides, I might be wanted at Maple- 
 thorpe just now. I hope that you will soon be there ; but 
 without me, at present, for fear of questions. I will come 
 later. She had better not know, perhaps, that I have 
 come here." 
 
 V
 
 2 26 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " How very wise of him," thought Lady Rossden again 
 " I always said that he would find out what Romanism is." 
 
 " But after all," said Twerleby, while she was opening the 
 door, " hadn't you better give that letter ? " 
 
 " What ? " said Lady Rossden, turning round as on a 
 pivot. " Help her to turn ? I wonder at you." 
 
 " It was only because I promised," said he, " but you 
 know best." 
 
 Lady Rossden was satisfied ; and so again was Twerleby, 
 who of course would not have made the suggestion if he 
 had not been quite sure of her rejecting it. Twerleby left 
 Rome the same evening, and in four days reached Maple- 
 thorpe ; but abstained from remaining there so soon, lest he 
 should happen to be asked inopportune questions. Lady 
 Rossden, wanting to follow him, made many futile attempts 
 to fix a day by agreement with the Pearl, but failed each 
 time to attract attention. At last she put the question 
 suddenly, approaching from behind. 
 
 '^ My dear," she said. " I do think, you know, that we 
 ought to be at Maplethorpe, don't jw^ .?" 
 
 " If you like," answered the Pearl, absently. 
 
 " How very very dreadful ! " said Lady Rossden aloud, 
 but unheard. " What a terrible state she is in ! What ca)t 
 I do ? " 
 
 The answer was easy in itself, but not to her. She had 
 only to give the letter. But that was just what she would 
 not do ; and possibly could not, according to her conscience 
 as then instructed. 
 
 Thus, in consequence of inherited heresy, she was doing 
 as much evil as could be done without a formally bad 
 intention. By reading that letter the Pearl would have seen 
 her way to follow her own true inclining, and found comfort 
 in her grief, instead of being overpowered by it, and plunged 
 in darkness that deepened with the passing of time. Before 
 the arrival of the telegram her mind had been unsettled, 
 yet not disturbed. She was puzzled in her belief without 
 questioning the Truth whose identity she wished to know. 
 But now the very foundations of belief were shaken. Nothing 
 remained of it but a hopeless longing for what seemed 
 unalterable. A fool would sneer at this, and say, " She 
 didn't know her own mind," he having no mind to know, 
 therefore not knowing that a mind may be turned against
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 227 
 
 itself by wrong or defective instruction. The Pearl had a 
 mind beyond the average : but her instruction about the 
 difficulty that confronted her in a moment, without warning 
 or help, was in fact worse than none. All that she knew of 
 the Catholic Church had been gathered from a few inciden- 
 tal words, without anything to show why we ought to be in 
 it. What her father had said about the Continuity theory 
 might have meant nothing more than disapproval of a 
 false claim. Oswald Bramsby had indeed attracted her to 
 it, but at the same time had attracted her to himself : and 
 that alone would have made her suspicious of the attraction. 
 All that she had learnt confidingly as a child pointed the 
 other way : yet the fact of having once considered the 
 question as a question could neither be denied nor ex- 
 plained away, but remaining, in evidence of doubt un- 
 answered, barred her advance and cut off her retreat. One 
 can hardly imagine a more pitiful state of mind and heart. 
 Deprived of hope when most in need of it, she had no 
 consolation whatever to soften a blow that crushed without 
 stunning. 
 
 The day before they left Rome Lady Rossden, fearing 
 that grief might open the door to popery, said, " I hope you 
 don't allow Monica to speak about her religion." 
 
 " She has never done so," answered the Pearl, coldly. 
 
 " T/iaf Mr. Bramsby would," said Lady Rossden. '' I 
 could see what /le is." 
 
 The Pearl looked up wearily and said, " He is nothing 
 to me." 
 
 " Of course not," said Lady Rossden with too much 
 readiness, — a readiness too suggestive of catching at an 
 opportunity. 
 
 This roused the agonising girl to speak out once and 
 finally. 
 
 " Nothing," she said, •' is anything to me now." 
 
 And those were the last words she ever said about her 
 interior self to Lady Rossden. 
 
 Tm^f'^^^^
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 1 ° O 
 
 
 ■; m£ni=l«si= 
 
 
 OETHE, as translated by somebody, says in 
 English that " God hath Himself fore-made 
 by His own will." If so, God would have 
 been before He was, and therefore not 
 be the First Cause, and therefore not be 
 God in any intelligible sense. But, leaving 
 that problem to be solved by anyone who 
 can draw a rational conclusion from nonsense, 
 the fact remains that Twerleby, during the twenty-four 
 hours that he passed at Maplethorpe, began to write a poem 
 thereon. He wrote three stanzas of rugged rubbish, not 
 without some blurred signs of prostituted power, and then 
 went to London, where he was soon inconvenienced by a 
 note from the Baroness Diabolouski notifying that he must 
 come to her on receipt thereof. 
 
 " How the devil," he muttered, " can she know that I 
 am here?" But of course he went, because it would not 
 have been advisable to do otherwise. 
 
 Her temporary abode was an apartment on the second 
 floor in Davies Street, that long and narrow thoroughfare 
 dear to cabmen driving northwards. Her sitting-room, 
 unlike herself, was dull, dingy and unpretending. It might 
 have suitably given shelter to a broken-down governess 
 elbowed out by jolting competition ; so that even the maid 
 of all work wondered in secret at the discrepancy between 
 the dressing of the Baroness and the furniture of the room, 
 where Twerleby was expected because he had been told to 
 come. 
 
 Twerleby went with much reluctance and came in with
 
 THE BAN OF MAPI.LTHORPE. 229 
 
 more ; insomuch that he would have faced about then and 
 there, had he not been restrained interiorly by fear of evils 
 worse than the interview impending. 
 
 When the maid of all work opened the door and an- 
 nounced him as " A gentleman," the Baroness rose from her 
 chair, looking pleased but rather surprised. 
 
 " You in London ? " she said, smiling softly, yet so that 
 its meaning might be interpreted according to the circum- 
 stances of the case. " I didn't expect to see you so soon." 
 
 " I came to London this morning," said he : " and so I 
 came as soon as I conveniently could." 
 
 The fact was that he had come at three o'clock to his 
 rooms in St. James's Place, and in obedience to her 
 summons, came on to her temporary abode, without 
 luncheon, or change of clothes, or brushing of the same : 
 but the moral dignity of man must be asserted somehow. 
 
 " How is the poor dear girl ? " said the Baroness. '' I feel 
 for her so much." 
 
 " As well as could be expected, all things considered," 
 said Twerleby ; and so she was, precisely so. 
 
 " Her father," said the Baroness, " was, as you well know, 
 her constant companion and wise protector. In him she 
 had everything, not being married or engaged. But she 
 7m7/ be engaged, and zt:'/// be married — that is quite certain, 
 as certain as anything in this world can be — and the 
 danger lies in her choice. It is important therefore, im- 
 mensely important, to have with her somebody who has 
 some saz'otr/aire, someone who is younger in age and mind 
 than your dear good aunt. ^7/^ has no influence over her 
 at all. Now, who, of all that you could think of, would 
 be able and willing to undertake that ? " 
 
 "I don't know," said Twerleby, perceiving the drift of 
 this preamble. " No one, I should think, would care to 
 fill such an office as that, and be a sort of domestic 
 detective — no one, at least, except a paid companion, who 
 would soon be got rid of as a nuisance." 
 
 " Do you wish her then," said the Baroness, " to be the 
 wife of your friend, the philosopher of Hunterscombe ? "' 
 
 " That," said Twerleby, between his teeth, " is quite out 
 of the question." 
 
 " Why ? " said the Baroness. " You are strangely opti- 
 mistic just now, for a man of the world."
 
 230 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 " Well — to begin with — she doesn't care about him." 
 
 " Doesn't she ? I know that she does." 
 
 " No, no, you fancy it." 
 
 " No, I don't. You will find that out if you wait a little." 
 
 " Wait ? You forget the evidence against him ? " 
 
 " No, I don't forget that, nor how you caught at it : but 
 I know that such evidence as we have made out against 
 Oswald Bramsby proves nothing : and if not managed with 
 the greatest care, might be turned fatally against us — 
 especially you, whom everyone would suspect of having 
 floated the story to crush a rival. No one would think 
 that of me, a woman and a foreigner. I alone could and 
 would cause her to infer, as if by her own judgment, all 
 that you wish her to infer about him : and in order to do 
 this, I am ready to put myself in a position which, though 
 it would not be as you described, must be more or less 
 disagreeable and probably painful. I cannot make the 
 offer, as if I wanted the thing for my own pleasure and 
 advantage : but you can. It remains for you to decide 
 whether you will or will not. It concerns you, not me. For 
 my own sake, I had much rather have nothing to do with 
 it. But I warn you again — and this is the last time that I 
 shall condescend to make the offer — I warn you that, unless 
 you secure my presence at Maplethorpe for some months 
 to come, she 7vill marry that man." 
 
 Twerleby was a man of strong will — of very strong will — 
 but he was afraid of her. " I will do all that I can," he 
 said, "but I have no power to enforce it." 
 
 " You can persuade your aunt and cousin, if you try," said 
 the Baroness : " and if you are wise you will. But I must 
 leave you now. I have an engagement and I am late for it. 
 You had better settle it soon. Things cannot remain as they 
 arer 
 
 " I will," said Twerleby. " I will indeed." 
 
 They left the house together, but separated afterwards. 
 Twerleby could have found it in him to wish that he had 
 gone to Kansas and left the Pearl to marry whom she would, 
 if he could only be rid of that dreadful Baroness, who, 
 having got rid of him while he was duly impressed, came 
 back to her lodgings as soon as he had turned into Mount 
 Street. There he met Fetherhed, who, turning out of South 
 Audley Street, stopped him and said :
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLPLTHORPP:. 23 1 
 
 " I have just heard very bad news." 
 
 " There is plenty of that to be had in so big a place as 
 ]-ondon," said Twerleby, looking as pleased as if he had 
 never seen the Baroness Diabolouski. 
 
 Fetherhed, not being aware of the disturbance in that 
 relation, supposed him to be joking, and objected to the 
 joke supposed. 
 
 "There is no fun at all in what I heard," said he ; "and 
 I know it to be true, because the man who told me knows 
 all about it." 
 
 •' I never said that he didn't. What is it ?" 
 
 " What is it ? Why, Bramsby has come to grief by no 
 fault of his, but owing to those infernal mortgages that he 
 couldn't help nor anyone of his family. It was the penal 
 laws with their fines and the rest, and then a lot of younger 
 children with a small property and no profession for any of 
 ihem to live by in those times. D — n it, don't you see?" 
 
 "See what? I can't make head or tail of your story." 
 
 " The story is plain enough. The mortgages were too 
 much for the property, in spite of making himself a lawyer, 
 like a grand fellow as he is— in hopes of putting it right, as 
 it would if it hadn't been for this beastly accident." 
 
 "What beastly accident?" 
 
 " Why, the fellow who had the largest mortgage wanted 
 bis money for something else : and nobody will take it up 
 without getting more interest. But the property won't bear 
 that : and he, of course, hasn't had time enough to make 
 money by the law." 
 
 " I am very sorry to hear it," said Twerleby, turning up 
 South Audley Street, because Fetherhed was going the 
 other way. 
 
 What Fetherhed had heard and told about Hunterscombe 
 was too true. The old first mortgage of thirty thousand 
 ])ounds on the Hunterscombe estate had been unexpectedly 
 called in, and a new mortgage could not be obtained with- 
 out an increase of one per cent, which meant having to pay 
 ;£"3oo a year more, besides the cost of a new survey of the 
 estate and the deeds of transfer. This, added to the other 
 charges, would swallow up the whole rental, so that a sale 
 of the property was unavoidable. But who, in these days, 
 will buy outlying land, except for half its value, or to sell in 
 lots for building or by contract ? The bidding for the land
 
 'J-HE BAN OF RIAPLETHORPE. 
 
 amounted to less than the interest of the mortgages would 
 now be : but a banker in Osmundsbury offered for the 
 whole of the estate, with the house, enough to clear them 
 off, and leave a little over for the support of Father 
 Bramsby and the Mission. Oswald Bramsby had to face 
 the fact that he must accept the offer, and he was intending 
 to do so.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVL 
 
 N spite of the dreadful Baroness and the 
 tyranny of circumstances, Twerleby, reflect- 
 ing, was quite sure that he should win in 
 the long run ; and, in reference thereto, he 
 often quoted in his mind those comfortable 
 words : Romani aliijuando pni'Iio victim bello 
 autem nu7iquam. The Baroness, on the 
 contrary, promised herself to follow up her 
 success. While they were calculating their chances, the 
 Pearl returned sadly to Alaplethorpe. All things had 
 changed in relation to her, and she had changed with them. 
 She took no interest in anything : so that Lady Rossden 
 ceased after a while to consult her about the affairs of the 
 house, and consulted Twerleby instead. The first consulta- 
 tion, which took place under a beech in the Park, was as 
 follows : 
 
 "It would never do," said Lady Rossden, "to keep 
 servants who had turned — never. But do you think that 
 they will ? " 
 
 " How can I know? " said Twerleby. "They were very 
 much impressed by the >vhole thing : and Monica Greswolde, 
 who was one of Father Bramsby's favourite school-children, 
 could hardly be expected not to give them a helping hand. 
 But you had better wait and see." 
 
 " What ! wait till the mischief is done ? The next thing 
 would be that Margaret would hear of it all. That Monica 
 Greswolde will hear from them that my poor dear brother 
 turned, and go and tell it to her of course, and get her to turn 
 because her father did. I am very sorry : but I can't help 
 it. They must all go."
 
 234 THE 13AN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 "You know best ; but even after you have done that, she 
 fnay hear of it — can hardly fail to hear of it some day. How 
 do you propose to influence her against it? " 
 
 " How dreadful ! I never thought of that. Can't j^/^ talk 
 to her ? You are so clever ; and you have been one of 
 them, and know all about it." 
 
 " No. Being one of her guardians, I can't. And besides, 
 I should not be with her enough. I should have to bring 
 it in, head and shoulders, at intervals, and do more harm 
 than good." 
 
 "Oh ! but do, do think of something." 
 
 Twerleby had thought of something and intended to 
 propose it, but not so soon. 
 
 Thus ended the first consultation : but how would its 
 results end ? No one could have safely predicted that : but 
 anyone hearing the colloquy might have foreseen the sequel. 
 
 Which began to appear when, a few days later, all the old 
 servants were 7iot ivajited, except Supreme, the artistic cook, 
 who, being a Catholic, could never give the example of 
 turning. Supreme declined the favour on the plea of age, 
 and recommended his nephew, who had the same qualifica- 
 tions, and much consented to come where Monica was. 
 These changes were made while the Pearl, unsuspicious and 
 indifferent, was passing a fortnight at Backwater, for the 
 supposed benefit of her health and Lady Rossden's. 
 
 Returning home at the end of the fortnight, and seeing 
 new faces there, she asked the meaning of that. 
 
 "Oh ! yes, by the bye," said Lady Rossden. "But you 
 see, I can't, you know, before them. I couldn't help it, 
 my dear." 
 
 " This," thought the Pearl, hurrying upstairs to her bed- 
 room, " is what I have done by omission — by selfishness. 
 I only thought of my own grief. Where is Monica ? I 
 must see her at once, or she will be spirited away before I 
 can do anything." 
 
 At that moment Monica came into the room, looking very 
 grave and much agitated. 
 
 " What is it ? " said the Pearl. " What next .?" 
 
 " Her ladyship has given me notice to leave," said 
 Monica. 
 
 " It shall not be," answered the Pearl. " Wait for me 
 a few minutes here."
 
 TH?: BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 235 
 
 She went in search of Lady Rossden and met her on 
 the way. 
 
 " I have a word to say about Monica," said the Pearl. 
 
 " I have settled that," said Lady Rossden, perceiving 
 resistance and not knowing what the end of it might be. 
 
 " That will do," she added solemnly. " I have done my 
 duty about it, and about everything else that concerns you. 
 Some day you will understand it all." 
 
 But the Pearl, having been thoroughly roused, was firm, 
 and planted herself in the way. 
 
 " No," she said, " I will not bear that without having 
 first made the whole case known to everyone in the county. 
 You have sent away, without my knowledge, ail my father's 
 old servants, though you know that he would not have 
 allowed it to be done : and now you try to deprive me of 
 my own faithful maid, chosen by my father wMthin a fort- 
 night of his death. I am a minor and you are my guardian : 
 but there is a limit to the duty of obedience. Don't try me 
 too far, or I shall be dangerous, for I ivill keep Monica 
 Greswolde, come what may." 
 
 Without waiting for an answer, she went back to her room 
 and said, " You must )iot leave me. I have said that I 
 won't have it : and I will not, unless you wish to go." 
 
 " I will not leave you," said Monica, " unless you send 
 me away." 
 
 " That I will never do." said the Pearl. " You are the 
 only friend that I have. But why do you, a devout Catholic 
 as you are, care to stay with me, as I am now — a Protestant, 
 who have no belief in Protestantism, and no hope ot having 
 any other belief? " 
 
 " Yes, I can and I do." 
 
 " But are you not horrified at my having no faith ? " 
 
 " Not at all. My dear young lady, it was not your fault. 
 But you mustn't let it be your fault. You mustn't let any- 
 thing get in the way. You must pray hard to have faith and 
 persevere in praying. And then Almighty God will give it 
 to you in His own good time." 
 
 The Pearl felt the force of these few words, poured out 
 from the depths of Monica's great heart : but in her mind 
 there was no response to their meaning. 
 
 "The faith you speak of," she said, "is of course faith in 
 the Catholic Church. I have thought of that, but if it were
 
 236 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 true, my dear father, who was the best of men and the 
 wisest, would have been a Cathohc." 
 
 " He was received into the Church by Father Bramsby," 
 said Monica, " a week or ten days before he was taken ill. 
 Supreme told me all about it. I should have told you of it 
 before, but you were so upset that I couldn't get a chance." 
 
 " Was he ? " said the Pearl. " Of course I believe your 
 word. But it cannot be as you understand it. He must 
 have doubted afterwards and not felt satisfied, or he would 
 have written to me about it — most certainly he would. But 
 that was just the time, a whole ten days, when he did not 
 write to me. Day after day I expected a letter from him, 
 but none came." 
 
 " Letters go wrong sometimes," answered Monica. 
 
 " He wrote to me every day till then," answered the 
 Pearl. " And afterwards no letter came." 
 
 " There is only one way of accounting for that," thought 
 Monica. " But I mustn't say what I suspect." 
 
 " He made his first communion," she said, " and he 
 died with all the Rites of the Church ; and he was 
 buried by a Catholic Priest." 
 
 " All that," said the Pearl, " goes for nothing against his 
 silence a})out it to me." 
 
 '' It always comes back to that," thought Monica. " I 
 can only pray for her. Ought I to go away now, or wait for 
 a chance of saying something more ? " 
 
 The mental question was answered practically by the 
 coming of Lady Rossden, whose face expressed in a ladylike 
 way that Monica's absence was desirable. Monica there- 
 fore went out, and Lady Rossden came in, saying as soon 
 as the door was closed, " My dear Margaret, what a terrible 
 world it is ! " 
 
 " What has happened? " said the Pearl. 
 
 " That Mr. Bramsby, you know — " 
 
 " I only know," said the Pearl, " that he saved my life. 
 That is all." 
 
 " If you don't care to know, I don't want to say it. You 
 will hear it from somebody else one day — and more too." 
 
 "Hear what?" 
 
 "About his having ruined himself, — nobody knows how — 
 and going to sell his place, and the truth comes out at last. 
 That girl who tried to drown herself, you know — only you
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 237 
 
 mustn't speak al)Out it, because the law of libel is so unjust : 
 and besides, it isn't proper. But there are those that do 
 know." 
 
 " If this is true," said the Pearl, " whatever it may be, I 
 shall not believe in anyone." 
 
 Lady Rossden protested by gestures and inarticulate 
 sounds. The Pearl turned away decisively and left the 
 room, saying as she went, " No, not in anyone."
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 VEN a great sorrow may be aggravated on 
 the surface by small annoyances, as bodily 
 pain is by a gnat buzzing over one's face. 
 Father Bramsby experienced this when, 
 day after day, people came from Back- 
 water, asking to see Hunterscombe. Not 
 one of these had money enough to buy the 
 estate, and scarcely one would have done 
 so, if he could. But the place was advertised for sale, and 
 they, having nothing to do, came to see it. Only two offers 
 had been made. One of them would hardly pay the mort- 
 gages, the other would leave a margin of about three 
 hundred a year. 
 
 " There is no alternative," said Oswald Bramsby, who 
 had just arrived, having left London by the earliest train in 
 the morning. " No one would offer more." 
 
 " No one," said Father Bramsby. " God's will be done ! 
 You have tried your best to save the dear old place. But it 
 was not to be. I own that until now, even up to yesterday, 
 I had hope. The devotion of the poor people has been so 
 great, so many prayers and communions have been offered 
 —that I hoped Almighty God would hear them. But He 
 knows best." 
 
 " The mission alone," said Oswald, 
 the wreck. Would the old house by 
 presbytery ? " 
 
 " It would. Have you reserved it ? " 
 " Yes, and I have left by will a couple of hundred a year 
 for the mission." 
 
 "can be saved from 
 the church do for a
 
 THE BAN OF iMAPLETHOKI'F. 239 
 
 " Then all has been done. Let us go out and get 
 some air." 
 
 They turned away, but on opening the dining-room door, 
 Father Bramsby stood still, saying, " The gate bell. There 
 is another fly full of them, I suppose. We can slip out 
 presently." 
 
 They went back, and in a moment the old butler brought 
 a card, on the back of which was written in pencil. 
 
 Reverend Sir, 
 
 I am sorry to liave come at so early an liour : bnt my 
 business is important. 
 
 On the other side was printed, 
 
 Mr. lylastmore, 
 
 Cnbton. 
 
 "I shall be happy to see him," said Father Bramsby ; 
 and Mr. Blastmore came in, looking cjuite unlike himself as 
 generally known. 
 
 " I had the pleasure of meeting you some years ago," 
 said he to Father Bramsby, after shaking hands with 
 Oswald, "and I am very glad to see you both again. I 
 have been away from home, and I only heard yesterday, 
 and by accident, of that gallant action in saving my niece's 
 life. A grand plucky thing it was ; and they tell me that 
 you brought her here afterwards, and sent her in your 
 carriage to Backwater. Upon my word, it's enough to make 
 one cry, it is, to think how good you were to her — both 
 of you." 
 
 " It was a great pleasure," said Father Bramsby, " and 
 what I saw of her made me rejoice the more. She has very 
 fine qualities. I shall always feel a great interest in her 
 welfare." 
 
 " Well, there is something in her," said Mr. Blastmore, 
 " I grant that — but she has been a bitter, a very bitter dis- 
 appointment to me, and did kick over the traces when I 
 wanted her to marry a downright good fellow, who would 
 have been a capital husband and taken care of her when 
 I am gone."
 
 240 
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 '*I tlioroLighly sympathize with you in your disappoint- 
 ment," said Father Bramsby, "and I take it for granted that 
 you were in the right. But I feel sure that, in looking at 
 the case all round, you will find extenuating circumstances. 
 It is, you know, — it really is — a big trial for a young girl at the 
 very threshold of life, to marry a man she doesn't care for, 
 however good he may be. Isn't it so ? " 
 
 " You are a first-rate pleader," said Mr. Blastmore, " and 
 very wise too — I can see that — and I never can thank you 
 enough, I'm sure, both of you, for all your kindness to her. 
 I must take care that she doesn't want for anything ; but I 
 can't see her. No, I can't swallow that, after all the dis- 
 grace that she has brought on me — running away, nobody 
 knows where, all by herself, and then coming back to make 
 a fool of me before the whole county of Ilsetshire." 
 
 '' I don't see," said Father Bramsby, " how they can know 
 that she is your niece : I have not heard of anyone even 
 suspecting it." 
 
 " They will though," said Mr. Blastmore. " They always 
 do, d — n 'em — I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to 
 -say that. No, I can't see her : but I'll grease the wheels. 
 And so I must ask you to do me another kindness, and let 
 the money go through you. I am ashamed of troubling 
 you so, but, you see, I am in a fix, because I don't want 
 her to know where the money comes from." 
 
 " I shall be very happy to do it," said Father Bramsby. 
 
 " Well, I felt sure that you would. You are a friend. 
 Then I'll settle about that at once. Could you get it to 
 her soon ? " 
 
 " Yes, at any time. I only wish that I could get yoi/ 
 there." 
 
 " Anything else that I could do I would, if you wished 
 it : but it can't be — never can be." 
 
 Father Bramsby looked up and smiled. 
 
 " Never," he said, " is a very long day. Anyhow it will 
 always give me great pleasure to be of any use, either to 
 you or to her: and the pleasure would be immensely 
 increased, if I could help to bring you both together. But 
 I leave that to Almighty God and your own warm heart. I 
 give my word as a gentleman and a Priest, that I will not, 
 either directly or indirectly, let her know where the money 
 comes from."
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLKTHORPE. 24I 
 
 ^' Upon my soul," said Mr. Blastmore, "you two are the 
 best men that I ever had to do with. I'll be — I beg 
 your pardon again — it's a bad habit. — What I mean is that 
 I 7i'/// do something to show what I feel. I have heard all 
 about the troubles here about that mortgage, and how a 
 fellow was going to upset the coach. But I'll be d — d if 
 he shall — oh ! dear, I forgot again. I mean that he shan't 
 have the chance. I'll take up that mortgage myself, at the 
 same interest that I get in the funds. You must let me do 
 that at once." 
 
 " Most thankfully I will," said (Oswald, '' but not at such 
 a loss to you. The old rate would save the property, and 
 you would be doing me the greatest possible act of kindness 
 in my utmost need." 
 
 "No, no," said Mr. Blastmore. "I'll bed — d if I have 
 a penny more. Isn't that mortgage as safe as the funds ? 
 I know all about it. It won't be any loss to me, not at all. 
 I should take it as very unfriendly of you, if you say any 
 more about that ; and I'm sure you won't, because I've set 
 my heart on the thing ; and that was the real reason of my 
 coming to-day, when it was rather iiifconvenient, instead 
 of a few days hence, which would have done as well for the 
 other business, in which you have so kindly helped me. You 
 must let me do this. It's the least that I can do, after all 
 that you, both of you, have done for me and mine And 
 that isn't the whole thing. My father came from these 
 parts, and your grandfather helped him to make a start in 
 life, when he was a poor friendless lad with a club foot. My 
 father kept up the running and made a good bit of money, 
 which he left to me. I live on it now (though I never 
 spend half the income of it.) So you see I've two reasons 
 for wishing to do you a good turn ; and I should feel very 
 much hurt, if you didn't allow me to do it. Well then — for 
 I can't wait just now — you'll stop the d — d sale, and I'll 
 write to my lawyer. Good bye, good bye. You're the two 
 best men that I know. Ciood bye, I can't wait." 
 
 He then faced about and strode back to his fly, saying at 
 intervals, while they followed him, '• All right, I haven't 
 time to stop now." 
 
 When he had driven away, they went back to the hall — 
 and then to the Chapel.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIIL 
 
 Y the next morning's post Father Bramsby 
 received in a registered letter from Mr. 
 Blastmore, for the benefit of Miss Gertrude 
 Warringford, a cheque for a hundred and 
 fifty pounds, made out to self or bearer. 
 The letter ran thus : — 
 
 Dear Reverend Sir, 
 
 I send herewith, as I promised, some money for tJiat p7-o- 
 voking niece of mine. Bother the girl I Why couldn't she 
 behave herself and not dt'ive me to keep her ont of ^ my way 
 when 1 7vas so fond of her ? But she would have it so, and 
 there it is. 
 
 With many thanks and every sort of good luish, I remain, 
 
 Yours most respectfully and obliged, 
 
 Ben jam in Bla ^tmo?'e. 
 
 PS. — / have Just 7vritten to my lawyer to tell him to take 
 up that mortgage and not dawdle over it. 
 
 Father Bramsby ordered his cob, and set out for 
 Backwater, while Oswald was on his way to London, Mr. 
 Blastmore quarrelling with himself on his way to the meet, 
 for wishing against his will to see his niece. Lady Rossden 
 at Maplethorpe talking to Twerleby about the Pearl, and 
 the Baroness Diabolouski at Blumbury packing up to stay
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 243 
 
 at Melford Abbas for a week. The council of two was 
 again held under the same beech. 
 
 " Well," said Twerleby, when he had caused himself to 
 he n^uch pressed for advice. " What you want is very 
 difficult indeed to get. Xo one would have the slightest 
 chance without a combination of qualities and favourable 
 circumstances that you could hardly find. It would take 
 time, anyhow— a long time when you want it at once, — 
 and then, how are you to find one who is able and willing 
 and whom you personally know? You must know her 
 beforehand sufficiently well, because otherwise the thing 
 would look odd, and your reasons might be apparent. She 
 ought to be a friend of yours, and come here on a visit and 
 then stay on. \i you know anyone who answers to all these 
 requirements, the thing will be done, and not otherwise, I 
 think — at least not without showing why." 
 
 " True," thought Lady Rossden. " It must be so, or not 
 at all, and that would be dreadful. Margaret is just in a 
 state to be got hold of by that Monica Greswolde. There 
 is only one who answers to all that." 
 
 " Do you think," she said, " that the Baroness 
 Diabolouski would stay on, if I were to ask her here ? " 
 
 " Well,' said he, after a pause and much apparent 
 consideration, "she might possibly, being a friend of yours." 
 
 " I will write to her at once and ask her here," said she, 
 walking away towards the house. 
 
 Twerleby said nothing, but wished in unmeasured 
 language that the Baroness Diabolouski had never crossed 
 his path, or that having crossed it, she might be taken out 
 of his way in any way, if only the removal were permanent. 
 In the meanwhile, she was going to be established in the 
 house through his own act, against his will and his interest. 
 In short, having refused obedience to Almighty God, he 
 had been made to climb down by the Baroness Diabolouski, 
 and objected thereto with all his might. 
 
 " It must not be," he said to himself, " it shan't be. I 
 will put a stop to it. She has a strong will, but so have I ; 
 and I have a stronger position. I could do for her in 
 Ilsetshire by letting people know that she is intimate with 
 revolutionists. But it won't come to that. I shall make her 
 infer that she would not be able to get on here : I can 
 make her see that she would spoil her game — that
 
 244 1'"^ ^-'^N ^^' MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 Margaret is too sharp for her and so on. I must go at 
 once to Blumbury, the two Bundletons are sure to be out, 
 and she is likely to be in. If not, I must leave a note, to 
 say that I will be there to-morrow. She will be persuaded, 
 I think, because Margaret never took to her — evidently did 
 not. But if worst comes to worst — " 
 
 He smiled with compressed lips a general and particular 
 defiance, remained under the beech till he had smoothed 
 his face, and then mounted Malmaines' favourite hack. 
 The favourite hack missed the hand of his own master 
 and objected to carry Twerleby. He went in an unpleasant 
 manner sidling backwards, with his nose between his knees, 
 and then advancing suddenly, catching at the bit. There- 
 upon Twerleby irritable became incautious, and having 
 spurs on, rammed them in. This act of aggression was 
 immediately answered by a plunge of so resolute a sort, 
 that Twerleby, whose seat was not of the best, found 
 himself on the wrong side of the pommel of the saddle. 
 
 Facilis descensus , 
 
 Sad revocare gradum 
 
 Hie opus, hie labor est ; 
 
 — especially when the transposition is supplemented, as it 
 was then, by an uprising behind on the part of the 
 favourite hack. Augustus Twerleby slipped off the horse's 
 ears and sprawled on the grass, protesting in strong mono- 
 syllables. 
 
 He rose in hot haste and clutched the bridle, lest the 
 favourite hack should betray his confidence by going home 
 without him. His next act was a rapid glance before and 
 behind and on both sides, to see whether any ill-advised 
 person was looking ; because the catastrophe had taken 
 place within two hundred yards of the stables. That glance 
 caused him to repeat the strong monosyllable with 
 increased vehemence, for the coachman, having witnessed 
 the uncomfortable start, mas looking. Twerleby, raging 
 within, patted the horse in a deprecative manner, mounted 
 again and proceeded on his way, taking care not to irritate 
 him again. This was the second time that he had been 
 made to climb down within an hour. 
 
 About half past eleven he was riding through Little 
 Blumford, saying over to himself the conclusive reasons
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHOKPE. 
 
 245 
 
 why the Baroness Diabolouski had better not come to 
 Maplethorpe, while Father Bramsby was then putting into 
 Miss Warringford's hand the amount of Mr. Blastmore's 
 cheque in notes and gold. 
 
 " I had to promise," he said, " that I would not tell you 
 who sent it — kind acts are often done by people from whom 
 we should not have expected them." 
 
 " It can only be one," said Miss Warringford, " and I 
 know by his way of doing it that he will not be reconciled 
 — will never see me. He is so kind-hearted and so 
 generous ; but when he has once made up his mind, he 
 won't reconsider it. It was my fault, my very great fault : 
 and yet how can I regret it, when it was the means of 
 bringing me into the Church of God? But I was going 
 to ask for your advice and direction about my future life. 
 My uncle is so kind, that after what he has done for me 
 through you, he is sure to continue it : but then, where am 
 I to go, having no home ? Such a position at my age is 
 very embarrassing, and I see no way out of it but one. 
 Now do you think a vocation would come if I tried my 
 best and — " 
 
 "My dear child," interrupted Father Bramsby, "that 
 would never do. A religious vocation is a call from 
 Almighty God. We can't give it to ourselves." 
 
 " Yes, but wouldn't it be well to try ? " 
 
 Father Bramsby shook his head. '' I shouldn't advise 
 that," he said. " Wait and say your prayers over it. You 
 have come into the Church too recently to think about 
 being a nun : and under the circumstances, too, you would 
 be likely to deceive yourself. Wait a year and then try, if 
 you feel drawn to it. You may turn out to have a voca- 
 tion, but I don't think so. Anyhow don't be in a hurry. I 
 don't believe that your uncle will carry on the estrange- 
 ment — " 
 
 Which, however, was just what the Baroness Diabolouski 
 at Blumbury had been trying to make permanent by means 
 of an anonymous letter. The letter, written in round hand 
 quite undistinguishable, told him that his niece had turned 
 Papist and gone to a convent ; whereupon he said " D — n 
 the fellow's impertinence • If ever I catch him, I'll let him 
 know — unless it's a woman." But, inasmuch as the post- 
 mark was Backwater, because the Baroness, thickly veiled.
 
 246 THE BAN OF iMAPLETHORPE. 
 
 had there posted it, he put the following advertisement in 
 the Backwater Herald. 
 
 " If the Blackguard 7uJw icrote an anonynwus letter to vie, 
 Beiijanii)i Blastmore, of Ciibtoii, Stoiiyford, Ilsetshire, will 
 show himself at the said place, I -will kick him then and 
 there:' 
 
 This advertisement was cut out by someone as a curiosity 
 and sent to Sir Henry Melford, who brought it to Blumbury, 
 for the purpose of amusing old Bundleton. The Baroness 
 Diabolouski, seeing it again on the top of an album in the 
 drawing-room when Twerleby was arriving, laughed thereat, 
 and said to him when he came in, 
 
 " Look at this funny thing that someone cut out of the 
 Backivater Herald:'' 
 
 Twerleby read it and said, "Just like him." 
 
 " But who," said she, " could have written to him from 
 Backwater ? " 
 
 " Impossible to guess," he answered, " in a place like that, 
 where people are always coming and going, and minding 
 other people's business more than their own." 
 
 " That," thought the Baroness Diabolouski, " is a hit at 
 me, in reference to himself, but he evidently does not 
 suspect me." 
 
 *' True," she said in a careless tone. " All depends on 
 whether there is anything really against the other person or 
 not. Have you told Lady Rossden about the rescue of 
 that young woman, and how near it was to Hunterscombe, 
 and how very suspicious the whole thing is ? " 
 
 Twerleby made a gesture of annoyance, and said : 
 
 " Really you know, one can't — " 
 
 " Have you, or have you not ? " said the Baroness. 
 
 " No," said he in a defiant manner. 
 
 *• Not even by making her infer it ? " 
 
 This was precisely what he had done : but he said to 
 himself, " It was her own inference," and answered " No." 
 
 " Then you had better," said she, " unless you wish him to 
 marry Miss Malmaines. I saw that he had made a very 
 deep impression on her : and you know that she has a will 
 of her own, and will be her own mistress within six or 
 seven months. But you know her birthday better than I do." 
 
 '' Why can't \ou tell her," said he, " if you are so sure 
 about it ? "
 
 THE BAN OF MAPf.ETHORPK. 247 
 
 " Were I to do so," said she, " Lady Rossden would ask 
 you about it ; and you must either deny it and get into dis- 
 o^race with her, or affirm it and be as if you had told her at 
 first. But have you suggested to her what we were talking 
 of in Davies Street ? " 
 
 " I have," said he, " but I don't advise you to attempt 
 that. You would find that disadvantageous. Margaret 
 would, I know, dislike your living there in that way. It 
 would set her against you. If you wish to gain an in- 
 fluence over her, go there from time to time as a guest. 
 You would then have nothing to impede you, and what 
 you might say would be in her mind as the incidental words 
 of a friend. But if you go there in the quality of a com- 
 panion forced upon her, she will see why you came, and at 
 once be prejudiced against you. Moreover, if you were 
 located there, a certain friend of yours, who was not at all 
 favourably thought of in the neighbourhood, would of course 
 turn up as in the character of your friend, and excite 
 suspicions about you, and be the occasion of enquiries, 
 and—" 
 
 "Do you suppose," interrupted the Baroness, "that I have 
 not thought of all that ? Leave it to me. Your difficulties 
 are laughable, and you must co-operate with me, or the 
 Hunterscombe man (besides marrying Miss Malmaines) will 
 keep his character, and you might happen to have yours 
 damaged instead. You incautiously spoke against him to 
 young Fetherhed, or gave him that impression at all events: 
 and he told it to Sir Henry Melford, and said, ' Hang me, if 
 it doesn't look as if he wanted to shove his own bad deeds 
 on another man.' Sir Henry told it all here, and said 
 nothing in a significant way. How could you disprove 
 such a cliarge as that ? The tables would be turned on you 
 with twofold effect, and crush you. Yes, I m//s( go there, 
 and you ///ust co-operate. But you had better be going, for 
 the Bundletons will be in directly. You wouldn't wish 
 them to wonder whv vou came so early, and what vou came 
 for." 
 
 " Yes, I must be off," said Twerleby, rising in haste. " I 
 have things to do at home." 
 
 " Has your aunt decided about it? " said the Baroness. 
 
 " She was writing to say so when I left," said he, from the 
 other side of the door.
 
 248 
 
 THE BAN OF MAPLETHORPE. 
 
 If he had seen her face then, there is no saying where he 
 would have gone to get away from her. But as he did not 
 see it, he rode home, telling himself how, as a last resource, 
 if he should happen to be too much pressed, he would 
 cause the Baroness Diabolouski to disappear from Ilsetshire. 
 In the meantime he had again been made to climb down.
 
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