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 F575f 
 
 V. I
 
 FATAL ZERO 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 TINSLEYS' MAGAZINE, 
 
 An Illustrated Monthly, Price One Shilling, 
 
 CONTAINS : 
 
 GEOEGE CANTERBURY'S WILL. A Serial Story. 
 By Mrs. Henry Wood, Author of "East Lynne," &c, 
 
 AUSTIN FRIARS. A New Serial Story. By the 
 Author of " George Geith." 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; or, Blanche Eller- 
 
 slie's Ending. By the Author of " Gur Livingstone," &c. 
 
 &c., &c,, &c.
 
 FATAL ZERO, 
 
 % giarg lupt nt ||0mburg. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND. 
 1869. 
 
 [^AU rights of Translation and JiejiroducHon are reserved.]
 
 LONDON : 
 
 8AVILL, BVWAKSB AND CO., PBINTBES, CHANDOS STBEET, 
 
 COVENT G4HDBN.
 
 ?23 
 F57S--P 
 
 TO 
 D. O. S. 
 
 softest glades, and balmy morning airs. 
 
 Green lanes that wind, and many a chequered Alley ; 
 "With solemn Taunus shelt'ring all the valley — 
 
 Here surely man may lose his heavy cares. 
 
 Yet here the boiling heart, the raging eye, 
 The pulse that stops upon the fatal call 
 Of Red and Black, and leap of whirling Ball, 
 Scenes of dark horror that I fain would fly — 
 
 Fly but for one sweet face that holds me bound. 
 And her bright presence makes it Holy ground. 
 
 May, 1869. 

 
 E 
 
 wmM^m^mimmM^mm 
 
 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 CHAPTER L 
 
 Datchley^ Monday^ August the First, 186-. 
 — Another day of agony, and of acting. 
 Soon all must be stopped. This cannot go 
 on. Here is my last day of absence from the 
 bank, and I am not one bit better. They 
 have been only too indulgent. But what 
 can they do ? They must have their work 
 done, and already the directors are com- 
 plaining, up in the London office. 
 
 A hundred and fifty pounds a year, 
 and that darling of mine, Dora — the chil- 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 dren — all depending on me. If I lost this 
 situation, what would become of us? 
 And yet I must lose it. My fingers can 
 scarcely feel this pen, and the trembling 
 characters swim before my eyes. As I 
 write on, the paper seems to rise up like 
 waves of a huge white sea, and suffuse my 
 very pupils. What am I to do? 
 
 There, my darling has just gone out 
 with the usual question, " How do you feel 
 now, dear? You are stronger after this 
 rest, are you not?" And I falsely say 
 '^ Yes !" How can I pain her — she suffers 
 more than I do. Oh, what folly and infa- 
 tuation to have brought her into this state 
 of life ! I should have stood by, and let her 
 marry that man, who would have at least 
 maintained her in comfort; but my own 
 selfishness would not let me. He might 
 have turned out a good husband. Though 
 he was not a good man, she must have
 
 FATAL ZERO. ^ 
 
 made him one. But my selfishness 
 must sacrifice her to myself. Just like us 
 all! 
 
 There ! I open a book — a favourite one 
 of mine — " The Following of Christ/' and 
 read a sentence ; up rises the page to my 
 eyes like a huge wave of foam; a faint 
 buzzing begins in my ears, and swells into 
 the roar of a great sea. What does all this 
 mean ? What can be coming ? God pre- 
 serve my senses ! Or can this be a punish- 
 ment that I have deserved ? Yet the doctor 
 proceeds with his cant, '* A little rest is all 
 that is wanted — you must give up work." 
 How smoothly they say these things — so 
 complacently ! And pray will you, sir, feed 
 her, feed them, pay the rent ? No ! so fax 
 from that, his greedy eye is wandering to 
 her gentle delicate little fingers, which by 
 the divine Aladdin's Lamp a dear devoted 
 girl contrives to find, have hold of what
 
 4 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 will satisfy him. We men can find for 
 ourselves readily enough, but they find for 
 others. There — there, I must stop. 
 
 That cruel fellow, Maxwell, the manager, 
 has been twice here, in these three days. A 
 cold, hard, cruel, vindictive man. He says 
 he supposes I am suffering, ^' as I say so," 
 but really he cannot see what is wrong with 
 me. "With difficulty restraining myself, I 
 ask him. Does he suppose I am counter- 
 feiting, or that the doctor was counterfeit- 
 ing? He answers in his insolent way, that 
 what he supposed privately did not much 
 bear on the matter; the question was how 
 was the bank to get its work done. I must 
 see that they could not go on paying high 
 salaries to invalids. He had his duty to 
 the board and shareholders. I was either 
 very sick, or only a little sick. If the 
 former, I had better resign — if the latter, I 
 had better make an exertion and return to
 
 FATAL ZERO. O 
 
 my work. They really could give me no 
 longer than to-morrow at furthest. 
 
 Poor Dora shrinks from this cruel sen- 
 tence as if she were standing in the dock 
 with a child in her arms. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Maxwell," she cries, " you will 
 not be so cruel !" He gave her a savage 
 look. 
 
 " Ah ! that is the word they have for me 
 through the town. Mr. Maxwell, the hard 
 man — a griping, cruel man. I do my duty, 
 Mrs. Austen ; and let every one else, whether 
 they are ladies and gentlemen or no, do 
 theirs." 
 
 Lady and gentleman! — that was our 
 crime. He never forgave that. He had 
 once swept the very bank offices, so the 
 story went. He had no religion but money 
 and figures. He had never been seen once 
 in a place of worship, and one of the clerks 
 once saw a cheap translation of the infidel
 
 6 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 Kenan on his table. Yet whatever he does' 
 to us, I can pray for him to the indulgent 
 Lord of all, and I shall get Dora to do 
 the same. There again, I must stop. This 
 agitation makes me forget for a few seconds 
 that I cannot write.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Tuesday. — At last it has all broken down. 
 I knew when the morning came that it 
 would be so — though we all cling to the 
 notion that " to-morrow morning'^ will bring 
 a change. I dare not go to the office. I 
 am quite helpless. She sees it, and knows 
 the miserable night I have passed. I have 
 sent to Maxwell, to the bank. He has 
 cruelly warned me, that on the day after 
 to-morrow they will officially call upon me 
 to resign. Then what will be done ! . . . 
 Only one thing — Heaven's will. 
 
 Three o'clock. — Mr. Stanhope, the curate, 
 has just gone. Lord Langton has fallen
 
 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 from his horse, and they have got down Sir 
 Duncan Denison, the great London doctor 
 — a good man and a charitable man — and 
 Mr. Stanhope has brought him on to me. 
 But such a remedy ! I could have laughed, 
 but for her sad face. " My good friend, I 
 tell you seriously, no tricks will do here. 
 You are in a bad way at this moment ; and 
 
 1 must assure you solemnly, your only 
 chance is the German waters, and listen, 
 one special one of those German waters — 
 Homburg, is the only thing to save you. 
 I snatched a man from the jaws, nay, from 
 the throat of death, this year, by pack- 
 ing him off. You should go to-morrow 
 morning.'' 
 
 A fine remedy, and a precious one, truly. 
 Maxwell comes in as the doctor is here, and 
 Dora passionately tells him what has been 
 said. 
 
 He listens coolly and civilly.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 9 
 
 " With that I have nothing to do. We 
 have to begin making out our report to- 
 night, and, I can tell you, are not going to 
 take on fresh hands to swell the expenses. 
 The best thing you can do — and 1 advise 
 you as manager — is to resign at once. I 
 have another man ready for the place, and 
 I daresay it could be arranged that a quar- 
 terns salary could be got in some way, as a 
 bonus, with which you could take your ex- 
 pedition. " 
 
 '^And leave them to starve! What do 
 you suppose is to become of them ? Are 
 they to be turned out on the road ? Has 
 your bank, your board of blood-suckers, no 
 heart, no soul?" 
 
 " Board of blood-suckers, sir ! — the Asso- 
 ciated Bank that sort of thing! God bless 
 me, no!" said Sir Duncan, who had been 
 silent. '' I attend at least two of the direc- 
 tors, as honest and soft fellows as ever
 
 10 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 signed a cheque. They're not the fellows 
 to suck anybody's blood — unless at least, 
 they do it in private." 
 
 ^^ They are men of business, sir," said 
 Maxwell, " and do their duty to the bank 
 and the shareholders. Only that he seems 
 ill, it would be my duty to report this lan- 
 guage." 
 
 They all left us. Sir Duncan saying, 
 
 *' My poor fellow, I am really sorry for 
 you ! I see the difficulty. Something may 
 turn up." 
 
 We, however, were calm. As I said be- 
 fore, I had taught Dora whom to turn to 
 in these straits, and bade her pray for even 
 Maxwell. On myself I find a sort of in- 
 sensibility coming, I suppose from illness. 
 And yet I have great vitality and life, and 
 if there was a crisis or purpose before me, 
 could shake all off for a time.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Four o'clock ! — What ungrateful creatures 
 we are! Oh, to an ever-bountiful Provi- 
 dence be all praise and glory, and honour 
 and gratitude! It seems like a miracle; 
 but confidence, somehow, never failed me. 
 A telegram lies before me, from the direc- 
 tors in London. A note from Maxwell, at 
 the same time. He would not come himself 
 to tell us good news, though he came so 
 often before, to gloat over our miseries. 
 But I shall find out more of his treachery. 
 Still I am so joyous, so supremely happy, 
 I can be angry with no one. Mr. Barnard, 
 who is a director, but who has been away
 
 12 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 on the Continent, has come down himself. 
 He has seen and told me the plan — leave 
 of absence — recreation — peace — quiet — and 
 / am not to resign! Oh, happy change! 
 I feel as in a dream ! 
 
 Five d clock. — There is yet more happi- 
 ness to set down. I can hardly write these 
 words — not from sickness, but from excite- 
 ment. It is all settled, and I go, not in 
 the morning, but to-night — this very night. 
 Heaven is very good — too good ! This 
 was the way. Only an hour ago Mr. 
 Barnard came in here — his knock made me 
 tremble. 
 
 "So you are ill?" he said, it seemed 
 with sternness. '' Well, this cannot go on. 
 You will lose your situation; you know 
 the bank must have its work done." 
 
 " I know it, sir," I said. 
 
 " And so this Sir Duncan says nothing 
 short of Homburg will do for you. A
 
 FATAL ZERO. 13 
 
 first-class watering-place, and an expensive 
 journey — for a bank clerk ! Well, well !" 
 
 Dora was in a flood of tears. " Oh, but 
 he will die, sir !" she said, passionately. 
 
 '^No he wont," he said, with a sudden 
 change in manner — " or, at least, if he 
 does, it shall be his own fault. Come, he 
 shall go, and at once too." 
 
 My dear gave a scream. I felt the 
 colour in my own face. He sat down and 
 set out details of this miraculous delive- 
 rance. 
 
 Here was the plan, and I do recognise in 
 it one more proof of that actual guidance 
 of Providence — that positive interference in 
 our affairs here below. Oh, how unworthy, 
 I say again, are we of such goodness ! Our 
 bank, it seems, in London, has a good many 
 Jew directors, and has been trying to get a 
 little foreign business in the way of agency. 
 A rich Frankfurt merchant, whom he knew,
 
 14 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 was anxious to buy an estate in England, 
 for which Barnard was trustee. It was a 
 small one, but he fancied the situation and 
 the house. The writings were prepared; 
 and a solicitor was going out to have them 
 executed, receive the money, and make 
 other arrangements, when Mr. Barnard 
 conceived this idea of substituting me for 
 the solicitor. 
 
 " You shall have your expenses there and 
 back, and handsome ones, too, out of which 
 you can squeeze a fortnight's keep. But 
 you must be back within the month; no 
 shirking, mind, for I am your warranty, 
 and get well, too; make use of every hour; 
 for if you lose this chance, we cannot promise 
 you another. And now see here — let me 
 give you a piece of advice. You are a 
 young man : you have been nearly all your 
 life in a country town, and have not seen 
 much of the world. You have good re-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 15 
 
 ligious instincts. But you will see many 
 things abroad tliat will shock you. I know 
 those places well. Now take my advice — 
 don't concern yourself at all with what you 
 may see — just busy yourself with the one 
 object of your expedition — that iSj of get- 
 ting all the relaxation you can, and getting 
 weU." 
 
 '^ Oh, indeed he will, dear Mr. Barnard," 
 said Dora, eagerly, the hot tears still glis- 
 tening in her eyes. 
 
 " Of course I need not warn you against 
 what goes on there. You are a poor man, 
 and, in matter of pecuniary ' Breeks,^ would 
 be as unprofitable as any Highlander." 
 
 This was his little joke, and almost as 
 of course, we laughed. 
 
 Was this a morsel of the bread of de- 
 pendency ? But he was a good man, and 
 it was only his way. So God bless him for 
 his kindness.
 
 16 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 " See," I say to my darling, " what did 
 I say yesterday ? Never lose trust. You 
 were a little desponding. You believed 
 that all was lost. My heart never for a 
 moment faltered." 
 
 " I know that, dearest. But you will do 
 as he says. Not worry yourself about their 
 wicked doings. You are so good, and so 
 pious. 1 know it will hurt your dear 
 heart." 
 
 " But he says," I answer, " that I have 
 been brought up in a country town, and 
 know nothing of the world. Would to 
 Heaven I did not. He believes the world 
 is only to be known by hurrying over rail- 
 ways, and strange cities, as if we had not 
 all the great Book of the Human Heart, 
 ready wide open before us. But he is good 
 and noble, and Heaven bless him and reward 
 him." 
 
 He has gone. A case with all the papers 
 
 l^.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 17 
 
 and a letter of instruction, has just come 
 up. A clerk who brought them counted 
 down fifty golden sovereigns. It seems 
 like a dream. Dora danced round them 
 and actually kissed one. If she were only 
 coming, my love and guardian angel ; but 
 we cannot compass that ! Surely it will be 
 only for one month, and I shall come back 
 to her, happy and strong, and able to work 
 for her and our children again. Is it a 
 dream? It is like a wish in a Fairy Tale. 
 
 Ten clock, — As we sat this evening in 
 a state almost of rapture — for indeed it has 
 all the air of a supernatural deliverance — 
 our good clergyman, Mr. Bulmer, was 
 ushered in. How warmly he caught my 
 hand ! 
 
 " My dear friends,'* he said, " how de- 
 lighted I am at this good news ! Going 
 abroad is the only thing for you. It will 
 cure and make a man of you. Leave all 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 cares behind you, at home in the lumber- 
 room, and fling yourself into a round of 
 rational and healthful joys." 
 
 " Oh, indeed he intends it," said dear 
 Dora, as though she were making a pro- 
 mise for some erring brother, who had pro- 
 mised to reform, and turn over a new leaf. 
 " He has promised not to open a book, or 
 think of what is disagreeable, or worry him- 
 self. And we can depend on his promise." 
 
 " That's right. And what part have 
 you chosen? Switzerland — Tyrol? No? 
 Paris?" 
 
 " Homburg," I said. " There are waters 
 there ; and the curious life there will be the 
 more entertaining and carious — since I am 
 bound over to consider that " 
 
 "That is, this gambling place. I don't 
 see why you should pick it out. I should 
 say, it could be profitable neither to soul 
 nor to body."
 
 FATAL ZERO. 19 
 
 " He did not pick it out," says Dora, 
 eagerly. " The doctor ordered him." Our 
 good clergyman is of the severe Evangelical 
 school, and naturally takes a stern view of 
 these things. I dare say he is right. 
 
 " I knew something of the chaplain there 
 — a good, zealous man, who has worked 
 hard to stem the current, when I might 
 have gone down comfortably and cozily on 
 the surface. He told me a good deal about 
 it. But now, do you know what I am 
 thinking? It is not so much the place, as 
 the person " 
 
 " The person !" repeated Dora, mystified. 
 
 *^ Yes. No one should run into needless 
 risks. I dare say I would not trust myself 
 — or rather, I would safely — because I am 
 old and case-hardened. I had a parish in 
 London once. The work was too much for 
 me. But you see, he" — motioning to me — 
 " has scarcely ever been out of a country 
 
 2—2.
 
 20 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 town. He is more or less unsophisticated, 
 and all this sort of thing coming on an un- 
 trained mind" — here he shook his head — 
 " I don't quite like it, Mrs. Dora." 
 
 '' But he's not untrained. He is so clever, 
 and so " 
 
 "Hush, Dora, dear! You make me 
 blush. There is something in what Mr. 
 Buhner says — though I am hardly so raw- 
 as he thinks " 
 
 " Kaw ! Folly. I speak bluntly, you 
 know; but I mean well. What I fear is 
 this. He is a clever fellow ; and you natu- 
 rally think yourself one, Master Austen, 
 having a nice wife to tell you so every 
 day. And I will add to it, Mrs. Dora, 
 he is quite as good, as he is clever. I 
 have not a more religious, or more earnest 
 man in my flock. And that's why I am 
 anxious about him." 
 
 My Dora looked round with pride at
 
 FATAL ZERO. 21 
 
 this commendation, which she would have 
 gone forth, and had emblazoned in gold, 
 and hung up. I only smiled. 
 
 " You are very kind, Mr. Bulmer ; and 
 it is very kind of you to say so. I do 
 mean to be good soon, especially when 
 my health is restored. Besides," I added, 
 good-humouredly, " for the sake of this 
 bank I ought to try and sharpen these 
 poor raw wits of mine, and learn a little of 
 the world." 
 
 " He doesn't forgive me that stupid 
 speech of mine," said he, laughing very 
 heartily. "And it vms stupid. But see, 
 my dear boy, don't mind the rubbish these 
 doctors tell you about waters, and the like. 
 Go to the noble mountains of Switzerland. 
 A week with those grand councillors will 
 do you more true good, than months in the 
 fetid miasma of the gaming rooms." 
 
 "I am sure they would," I said; "but,
 
 22 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 alas! I am not free to choose. I have 
 business given me to transact." 
 
 " Well, you will do very well ; and this 
 dear girl will keep praying for you ; though 
 I dare say she thinks me an old croaker. 
 No matter. It is no harm for you to be 
 humble, my dear boy, or to think yourself 
 weak. Good-by, and Heaven bless you !'* 
 
 He always did speak his mind — a good, 
 well-meaning man, that I respect from my 
 soul, with an interest in his. I am so 
 tranquil and happy now at my good for- 
 tune, that I could bring myself to thank 
 him for his kind and fatherly advice, which 
 the foolish or self-opinioned would resent. 
 
 " My darling, I see is not quite pleased." 
 
 " You, with your cleverness and obser- 
 vation ! Why, I only said last week that, 
 if you choose, you could preach a better 
 sermon any Sunday." 
 
 " Hush ! rank heresy, darling ! Better
 
 FATAL ZERO. 23 
 
 than the parson of the parish ?" Ill as I 
 was, I could not help laughing at this test 
 of my pet^s. " I fear a very inferior nature 
 could beat our good Bulmer at preaching/' 
 
 " He has never been abroad himself but 
 once," she said, " so he can scarcely know 
 much about what he is condemning: 
 though, indeed, he is very kind — and has 
 been so kind." 
 
 " No better man breathing, and I am 
 obliged to him for his interest. Still I am 
 obliged to go and face these appalling dan- 
 gers. Heaven grant it may do me good ! 
 If it should not, I tremble to think what is 
 to become of us." 
 
 "Why, are you not better this moment?" 
 she said, almost passionately; "or am I 
 tiring you ?" 
 
 I said, " Yes." There is no harm in such 
 a little fiction. 
 
 Eleven o'clock. — There, this day is over,
 
 24 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 and I am now sitting at the fire, bewildered, 
 yet in a sweet bewilderment. It is nearly- 
 midnight, and I feel as though I had been 
 rescued from a fire — from drowning — re- 
 prieved from execution, life seems so ex- 
 quisitely enjoyable. 0, how grateful I 
 ought to be ! and so indeed I am ; for I am 
 to leave to-morrow evening. 
 
 Dora has just gone, after we have talked 
 for hours — talked over everything; over 
 the events of the day, over that good Mr. 
 Barnard who has done so much, and done it 
 so delicately. Heaven bless him, for ever 
 and ever more, as indeed we prayed, and 
 prayed long together. She — my darling 
 — said in her natural way, that it must be 
 so utterly bewildering to go forth so sud^ 
 denly into a far-ofi* strange land, among 
 strangers, and without a friend. Alas ! yes. 
 But I may not take her. And yet, as I 
 said, it seems as bewildering for her to be
 
 FATAL ZERO. 25 
 
 left behind, alone, for the first time since 
 our marriage — no one to consult — no one 
 to turn to — no one to advise her. I know 
 not what she will do, but have promised to 
 write — write nearly every day. It will be 
 like speaking to her. 
 
 My poor, poor child! 1 forget my own 
 sufferings as I think of her. I leave her 
 behind unprotected. Good, kind Mr. Bar- 
 nard — he has done enough, he will think, 
 and should not do more. Besides, his is a 
 nature for the good, noble, coarse work of 
 charity; he does not understand the deli- 
 cate nerves and fibres of her nature, exqui- 
 sitely fine-spun. A cold speech scares her, 
 as a rude and rough one would another. 
 There is that cruel Maxwell, the manager, 
 who never spared debtor, and would wish 
 she were his debtor. Left to herself, too, 
 for the first time, even for so short a space 
 as a month, with the gossips of this place
 
 26 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 clustering round obtrusively — who knows 
 what stories, what influences ! But this is 
 all morbid. Yet I could not help drawing 
 the dear child towards me, and giving her 
 a little advice against these dangers. 
 
 "Dearest," I said, "when I shall have 
 gone out into the world, as you say, you 
 will be left here alone, and unprotected, for 
 the first time." 
 
 "Not alone," she says, prettily, "fori 
 shall think of you so much, that I shall see 
 you nearly as well as I do now." 
 
 (In her there is always this under-current 
 of sentiment, — and such sweet sentiment.) 
 
 " Alas," I say, " that will be but a poor 
 protection ! My poor unworthy image, how 
 will that shield you?" 
 
 " Yes, it will," she answered quickly, " if 
 I know that it is getting a strong image." 
 
 "But how will you carry on the battle 
 of life ? Who will talk to the butcher and
 
 FATAL ZERO. 27 
 
 baker, for that is the battle of life after all. 
 Ah, dear, you were made for the smooth 
 swards of life, not for the high roads.'' 
 
 " I prefer the high roads," says my sweet 
 child, confidently, " and you shall see how 
 well I can walk." 
 
 Now I thought at this moment, I would 
 give that dear soul a little caution, just for 
 her own sake. She could not see the risks ; 
 it was the first time in her life, she had 
 stood alone. Her father, mother, and doting 
 family had done all for her, before I came. 
 Since then, with this wretched illness grow- 
 ing on me I had done all. / had faced 
 butcher, baker, and the rest. / had kept 
 out the forward intruders — even the half- 
 patron, who wished to be considered a 
 friend, but who would honour us with 
 visits, more frequent than were usual with 
 merely disinterested friendship. I knew 
 how to deal with such firmly, yet without
 
 28 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 bluntness. There was that young Honour- 
 able, so solicitous about my health. He 
 perfectly understood me, though my sweet, 
 innocent Dora did not. 
 
 So, ill as T am, I cannot help speaking to 
 her with a gentle warning, and telling her 
 the truth. '* My pet," I say, '' the strongest 
 of us is but a child, when once we begin to 
 think ourselves strong. You never heard 
 that from Mr. Bulmer's pulpit. Yet it is 
 worth much more than some of the con- 
 ventional truths, which, good and well- 
 pieaning man as he is, he believes to be the 
 best that he can hold out to us. That is 
 what I feared for my darling. But she 
 will pray, she will promise me that — pray 
 for strength, and against all temptation. If 
 I only was certain of that, I should have 
 comfort on my weary travels." 
 
 Promise me that ! She would have pro- 
 mised me the world ten times over! So
 
 FATAL ZERO. * 29 
 
 gentle, so confiding, so full of her own ut- 
 most helplessness! Indeed I feel a pang 
 now when I think of my doubts, yet still it 
 is a responsibility, and a prayer for strength 
 can do her no harm. Heaven knows it is 
 but for her good, and comes but from ex- 
 cessive love. How blessed, how happy I 
 am, on this night. I have the old pains, the 
 old "swimming" still, but I do not heed 
 them. There is release and salvation at 
 hand, and I feel like some one condemned 
 to penal servitude years ago, and now sud- 
 denly released. My portmanteau lies there 
 — packed — strapped — like a bluff com- 
 panion muffled and buttoned up, and 
 seems to nod jollily at me, and say, " I am 
 ready when you are !'' 
 
 Wednesday^ London^ Charing Cross Hotel. 
 — Bore the journey wonderfully, absolutely 
 getting better already. This comes from 
 all hope dancing before my eyes. No
 
 30 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 ledger this morning — My heart is bounding 
 within me. So curious this great gorgeous 
 chamber all gold, where a hundred people 
 are taking breakfast. I can hear the 
 screaming of the engine close by — My 
 train — yes, in ten minutes. Delightful all 
 this excitement. It is new life — a bright 
 sunny day — the bustling crowds going by 
 — the gay look of everything, and the 
 pleasant journey all before me.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Brussels^ Six p.m. — Such a day as it has 
 been — a delicious sea — happy travellers — 
 charming green fields, and the strange look 
 of Ostend, the first foreign place I have 
 ever seen. All red tiles and potsherds, it 
 seemed to me, at a distance. Then the 
 white quays and yellow houses. Then the 
 trains through the pleasant Belgian country ; 
 the odd faces and dresses, and that singular 
 custom of the guard coming in so mys- 
 teriously at the door, when the train is at 
 full speed. What things I shall have to 
 tell darling Dora, and amuse her with! 
 Her name makes my heart low; only this
 
 32 PATAL ZERO. 
 
 excitement prevents me thinking of any- 
 thing dismal. Perhaps I shall write a book 
 of travels, make a little money, and give it 
 all to her. And yet having seen so much 
 already, it does not seem to me, that I have 
 acquired an ounce more worldly wisdom. 
 No, my dear friend Mr. Barnard was a little 
 wrong there. 
 
 But this amazing and delicious capital ! 
 It is awe-striking — so solid and splendid — 
 and the glorious cathedral! Such wealth, 
 such gorgeousness to be in the world, which 
 we scarcely even dream of. The trees in 
 the streets, the people sitting out and tak- 
 ing coffee, the splendid carriages, and all 
 with such a grand and noble air of stateli- 
 ness. I have noted a thousand things to 
 tell Dora when I return. I feel getting 
 stronger every moment, and a quarter of 
 an hour ago actually read an English paper, 
 without finding the words swimming, and
 
 FATAL ZERO. 33 
 
 the paper rising up to my eyes. I posi-, 
 tively think I shall go on to-night. 
 
 Friday^ Cologne. — A long night in the 
 great roomy carriages, and very comfort- 
 able. A little curtain to draw over the 
 lamp, and the whole left to myself, so I 
 might have been in my own room. Yet I 
 did not get to sleep till nearly one o'clock; 
 not so much from noise or novelty, as from 
 my own thoughts, so much was coming 
 back on me. This was the first time I had 
 been away from home, from Dora; and 
 now that I was at a distance, she, and all 
 that had passed, began to rise before 
 me like pictures. I could see now — like a 
 man walking back to get a good view of a 
 picture — her sweet face in the centre, and 
 what a deal I had gone through to win it 
 for myself! Though she never shall know 
 it, much of what I suffer now is owing to 
 that six years' feverish anxiety. And I 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 saved her from him. For a time I did feel 
 some remorse, yet now I do not. It was 
 all for a good end, which, whatever the 
 casuists say, does sometimes justify the 
 means. 
 
 Let me think now, as an entertainment, 
 of the first bright day on which I saw her. 
 Some wealthy people, who lived in tolerable 
 state, had "filled their house," as it is 
 called, and had asked me down. I was 
 reluctant to go. In these days— and not 
 unpleasant days were they— I quite lived in 
 the book world, and very pleasant friends I 
 had among them. For as Eichard of Bury 
 says, in words that sound like old church 
 bells, " These are the masters that instruct 
 us without rods ; if you chide them they do 
 not answer, if you neglect or ill- treat them, 
 they bear no malice. They are always 
 cheerful, sweet-tempered, ready to talk and 
 comfort us, at any hour of night or day."
 
 PATAL ZERO. 35 
 
 For them I felt an affection — they seemed 
 to me beautiful, with charming faces, and 
 shall I own it ? — some of the prettiest faces 
 of nature when shown to me, appeared to 
 me much as these pretty faces would look 
 on my mouldy treasures. Do I not re- 
 member how I used to look out at the 
 world, as from a window, and punctually as 
 the clock struck twelve every night, would 
 put away work, fetch out the best novel 
 of the day, light the soothing cigar, and 
 read for two hours? How enjoyable was 
 this time, almost too exquisite! But the 
 whole was about to collapse like a card 
 house. 
 
 How curious this dark country looks, 
 actually "roaring by,'' with glare and 
 flash from a station — the dull " burr" of 
 the train, and the lights from the row of 
 carriage windows dappling the ground. As 
 I look out I see the small dark figure of the 
 
 3—2
 
 36 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 guard creeping along outside. In this 
 situation, in my lonely blue chamber, there 
 is a sort of vacuity for thought, the world 
 is shut out and the pictures of the past 
 pour in ... . 
 
 A railway carriage is like a cell. It is all 
 vacuum, and no objects to distract. It is 
 like the plane on which dissolving views 
 are projected, and I never could entertain 
 myself with my own thoughts so well. I 
 often call up those days — they were so 
 happy — she like a gentle angel, not the soft 
 meek conventional angel, who has a flavour 
 of insipidity, but something so brilliant and 
 attractive. What a time it was. 
 
 Was it not a very stately place — quite a 
 new castle, grand stabling, horses and car- 
 riages in profusion. As I was shown into 
 the great drawing-room, and received with 
 welcome by the hostess, the guests were all 
 out, shooting, riding, walking, and — so un-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 37 
 
 fortunately, slie says — lunch was over. The 
 young ladies were in the garden, where I 
 could go and look for them. Stay; they 
 were coming, and past the mullioned win- 
 dows, which ran down to the ground, flitted 
 two or three figures, led by a little scarlet 
 cloak. In a second, cheerful voices rang out 
 like music in the hall : the door opened, and 
 she came tripping in. I did not see the 
 others. I do not know who they were to 
 this moment ; but was it not then^ my dear 
 foolish Austen, that everything fell in like 
 a house of cards — that the glory passed 
 away from the books for ever, and never 
 returned? 
 
 Her name was Dora — a pretty and melo- 
 dious one. She was small, elegantly made, 
 with dancing eyes, bright sloe-black hair, 
 and a look of refinement about her small 
 features I have never seen in any one else. 
 A great London sculptor so admired that
 
 38 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 head, that he begged to be allowed to copy- 
 it for one of his nymphs. She was full of 
 spirits, and laughter, and delight. I recol- 
 lect to this moment how I was introduced, 
 with what a coquettish solemnity she went 
 through the ceremony, and how, as I 
 bowed, I felt something whisper to me, 
 *^This, sir, is an important moment for 
 you . . ." 
 
 She was a daughter of a great House in 
 the neighbourhood. From that hour she 
 unconsciously entered into my life. She 
 little thought how her airy figure was to 
 hover about my study, and of how many 
 daydreams she was to be the centre. Since 
 that morning years have gone by; yet 
 that dull blue cloth before me seems to 
 open and draw away, and show me that gay 
 
 noonday and that " morning room" at 
 
 Castle, as distinctly as if it were but yester- 
 day. In my pocket-book I have at this
 
 FATAL ZERO. 39 
 
 moment her picture, done, not by the fanci- 
 ful touch of memory, but by, perhaps, the 
 less enduring one of the camera. It is very 
 hard to see by this light. Yes, there she 
 is — a cloud of white sweeping behind her, 
 flowers in her hand — a soft inquiring look, 
 half serious, yet that seems on the verge of 
 breaking into a smile, and spoiling the ope- 
 rator's whole work. So I saw her then, so 
 I see her now. What if I was never to see 
 her again ! Am I not in bad health, " broken 
 down," as they call it in their jargon? It is 
 on the cards. Oh, the very notion gives a 
 twist and turn and wrench at my heart! 
 Lose her for ever I The last stroke of a 
 passing bell sounds less dismal. But this 
 is too lugubrious. 
 
 -«5^^iJ?5r-
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 There, the blast again — a flashing and 
 flaring of lamps, a scream of the whistles, 
 and we rumble into a blaze of light, with 
 buffets and offices lit up, and an open line 
 of sleepy passengers waiting. One fellow 
 in a white hat invades my blue chamber — 
 a gross Belgian, with a theatrical portman- 
 teau pushed in before him, and an air as if 
 he were performing some feat of distinction. 
 Away flutters her little figure, and from 
 that moment the charm is broken, clouds of 
 tobacco-smoke begin, wherein, I suppose — 
 fitting background — he sees pictures of 
 his own gross dejeuner a la fourchette, or
 
 FATAL ZERO. 41 
 
 dinner, at the Trois Freres. A true beast, 
 that presently grunts and snores, lives but 
 for the present hour, and never lifts up his 
 soul in gratitude or humility. There, he 
 has got out, and I have done with him. I 
 know now the secret of this dislike ; he re- 
 niinded me so of Grainger, the only evil 
 genius I ever encountered in my life, and the 
 evil genius that I vanquished. Rather, grace 
 and strength came to me from above, to aid 
 me to vanquish him. 
 
 I see the very street in our little town, on 
 that gay morning when he first appeared. 
 How well I remember our all rushing to the 
 window of the bank, the day the regiment 
 came in — when we heard their music, and I 
 must have seen him — Grainger — walk by, 
 with his sword drawn, at the head of his 
 company, and looked at him, perhaps with 
 admiration. I little dreamed what he was 
 to be towards me later. I thouo;ht of their
 
 42 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 coming with pleasure; it would vary the 
 monotony. I thought of how they would 
 amuse her, perhaps, for whom a country 
 town must be dull indeed. Later, I see 
 soldiers walking about the place, the officers 
 rather fine and contemptuous, for which 
 one could bear them no ill-will, as they 
 had fought and bled for us, and might take 
 little airs. . . . 
 
 A cold blast and rush of air, as the con- 
 ductor has come in once more like a spirit, 
 with a lantern, and wants to see tickets. 
 These interruptions are very tedious and 
 making me perfectly wakeful. . . . 
 
 Let me look back again, setting my 
 head, now aching a good deal, against these 
 comfortable cushions. It is not likely that 
 I shall sleep under these strange conditions. 
 I like dwelling on little pictures of that 
 time, and it is an easy and pleasant amuse- 
 ment constructing them.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 43 
 
 I next see one of our country-town little 
 parties, and him making his way — no, not 
 making, he disdained that trouble — he 
 took it. His way he chose fitfully ; he 
 selected anything at hazard, called it his 
 way, and others cheerfully bowed and 
 adopted it. There are a few such men in 
 the world, and I have often envied them. 
 Such a manner is worth money and place 
 and estate. See how long one of us takes 
 to carry out a little play, to get to know 
 people, even. We hesitate, make timorous 
 advances, lose days and weeks. He does 
 all in a few minutes. Time, in this short 
 life, is money, and more valuable. An ill- 
 looking, wild-eyed man — cruel, I know — 
 that vwuld kick a dog out of Ms way in- 
 stead of taking one step aside. This is 
 a certain test of character and an acute 
 one, which dear Mr. Barnard — and God 
 bless him ! — with all his knowledge of the
 
 44 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 world, and my ignorance of it, would never 
 light on. 
 
 I dare say all this time he heartily dis- 
 liked me — I am sure he did — and had that 
 instinctive dislike which one man often has 
 to another, from the very outset. His eyes 
 seemed to challenge me, and he knew me 
 for an adversary. How could I expect to 
 compete with him, with such advantages 
 on his side? And he had a great one, for 
 in those days, my dear Dora, you were a 
 little, ever so little, of a coquette, and liked 
 to have your amusement, which was very 
 natural indeed. " Flirt" I would not asso- 
 ciate your dear name with. Odious and 
 debasing word, which we will leave to the 
 heartless professionals. 
 
 I had my trials. My father had specu- 
 lated and lost a fine estate, which he had 
 also encumbered. We had all then to 
 work, and do what we could. Still, was I
 
 FATAL ZERO. 4^ 
 
 riot a gentleman, and, though not a rich 
 one, quite as good as they? But they 
 looked down on me, because we had lost 
 our fortune. 
 
 Grainger cast his eyes on her, just to fill 
 up his idle time. For me he affected con- 
 tempt, but from me he was to have a lesson. 
 They wished to force her to marry him, 
 and she was helpless in their hands. But 
 when I heard that scandal about the inn- 
 keeper's daughter, where, too, he was 
 lodging, was I not right to hunt it up? 
 Could I have stood by and looked on? 
 And though they said, and he protested, it 
 was false, what of that? Did I not know 
 him to be a man of a certain life ? There 
 were other stories about him as bad. He 
 was not fit to be her husband, and if he 
 did "go to the bad" later, it concerned 
 himself, and merely proved my discern- 
 ment. Dora^s father had bitterly resented
 
 46 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 what she had done, and all her fortune and 
 estate, too, was left away to a cousin — a 
 drinking, hunting fellow — who was amazed 
 at his good fortune. I never regretted it a 
 moment. Shall I forget that scene, when 
 Grainger was unmasked! — that morning 
 when the proofs were given. He was afraid 
 to lay a finger on me, but the look he gave ! 
 — the ferocious, evil look. He affected to 
 despise me, to think me below his anger; 
 but he little knew to what I was hurrying. 
 He said, " Keep out of my way, for your 
 own sake. It would not be worth my 
 trouble to give myself the least exertion to 
 punish you ; but if ever I have a disen- 
 gaged moment " His look finished 
 
 the rest. Insolent ! He was unworthy ray 
 notice. The relatives were grateful. They 
 did not suspect then. My family were 
 Presbyterians, and they did not dream that 
 one of that faith could ever presume.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 47 
 
 Thank God I saved her ! and I can now- 
 lay my hand on my heart and feel no com- 
 punction whatever. . . . 
 
 that happy first year ! She changed 
 the whole colour of my life, made me 
 thoughtful, steady, and taught me even to 
 pray, which I did little of before. Angel! 
 she shall teach me much more yet.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Saturday. — Homburg at last : deliglitful 
 and most easy journey. I have written 
 my letter to her from this sweet and pas- 
 toral place. I write in the daintiest of little 
 rooms, the yellow jalousies drawn close to 
 keep out the sun. Outside the window is 
 a balcony, Venetian-like in its breadth, 
 filled up with a whole garden of flowers, 
 where there is a table, and where one can 
 actually walk about. It recals our old and 
 lost place in the country, before we were 
 ruined, as they say. Overhead is an awn- 
 ing, and when the sun is less strong, I can 
 go out, and walk up and down, and look
 
 FATAL ZERO. 49 
 
 into the street. If only she were here ! No 
 matter ; one of these days she shall be, and 
 better times will come ; " one colour cannot 
 always be turning up," as the maid said 
 this morning. And here comes in the post 
 — a fellow like a soldier, with a very grim 
 moustache, who hands in a letter. It is 
 from her — I could guess at her writing from 
 the very balcony. I run down to take it 
 from the landlady's hands, and tear it open. 
 I run up again as light and gay as ever I 
 was in my life. It seems a whole year 
 since I have seen her. Dear characters! 
 sweet writing ! I fasten it in here, at this 
 page of my little diary. 
 
 " Dearest, — Oh, how I miss and long 
 for you. How I long to learn that you 
 have borne the journey well; not that you 
 are better already^ for that 1 am not so un- 
 reasonable as to expect. But soon you will 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 tell me so. Our little darlings only know- 
 that you have gone away. I suppose they 
 think it is only for a walk, to the nearest 
 town, and that you will be back. Don't 
 fatigue yourself writing, think only of your 
 dear health. Keep out of the dreadful 
 sun, and amuse yourself. I hope this will 
 
 find you on your arrival. 
 
 "Dora." 
 
 The underlined words, how delicate, how 
 like her sweet soul ! She has a faint no- 
 tion, but she dares not let it appear, that I 
 am a little better. I shall write this mo- 
 ment — what joyful news for her! . . . . 
 There, I have told her all, everything. 
 Four closely written pages and a little 
 swimming of the head ; but I could almost 
 work at the ledger this moment. 
 
 I have told her how I was out betimes 
 this morning, at six o'clock ; how I walked 
 up the bright street lined with fairy-look-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 5t 
 
 ing houses, all with their short broad bal- 
 conies loaded with flowers. Then how I 
 strolled past the gay festive pavilions more 
 than hotels, the Four Seasons, the Victoria, 
 with the cool shady courts and porches; 
 past that turn to the right, down another 
 sweet alley, where are more fairy-like 
 houses with balconies, and where the great 
 ones live. The Kisselefi-street they call it, 
 which gives a grand and inspiring Russian 
 association. All this time in front of me, 
 as I ascend, and seemingly far away, yet 
 very close, are the rich, cool, heavily laden 
 Taunus hills, covered with trees and ver- 
 dure, rising slowly and grandly, and filling 
 up the gap between the houses at the far 
 end of the town. Then I walk on upwards, 
 and see the guests and strangers — the 
 lovers of pleasure, in white coats and straw 
 Panama hats, sitting out in front of the 
 hotels, and smoking in the shade. Then I 
 
 4:— 2, 
 
 yiRARV ^-r
 
 52 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 pass the great red building, the Kursaal, 
 which looks like a king's palace. I did not 
 know then what it was, or what mysteries it 
 held, yet there was a strange undefined awe 
 came on me as I went by. 
 
 Then I turn down to the right, past the 
 most inviting villas, all colours and shapes, 
 now a Swiss chalet, now a true Italian 
 house, but overgrown with the most exqui- 
 site foliage, the metal of their balconies 
 all embroidered with leaves, behind which 
 you see white dresses, and from behind 
 which comes the clink of breakfast china. 
 Then the houses stop short, and the dense 
 greenery begins, groves upon groves, forest 
 mounting over forest, walks winding here 
 and winding there. Other windows, win- 
 dows lower down, are thrown wide open, 
 and there the morning meal goes on, even 
 in the gardens; fat men in white coats and 
 no waistcoats, with four double chins at
 
 FATAL ZERO. 53 
 
 least, are enjoying pipe and coffee. Along 
 the path, honest Homburgers have their 
 little table with an awning, under which is 
 the cool melon, the grape, the delicious 
 honey, and mountain butter, most inviting. 
 If Dora were but on my arm how she would 
 enjoy all this, as, indeed, I must stop in 
 this description to tell her. 
 
 What an enchanting place! I never 
 knew what " al fresco" meant before. The 
 feeling of lightness and happiness on me I 
 cannot describe ; and I felt, too, that I was 
 of them, and not a stranger, or country- 
 town bred at all. Well, I walk on through 
 this greenery, through the most charming 
 alleys, cut in the groves, and, through the 
 trees, see afar the glitter of company, the 
 sheen of curious figures flitting to and fro 
 among the leaves, the glimpse of a Smss 
 chalet. Such crowds — it seems like a Wat- 
 teau feast! Down through the avenues
 
 54 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 float the balmiest breezes, health restoring 
 as I feel when they touch me. Then I 
 emerge on the open space, and see the most 
 animated scene, bright colours, bright 
 dresses, white coats, grey coats, hats white 
 and grey, fluttering veils, pink and cream- 
 coloured parasols, flowers, "costumes" of 
 every pattern — all actually like the opening 
 scene of the chorus at an opera seen long, 
 long ago. From a pagoda come strains of 
 rich music, with the clash of cymbals and 
 soft stroke of drum. How new, how deli- 
 cious all this to me! In the centre was 
 the well, deep below, with spacious steps 
 leading down, girls handing up the water, 
 and crowds pressing forward to receive it. 
 The clinking of glass everywhere. Beyond 
 again, rows of little shops for jewellery and 
 trifles — charming and most exhilarating 
 scene, as I look on. The animation and 
 gaiety drive away all the sinking and
 
 FATAL ZERO. 55 
 
 weakness, and I seem to grow strong and 
 hopeful every moment. Down the steps 
 do they troop, the loveliest of women, 
 French, English, and American, as I know 
 by the curious chatter of the voices, and 
 with them lords, and friends, and admirers 
 of all kinds.
 
 CHAPTER yil. 
 
 The Briton — of course I knew him by his 
 talking so loud about "my breakfast." 
 How often do I hear that florid, white- 
 whiskered father, suffering from the heat 
 acutely, tell his friend and tell me — for he 
 does not care who hears him, and prefers 
 an audience — that "he^d speak to Gungl, 
 at the Hesse, about giving us some more of 
 that wild deer," or "that he was going 
 to get his cutlets, and very odd the Times 
 was so late ;" or else, what seems the stan- 
 dard grumble, about " kreutzers" and 
 *^ their infernal money. Look here, I say, 
 what can you make of such things as
 
 FATAIi ZERO. 57 
 
 these?" He actually does seem to think, 
 that wherever the Englishman goes, the 
 Englishman's money, meats, steaks, joints, 
 beds, clubs, Times^ &c., should go with him, 
 and be the money, meat, steaks of the 
 country. My dearest Dora, will you know 
 me after this, or do you suppose it is your 
 poor invalid that is writing? Such a change 
 in me already — affecting to be funny ! In- 
 deed, I think I could write an amusing 
 book of travels, and perhaps I shall, one of 
 these days. Acute observation is perhaps 
 all that is wanted. 
 
 But I go on. Then I see the great doc- 
 tor of the place, Seidler, whose book, 
 "Homburg and its Springs," is in every 
 bookseller's window. He is walking about 
 here, talking to the English, who hang on 
 his very words, and his carriage and horses 
 wait at the end of the walk — a. good adver- 
 tisement, for every stranger asks whose it
 
 58 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 is. My old friend the Briton with the 
 white whiskers, I remark, is great on 
 Seidler. At dinner he tells every one what 
 '^ Seidler said to me this morning. Seidler 
 made me cut off a tumbler of the kayser- 
 browning, and told me if I had taken it 
 another day he would not have answered 
 for it. Egad ! I was working away hard, 
 and if he hadn't stopped me," &c. Seidler, 
 I can see, is looked on as a magician who 
 can do as he likes with the springs, and 
 mysteriously check their whole efficiency if 
 you offend him. Any one who takes them 
 without consulting him goes to destruction 
 at once; or else they do the patient no 
 good at all. We might all be as well quaff- 
 ing common spring water. A third of a 
 tumbler, he will say, every half-hour in the 
 morning, or a tumbler at seven, and half a 
 tumbler at a quarter to ten. The idea 
 seems to be that, delayed till ten^ the pre^
 
 FATAL ZERO. 59 
 
 scription would have no efficacy ; or that 
 an eighth more in quantity would be fatal ; 
 and I see the fresh white- whiskered man, 
 watch in hand, counting the moments. 
 Of course I went myself to Seidler, and 
 believe him to be clever; and he certainly 
 hit off my case at once. But these little 
 tricks the English themselves force on him, 
 as their maladies are so tricky and fanciful. 
 He says that three weeks of the water, and 
 of Seidler — three tumblers of the former, 
 and one interview with the latter per diem 
 — " will make a new man of me." And I 
 do believe him. I am a new man already. 
 My dear, shall I confess it, I can now bear 
 this separation, and am not craving to be 
 back. It will be better in the end I should 
 be here. But after ten days I know I 
 shall get restless, and eager to see your 
 pretty face. Now, dear, I stop this log, for 
 I have to go to the baths. To-morrow I
 
 60 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 go into Frankfort on the business, having 
 heard from the merchant, who has fixed an 
 hour to see me. He talks of some diffi- 
 culty, but I shall work hard, and do every- 
 thing to show our gratitude to our dear be- 
 nefactor. And if I can conclude the matter 
 on more favourable terms, and save him 
 some money, shall I not lessen my obliga- 
 tion a little? I find a gentleman whom I 
 met in the walks, and who seems to have a 
 sort of interest in me, is going back to 
 London to-night. I shall send him what I 
 have written so far, and he will post it in 
 London to Dora.
 
 CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 Saturday. — The first portion of the log 
 has gone off. She will have it by Monday, 
 and I know it will amuse them all. 
 
 At twelve to-day, I again pas3 by the 
 grand red granite building, of a rich hand- 
 some stone, and which is indeed Homburg. 
 It is in the centre of the town, in the street, 
 but has a garden in front ; with a row of 
 orange trees, considered the noblest in the 
 world. There is really something grand in 
 the air of these magnificent strangers, each 
 in his vast green box, and standing, I sup-, 
 pose, thirty feet high. The greatest and 
 most tender care is taken of them : men are
 
 62 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 always watering, washing, cleaning, coiffeing 
 these aristocrats, morning, noon, and night. 
 They are allowed to appear abroad during 
 the hot months only, and when the cooler 
 period sets in, they are tenderly moved to 
 a vast palace far off in the woods, built 
 expressly for them, where they live toge- 
 ther all the winter, with fires, and blanket- 
 ing, and matting, and everything luxu- 
 rious. The story runs that they were all 
 lost, one by one, by a certain landgrave, or 
 elector, or grand duke, who staked them 
 against some hundred pounds apiece ; and 
 now this brings me to what I have been 
 indirectly fencing ofi^, and which fills me 
 with a certain dread, as I think of it. 
 
 I never felt such a sensation, as when, 
 after passing through the noble passage 
 floored with marble, three or four hundred 
 feet long, where a whole town might pro- 
 menade, I found myself in a vast cool.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 6^ 
 
 shaded hall, that seemed like the ban- 
 queting-room of a palace. It was of noble 
 proportions, carved ceiling, and literally 
 one mass of gorgeous fresco-painting and 
 gold. Glittering chandeliers of the most 
 elegant design hang down the middle, the 
 arches in the ceiling are animated with 
 figures of nymphs and cupids, with gardens 
 and ten-aces, and porticos, while the fur- 
 nishing is rich, solid, and in the most ex- 
 quisite taste. From these open other rooms, 
 seen through arches and the folds of lace 
 curtains beyond, and each decorated in a 
 different taste — one, snowy white and gold, 
 another, pale pink and gold. The floors 
 are parquet, in the prettiest patterns. 
 Servants in rich green and gold liveries 
 glide about, and there are most luxurious 
 soft couches in crimson velvet, lining the 
 walls. What art has done is indeed all 
 perfect and most innocent ; but where na-
 
 64 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 ture and humanity gathers round, standing 
 in two long groups down the room, another 
 hand has been at work. It almost appals. 
 For now, for the first time, I hear the 
 music, the faint, prolonged '' a-a-a-rr." 
 Then comes the clatter, and sudden rattle 
 and chinking of silver on silver, of gold on 
 gold, and the low short sentences of those 
 who preside over the rite, and — silence 
 again. As I join the group and look over 
 shoulders, then I see that strange human 
 amphitheatre, that oval of eager and yet im- 
 passive faces, all looking down on the bright 
 green field — of the cloth of gold, indeed. 
 
 What a sight ! the four magicians, with 
 their sceptres raised — the piles of gold, the 
 rouleaux, the rich coils of dollars like glit- 
 tering silver snakes, and more dangerous 
 than any snake — the fluttering notes nest- 
 ling in little velvet-lined recesses, and 
 peeping out through the gilt bars of their
 
 FATAL ZERO. 65 
 
 little cages. There is something awful in 
 this spectacle, and yet there is a silent fas- 
 cination — something, I suppose, that must 
 be akin to the spectacle at an execution. 
 
 Then the preparation, the prompt cover- 
 ing of the green ground in those fatal 
 divisions, the notes here, the glittering pile 
 of yellow pieces there, the solid handsome 
 dollars whose clinking seems music, the 
 lighter florins, the double-Fredericks, and 
 the fat sausage-like rouleaux, which these 
 wonderful and dexterous rakes adjust so 
 delicately ! Now the cards are being dealt 
 slowly, while the most perfect stillness 
 reigns, and every eye is bent on those 
 hands. I hear the dealer, at the end of the 
 first row, give a sort of grunt, with an 
 '* ung !"— then begin his second, and end 
 with judgment or verdict. There is a 
 general rustle and turning away of faces, a 
 stooping forward, a marking of paper, while 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 lo ! the four fatal rakes begin sweeping in 
 greedily gold and notes and silver — all in 
 confusion, a perfect torrent — while, this 
 fatal work over, two skilful hands begin to 
 spout money, as it were, to the ends of the 
 earth. On the fortunate heaps left undis- 
 turbed come pouring down whole Danae 
 showers of silver and gold; and to the 
 rouleaux come rolling over softly compa- 
 nion rouleaux. Now do eager fingers 
 stretch out and clutch their prize: while 
 faces, yellow and contorted, their fingers to 
 their lips, look on dismally. 
 
 Then it begins again, figures stooping for- 
 ward to lay on ; and so the wretched formula 
 goes on, repeated — for I made the calcula- 
 tion — some seven hundred times that day. 
 But it never seems to flag, and every time 
 has the air of fresh and fresher novelty. It 
 begins to sicken me, and that air of stem 
 concentrated attention, of sacrifice even,
 
 FATAL ZERO. 67 
 
 depresses me; and when I think that, if a 
 return could be got of the agitation, palpi- 
 tations, hopes, fears, despair, exultation, 
 going on during these seven hundred ope- 
 rations, it would represent a total of human 
 agony inconceivable. I see how it can be 
 again multiplied through the twelve months 
 of this wicked year. Then I think of the 
 prospective miseries to others at a distance, 
 to wives and to children — lives wretched, 
 lives unsettled — miserable deaths. I say, I 
 think of all this, and ask. Is it too much to 
 call these men special ministers of Mephis- 
 topheles — a band under the decent respect- 
 able name of a Bank, organized to destroy 
 souls by machinery, the like of which for 
 completeness exists not in this world? I 
 repeat, there is nothing on earth approach- 
 ing this company, whose men and emissaries 
 ought to wear cock's feathers and red and 
 black dresses, for their complete and suc-
 
 68 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 cessful exertions for destruction and corrup- 
 tion. They distil their poison over that 
 green board, and it is carried away to all 
 countries — to England, France, America, 
 Belgium, Germany, whence the victims re- 
 turn again and again, bringing fresh ones, 
 like true decoys. They hang men, they 
 punish and imprison for far less crimes ; 
 but on the heads of these wretches is the 
 ruin of thousands of bodies and souls, the 
 spiritual death, and the actual corporeal 
 death of thousands more, who have hung 
 themselves to the fair trees planted in sweet 
 bowers by the " administration," or stifled 
 themselves with charcoal in front of this 
 fatal palace, or who have actually dabbled 
 over with their brains the vile green table 
 on which they have lost all. A banking 
 company ! all fair, give and take, and such 
 phrases ! Satan says the same in his dealings. 
 And here is this functionary in the trim
 
 FATAL ZERO. 69 
 
 suit — a pink-faced, hard, cat-eyed sinner, 
 who steals about, and watches everybody, 
 and his own agents also, more than any one 
 else. A capital officer, they tell me, skilful 
 and wary at the accounts. To him the 
 shareholders will one day present a piece of 
 plate, or hard cash, which he would prefer, 
 in acknowledgment of his exertions in their 
 interest. that some fitting punishment 
 could be devised for those who thus fatten 
 on the blood of the innocent ! Surely I 
 should not come here. I should not breathe 
 this tainted air — look on this painted vice, 
 and their wretched shabby baits to win the 
 approbation of the decent and the moral 
 like myself. Here are our English news- 
 papers of every kind and degree. Pray, 
 they say, read all day long in these charm- 
 ing rooms, and sit on these soft couches, or 
 out here in these charming gardens while 
 our music plays for you. Do understand,
 
 70 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 nothiDg is expected from you in return. 
 You, charming English ladies, so fair and 
 pretty, you can work here with those inno- 
 cent fingers; and your nice, high-spirited 
 brothers, they would like to get up cricket, 
 would they not ? Well here is a nice field ; 
 we shall have it mowed and got ready, and to- 
 morrow shall come from Frankfort the finest 
 bats, stimips, balls— everything complete. 
 Do you give the order ; or get them from 
 London, if you like. We shaU pay. There 
 is shooting, too — quite of the best. "We 
 shall be proud to find the guns and dogs, 
 and even the powder. It will do us an 
 honour. Get up a little fete; a dance in 
 the Salons des Princes. We shall light it 
 up for yon, and find the servants. 
 
 So do these tricksters try to impose on 
 ns, with their sham presents, but for which 
 our Toms and Charleses — good-natured 
 elder brothers — must pay, and pay secretly,
 
 FATAL ZERO. 71 
 
 in many a visit to this table. They have 
 built us a superb theatre — one of the hand- 
 somest of its size in Europe. How kind, 
 how considerate ! yet they charge us a napo- 
 leon for a stall, if there is any one worth 
 hearing. Presents, indeed! we know the 
 poor relative who comes with a twopenny- 
 halfpenny pot of jam, and expects to get a 
 handsome testimonial in return. Every- 
 thing about our " administration" is in 
 keeping; and I almost grieve that I should 
 have come to such a place. This resolution, 
 at least, I can make : never to let the light of 
 an honest mans face beam on their evil 
 doings. What will they care ? but it shall 
 be my protest. 
 
 I feel I am rather warm on this matter, 
 but it does seem to me that the whole has 
 been far too gently dealt with hitherto, and 
 treated too indulgently. Even these Prus- 
 sian conquerors, who, we are told, have
 
 72 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 given them notice that they are to be chassed^ 
 have shown too much respect. They talk 
 of equities and of a lease. Do we hold to 
 leases with pirates ? Do we make treaties 
 with Bill Sikes ? Had I been the king, I 
 would have marched two regiments into 
 their glittering halls, seized their infamous 
 tools, broken the rakes across the soldiers' 
 knees, torn up their cards, smashed into 
 firewood the roulette board and its num- 
 bers, impounded their gold and silver and 
 sent it off to the hospitals, and, locking the 
 doors and leaving sentries, have marched off 
 
 M. A and M. B , their admirable 
 
 men of business, in a file of soldiers. I 
 should have these fellows tried, and put to 
 hard labour for the rest of their lives. As 
 it is, a culpable weakness has given them 
 three or four years more to pursue their 
 vile work, and gather, say, twenty thousand 
 precious souls into Satan^s own bag-net !
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Eleven o'clock at Night — I really cannot 
 endure this terrible spectacle any more, and 
 shall not go to that place again. What I 
 have seen to-night is almost awful. I went 
 into those rooms, now lit up, rich in colours, 
 and glittering like a king's palace. Such a 
 crowd, and such a contrast! First, I had 
 gone on the terrace, and looked down on the 
 charming gardens, where the innocent were 
 at the little tables, each surrounded with 
 its group, sipping coffee; the music playing 
 in the pavilion. Then I turn round and 
 look at the blazing windows, at the great 
 door behind me, which yawns like a cavern.
 
 74 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 I hear the faint '' click-click" and " rattle- 
 rattle," and that vast and quiet group 
 crowded together. They were serious and 
 earnest ; but there are delighted and festive 
 groups, wandering about — happy families, 
 charming young girls, good-natured papas 
 and mammas looking on with delight. And 
 now one of the young girls . comes tripping 
 back with *^ Charles," in such delight, show- 
 ing something shining in her hand. The 
 great soft couches round are lined with 
 festive-looking people. Every one is " cir- 
 culating,*' and there is an air of animation 
 and motion over all. Some curiosity makes 
 me linger, and share it also — a wish to de- 
 scribe to my little darling at home such a 
 strange and singular phase of manners and 
 character. 
 
 I draw near to that other table — the one 
 I had not watched in the morning, and 
 which is consecrated to roulette. It glitters
 
 FATAL ZERO. 75 
 
 all over with pieces, sown thickly, sown 
 broadcast, dotted here, there, and every- 
 where, in perfect spasms of distribution. 
 They contend with each other, this yellow, 
 fiery-eyed, and dirty man, and the keen but 
 pretty girl with powder an inch thick on 
 her face, and her pink silk gathered up about 
 her. They grudge each other room, do 
 these combatants ; they glare savagely ; the 
 old lady in black silk guides, with a trem- 
 bling hand, her single piece to some number 
 dimly seen, but whose place she guesses at. 
 As the ball flies round in its tiny circus, 
 every arm, with long-stretched wrist, lunges 
 out, eager to be on; piece jostles piece. 
 "Give us standing room," they say, no matter 
 whether they have lost or won. Then comes 
 the sudden leap and metallic click, as the ball 
 stumbles into its bed ; then the waterfall 
 comes spouting down from the centre — the 
 heavy streams of coin, directed and lighting
 
 7B FATAL ZERO. 
 
 with pleasant jingling on its fellows. No 
 one seems daunted by defeat. I see one 
 man who has been frantically piling his gold 
 here, there, and everywhere, and, by some 
 strange and devilish perversity, is not allowed 
 to win — no, not once — while little, mean, 
 cautious fiddling folk, with their florins and 
 francs, fare admirably. I see him biting 
 his lips as his nervous fingers turn over the 
 half-dozen little gold pieces, in that agoniz- 
 ing uncertainty which I note so often, 
 whether to play the bold game now, risk 
 all, or save this little wreck for another 
 season. And all to be decided within a 
 second ! When it is gone, a pause, and then 
 that rueful walking away off the stage, while 
 others rush into his place. 
 
 Or the case of another. His all seems 
 gone ; when, after an undecided council, his 
 hand seeks his breast-pocket — a note to be 
 changed — something that he has no right to
 
 FATAL ZERO. 77 
 
 meddle with ! Then the girls, young, pretty, 
 and not innocent of fear; then the ladies — 
 good sensible wives at home, but trans- 
 formed by coming to these places — gradually 
 becoming greedy harpies, and ready, if they 
 lose, to turn, cat-like, on their husbands. 
 Ah ! there is the true demon's work — not 
 the mere loss of money. All this wreck, 
 this shocking wreck, caused by this factory 
 of wickedness ! 
 
 I have had enough for one day and for 
 one night. I wish I had not seen it, for it 
 makes me wretched; and yet it is worth 
 seeing as a spectacle of infamy. What I 
 have written, too, will interest my pet at 
 home ; and, as I know she hoards up every 
 scrap of my writing, perhaps one day others 
 will find it, and read it, and it may act as a 
 warning. There ! I am going to bed infi- 
 nitely better. God be praised for his 
 mercy ! and for my pet's sake I will say over
 
 78 FATAL ZEEO. 
 
 her little prayer, which she, I know, will be 
 saying about the same time : 
 
 "0 Lord I Thou who dost guide the ship 
 over the waters^ and bring safe to its journey^ s 
 end the fiery train, look on me in this distant 
 land. Save me from harm of soul and body ; 
 give me back health and strength, that I may 
 serve Thee more faithfully, and be able to bring 
 others dependent on me to serve Thee also^ 
 and add to Thy glories I Anient 
 
 Sunday, — How sweet and delicious are 
 the mornings here; what soft airs blow 
 gently from these luxuriant trees and moun- 
 tains! One really grows fonder of the 
 place every moment. These mornings are 
 the most charming; ever so pastoral, and 
 yet it will seem but the pastoral air of the 
 theatre or the opera — sham trees and shep- 
 herdesses; and I feel all the time that the 
 corrupting Upas spreads its fatal vanities 
 over all. These pretty wells, enchanting
 
 FATAL ZERO. 79 
 
 walks, innocent flowers, music, lights, trees, 
 ferns, what not — they could hardly exist 
 without this support. The odious and 
 plundering vice keeps up and pays for all, 
 even for the innocent blessinofs of nature: 
 and I do doubt whether one is not accessory 
 before the act to those results, in accepting 
 any benefit from so contaminated a source, 
 and lending ones countenance in return to 
 their doings. But this is too much refin- 
 ing, and my pet at home will smile at such 
 scruples. I must not set up to be a saint, 
 and I shall do more practical work if, by 
 word or example, I can save some light and 
 careless soul from the temptation. Some 
 way I seem to myself to be grown a little 
 too virtuous since I came here; but in pre- 
 sence of this awful destroyer it is hard not 
 to be serious. 
 
 A great bait to purchase the good will of 
 the decent is the reading room, flooded
 
 80 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 literally witli journals of all climes. Squire 
 John Bull is paid special attention to, by 
 half a dozen— his favourite Times^ Pall Mall, 
 Morning Herald even — though what put 
 that journal in the heads of the administra- 
 tion it would be hard to tell — and the 
 veteran Galignani. Only a glass door be- 
 tween the Times and the squire, who is 
 stingy at heart, and resents postage, and at 
 the same time having to subscribe to his 
 club at home, where he can have all these 
 papers for nothing — British flesh and blood 
 cannot stand that; so he and his wife — I 
 know him at once by his gold glass and 
 complacent air as he reads — come every 
 morning at eleven o'clock, and sit and de- 
 vour their cheap news till one or two. The 
 greediness and selfishness displayed as to 
 getting papers by these people is inconceiv- 
 able. I do say there is more of the little 
 mean vices engendered in that room than
 
 FATAL ZERO. 81 
 
 one could possibly conceive in so small a 
 space. The moment he enters, there is the 
 questing eye looking round with suspicion 
 and eagerness until he sees the mainsail of 
 his Times fluttering in another Briton's 
 hand — an old enemy — i.e. one who is a 
 slow reader, and who reads every word. 
 He himself is a slow reader, and reads every 
 word ; but that is nothing to the point. A 
 look of dislike and anger spreads over his 
 face : but there is the other copy, also " in 
 hand" — in the hand of a dowager, with 
 glasses also — " that beast of a woman," he 
 tells his wife. The person in whose hands 
 he likes to see his Times is a young thing, 
 a " chit of a girl," who just skims over a 
 column or two, reads the Court Circular 
 portion, and the account of the latest opera. 
 Though indeed, he thinks that she has no 
 business to be reading at all. He prowls 
 about, looking at the owners of other papers, 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 as who should say, " Ugh, you !" Now 
 some one lays down a paper, and he rushes 
 at it, anticipating another cormorant by a 
 second; it is only the old journal, not 
 yesterday^s. Then, with eyes of discontent, 
 he goes up to the reader in possession of 
 the Times^ and says, bitterly, " I'll trouble 
 you^ when you have done with that;'" to 
 which the answer is a grunt. And then he 
 draws a chair close opposite to that reader, 
 and if glaring can hurry, or restless moving 
 of the chair, or impatient ejaculation, he 
 cannot fail. When he does secure it, 
 what a read he has, and how he does take 
 it out of the others ! If he could he would 
 have three or four — one to sit on, one lying 
 near him, another under his arm or behind 
 his back. And yet he is not a bad man, I 
 am sure, at home ; but the very atmosphere 
 of this place, perverts everything. The 
 French and Germans in this room take the
 
 FATAL ZERO. 83 
 
 thing more tranquilly. They read their 
 little newspaper quietly and swiftly, with 
 a little faint eagerness to get possession of 
 the Figaro^ or some diverting paper; but 
 no one glares at his neighbour. My Dora 
 at home will send me out a paper, so I shall 
 be independent of these rascals and their 
 pitiful bribes. 
 
 Two o'clock, — The dogs in the street 
 drawing the little milk carts, harnessed so 
 neatly, and drawing so willingly, are a 
 pretty sight. Honest Tray, with his broad 
 jaws well open, and he himself panting 
 from the heat, looks up every now and 
 again to the neat German girl who walks 
 by him. When she wants him to go on 
 she leads him gently by his great yellow 
 ear, as if it was a bridle. When there are 
 two together, they trot on merrily ; but the 
 work is too much for the poor paws of a 
 single fellow. When they are waiting, I
 
 84 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 notice she draws them into the shade, and 
 they lie down there, in their harness. 
 
 I must tell you, dearest, about the people 
 here, for this is a great place in which to 
 study human nature and character. All 
 the tribes of the earth seem to come here, 
 and take a new sort of shape as they stay. 
 It is a paradise for women, and for pretty 
 ivomen, and therefore if my pet were here, 
 — but I must not turn that pretty head 
 which the London sculptor wished to 
 model. Neither should I like her to be 
 exposed to the bold, free-and-easy study of 
 some of the gentry who walk about here, 
 and survey beauty leisurely. In England, 
 did any venture to '^ stare," as we would 
 call it, in such a fashion, we should be 
 tempted to fetch him a good stroke across 
 his insolent face. But here, in this gather- 
 ing of all the licentious free lances of Europe, 
 it is tolerated and invited even. Yes,
 
 FATAL ZERO. 85 
 
 women are actually proud of this question- 
 able sort of attention, and they give a look 
 in return, though only a second's length, as 
 if to challenge fresh attention. And yet it 
 must be owned, our own decent, decorous 
 dames and girls, do look a poor race here ; 
 they seem to want style, which is with 
 beauty colour, everything save expression. 
 There is, indeed, a charming-looking girl, 
 who walks about here with a sister, and has 
 an air of enjoyment and delight truly re- 
 freshing in the fade indifference which 
 prevails. She has the most mysterious 
 likeness to my Dora at home : I am glad 
 she is here, as she will be a little photo- 
 graph of one who is so dear to me. The 
 same expression, the same aristocratic look 
 that she has. Petite, with an exquisitely- 
 shaped head, the richest and glossiest dark 
 hair, the most refined outline of face ; I am 
 struck with her more and more.
 
 86 FATAL ZEEO. 
 
 What contrasts to her the Americans, 
 dressed to extravagance in theatrical " cos-j 
 tumes,'^ as they call laces and flounces, and 
 the shortest of dresses, the highest of heels, 
 some certainly two or three inches highl 
 Their faces are surprisingly round and full 
 and brilliant, their figures good and hand- 
 some, which is a surprise; but when they 
 open their full lips out streams the twang, 
 nasal and horny. I shall see more of 
 them, however, at a ball to be given pre- 
 sently. 
 
 I know some little details of their dress, 
 &c., will amuse my pet. What will she 
 say to a rich black silk Watteau dress,, 
 looped and curtained up, all over em- 
 broidery, with a crimson Spanish petticoat 
 seen below, the black all lit up here and 
 there with the most delicate little lines and 
 edging of crimson ? It is as delicate as a 
 Cardinal's undress. " What will I say," I
 
 FATAL ZERO. ST 
 
 hear my pet answer, "simply this — It would 
 cost half a year's salary." Then what will 
 she say to a faint amber-coloured summer 
 dress, all looped and hanging in festoons, 
 with a pale blue and white petticoat? This 
 is indeed dressing in water colour, and both 
 belong to an American. There is another, 
 a sort of pale sprite of a fairy, so white and 
 delicate are her cheeks, so lustrous her eyes, 
 so artificial the eiFect. She is all eternal 
 smiles and giggling, and writhing and twist- 
 ing of the neck, a favourite part of Ameri- 
 can pantomime. Her dress is becomingly 
 short, abolishing the oft-quoted Sir John 
 Suckling's line; for here ladies feet do not, 
 like little mice, '^run in and out," but 
 rather arrogantly display themselves, pea- 
 cock-like, as ostentatiously as they can^ 
 We might find patterns here of the plumage 
 of all the birds of the air, from the flamingo 
 downward; with a good deal of damaged^
 
 88 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 ware, which I would not for the world my 
 pet saw, but this is only more of the work 
 of the Mephistopheles company yonder. 
 To think, again, I say, that these pure 
 blessings, these life-giving springs, sent to 
 give strength and innocence, all to be turned 
 into fresh agents for attracting villany and 
 vice. Was there ever such diabolical per- 
 versity ! 
 
 There is an American family sitting op- 
 posite, at table d'hote, whom I shall just 
 touch off. The men are odious, and the 
 whole family deceptive. I sit next them 
 the first day, and think they are intelligent, 
 and rational, and moderate, and that we 
 have done the country some injustice. 
 There is a father with a coal-black wig and 
 walnut face next to me; an elderly and 
 simpering wife, with another wig, next to 
 him ; opposite are young and rising Ameri- 
 cans — two youths and a girl. The walnut
 
 FATAL ZERO. 89 
 
 face enters readily into conversation, that 
 is, makes statements in an odd sort of way, 
 rolling his eyes with an accompanying grin 
 after each statement, and going into gastro- 
 nomic raptures; not only that, but, accord- 
 ing to the slang phrase, ** going into" the 
 delicacies themselves without fear or re- 
 straint. Even into the salad, though the 
 doctor has warned him. This meal is the 
 paradise of red-faced old men, who do in- 
 deed gorge themselves, and think they can 
 repair all disasters by a morning's walk and 
 a few tumblers at the spring. 
 
 A question to my neighbour reveals the 
 Yankee by an interrogative reply: "See- 
 yer?" as who should say, '' What d'ye say to 
 that, stranger?" As, for instance, "I were 
 secretary o' state for Lueezana in the yeer 
 '20 ;" interrogative and sudden goggling of 
 the eyes. I bow, and say, " Indeed !" " Oh, 
 but, yes I we-ere. In the year '25, ser, the
 
 90 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 President he sent for me, and consul-ted 
 me on the then money crisis, he did/' 
 Grin of delight and rolling of the eyes. '^ I 
 were at your court, ser, in the year '30, on 
 a special mission to our minister, I wee-ere." 
 After these little preliminaries he grows a 
 little interesting about some recollections 
 of the older American gentlemen, and I 
 begin to think him an intelligent and sensi- 
 ble, though odd American. But the next 
 day a harmless observation of mine as to 
 the inconvenience resulting to the public 
 departments from all employes going out 
 with the President, caused a complete 
 change. The cloven hoof was put down on 
 the table. The little European plating 
 came off. I had scraped the Russian and 
 found the snob. "Yew," he said, "yew 
 had no police in yewer city before the yeer 
 '40. The streets of London were unsafe to 
 walk in. Yewer State, sir, is decaying
 
 FATAL ZERO. 91 
 
 fast. We're coming up fast, rapidly ; yewer 
 goin' down." 
 
 On this tack tlie whole family opened. 
 One said, apropos of nothing, that "yewer 
 kynage was all debased. The gold w^eren't 
 pure, and the selver bad." The lady 
 added, very nasally, that what annoyed 
 ber was tbe English saying that the Ame- 
 ricans talked through their noses. " Now, 
 I'm shewer, yewer cockneys, and yewer 
 Yorkshire, and yewer Irish and Scotch, 
 they do talk queer." On this, the discus- 
 sion got a little inflamed, and rather per- 
 sonal on both sides. 
 
 You may tell our dear Mr. Barnard, that 
 no one has yet found out that I come from 
 a country town. They think I lived all my 
 life in Town.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Monday. — I am not sorry that I adopted 
 that resolution of forswearing the Kursaal 
 and its reading-rooms, though I did see 
 Mr. Lewis, the clergyman of the English 
 chapel, going in and sitting down, and 
 reading his Galignani. Can he really know 
 what he is doing? He is on the spot, a 
 resident, and it is, as it were, in his parish. 
 Well, at all events, it is his concern. 
 I even saw him enter from the colonnade, 
 go up the steps into the great cavern en- 
 trance and pass through. He was, I sup- 
 pose, looking for some one. Still, if I were 
 to refine on the matter, this garden where
 
 FATAL ZERO. 93 
 
 I am now, is theirs, kept by their gar- 
 deners. This very seat on which I sit, was 
 paid for by them. Now what do you say, 
 Dora? Send me some little bit of casuistry 
 
 to help me over the matter 
 
 What scenes I do see, even so far off as 
 I am now; hints, as it were, of a whole 
 history. Thus have I come in late to a 
 theatre, and, standing in the box lobby, 
 have peeped in, through the little glass 
 window in the door. That glimpse has a 
 strange mystery, from the fact of all having 
 been worked up to a point, abrupt to 
 you. The situation seems overcharged, we 
 who look are in quite another region — a 
 long way behind, as it were. I have no- 
 ticed a fair-haired youth with a gold 
 "pinch-nose," and who is certainly not 
 more than twenty, and on his arm is a 
 charming little French girl of seventeen, 
 round and rosy, and dressed in the most
 
 94 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 piquant way imaginable. I soon found out 
 that they are just married, not further 
 back than a month. They were supremely 
 happy, like children, running from one 
 thing to another, and enjoying everything 
 with a surprising happiness and animation. 
 He wore a straw-coloured silk coat and 
 white hat — she, a most coquettish little hat 
 and a pink and white short dress. 
 
 On the first day I had noticed them 
 standing at the mouth of what I call " the 
 yawning cave," hesitating gently, she look- 
 ing in with the strangest air of curiosity, 
 half in amazement, half in awe. Then I 
 see them go in, and really that seemed, by a 
 sort of instinct, to be for me the beginning 
 of something that would end tragically. 
 Their look of supreme happiness seemed, I 
 suppose, to imply a contrast and supple- 
 ment of disaster. In half an hour I saw 
 them come back, she triumphant, fluttering,
 
 FATAL ZERO. 95 
 
 he with a complacent and boyish smile, 
 looking at something bright in his hand. 
 She skipped and danced and clapped her 
 hands. I might suppose they had won. 
 They were children, and I had a surprising 
 
 interest in them — I know not why 
 
 I dined to-day at the Four Seasons 
 Hotel, which at these places is always said 
 to be a most gay and festive-looking hotel, 
 with orange trees in front, and a kind of 
 scene-painting air. So an old gentleman, 
 who had been all round the watering- 
 places, told me. He could not account for 
 it, he said, but there it was. I accounted 
 for it to him by the invincible power of 
 names. Give a girl, I said, a pretty and 
 romantic name, like Geraldine, or Dorcas, 
 or Violet, and she will be sure in some 
 degree to fall into the hey of that pretty 
 music. He did not seem to see it, but 
 grunted and moved away from me. An-
 
 96 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 other man said, " he supposed it paid," — a 
 coarse view, which did not touch the 
 matter. These table d'hotes are certainly 
 the most festive way of eating a dinner. 
 There is such variety in the faces, such 
 pretty, intellectual, or stupid, heavy faces 
 — faces, indeed, that seem to have been 
 turned all day long towards that dinner, 
 and wistfully expecting it. A long narrow 
 room, yet so bright and airy, and looking 
 on the street; I can fancy nothing so 
 cheerful. Every one is in good humour; 
 and even the waiters have a festive air, 
 principally, I believe, from their being boys 
 and boyish, as is the custom here, and not 
 the mouldy, ancient, clumsy-legged, clumsy- 
 fingered veterans who do duty with us. 
 And what a good dinner — what a choice of 
 wine, instead of our limited sherry, and 
 claret, and " Bass." The little flasks dot 
 the table down. Their Aflfenthaler, ordi-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 97 
 
 nary, but good ; the yellow hocks, infinite 
 in variety ; the better Assmanshausen, and 
 the hockheimer sparkling, all at such mo- 
 derate prices. I see complete families pour 
 in, and take up position in line, father, 
 stout mother, pleasant daughters, and the 
 conceited son. Then the dinner sets in like 
 a torrent ; all the pleasant German dishes ; 
 those vegetables which we know not of in 
 England, and best of all, those delicious 
 fowls, wherewith arrives the late but wel- 
 come salad. It does seem to me that it 
 comes at the precise and fitting moment, 
 with a pleasant sense of expectancy going 
 before it, he and his friend the fowl. My 
 dear Dora will hardly think that this can 
 be her old invalid that is speaking. 
 
 On this day I find myself seated next to 
 the little husband and wife of the morning, 
 who come in full of delight and satisfaction, 
 and smiling they know not why. I con- 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 fess I am glad to be near so much inno- 
 cence, and also on account of a little scheme 
 I have in view. With such a pair, it is 
 not difficult to begin a conversation. They 
 were glad of the sympathy. My dear Dora 
 knows that my stock of French is tolerably 
 respectable, and that I can put it to fair 
 use. They spoke together, and told me 
 everything about themselves. They were 
 not rich, but had enough. They were 
 enjoying themselves so. It was the most 
 delicious place in the world. " It was 
 heaven itself," she said; "and do you 
 know," she added, " all the money we made 
 — that is, he made — to-day, and so easily — 
 eight napoleons; and out of it he bought 
 me this sweet little " brooch." And she 
 showed on her breast what was certainly a 
 very charming little ornament. This 
 naivete and her agreeable prattle began to 
 interest me a great deal; but I could see
 
 FATAL ZERO. 99 
 
 there was in him a certain boyish self- 
 sufficiency — a latent idea that this gaming 
 success was chiefly owing to his own clever- 
 ness. He talked very wisely about the 
 principles. I quietly ventured to hint that 
 luck might change, as it did so often and 
 so fatally. But he only laughed. Just as 
 dinner was nearly over, a friend sent in to 
 him ; he went out, and I was left with the 
 charming little wife. Something inspired 
 me to seize the opportunity, and give a little 
 warning to this interesting young creature. 
 " Your husband," I said, " seems quite 
 excited about his success ; but may I give 
 you a piece of advice? The beginning 
 ends always in the same way. You know 
 not how fatal is this spell, once it gets any 
 influence. Tiie rage for play, if it takes 
 possession of any one, destroys all — lo^w^ 
 happiness, everything else. I know it, and 
 every one here knows it." 
 
 1—^
 
 100 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 This way of putting it was a little artful, 
 and I saw it had great effect. The pretty 
 face looked a little scared. I went on. 
 
 " I speak sincerely and in your interest, 
 though I am a mere stranger; and I do 
 advise you and warn you, to take care and 
 not encourage your husband in this pur- 
 suit. There is no harm done as yet, and 
 be content with your little spoils." This 
 may seem a little too indulgent, too com- 
 placent, to the evil practice, against which 
 I have sworn war to the knife, to the death, 
 and from which, with the blessing of 
 Heaven, I shall rescue many. But such a 
 foe it is pardonable to meet with craft like 
 his own. 
 
 He then came back, but I saw she had 
 grown thoughtful. It was something to do 
 a little bit of good, even in this cheap way. 
 I see them at night, hovering about the 
 yawning entrance to the cave, she, with a
 
 FATAL ZERO. 101 
 
 little hesitation whispering him earnestly, 
 and looking in with trepidation. They do 
 not see me. They walk away, but alas, 
 come back and enter. 
 
 Still the seed is sown. It may have done 
 good. It is really amazing this instinct 
 I have of all the working of this infamous 
 system. I might have been a veteran 
 gambler; though their knowledge is not 
 much.
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Tuesday. — But I must leave these minor 
 things quite out of sight, to come to the 
 strangest thing that has ever happened, one 
 of the most mysterious and inconceivable. 
 Could I ever have dreamt of it? And yet 
 I am not sorry. Dora, dearest, prepared 
 for something dramatic ! 
 
 Let me begin calmly. Last night, after 
 the young pair had gone in, I was sitting 
 under the long glass colonnade of the ter- 
 race, looking down on the crowd in those 
 gardens, lit up by the twinkling lamps, and 
 which have such a charm for me. Along 
 that colonnade are about a hundred little
 
 FATAL ZERO. 103' 
 
 tables, all crowded with eager and lively 
 people, sipping drinks, taking iced beer, 
 champagne — happy winners, and more dis- 
 mal losers. The waiters are flying up and 
 down, hurrying to and fro, shouting orders ; 
 while below, among the green trees and 
 flowers, are the crowds seated, and on the 
 right the illuminated kiosque, with the de- 
 licious Prussian band pouring out their 
 strains. " Ravishing" is but a poor word 
 for these accomplished musicians, who be- 
 long to the Thirty-fourth Eegiment, and are 
 led by the skilful "chapel- master," Parlow. 
 Their vast strength and breadth of sound, 
 their rich instruments, with every instru- 
 ment made the most of, their exquisite 
 taste, volume, clearness, distinctness, and 
 mastery of the most difficult passages, makes 
 their performance almost entrancing. Hear 
 them play three overtures — William Tell, 
 Tannhauser, and Oberon — and the musician
 
 104 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 will be amazed as well as enraptured, the 
 marvellous violin passages of the last being 
 performed like so much child's-play — -just 
 as an accomplished pianoforte player runs 
 up and down the keys. Hear them, too, 
 in some fantasia on airs from L'Africaine or 
 Faust, and revel in the taste and feeling of 
 the solos, and the dramatic bursts and 
 crashes, and the " hurrying" and lingering 
 of the time, as though they were an opera 
 orchestra. When we think of our creatures 
 — ^those groups of hodmen and mechanics 
 who form what is by courtesy termed '' a 
 military band," those mere grinders and 
 sawyers of music, who play as though they 
 would dig or hammer — when we think, I 
 say, of our " crack" regiments, our Guards, 
 formed out of the very pink of professionals, 
 and see how mediocre is the result, one 
 must feel a little humiliation and some 
 envy, and should be glad to come this dis-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 105 
 
 tance and hear these Prussians. I can hear 
 them, too, with a safe conscience, for they 
 do not belong to my enemies the adminis- 
 tration. 
 
 But I am putting off this wonderful sur- 
 prise. Well, T was sitting there, listening, 
 close also to the mouth of the cave, which 
 has still for me that sense of mystery, when 
 I hear some angry voices, and two men are 
 coming down the steps in excitement. One 
 is tall, and in a white Panama hat, and very 
 excited. 1 hear him say, '^ It is always the 
 way when I listen to your infernal talk. 
 rd have had a hundred in my hand now 
 but for you. I could pitch you down these 
 steps, on your face ! Go away, I tell you — 
 leave me alone !" 
 
 The voice seemed familiar to me — so cold 
 and grating, with all its excitement, that I 
 seemed to recal it perfectly. Unconsciously 
 I started up to be quite certain, and, on the
 
 106 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 noise, he turned and looked at me. He 
 knew me ; I knew him. 
 
 His face turned livid, and a spasm of fury- 
 passed over it. 
 
 " Grainger !" 
 
 "Austen!" 
 
 He advanced towards me, and for a 
 moment I thought he meant some violence. 
 But he suddenly checked himself, and then 
 walked away, down the terrace. Then, as 
 suddenly turned back, and came up to me. 
 
 After a pause, he spoke. " So you are 
 here. Did you know that I was here?" 
 
 "No, Grainger," I answered, " I did not." 
 
 "What, no new scheme on hand? No, 
 I should say not; for you had better wait, 
 my friend^ until you know whether the old 
 account has been closed." 
 
 " The only scheme I have,'' I answered, 
 " is to get back some health, and life even,, 
 which is nearly gone from me."
 
 FATAL ZERO. 107 
 
 " Ay. But do you know all that has 
 gone from me — all that you took from mel 
 Eh? — all that you stole from me ! What do 
 you say? Answer!" 
 
 Again there was something so threaten- 
 ing in his manner, that I half moved back, 
 as if to defend myself. 
 
 "Oh, don't be afraid," he said; "we dare 
 not do these things in this place. Here, 
 kellner, come here, will you ! Bring some 
 red wine here, strong and good, and don't 
 be an hour, with your ' Via monsieur,' and 
 all that humbug. Come, sit down, Mr. 
 Austen; you may as well; I am not going 
 to be violent, so you needn't be afraid. I 
 want to let you know something which you 
 ought to know." 
 
 " Grainger," I said, "when all that took 
 place, you had your opportunity. I met 
 you fairly and " 
 
 " Met me fairly /" he repeated, his eyes
 
 108 FATAL ZEKO. 
 
 dropping on me with a flash, " can you say- 
 that — you who set up to be a moral and 
 praying man !'' Then he laughed. "But, my 
 good friend, that is all so long ago. An old 
 story like that must not be exhumed. Let 
 it rot away in the ground. Dead leaves — 
 nothing but a pile of decayed dead leaves ! 
 If you don't rake them up, I promise you I 
 shall not. There. Come ! let us have 
 something, as earnest. You shall pay for 
 me, who was the loser then, and I think the 
 injured man.'* 
 
 Something in this phrase struck me, and 
 I felt there was some truth in what he said. 
 He was the defeated party; I was the victor, 
 and ought to be generous. 
 
 "What shall it be," I said, "cham- 
 pagne ?" 
 
 " Do you take me for an American ?" he 
 said, with a laugh. " No, cognac. Now 
 let us talk. I have forgiven and forgotten
 
 FATAL ZERO. 109 
 
 all that — though it ruined me for ever and 
 ever, amen. I had a sort of infatuation over 
 me. She, that girl — I mean Mrs. Austen, 
 made me a miserable fool. If she had come 
 here, I would have followed her. I'd have 
 played my body and soul, that is, if I had 
 seen a chance. But you had it all your 
 own way. How does she look now — does 
 she hate me ? Come, tell me ! And yet a 
 good deal is on her gentle head. This is 
 my life now, poor me; a 'hell,' to many 
 others. You saw what I was then, a gentle- 
 man, at least well off, respected — own that! 
 Well, I had to leave the army ; I did some- 
 thing I ought not to have done, from sheer 
 desperation. Yes, I did, and sank lower 
 and lower, and all this was your joint work; 
 but I don't want to blame you. By Jove, it 
 is I who am raking up the dead leaves after 
 all ! Ah, here's the cognac." 
 
 I felt a pity for him. There was truth
 
 110 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 in what he said. Since you, Dora, had been 
 saved from him, all these troubles had come 
 upon him. He had grown desperate; he 
 was at least privileged to speak as he pleased, 
 and have that slight consolation. I saw, 
 too, that he was altered. At that time he 
 was considered by the women a good- 
 looking man, his face having a little of 
 that rude gauntness which is not un- 
 pleasing. He had large eyes, and a black 
 irregular beard and moustache. Now he 
 had grown careless in his dress. I knew 
 how much that portended, and felt a deep 
 pity for him. 
 
 " Grainger," I said, "it was hard for you, 
 for I know you loved her. But I declare 
 solemnly here, that my loving her had 
 nothing to do with it, and you know your- 
 self, Grainger, a marriage with you could 
 not have been for her happiness, after that 
 business ''
 
 FATAL ZERO. Ill 
 
 His brow contracted, his eye glared. " I 
 know what you mean," he said. " That 
 was false, false as hell False as I sit here, 
 
 and hope to be Well, I have much hope 
 
 of that.'' 
 
 " They said it was true/' I said ; " but 
 even to have such a rumour, and in the case 
 
 of a fair innocent young girl Admit 
 
 yourself, Grainger, it could not be." 
 
 He answered in a low voice, *' It was all 
 false — a lie, an invention. There was the 
 sting. Of course I cannot prove it; but 
 suppose it untrue, what punishment would 
 you say was enough for the one who did me 
 so horrid an injury? Would a whole life be 
 too long to devote to punishing the doer of 
 such an injury?" 
 
 " You cannot mean me ?'' I said. 
 
 " Well, I did mean you then^'^ he said. 
 " I suppose, if there had been opportunity, 
 I could have killed you. But that is all
 
 il2 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 over, all past and gone. Nothing could 
 make Roly Poly as he was before. The 
 eggshell is broken, and the yolk run out. 
 So tell me about yourself, and about her. 
 What brings you here ?" 
 
 There was something so frank, so gene- 
 rous, so valorous, in this way of taking the 
 thing, that with an involuntary motion I 
 put out my hand and grasped his. Shall I 
 say, too, I felt a sudden twinge of con- 
 science ; and had all along a dim foreboding 
 that the story might not have been true, 
 or at least, have got its colouring of truth 
 from what might have been interested 
 motives on my side? I was too much con- 
 cerned, perhaps, to be impartial, and if he 
 was innocent, then some share in this work 
 might be laid to my account. What was 
 plainly my duty, was to try and compensate 
 in some way, at least by kindness — for I 
 had not much else at my command — for so
 
 FATAL ZERO. 113 
 
 cruel a wrong as this. I complied heartily 
 with his wish; told him all that brought 
 me here, and the business I was about. He 
 listened attentively. Then we wandered 
 back, step by step slowly, and agreeably 
 too, till we got to the old, old days, where 
 we called up all those scenes, — ^with you, 
 Dora, the military balls, the pleasant nights, 
 and pleasant days; what seemed like pic- 
 tures or scenes out of a beautiful play seen 
 in childhood — misty, indistinct, but de- 
 lightful to think over. He spoke charm- 
 ingly, regretfully, and even tenderly. 
 
 " Those were happy and innocent times,'' 
 he said. " Scarcely happy after all for me, 
 though there is a sort of happiness in such 
 suffering. Yet compared with all I have 
 
 gone through since ! Still in this life," 
 
 he added, nodding at the cave behind us, 
 "there is an excitement, too — it helps one 
 to forget." 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 *'But think, how will it end?" I said, 
 with some excitement. *'It cannot have 
 the slow progress of what you call a life. 
 It must hurry on suddenly to destruction. 
 Oh, Grrainger, stop, I implore of you, before 
 it be too late ! You have a dear immortal 
 soul to save." 
 
 •'But if it he too late," he said, "and 
 was too late years ago ? I don't know but if 
 I saw any road — it all seems a jungle, or 
 my eyes have got dim. Still, since you 
 have talked to me, and brought before me 
 those days, I don't feel quite so bad. We 
 will speak of those things again — her name 
 to me may have some power, at least, and 
 if you will not think it a trouble or a bore 
 while you are here " 
 
 I wrung his hand warmly. " I would 
 take it as a favour," I said ; " oh, let me 
 help you in some way, and if I have in- 
 jured you, let me at least try and keep you
 
 FATAL ZERO. 115 
 
 from this life, which must end in misery 
 and ruin.'* 
 
 " Well, we shall see/' he said. 
 
 Two people came out of the cave a little 
 hurriedly. It was the youthful husband 
 walking first, by himself, his hands in his 
 pockets, his face flushed. She was tripping 
 behind him, with the most dismal, dejected 
 expression on her face. In a moment that 
 small hand, it had a tiny black mitten on, 
 was on his arm. It seemed to receive an 
 impatient welcome there, and dropped 
 again. 
 
 Grainger followed my eyes, " You see l" 
 he said, " the old story !" 
 
 Hers met mine, and they seemed to say, 
 '' Oh, how right you were." 
 
 I knew I was — an instinct told me I 
 should be so. After all, bred in a country 
 town as I was, my dear Dora, I have 
 learnt to judge a little of human nature. 
 
 S—z
 
 116; FATAL ZERO. 
 
 It comes by a sort of instinct. I wish 
 I had been wrong in this view; but the 
 same instinct whispers to me that this is 
 but the end of the first act. Poor — poor 
 little pair! 
 
 "That was the way it was with me at 
 first," said Grainger; "I know that story 
 pretty well. I have seen it here over and: 
 over again. Will you come in with me 
 and see me try my hand — a new face, they 
 say, brings new luck. And yet to-night it 
 seems to jar upon me — ^you have brought 
 me back into the old days. But still what 
 can I do ? As well tell a man who has sold 
 himself to brandy, not to drink. Besides, 
 what would be the use? I may as well 
 finish, as I have begun. I have nothing to 
 look to now." 
 
 ^* I cannot tell you how all this pains me, > 
 Grainger," I said, really distressed. "0, 
 if my words could but have some little
 
 FATAL ZERO. 117 
 
 effect ! Do — as you say the holy influence 
 of the past is upon you — just for this night 
 abstain. Even for Dora's sake, whom you 
 once so loved, and who would rejoice to 
 know that her name even had that little 
 power left. If you knew its effect on me P 
 
 A very curious look came into his face. 
 He turned it off with a laugh. " Well, a 
 night doesn't make much difference. I am 
 a fool, I know. There, we'll walk about 
 instead." 
 
 I felt almost a thrill of pleasure at this 
 unexpected success. My pet's name is, in- 
 deed, an amulet to conjure with. After so 
 many years, and at so many hundred miles' 
 distance, to have such a power! And I 
 think I may fairly claim a small share of 
 the credit. Earnestness and sincerity go 
 some way : perhaps, too, that little magna- 
 nimity. There was some little tact in my 
 reception of him; others might have grown
 
 118 
 
 PATAL ZERO. 
 
 confused and angry. Here am I praising 
 myself; but I am in such good spirits. But 
 you must put up your gentle prayer for 
 him, Dora,
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 I FOUND Grainger last night really enter- 
 taining and amusing. Hitherto a good 
 many of the people here have been like the 
 ■figures in front of the old grinding organs, 
 revolving, and glittering, and eccentric to 
 look at, but still without names or charac- 
 ters. Grainger knows them all, names, 
 dates, and addresses. There was the great 
 banker, there was the great speculator, the 
 man who could change paper into gold by 
 a touch, by a word even, and who was now 
 wandering about here, as poor as I or my 
 companion. Did I see that ascetical-look- 
 ing man? that was the Bishop of Graves-
 
 120 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 end; or that woman in orange and black, 
 the famous Phryne Coralie, — English by 
 birth, but who had risen to the highest 
 rank in whatever ''carriere" she followed. 
 There, too, was the great singer, who had 
 shrieked and declaimed — the tragedy 
 queens of opera, who had denounced the 
 craven PoUio many thousand nights in her 
 life, who had bearded wicked Counts de 
 Luna as many times more, who had sung 
 in the garden turning over the stage jewels 
 with grinning Mephistopheles and enrap- 
 tured Faust; and here she was taking an 
 ice. Here on the terrace is the smaller 
 lady, who sits on a lower throne, but has 
 far more subjects and adorers. Here is 
 that little sycophant, known to every one 
 who comes to these places, who dogs lords 
 and ladies, and makes them stand while he 
 pours in his little adulatory small shot; 
 and here is quite a happy hunting ground
 
 FATAL ZERO. 121 
 
 for those ladies of good connexion and title 
 even, whose wings have been a little burnt 
 as they fluttered through town drawing- 
 rooms, but who find them quite sufficient 
 to support them here, the atmosphere is so 
 dense. 
 
 He is infinitely amusing is Grainger, his 
 stories and his scandal, which I can quite 
 conceive to be perfectly true. I can see he 
 has got into spirits as he tells these things; 
 and though it is rather light and unpro- 
 fitable food, it takes ofi* his mind from 
 things more dangerous. What we said last 
 night has left a deep impression: and to 
 think of one so clever, so observant, so 
 brilliant even, to have been shipwrecked in 
 this way, indirectly through our doing ! I 
 must ask my dear pet to write me out 
 something kind and sympathetic, which I 
 can show to this poor waif and stray, and 
 comfort him. That little heart has done
 
 122 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 the mischief, and she must make up a little, 
 and I lay a husband's despotic commands 
 on her. For I have set my heart on bring- 
 ing this man back into the path of decency 
 and order, and feel a conviction I shall suc- 
 ceed, if I could get but some power and in- 
 fluence over him. I say again, my pet 
 must pray. 
 
 To-day is Sunday. How strange is a 
 Sunday in this place ! There is an English 
 church, a chaplain, and a regular round of 
 duty; but I think there would be less 
 affectation in ignoring altogether such re- 
 ligious machinery. It is at variance with 
 the place, quite an anachronism. For even 
 in the relations of religion to the state — I 
 mean to the '^ administration," they tell me 
 there used to enter something grotesque 
 the curious. When the use of the Lu- 
 theran church was graciously conceded to 
 English worshippers it was an article
 
 FATAL ZERO. 123 
 
 strictly insisted on, " that there should be 
 no preaching against going to the Bank'* — 
 a pleasant euphuism for gambling. This 
 was a serious warning. Later on, as the 
 church and chaplain had to be kept up by 
 voluntary contributions and "a book," 
 which was sent round to the visitors, the 
 company found that this was telling a little 
 indirectly on their interests. Testy fathers 
 grew impatient at these applications : ''in- 
 fernal begging place," '' have to pay my 
 own man at home'* — complaints which 
 were, of course, nothing to the Bank. But 
 when it was added, " I shall take care not 
 to come hack here again^^^ it took quite 
 another shape. Like the " refait*' at their 
 own game, it told, on the whole, against 
 the player. So it was conveyed to the 
 chaplain that in their zeal for the advance- 
 ment of religion the administration would 
 be happy to pay him his salary, and a
 
 124 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 handsome one too ; that the collecting by a 
 book was scarcely dignified, gave him too 
 much trouble, &c. This tempting offer 
 was at once declined, and without reluc- 
 tance; but it was a little too strong. The 
 wages of preaching to be furnished by the 
 wages of sin! By-and-by, too, it might 
 have been required that a word or two 
 should be delicately insinuated in favour of 
 the harmlessness of the game. What a 
 place! If it should be my destiny to in- 
 sert the small end of the wedge, that is to 
 split — crack the whole institution asunder ! 
 Already I see their servants — the hired 
 bullies of the place — looking at me with 
 distrust.
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 Thursday. — I have not yet heard from 
 Frankfort, but they tell me here that the 
 merchant is away at his estates. There is 
 no hurry, however — nay, I should wish for 
 a little time to devote myself to my mission, 
 as I may call it. I really feel a sort of 
 " caU" to do good here. I have watched 
 Grainger all this day, and he has not gone 
 in — at least I have not seen him myself; for 
 I must keep to my fixed rule of not enter- 
 ing that cruel spiders' net, that tigers' den. 
 I asked him this evening, had he kept his 
 promise. He laughed, and would give me 
 no answer. " Don't expect miracles," he
 
 126 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 said ; " you can't expect a man to reform all 
 at once. That little picture we made out 
 together last night is still going about with 
 me, dancing before my eyes. I wish I could 
 shut it out ; I did so for some years. Come 
 in," he added, " and let us at least look at 
 them, as the hungry beggars find some 
 relief in looking into a cook-shop win- 
 dow." 
 
 I shook my head. " I have made a sort 
 of resolution," I said, " and must keep to it. 
 It would be sanctioning, in some sort, what 
 I cannot approve." 
 
 '^ What rubbish !" he said, suddenly turn- 
 ing on me, then checked himself. " I beg 
 your pardon ; I have not got rid of my old 
 ways as yet. I wish I had had those scruples. 
 Talk to me now about her — about Dora — 
 Mrs. Austen, I mean. It is like Annot 
 Lyle and her harp." 
 
 These little allusions and turns of expres-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 127 
 
 sions which dotted over all Grainger's con- 
 versation, with many others that 1 cannot 
 recal, show what a cultivated taste he had. 
 I did not give him credit for being so enter- 
 taining and amusing. We dined together 
 that day, and again we strayed back to the 
 old subject. 
 
 " The night," he said, " when I got that 
 news, is one I cannot dare to look back to. 
 It makes my head unsteady ; you know the 
 feeling. Here, kellner, cognac ! That's the 
 only thing." 
 
 " No," I said, "it is not the only thing; 
 it is as dangerous as the other. Forgive me 
 if I advise you again. I am going to have 
 some sherry, and oblige me by taking some 
 of it instead." 
 
 He groaned, laughed a little roughly, as 
 his habit was, and said : 
 
 " Well, I suppose so. No cognac, then. 
 What on earth is all this ? You are making
 
 128 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 me do things that no other man could at- 
 tempt." 
 
 "I have no power," I said, looking down. 
 '* I am working with another charm." 
 
 He paused. ''Ah, yes; I suppose that 
 is so.*' 
 
 I had already come to know the clergy- 
 man of the place. He had sent me his book, 
 and I suspect some of the gamblers* money 
 figured there to a good amount. I met this 
 gentleman in the evening, and he came up 
 to speak to me. There was something about 
 him 1 did not like, and he had an authori- 
 tative air which I was inclined to resent. 
 (I hear my Dora protest, who believes in 
 clergymen to the very bottom of her gentle 
 heart, and, I suspect, imagines that, with 
 their coats, shovel hats, white ties, &c., they 
 have come down ready dressed straight 
 from heaven; have a sort of angelic con- 
 formation underneath, wings folded up, &c.)
 
 FATAL ZERO. 129 
 
 "I see/' he said, sitting down next me 
 on one of the green garden chairs — " I see 
 you are intimate with that man here, Mr. 
 Grainger, or Captain Grainger, as he calls 
 himself. May I ask, do you know what his 
 character is?" 
 
 I was haj)py to answer him with both 
 facts and logic. 
 
 " The War Office also calls him captain," 
 I said; '* and I do know a good deal about 
 
 him." 
 
 ** I am afraid nothing good, then ; for it 
 is my duty to warn you, as a sort of tempo- 
 rary parishioner, the care of whose soul I 
 have, that his character is very bad indeed, 
 and that he is not a person any one of re- 
 putation should be seen with. He is a most 
 dangerous man. You are young and inex- 
 perienced, Mr. Austen, and he has led seve- 
 ral, as young and experienced, into mischief 
 already. That is the reason I speak to you." 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 I could not help smiling. This rustic 
 clergyman, fetched out of some outlying 
 district to this doubtful duty, lecturing me 
 and others ! It was, of course, in his duty, 
 and he meant well; but I think it was rather 
 free and easy to a mere stranger. 
 
 "I am quite capable of taking care of 
 myself, Mr. Lewis," I said. " I have my 
 own reasons for associating with that gen- 
 tleman. What if I succeeded in influencing 
 him in changing his life and heart ; does that 
 at all enter into your philosophy ?" 
 
 '* Oh, well and good. If you think you 
 can do it," he said, smiling. " God forbid 
 I should interfere. But we must judge 
 these things by the ordinary rule of the 
 world. Have you any reason to lead you 
 to hope?" 
 
 '' Yes," I said, " I think I can do it." See 
 his implied sensitiveness here — jealousy 
 almost.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 131 
 
 " "Well, then, you ought to go and look 
 after him now; for I was passing from the 
 news-room just now, and saw him playing 
 frantically. Come with me, and I will show 
 him to you." 
 
 *^ I never go into that place,'' I said, 
 coldly, and meaning a rebuke, "on any 
 pretext." 
 
 " Into the news-room ?" he said. " Why 
 not? Ah, you have not patience to wait 
 for the papers. It's a very good school for 
 patience." 
 
 *^ As you ask me the reason, I do not 
 wish to be indebted to men who fatten on 
 human misery. They serve us their papers 
 out of the monies they rob. I make no 
 merit of it, but I think it better not." 
 
 " This sounds very strange," he said. 
 " Let me ask, do you know the Bishop of 
 Gravesend? He goes there every day. Do 
 you know the good Lord Calborough, who 
 
 9— :j
 
 132 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 takes the chair at Meetings. I have seen 
 him looking over shoulders at the roulette. 
 Ah, I see you distrust yourself. Well, if 
 you are weak, there is no disgrace in flying 
 from the danger." 
 
 I have always resented this sort of supe- 
 rior knowledge of us which some clergy- 
 men affect, much as a doctor says, "Ah, 
 I know — feel a pain here — exactly — a sense 
 of fluttering after meals — exactly so." It 
 rather nettled me. I had heard, too, he was 
 rather sarcastic, and was said to know the 
 world. Then, I can tell him, he didn't 
 know me. Afraid to trust myself! I might 
 have been afraid to trust hiin^ but not my- 
 self. 
 
 He went away. I was hardly inclined to 
 accept what he said about the Bishop of 
 Gravesend or the apostolic Lord Calborough. 
 Still he spoke with authority and with an 
 air of circumstance.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 133 
 
 What was that pattering on the glass 
 overhead? Rain, rain, coming down in 
 pailfuls. There was a general sauve qui pent 
 from the gardens. There they come rushing 
 up the steps, eager, laughing, chattering like 
 monkeys — creatures which, in other re- 
 spects, some of the men resemble. All, of 
 course, ascend, and go pouring into the 
 cave. The bountiful rain, here, is uncon- 
 sciously one of the faithful friends and ser- 
 vants of the administration. They should 
 put him in their gew-gaw livery — ^green, 
 gold, and scarlet, in which they dress up 
 their disguised " bullies," who prowl about 
 the room, ready to rush up on the slightest 
 signal of a disturbance. I am almost alone 
 on the terrace — a place of which I am getr 
 ting tired. "Afraid to trust myself." I 
 can't put that self-sufficient clergyman's 
 speech out of my head. Thus it is with 
 some natures : when they leap to a conclu-
 
 134 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 sion, it is always sure to be the meanest one 
 that can present itself. 
 
 After all, I have made no vow^ and am 
 bound by no promise; nor do I, more than 
 the Bishop of Gravesend or my Lord Calho- 
 rough^ think it any harm to go through 
 those rooms, or even to linger there for 
 some good object, provided your behaviour 
 is not to be construed into an endorsement 
 or approbation of the proceedings. I am 
 no casuist, and there is a good broad band 
 of common sense, I flatter myself, running 
 through my composition. I would not be 
 tied down as a weaker mind, by an abstract 
 adherence to the mere letter of a resolution ; 
 I would look entirely to the spirit; and 
 therefore, to assert this principle, I rise from 
 my solitude on the terrace and walk into the 
 cave. I wish to find Grainger.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 It is a busy time indeed. There is 
 clatter, rattle, click-click, sudden pause, 
 almost awful, a low proclamation, added to 
 the setting in of chink and jingle. Such 
 crowds — half a dozen deep about the table ; 
 while outside promenade as thickly, the 
 well-dressed girls and ladies ; the stupid 
 men who are pouring into pretty ears their 
 insipid jests, but which they are not to be 
 blamed for thinking racy from the hearty 
 reception they meet ; the eager and amused 
 first visitors, delighted and confounded with 
 everything, and chuckling with a stupid 
 complacency over the privilege of being
 
 136 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 allowed to enjoy those lights and gorgeous 
 chambers, soft sofas, and amusement, all 
 for nothing! There are mean minds to 
 whom this element is a sort of whet. (I 
 hear my dear pet at home say, as she reads, 
 that I am getting a little bitter; but this 
 place does help to give one a mean estimate 
 of human nature. ) 
 
 I look round and try to make out 
 Grainger. I wander from one table to the 
 other. Certainly on this night of excite- 
 ment there can be no such study as these 
 human faces and expressions, especially at 
 the moment the cards are being dealt. Not 
 at chapel or church, if the Doctor Seraphicus 
 himself were preaching, could we find ^yq 
 seconds of such absorbed expectancy and 
 attention. The heart, soul, all, are in the 
 faces. Suddenly, as the verdict sounds — 
 light, positive light, drifts over some, and 
 a positive shadow over others. Shocking,
 
 FATAL ZERO. 137 
 
 shocking, yet so interesting! Talk of a 
 play ! I could look on here from morning 
 to night. It has endless variety, and I 
 must be very strait-laced if I could not 
 do so with that object, the study of human 
 character merely, in view. By the way, 
 the doctor said I was to relax, and amuse 
 myself in every way. I suppose he meant 
 to gamble, but that prescription, my good 
 quack, won't do for me. I have certainly 
 been moping a little. 
 
 There I see a greater crowd — faces all 
 looking at one face, gutteral whispers — 
 "way" — so the Germans call "oui" — '' Zay 
 luay!" I can understand — a hero of the 
 night : a worn, lorn creature, a sad, high- 
 browed, bald, gentlemanly man, fighting 
 the desperate fight, standing up to the very 
 teeth of the bank. He was playing what 
 seems the forlorn hope — "/e maximoom^^^ 
 twelve thousand francs every time ; and a
 
 138 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 fat, clean, snowy cushion of notes was be- 
 fore him, delicately marked in faint blue, 
 and as thick as the leaves of a book. On 
 this night, Mephistopheles is playing one 
 of his most cruel freaks, and one which he 
 is very fond of This votary has been 
 winning during the previous few days, and, 
 it is said, has carried off some six or eight 
 thousand pounds. The pinch-faced eccle- 
 siastical-looking overseer walks about un- 
 easily, and has regarded him with dislike 
 all but openly expressed. But to-night 1 
 can see the bale of notes shifting across 
 from one colour to the other, ruthlessly 
 seized on, counted over with an ostenta- 
 tious particularity, note after note laid out 
 in splendid piles, and the trifling balance 
 tossed back contemptuously. Then I see 
 him gathering up his dwindling notes, turn 
 them over with a pitiable irresolution, 
 -and again lay them down on another
 
 FATAL ZERO. 139 
 
 colour. Again is proclamation made ; away 
 they flutter, drawn in by the merciless far- 
 stretching croupier's claw; and I see the 
 yellow fingers working nervously at his 
 forehead, which is as yellow. Then comes 
 the sudden scrape, as the chair is pushed 
 back, and he is gone. No one cares for the 
 unsuccessful, and no eye of sympathy, rather 
 a look of impatient contempt, follows him. 
 
 But Grainger. Then it was my eye fell 
 upon him, seated close by, a few gold 
 pieces before him, his face distorted with 
 impatience, fury, and hate. Indeed, it 
 seemed another Grainger, or that a new 
 soul had entered into him. It almost 
 startled me; but still I recollected what I 
 had laid out for myself. I went round 
 softly and touched him: he looked back 
 savagely. 
 
 "Well?" he said; "what the devil is 
 it now?"
 
 140 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 "Come away, do; I want to speak to 
 
 you." 
 
 "Is that all? Well, I don't want to be 
 worried now." 
 
 " Do listen to me, Grainger. Come 
 away, do." 
 
 " Gor\found it, leave me alone, will you ? 
 What the devil do you mean?" 
 
 Such demoniac fury ! The clergyman 
 was right after all. I had been only de- 
 ceiving myself, and with a bitter disap- 
 pointment I turned away. In an instant I 
 was attracted by a sudden confusion and 
 din of voices, all speaking together. 
 
 I looked back. There was Grainger stand- 
 ing up, his arms swinging, and gesticulating; 
 his mouth pouring out angry French. Three 
 croupiers were as vehemently expostulating, 
 and pointing, and emphasising with their 
 rakes. They have not paid him, he says. 
 They have cheated — swindled him! The
 
 FATAL ZERO. 141 
 
 ** gallery," as they call the people standmg 
 round, take different sides ; and now steals 
 up, as if from behind a tree, that methodist- 
 looking inspector, whose skin is drawn so 
 tight, and whose clothes are* so brushed — 
 by machinery I think. He quietly whis- 
 pers Grainger, no one can learn what he 
 says ; but 1 see his head nodding like the 
 bill of a sparrow. That man's soul, I sus- 
 pect, is as tight as his skin and clothes. I 
 suppose he is worth his six or seven hun- 
 dred a year to the administration. What 
 he says seems to awe Grainger — already 
 the gamblers are impatient at all this 
 iapage about a few wretched Louis, when 
 there are hillocks of gold, metallic ant-hills, 
 rising all over the table. 
 
 The croupier seizes the moment. The 
 cards are being dealt, and after that there 
 can be no more " row." Here again 
 Mephistopheles and his crew have such an
 
 142 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 advantage. For in analogous relations, a 
 crowd is sure to take part with one of 
 themselves; but no one here knows what 
 the next coup may bring, and in that ex- 
 pectancy, selfishness grows impatient and 
 sides with the bank. I admire the dexte- 
 rity with which the meaner human passions 
 are thus turned to profit, and every little 
 broil composed. 
 
 I turn away not a little disgusted. Cer- 
 tainly the strangest and most dramatic of 
 scenes, and not unprofitable to study. See 
 here, for instance, a little dingy shop- 
 woman, with her two children over yonder 
 on the sofa — perhaps sells candles and 
 tobacco; in her brown thread gloves she 
 has her " little florin." The dull anxiety 
 in her German face is surprising, Down 
 goes the piece on " manque," and I see her 
 look away as the ball spins round. Her 
 heart, I am sure, almost stops. She hears,
 
 FATAL ZERO. 143 
 
 but does not see, the result. The smile of 
 delight is exquisite — she tries again — again 
 succeeds — and again succeeds. Now she 
 is over at the sofa showing her three prizes 
 lying in the brown thread gloves. How 
 she has clutched at them over the shoul- 
 der of the genteel sitting player, and who 
 shakes her oif impatiently, and half gives 
 an execration. He has forty Louis before 
 him; but she was afraid that if she was 
 not prompt, he or some other greedy player 
 would seize on her little treasure. Then 
 she returns to the table full of triumph, 
 flushed with victory. She watches and waits 
 a favourable opportunity; but Mephisto- 
 pheles has seen her with one of his grins. 
 She loses her first piece ; a palpable agony 
 flits across her face. She tries again. 
 Zero ! Her little piece is in prison ; some- 
 thing like agony is in that dull face. The 
 next turn, it is gone. She is trying again,
 
 144 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 but will lose. Oh, if she had been only 
 content to remain as she was ! The very air 
 must be dense with ejaculations of this 
 sort, wrung from a thousand disappointed 
 hearts. 
 
 Over yonder I see the young wife sitting 
 disconsolate, and with such a wistful look 
 towards the table. She is waiting for him. 
 He is playing — Mephistopheles needn't 
 trouble himself about that business. It is 
 in fair train of itself, and will move on to 
 his wishes, of its own motion. 
 
 As I go out on the cool terrace some 
 one touches my arm. 
 
 " I owe you a hearty apology," Grainger 
 said, "for my roughness. Once we begin 
 there, we lose all restraint." 
 
 I answered coldly, " that it was no 
 matter." 
 
 " But it IS matter," he said, angrily ; " I 
 gave you a right to speak to me, and I met
 
 FATAL ZERO. 145 
 
 you most unworthily. I had some excuse, 
 for the interruption brought about the row 
 that you saw. I suppose your well-meant 
 caution cost me only ten louis ; but say 
 you are not angry." 
 
 There was something very winning in 
 his manner, and I could not resist him. 
 
 " But I thought you were going to give 
 all this up?" I said. " You led me to 
 hope I had some influence." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear fellow, that is very well 
 for you, but not for me. I declare I won- 
 der at you, at times, .to see you so steady 
 in the midst of all this temptation.^' 
 
 " My dear Grainger," I answered, " I am 
 as weak as you, I dare say ; but I have sl 
 little secret — a prescription." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Well, habitual self-restraint : a sort of 
 indifference also (for I don^t want to take 
 any undue credit) : and the greatest 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 of all — Prayer. Oh, Grainger, say that I 
 
 can't, if you will, but aid from above '* 
 
 " Oh yes, of course. We know that," 
 he said, brusquely. Still I saw he was 
 impressed. The seed might be in the 
 ground.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 During our absence a strange metamor- 
 phosis had taken place in the gardens. They 
 had become perfectly crammed, and below 
 us was a dense mass of moving figures, but 
 now all lit up. In the daytime I had noted 
 trees dotted about, that seemed like palm- 
 trees with drooping branches. It was a 
 rare " administration '* device to line these 
 with gas-pipes, and hang white globes over 
 them, up and down. When they treat our 
 poor human nature as they do, it is only 
 all of course that they should deal with 
 the glorious fruits of the earth in the same 
 fashion. Gas and paint, and gilding and 
 
 10—^
 
 148 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 gewgaws, these make up their sunlight, and 
 grass greens, and variegated colours of 
 nature. To the fresh breath of heaven, 
 they prefer the miasma of their crowded 
 
 gaming-room. I dare say M. D , the 
 
 superintendent, finds it suits his lungs 
 better than the most bracing mountain 
 atmosphere, and I suppose goes to Baden 
 or Spa for his holiday. However, here I 
 see the whole garden lit up with these 
 trumpery illuminated gas arches and stars, 
 and meagre hearts, and such things, and 
 the crowd amused and delighted like chil- 
 dren as they are. Quil est beau f Vrai- 
 ment c^est magnifique/ And how generous 
 and liberal this administration! '' And all 
 for nothing ^''^ says old paterfamilias — the 
 same who sits on the Times while he reads 
 the Daily News, and little dreams that his 
 eldest, Charles, has already paid to this 
 generous board some five-and-twenty napo-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 149 
 
 leons "on the red," which alone would 
 defray the cost of several of these festi- 
 vities. But when the band begins the last 
 galop with eclat and animation, and some 
 half a dozen cheap Bengal lights are stuck 
 in the trees, poor innocent trees ! and made 
 to fizz and blaze, then the enthusiasm bursts 
 out ; a perfect roar of childish delight rises, 
 and we hear again how "Z^^aw," how ^'mag- 
 nijique" this conduct is on the part of the 
 administration. I am far from joining in 
 these praises; I think the whole shabby 
 and contemptible to a degree — with their 
 few jets of gas, and their newspapers, and 
 their chairs, for which nearly every one 
 has to pay more or less handsomely. Nay, 
 I have discovered that there is not a young 
 girl, the most blushing, blooming, and inno- 
 cent, who comes here, that does not coax 
 papa for three florins or so, "just to try my 
 luck, my dear," and which is swept into
 
 150 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 the hands of these monsters. Even Thomas, 
 the valet, and poor Cox, the ladies' maid, 
 they have stolen up and contributed their 
 
 two hard-earned gulden. Ah, M. D , 
 
 with the pinched nose and the drum-tight 
 skin, decent and respectable as you are, 
 gerant en chef of the company, or whatever 
 you call yourself, do you think that if we 
 had you in England, you would not be 
 committed for trial summarily, or that 
 your correct demeanour would go to 
 influence the verdict of the jury? This 
 fellow, I can see, observes the look of dis- 
 like with which I measure him — there is a 
 rapport in these things as well as in likings 
 — and I can see he is thinking, " You are 
 coming into our net, my boy; we shall 
 strip you, and that will teach you not to be 
 offensive to the administration. You want 
 a lesson !'* 
 
 When I was talking to Grainger last night
 
 FATAL ZERO. 151 
 
 on the only subject on which he can talk 
 fluently, a short stumpy man with a jet, 
 glossy, hairdresser beard and moustache, a 
 little hat, and coat very short, came up and 
 said languidly, " How do, Grainger ?'^ He 
 sat down in front of us, leant back, drawing 
 at his cigar with half-closed eyes, and moving 
 his cane up and down between his knees, in 
 a sort of slow dance. 
 
 " Uncommon bad, D'Eyncourt,'* said 
 Grainger; "I went back to those infernal 
 tables, in spite of the advice of my good 
 friend here, which I had determined to 
 follow " 
 
 '^ Pretended to determine to follow," he 
 answered with a slow drawl. " Tell the 
 truth always, and shame — your friend in- 
 side." 
 
 I never saw a face I disliked more ; it was 
 so tallowy, and then the little eyes were 
 quite flat and oval, and exactly of the pat-
 
 152 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 tern we see in a pig. I was going to say 
 '^ cat," but the head had not the character 
 which a cat has. He had a sort of Turkish 
 air, and I had often remarked hira as he 
 looked at ladies passing by, with an inert 
 blinking, as though he were saying, " I could 
 bring you to me, if I chose to exert my- 
 self; you could not resist, but you are not 
 worth it." He was a solitary man, though 
 sometimes I saw him seated with a family 
 of girls about him, his head back, his pig's 
 eyes blinking at them, the words dropping 
 languidly from his mouth, as who should 
 say, *' I just serve you out a few marbles, 
 you are not worth more, and mind — I am 
 doing this to amuse myself." 
 
 He had been a traveller, and the glossy 
 locks were said to take a good deal of time 
 to keep in that rich and glossy state. 
 
 ** You say very queer things," said 
 Grainger. *' Only that we know you "
 
 FATAL ZERO. 1 53 
 
 " No, you don't; I want no excuse of that 
 sort. I say whatever I like. And as for 
 people knowing me, it makes no difference." 
 
 '' Then some one will be thrashing you 
 one of these days." 
 
 The only answer was a sleepy look of 
 contempt, which seemed to make Grainger 
 uneasy. 
 
 '' My friend here,'* he said, '' believes in 
 systems ; my friend Austen — who has come 
 here for his health." 
 
 The other never looked at me a second, 
 or seemed to acknowledge this ambiguous 
 introduction. 
 
 " Well, you have always played on a 
 system," he drawled out, ''and with such 
 success !" 
 
 '' I never lost, but when I did. Curse 
 them all ! They are the devil's own mouse- 
 traps and spring-guns." 
 
 " You know best about A/m," said the
 
 154 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 other. "But you have stumbled on a truth 
 for once — and of course too late. You 
 point a moral here ; the good show you to 
 their sons as a warning. If I was the ad- 
 ministration, I'd pay you to go away, or to 
 keep out of sight." 
 
 " You speak to me in a very strange way. 
 If I didn't owe you a trifle of money " 
 
 " Then say nothing about it, as the situa- 
 tion must coniinue." 
 
 I felt, indeed, for Grainger ; there was 
 something so studied in this insolence ; and 
 I could not resist whispering a question, 
 "Is it a large sum?" 
 
 A rueful nod was the reply, and a smile, 
 a dull smile, melted over the tallow face. 
 
 " And so you have taken up a system — 
 the last resource ? Well, well." 
 
 " I did not say / had," replied Grainger. 
 " My friend here, Mr. Austen, believes in it. 
 Let me introduce him, Mr. D'Eyncourt."
 
 FATAL ZERO. 155 
 
 Grainger seemed to find some revenge in 
 this little stroke. I was provoked, for I did 
 not wish to know this man. 
 
 " Pray what is your system ?" he said, 
 without looking at me. 
 
 " I have nothing of the kind ; only I 
 noticed that everybody who lost to-night 
 seemed to play very wildly, now on this, 
 now on that, without any guide." 
 
 " And pray what is the guide you have 
 found out?" 
 
 " There can be nothing that you can call 
 a guide ; but it seems to me common sense 
 that if one colour has been coming up a 
 great many times, we may naturally begin 
 to look out for the other." 
 
 " Oh, that is common sense is it?" he said, 
 taking his cigar out of his mouth. " It 
 may be so; I never pretend to say what is 
 common sense or not. Still there are thou- 
 sands who have thought of what you have
 
 156 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 said, absolutely thousands ; in fact, every 
 beginner invariably makes that discovery, 
 after he has won three or four florins." 
 
 " You quite mistake. I am no beginner, 
 and have won no florins." 
 
 '^ Well, say a napoleon. It is the regular 
 speech — the regulation discovery. Take 
 my advice, keep your napoleon, and let 
 your system go." 
 
 '* I really do not understand," I said 
 coldly. " I have never played, and with 
 the grace of Heaven never shall indulge in 
 what I think utterly wrong and sinful, and 
 the most demoralizing pastime ever intro- 
 duced upon this earth !" 
 
 That was plain speaking, Dora. He 
 looked at me curiously. " I have nothing of 
 course to do with that. You are in the 
 church, I see." 
 
 '^ But taking the mere theory," I went 
 on, "I am right. I know something of
 
 FATAL ZERO. 157 
 
 matheinatics — of the common chances of 
 everyday life, and every man of science 
 will tell you that a rule is better than no 
 rule." 
 
 " Oh, you are wrong, my dear Austen," 
 said Grainger; "utterly. Your man of 
 science is quite a donkey in these matters. 
 It is one of the invariable delusions of this 
 place. You will find out in time." 
 
 " Well, look at this card," I said, warmly, 
 " which I marked as the game went on — 
 from curiosity, just to test the thing." 
 
 " From curiosity, just to test the thing," 
 said D'Eyncourt. " Yes." 
 
 " Well, see, it falls into the shape — ex- 
 actly as I said. There is a proof." 
 
 " Oh ! the card and pin," said he, with 
 an air of superiority I could have struck 
 him for. " Everybody appeals to that. 
 Really this uniformity is delicious." 
 
 '* Come away, Grainger," I said, feeling I
 
 158 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 could hardly control myself. " I am tired, 
 let us have some supper." 
 
 As we walked away, Grainger said, "My 
 dear friend, he's right. You can't under- 
 stand these things so well. Your experience 
 don't go beyond a sixpenny roulette table 
 on a race-course. But here we do things 
 en grand^ you see." 
 
 " I am right," I said coldly, " though I do 
 know nothing about even a sixpenny rou- 
 lette.*' 
 
 " I wish you were. Well, when do you 
 go over to Frankfort?" 
 
 When we got home I found a letter on 
 the table from the German gentleman. He 
 has at last returned, and will see me to- 
 morrow morning. This looks like business. 
 No letter for some days from my pet, which 
 makes me a little uneasy. Not that I shall 
 be troubled. For I use these little " trials 
 of the third class," as I call them, as so
 
 FATAL ZERO. 159 
 
 many opportunities for wholesome disci- 
 pline, for keeping the mind straight and 
 steady, hardening it to imaginary woes, 
 strengthening and giving a tone to the 
 judgment. I am right also, in my judg- 
 ment, whatever that languid upstart may 
 think.
 
 , CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Wednesday, — I almost think we strangers 
 are a little careless in the way we talk 
 about what is the chief feature of this 
 curious place. If I was one of the truly 
 scrupulous, which I would be, only that I 
 am so afraid of lapsing into cant and 
 censoriousness — I should watch every 
 single word. There are so many who from 
 not thinking over the danger, as I do, are 
 surprised into mischief. Hunting men tell 
 me they have seen mere boys "go at" 
 desperate jumps, which they, with better 
 horses and better experience, would shrink 
 from. I do not boast, nor am I full of
 
 FATAL ZERO. 161 
 
 self-confidence — Heaven knows ! But I 
 keep my eyes open, and scan the country. 
 Thus at dinner, when I hear the light talk 
 (and how it does recur to that one sub- 
 ject!) there is the usual '^ Were you at the 
 rooms?" "Yes, just dropped in before 
 dinner, and had a shy at the red. Knocked 
 my half-dozen Friedrichs out of 'em.'* And 
 then the hand rattles money in the pocket, 
 which so unaccountably seems to me to be 
 always accepted as a convincing proof of 
 having won. But observe this touch of 
 nature. Every one knows there is so 
 much falsehood about these boasts, that he 
 knows he is suspected for being in the 
 atmosphere of the place; and he knows be- 
 sides that he is telling what is not true. I 
 could swear that the " half-dozen Fried- 
 richs" were two : but in our vulgar elation 
 here, we must exaggerate. Thus I trace 
 indirectly to the infernal system, lying and 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 swaggering — germs of worse vices. When 
 the careless boast is made, I look round 
 the table to the faces near me, who are all 
 turned, listening and admiring, their fork 
 half lifted, descending again, to two very- 
 pretty and interesting girls' faces, over which 
 steals that wistful, semi -greedy look, which 
 I note in this place floats about like an evil 
 angel. I look to the right, and see the 
 face of an honest Eton boy, browned with 
 exercise, and he is listening. His expres- 
 sion is one oi knowing resolve; i,e,^ "When 
 the governor is hard and fast with his 
 TimeSj I'll drop in. I don't see why I 
 can't do as well as that man !" Governor 
 himself, hale and rubicund, who six weeks 
 before has looked sternly through his 
 glasses (sitting in his parlour) at an itine- 
 rant roulette-player, and given him "six 
 weeks,'* is smiling indulgently. "You 
 have made a good thing of it, sir. Take
 
 FATAL ZERO. 163 
 
 care you don't burn your fingers." This 
 about the " six weeks," is a fact, I believe, 
 and occurred. But see how the thing 
 works. That careless speech, untrue and 
 boastful, sows seed abroad: in a day or 
 two the vile tares will be coming up in 
 those innocent flower beds. 
 
 On such an occasion I try and do what 
 I can to stop the mischief — generally with 
 a poor result. I am not ashamed to confess. 
 Still there is the good intention. Some of 
 our missionary friends would say, " Of 
 course you reproved them, and quoted the 
 sacred text." Nothing of the kind — nothing 
 so injudicious, though I dare say I could 
 have improved the occasion quite as well. 
 I think I know human nature something 
 better than those gentry, who seem to me 
 always to blunder as to fitting times and 
 seasons. Now, how do I act? I say in a 
 cheerful way, that it is notorious that it is 
 
 11— a
 
 164 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 quite hopeless fighting against the Bank. 
 No one ever wins but two classes — the 
 great and desperate players, or the players 
 who don't care to lose. Some one says 
 scornfully, " Why, there was Macgregor 
 here last year paid all his expenses 
 and bagged eighty Friedrichs." Paid all 
 his expenses ! — the invariable phrase. See 
 the meanness, the shabbiness of what is 
 underneath that speech. Fancy an Eng- 
 lish gentleman at home, boasting after a 
 night's whist, that he had paid for his 
 train and his hotel bill and cab hire ! I en- 
 trap Mr. Macgregor's friend at once. " Ah, 
 but he was a cautious player — watched 
 the turns." " Nothing of the kind ; flung 
 down when and where he liked ! — money's 
 no object to him." "Precisely," I said, 
 smiling, " then he falls within one of my 
 classes. Is he coming this year, again?" 
 " I believe so." "Well then, if I betted, I
 
 FATAL ZERO. 165 
 
 would wa^rer that he will lose not only all 
 that he won last year, but more than a 
 similar amount of his own. 
 
 This conversation was at one of the table 
 d'h6tes at the hotel of the Beautiful View, 
 where the dining life becomes so pleasant, 
 and where every one comes in in good hu- 
 mour and hungry, save only some of the 
 poor foolish moths who have burnt a hole 
 in the edge of their wings just before din- 
 ner. How bright the faces ! — what spirits 
 among the young girls ! — what anticipation ! 
 — what gaiety ! — what chatter ! Cares, 
 troubles, business even, is all lying away at 
 home, locked-up with the dockets in the 
 safes and cupboards. I like to see the 
 florid, stout, grey-whiskered, double eye- 
 glassed father who pays so gallantly for all, 
 even for the vast load of chests and boxes 
 which must go always on a cart. I like 
 the way he enjoys the meal, and good-
 
 166 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 naturedly allows that this "Assmanshau- 
 sen" or "Forster Cabinet" is "really a 
 capital good wine." The waters are doing 
 hira good too, and he is disposed to allow 
 that, for a place not English, a very fair at- 
 tempt indeed has been made to smooth over 
 the foreign absurdities. 
 
 I fancy they like talking with me — young 
 men and young girls — I suspect because 
 they fancy I am an expert as to the great 
 excitement of the place; know all its secrets 
 from having lost a whole fortune in the 
 service. 
 
 Is not this amusing, and not unnatural 
 also, for I am always adroitly insinuating 
 something the company of speculators would 
 not thank me for? If they knew the mis- 
 chief my little mission work, as I may call 
 it, is doing their nefarious trade ! I often 
 
 think if M. D , the cat-like, knew what I 
 
 was about, he would ask me to dine at his
 
 FATAL ZERO. 167 
 
 charming villa in the most friendly way, 
 and when we were alone, after a choice 
 bottle had been set on, would lay his hand 
 on my arm, and say, " My dear friend, we 
 are both men of the world, you perhaps 
 more so than I am, for in this bank of ours 
 I really live as if shut up in a monastery. 
 Now let us understand each other. You 
 are costing us so much — come, don't tell 
 me: we hear everything; for how much 
 shall I fill up this ? With an enemy of 
 esprit and such finesse we must deal gene- 
 rously. Would two hundred pounds pay 
 your expenses home ?'' I smile at this pic- 
 ture ; and yet if I were to calculate all the 
 people I have talked with, and "tot up'' 
 the value of such little impressions as I have 
 made, I think the loss to the bank, thus re- 
 presented, would not be far short of what I 
 have said. I know the answer, however, 
 which M. D should receive from me, in
 
 168 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 spite of his good wine and his domestic wife 
 and family. 
 
 As I say, they all listen to me at dinner 
 as to an expert. " How do you find these 
 things out?" says a very child-faced girl to 
 me, with a pleasant wonder. '^ I am no 
 mystery man," I answer ; *^ a little thought, 
 a little watching, reveals everything. I have 
 reason to know that the bank obtains 
 seventy-five per cent, of its winnings from 
 the stray gentlemen of the time ; ten pounds 
 from this, twenty from that, fifty from a 
 third, a hundred from a fourth. The pro- 
 fessed gambler gives them back their own 
 money : he only takes up time and room. 
 But it is not, after all, with you and me they 
 are playing, but with human nature, and 
 with poor weak human nature. We cannot 
 even conceive the familiars, those croupiers 
 let loose the moment the innocent put 
 down their money for the first time. They
 
 FATAL ZERO. 169 
 
 come rushing up like touts at a railway sta- 
 tion.'' 
 
 I saw a smile on some of the youths' 
 faces, but the child-like girl was listening 
 with a devotional expression. *' Well, sir ?" 
 says Paterfamilias, who, I believe, secretly 
 wishes to pick up a hint about winning 
 from what I was talking about. "Bear 
 with me a moment," I said ; " you will know 
 their presence by one simple test. You," 
 I said, turning to the young girl, "may 
 have won your one florin the other day, and 
 you were delighted — thought it a fortune." 
 "Exactly," she said, eagerly; "papa put 
 down for me." 
 
 " Suppose you go on next day and win 
 three more. Then luck turns; they slip 
 away one by one, and you come to dinner 
 here with only one florin left. Now com- 
 pare that stage with your first. You were 
 excited, enraptured then; now you are dis-
 
 170 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 pirited and dejected and uneasy. Mark the 
 word. Yet you had a florin then, and you 
 have a florin now." 
 
 " Ah !" the young girl says, " if I had 
 but followed papa's advice, and gone away 
 with my four florins !" 
 
 I could not help smiling. 
 
 ''You see," I said, "I can guess pretty 
 well in these things. Well, here is the 
 secret of this difl'erence of humour. You 
 are thinking of what you have lost^ though 
 you have literally lost nothing. Multiply 
 that by Friedrichs, and we have the feeling 
 of the greater gamester. He looks on 
 every loss of what he has won as a loss 
 from his capital, though properly it be- 
 longs to another, and has been only lent 
 to him. Believe me, this restless dissa- 
 tisfaction is the grand paid familiar of 
 these speculators, and does all their work 
 for them."
 
 FATAL ZERO. 171 
 
 Paterfamilias, I see, is interested. 
 
 " Ton my word, sir, there is a great deal 
 of truth in what you say. But how on 
 earth did he find out about you, Polly? — 
 And see here, AVilliam, my boy, I forbid 
 you to put down another kreutzer." 
 
 " They wont let him do that, papa," says 
 the young girl, eagerly. 
 
 " Well, I know nothing about their rules, 
 and don^t want to. But mind, William, 
 don't let me see you in those blackguard 
 rooms again. It's un gentlemanly, so it is — 
 a set of sharpers.'* 
 
 I can see that the young fellow's heart is 
 in the " blackguard" rooms already. But 
 the father is a good-natured old fellow, and 
 is loved by his children; so that in my 
 little unpretending way I may have saved 
 a good and domestic family from trouble, 
 discord, disobedience, and demoralization. 
 I could have given paterfamilias a little
 
 172 
 
 FATAL ZERO< 
 
 hint himself; for outsiders who saw a re- 
 spectable English country gentleman put- 
 ting down, even for his daughter, would 
 be affected by the example.
 
 CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 Friday. — I have just returned from 
 Frankfort. Such a charming old town, 
 refreshing to see in all its reverend inno- 
 cence and hoariness, after the flaunting 
 garishness of this new and wicked spot. 
 I saw the merchant, who received me very 
 graciously, and had lunch ready. After 
 it was over, we talked of business, and he 
 began by saying that he had determined to 
 give the sum he had offered before, and no 
 more. Something prompted me at that 
 moment to try and do something for my 
 friend, and act a little, though I now doubt 
 if it was strictly conscientious. Still, making
 
 174 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 a bargain is making a bargain — does not 
 our conventional morality hold it to be a 
 mere trial of skill — and I boldly said that 
 it was too little, quite out of the ques- 
 tion, &c. He was a Jew, and I think not 
 disappointed that there was to be some 
 '^haggling." On that we set to work; my 
 pet should have seen the latent diplomatic 
 powers I called into play. Will you believe 
 me — if I did not actually triumph over the 
 Jew in the end, and obtain a hundred 
 pounds more for my friend ! A memo- 
 randum was signed, and a day named for 
 me to go before the consul, and finally con- 
 clude the matter. I am greatly elated at 
 this little victory. 
 
 On coming home, I found Grainger 
 waiting at the train. My first impulse was 
 to tell him of what I had done; but a 
 wiser discretion checked me. Here again 
 is a little discipline ; and it seems to me,
 
 FATAL ZERO. 175 
 
 on analysis, that this wish of communi- 
 cating news, &c., is nothing more than a 
 mere shape of vanity, and does not arise 
 from any desire to gratify or amuse any 
 one else. He told me he had not played 
 the whole day, but that he had amused 
 himself watching the game in my fashion, 
 and trying whether there was anything in 
 what I had said. 
 
 " Well, I spent two hours in that way," 
 he said, "and, my dear friend, I must 
 give it against you. Our friend the Pasha, 
 as you called him, is right. You really 
 don't know what that man knows." 
 
 "He is a shallow creature, I know," I 
 said ; " I wonder how he is even tolerated 
 here." 
 
 " Well, he has a history, I can tell you. 
 Harems and seraglios, and sacks and all 
 that. Romantic to a degree." 
 
 *^ Romantic," I said, angrily; "that is
 
 176 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 the genteel name for vice and villany and 
 rascaldom." 
 
 " Hush ! there he is. I mustn't abuse 
 him, as he has me bound — 1 mean I mustn't 
 let him hear me abuse him.'' 
 
 D'Eyncourt came up, his head back, his 
 round hat back also, and with a little pink 
 on the centre of his "mutton-fat" cheeks. 
 
 "Well,'' he said, 'Agoing in to play — to 
 step into the birdlime, and try a system ?" 
 
 " I can't play," said Grainger. " I am 
 going to give up for ever. It will be a 
 struggle, but it's all for the best." 
 
 "What! going to reform? How many 
 tricks have you tried in your life, my 
 friend ? Is this to be the last?" 
 
 "Tricks, Mr. D'Eyncourt?" said Grain- 
 ger, colouring. "Tricks?" 
 
 The other put his head further back, as 
 if to get a good look, and said, coldly, " I 
 repeat, tricks^ Mr. Grainger."
 
 FATAL ZERO. 177 
 
 The other, muttering something to him- 
 self, looked down. I felt for him. 
 
 " Yes, I always speak plain. Will you 
 come in, and let us look at the game. D'ye 
 hear?" 
 
 "No use asking you, Austen," said 
 Grainger, as it were obeying an order; 
 " and I wont press you to come. I shall 
 only be one moment." 
 
 He looked very helpless and appealingly 
 at me. 
 
 " Oh, 1 forgot," said D'Eyncourt; "you 
 mentioned something about scruples. Then 
 stay with your friend. There's Colonel 
 Manby yonder. He'll do." 
 
 I had already, my pet will remember, 
 rather qualified the resolution I had taken 
 about going into the rooms. Looking at it 
 in that way, I believe, we are not respon- 
 sible, in any sort, for the doings of the 
 wicked — at least as regards mere indif- 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 ferent actions. As well might we look into 
 the lives of all friends jealously, and "cut" 
 every one of them — fathers, brothers, who 
 had done anything that was not quite cor- 
 rect. I said : 
 
 " I have no scruples of the kind. Merely 
 walking through, or looking on, does not 
 affect the question.'^ 
 
 We entered. High play was going on ; 
 the Count with the worn face was in his 
 place, his little bale of clean notes before 
 him. 
 
 " Ah, there he is !" said D'Eyncourt. 
 " They have got their pigeon. Let me see ; 
 how many feathers has he left ? Just a few, 
 but enough to play with. Yes, they are 
 giving him two or three back, to stick into 
 his wing if he can.'^ 
 
 There was a crowd opposite, uttering the 
 usual ejaculations — much as what the lower 
 Irish do when a strange story is told to
 
 FATAL ZERO. 179 
 
 them : " II a gagne," " C'est le max-i-mooin" 
 — so they pronounce it. " Fooah ?" the 
 breath being drawn in slowly between the 
 teeth. 
 
 "The old story/' said D'Eyncourt, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " Only begin, 
 And then win ; 
 Thafs their ruse 
 To make you lose j— 
 
 a little gambling proverb of my own. A 
 pity he should be told of the new system." 
 
 I had been watching the player, and an 
 idea occurred to me. I snatched a card and 
 a pin. I know all this will amuse my pet. 
 It is a duty, surely, to give a lesson, now 
 and again, to the foolish. It is serving the 
 world and society, and God knows, very 
 cheaply. Yon Missionary would keep out- 
 side, and gather up his gown. 
 
 " Now," I said, coolly, "- what if I tell 
 
 12—2
 
 180 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 you how he ought to play to win ? What 
 will you say to my common sense then ?*' 
 
 " What will I say to your common sense ? 
 I am sure I can't tell." 
 
 "You shall be told, then; and you be a 
 witness, Grainger." 
 
 Eed had come up three times. 
 
 " Now," I said, " let him put on black." 
 
 " Oh no," said Grainger. " Don't you 
 see — he is going for the run." 
 
 "Well, what does this gentleman say?" 
 I said to D'Eyn court. 
 
 '^ Nothing," he answered; "why should 
 I say anything?" 
 
 . The player did "go for the run," and 
 with his " maximum;" but away it fluttered 
 to the green leathern tomb of the Capulets, 
 the slab of which shut down on it with a 
 fatal click. I said nothing. 
 
 The player then waited until two deals 
 had intervened.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 181 
 
 " Now," I said, " let him put on red, and 
 he will certainly win." 
 
 He almost seemed to have heard me. 
 Down went his maximum, pushed across 
 with trembling fingers; and in a few se- 
 conds was heard the chant, " Eouge gagne, 
 et couleur !" 
 
 I will not dwell on this, for fear of tiring 
 my pet ; but I will tell the whole scene to 
 her later. But " suffice it to say," as the 
 novelists are fond of repeating, I really 
 foretold nearly every successful colour, and, 
 by some mysterious rapport^ the Count 
 seemed to follow or anticipate every pro- 
 phecy of mine. 
 
 " By heaven," said Grainger, in a strange 
 excitement, '4t's devilry or magic! For 
 heaven s sake lend me, do, some one, three, 
 naps — only three — one, then — one ! Well, 
 then," he added, piteously, "a double 
 florin ; you wont refuse that ?"
 
 182 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 " Recollect your promise," I whispered 
 to him — " your resolution, your solemn re- 
 solution " 
 
 " Folly !*' he said ; " you are robbing me 
 at this moment; it is cruel of you." 
 
 I was watching D'Eyncourt. He was 
 biting his lips with vexation. I could not 
 resist saying, 
 
 " You would not admit my common 
 sense," I said ; "it is not to be expected." 
 
 "It is easy to play a game with a pin 
 and a card. Back your opinion with 
 money, and I'll do the same." 
 
 " I never play," I said coldly, '' and never 
 shall, please God. There are some whom 
 it is hopeless to convince of the difference 
 between a mere mathematical study, and a 
 pursuit so dangerous, and deadly both to 
 soul and body." 
 
 " Caution, religion, and all the theolo- 
 gical virtues. Good. Now— just to show
 
 FATAL ZERO. 183 
 
 you how they affect me — there go my five 
 louis on red." 
 
 " If you wait about twice more," I said, 
 calmly, "you would have a better chance. 
 I hardly think red could come up now.'* 
 
 " Rouge perd, et couleur," came before he 
 could actually answer me. I went on. 
 
 '^ Now I dare say there might be a chance 
 for you, if you would risk it " 
 
 " I shall go on black," he said, putting 
 down ten louis. 
 
 " Rouge gagne, et couleur !" was the ver- 
 dict. 
 
 So it went on, I with a most extraordi- 
 nary success in my guesses, being astray 
 not more than three or four times; and 
 when I showed my card, the pin-boles all 
 certainly fell into the shape I had predicted. 
 Mr. D'Eyncourt, however, had lost over 
 fifty louis. It was his own doing. 
 
 " This comes," he said, " of playing with
 
 184 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 people talking about you, pestering you 
 with systems and cards and pins. There, 
 Manby — there's a gentleman here turned 
 prophet. Perhaps he'll tell you something 
 about the Derby." 
 
 Before I could reply he was gone, and I 
 turned to Grainger. 
 
 " Your friend is inclined to be insolent," 
 I said, " and I am not inclined to put up 
 with it. Like any one who cannot bear to 
 be told they are in the wrong, or to be in 
 presence even of common sense, he wishes 
 to give vent to his own spleen and malice." 
 
 Grainger was hardly attending. 
 
 " Why didn't you let me? I might have 
 been rich at this moment ; I'd have made 
 three hundred louis in the wake of that 
 fellow. I might have been free from him^ 
 and, but for my slavery, I might have paid 
 my bill at the lodgings." 
 
 " Is it so much ?" I asked.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 185 
 
 '* Two hundred florins — a wretched sum. 
 But he is insolent enough for it to be ten 
 thousand" 
 
 "Is that all?" I said. "We are very 
 poor, as you know, Grainger; but if a hun- 
 dred florins will help, I can let you have 
 that much ; but you must solemnly swear 
 — not a florin goes down on that green 
 cloth. An oath on your Bible, mind." 
 
 " I'll swear anything," he said. " You 
 are noble, and have always treated me 
 nobly, whatever I may have said. Still," 
 he added, suddenly, " you know it is not 
 so heavy an obligation. You admit that? 
 Only a few pounds, you know." 
 
 There was something in his tone that 
 rather jarred on me; but I recollected that 
 he was always subject to these alternations, 
 passing from a most cordial, genial, and 
 even softened tone, into a cold, bitter, and 
 hostile manner. It was his way. He was
 
 186 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 a disappointed man, so we must have al- 
 lowance. 
 
 Thus that day terminated. Somehow 
 the calm country-town monotony of mind 
 which I had brought with me seems to 
 have given way a little before the whirl, as 
 it were, of this place — the strange figures, 
 the dramatic incidents, the curious motives 
 of this place. But I am learning precious 
 lessons — oh, most precious lessons! It is 
 like tonics and cold baths for the mind. 
 After all, how many of us go through life 
 without having even the faintest conception 
 of what is going on, no conception of what 
 attitudes, and motions, and wonderful 
 freaks the human mind is capable of. 
 Novels and plays tell us a good deal, but 
 we do not believe in them. One day lets 
 in a flood of light worth a thousand of 
 Mudie's "sets." Shall I own that I dwell 
 with complacency on the fact that I, a mere
 
 FATAL ZERO. 187 
 
 rustic, ungraduated in the world's devices, 
 should have "held my own" in that little 
 scene to-day, by the sheer force of good 
 plain sense and reason? Thank Heaven, I 
 am growing better every hour ! Heaven is 
 very good to us, certainly.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 Tuesday. — An interval of some days has 
 passed without my writing a line. The fact 
 is, the hours are running by so fast, and 
 so many little events crowd into the day, 
 that I find hardly time to do anything. 
 I have even got a little backward in my 
 letters to my pet. I have been making a 
 sort of study of this mysterious and dan- 
 gerous science of chances, which is luring 
 all these poor souls to destruction. It is 
 one of the most curious subjects of inquiry, 
 and there can be no doubt that there is 
 more in it than the common vulo:ar affec- 
 tation of superior knowledge will admit.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 189 
 
 If I could but freshen up my old mathe- 
 matics, I could work the thing out regu- 
 larly. The doctor tells me that havino" 
 something of interest thus to amuse and 
 occupy the mind is the real secret of my 
 improvement. I could have told him that. 
 Shall I own to another discovery I have 
 made, viz., that when Mephistopheles is 
 playing for souls, he does it with tolerable 
 fairness. I constantly hear men, English- 
 men too, going out with flushed faces, and 
 muttering " Pack of d — d swindlers — set of 
 cheats!" Now, a very narrow scrutiny 
 compels me to own that their dealings are 
 fair, or seem fair. Shall I go further, and 
 say that they really seem to put themselves 
 at a disadvantage with those they encoun- 
 ter. That, of course, is their business, not 
 mine. I spent /(9wr hours the other morn- 
 ing watching the game, and I suppose 
 riddled some half a dozen cards yaih pin-
 
 190 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 holes. The result was the same in the main, 
 I begin to see the whole system like a reve- 
 lation, adding to it, from experience, this 
 rider; the splendid gift of self-restraint. 
 There they all break down; they cannot 
 halt in time, even for five minutes. One 
 would be tempted to go and whisper this 
 simple recipe to each one of the poor dupes 
 who are rushing down this fatal hill; but it 
 is not my business. Quem Deus vult perdere. 
 I could not save them. 
 
 I see at these little seats of extortion — 
 the stalls where they sell photographs and 
 ornaments at literally double the price they 
 can be had anywhere else — I see absolute 
 treatises on the game. One a serious 
 volume at twenty francs ; the others little 
 handbooks at a franc, giving " a sure and 
 infallible method for winning." These little 
 impostures were diverting from the solemn 
 tables set out and the grand terms. '^ The
 
 FATAL ZERO. 191 
 
 intermittance," " series," and the oracular 
 advice. The qualities requisite for the 
 gambler are to be " courage, vigour, elan^ 
 coolness, and insensibility." " System," 
 above all, must be pursued (and so far I go 
 with him); "otherwise," he adds, gravely, 
 '* you will indeed remain a simple player 
 (joueur), but you will never become specu- 
 lateur^ He fills pages with his various re- 
 cipes, but at the end announces that with- 
 out a capital of some four thousand florins 
 you will not have " a secure base of opera- 
 tion to work from." And yet I see this 
 rubbish in the hands of many a poor fool; 
 and, what is more, I see many a greater 
 fool sitting industriously with his book and 
 two pencils, one red and one black, marking 
 the colours. One dreadful old fellow, who 
 is nearly blind, has a complete apparatus — 
 a little dial, mounted on a pincushion, and 
 bristling all over with red and black headed
 
 192 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 pins, which he shifts about, and not for half 
 an hour, perhaps, will the safe combination 
 he so desires, arise, and then he plays his 
 miserable florin. Of course he loses, as 
 indeed I could have told him. I was almost 
 tempted to lay my hand upon his arm and 
 check him ; but, as I have said so often, that 
 is not my business. Oh, ship of fools, in- 
 deed! One might almost be in doubt 
 whether to laugh at or weep over the poor 
 blind souls who are going through the 
 miserable pantomime of their own destruc- 
 tion with such gravity. 
 
 Sometimes I see an incident all but 
 comic. The table is laden with gold and 
 covered with billets, and the croupier 
 touching each with the magic rake, repeat- 
 ing aloud the sums staked. " L'or va au 
 rouleau!" (This always in a growl, as 
 who should say, " We have you.") "Vin- 
 sang louis au beelyet !" (This in a mourn-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 193 
 
 ful manner of expostulation, as who should 
 say, "Why not all the Beelyet?") And 
 "Muttyez a la masse!" (This very sharp 
 and short, like the click of a trigger before 
 firing.) An humble fellow has laid down 
 his double-Frederick, a good stake, but 
 modest, seeming more than it is among the 
 surrounding magnificence. The dealer is 
 about to begin, when, in a fit of compunc- 
 tion, the man calls out, " Moitie a la masse !" 
 and causes a perfect roar in the gallery. 
 Yet these men had their hundred and two 
 hundred louis, their "maximoom" even, 
 depending on the deal. So they laughed 
 and went to play, when the guillotine was 
 at its hardest work. 
 
 The gardens are getting dull enough ; I 
 grow tired of the regularity of the nmsic, 
 coming at that one hour. Yet there are 
 people who stay here the whole winter. I 
 grow tired of them, and sit in my room. 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 A letter from my pet, lying on the table, 
 is waiting for me. Very long and full of 
 news. I shall paste it in this place. 
 
 " My own dearest, — God in his infinite 
 mercy be thanked and praised, for the de- 
 lightful news each one of your dear letters 
 brings us. Such unhoped-for blessings from 
 Homburg, and, indeed, shall I confess it, 
 when I parted from you, I had a horrid, 
 miserable presentiment, that it was to be 
 the last time I was ever to see that dear 
 face again. I did not let you know the 
 agonies I was suifering. For it was for 
 your own dear health, though I had not the 
 least hope that it would be benefited. But 
 thank God that it is so. Now I shall say 
 no more on that. 
 
 '* How charming, how amusing, how in- 
 teresting is your diary, dearest! I have 
 read no novel that comes near to it for in-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 195 
 
 terest. So acute, so full of observation 
 such a knowledge of human character. It 
 brings the whole scene before me; those 
 dreadful people, and that terrible play. And 
 what a picture ! It comes back on me at 
 nights in dreams, and I see distorted faces, 
 and the agonies of the poor creatures. And 
 to think of these wicked, cruel men fatten- 
 ing on the innocent ! Such life and cha- 
 racter — it is too graphic! That figure of 
 the tight-faced man walking about is a por- 
 trait, and so is that of that cold-blooded 
 Mr. D'Eyncourt. I have read it over two 
 or three times to our little darlings, at least 
 the portions they are likely to understand, 
 and they laughed so. Mr. Barnard, our 
 dear friend and benefactor, was greatly 
 amused, and said in a joking way, we should 
 see you turning gambler yourself, you were 
 so violent against them. He took their 
 part, and said they were no worse than a
 
 19 G FATAL ZERO. 
 
 registered society — just like any of our rail- 
 way or banking companies who took tlie 
 money of widows and orphans, and there 
 was nothing said about it. 
 
 *' But oh, how strange, how wonderful 
 your meeting Grainger. Poor Grainger ! I 
 suppose I may call him now. Indeed I am 
 sorry, and you can tell him so from me, for 
 I have much to reproach myself about him. 
 I was very foolish then, and thought that 
 amusing myself with gentlemen was the 
 most entertaining thing in the world, as 
 you said once to me, ' having a number of 
 their scalps hanging at my waist.' Do tell 
 him I hope he has quite forgotten. 
 
 " Dearest^ I write the above for you to show 
 to him. Do not^ I co7ijure you, offend him 
 in any way, for I know, which you cannot 
 know, he never has forgiven me, nor ever ivill 
 forgive me. I saw enough of him to know
 
 FATAL ZERO. 197 
 
 that lie is vindictive ; and indeed he 
 threatened, the very last interview, that he 
 would live to punish you, and me^ through 
 you. This, indeed, is making me most un- 
 easy, and I do wish he was not there, or 
 you away. But there is only a short time 
 more, thank Heaven; so be very kind to 
 him, or if you see that is no good, keep him 
 at a distance." 
 
 My poor little Dora ! What a wonderful 
 head it has — peopled v/ith nightmares. Let 
 me point out to her the inconsistency of 
 her previous little advice. She said : 
 
 " Be very kind to him," and yet I am to 
 " keep him at a distance." She must send 
 me a recipe for this mysterious double 
 duty ; for, for the life, I don't know how to 
 begin it. There is a smack of the country- 
 town in it ; but I am afraid, for the world, 
 its little advice is not of the soundest. 
 Dearest, affection is your strong point, out-
 
 198 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 side that charmed circle, I am afraid — ^but 
 I wont say any more. 
 
 "Mr. Barnard joins me in this warning, 
 and, strange to say, came back later, very 
 serious. He says that everything that you 
 have written about Grainger bears out 
 what I fear. The man is trying to get an 
 influence over you for ends of his own. He 
 says it is transparently clear, and is going 
 to write to you himself to be on your guard. 
 He has seen more of the world, dearest, 
 and, as I say, he has entirely based his 
 opinion on some little 2>omts^ which he says 
 ' we7'e unconsciously revealed' in your diary,'' 
 
 Now, here again I must pause to give a 
 little lecture to my Dora. This history was 
 meant entirely for her own gentle eyes ; in 
 it I unfold my most secret thoughts and 
 speculations. I confess I did not think it 
 would be exhibited to Mr. Barnard, bene- 
 factor as he is of mine, and as I must still
 
 FATAL ZERO. 199 
 
 call him. Through every mind are coursing 
 the strangest inconsistencies, wishes, plans, 
 ideas, which one would be ashamed to ad- 
 mit the existence of to any one, save to the 
 dearest. Outwardly the wise man will not 
 let such interior feelings affect his actions. 
 So in future, I really trust my darling 
 wont exhibit my nonsense to any one, es- 
 pecially as it has brought me into discredit 
 with Mr. Barnard, who, you see, has formed 
 already rather a low opinion of my strength 
 of mind. I am sorry he thinks so poorly 
 of me, yet he is welcome indeed. For 
 never, never can I forget the kindness he 
 has loaded me with. He has saved my life, 
 and saved our little home ; for I shall re- 
 turn strong and healthy, please God. Still 
 he does not know me, nor to what a disci- 
 pline I have subjected myself all my life. 
 It does amuse me — though others might be 
 provoked — to see the air of superiority
 
 200 
 
 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 mankind loves to take. There is no more 
 complacent shape of vanity than is found in 
 the speech — " I know more than you'' I 
 am sure Barnard thinks I am some poor 
 inefficient being. It is not for me to con- 
 vict him of folly, or indeed of being wrong.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 "What oddities there are in these various 
 foreign countries, and nothing more odd 
 here than this. Homburg itself is quite 
 Protestant, with about fifty Catholics or so ; 
 yet we walk across a few fields and we 
 come upon a purely Catholic little village 
 called KirdorfF, in which it is said there is 
 not a single Protestant. In another direc- 
 tion three miles off, there is a village as 
 purely Huguenot, composed entirely of 
 French Protestants, who talk in some mys- 
 terious compound of old French and Ger- 
 man. These, I say, seem what a precise 
 English friend called '^ quite refreshing
 
 202 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 ethnological eccentricities/' From Kirdorff 
 comes news that a German archbishop is to 
 preach and confirm on Sunday. It was a 
 pleasant walk in the fresh air of a morning 
 that seemed to hide its face coquettishly 
 under a thin veil, and whisper '' By-and-by 
 you will see my face in all its splendour." 
 A queer little German village of thick raw 
 reds and greens, which are so uncomfortable 
 to look at ; good houses built of very rude 
 bricks and framework, but a really fine 
 church with two tall spires. In this little 
 spot, whose street winds and turns a great 
 deal, they have tried in their honest simple 
 way to do honour to their visitor. There 
 are green triumphal arches of fir, sur- 
 mounted each with a cross, and every house 
 is festooned with green garlands of fir. 
 The whole town was literally gathered into 
 this handsome church, and not a head was 
 in any window ; the men at one side, grim,
 
 FATAL ZERO. 203 
 
 rather gaunt creatures, and the women at 
 the other. It had all the air of a little 
 village festival — innocent, pretty, fervent — 
 with the rows of young girls in white and 
 flowers, waiting for confirmation. Now 
 the Archbishop, a tall figure with a good 
 massive head, is preaching with extraordi- 
 nary earnestness, and gestures and tones 
 .which are really new and dramatic, and 
 which at home might enliven some of our 
 sermons. Then the rude German voices 
 are raised in their favourite hymns, given 
 out with stentorian power, moving slowly 
 and lumberingly, but still with fine effect. 
 I cannot but think that the gang of money- 
 changers yonder, whose rival temple I can 
 see from the porch, if they were driven out, 
 as they shortly will be, would not scruple 
 to set up their infamous wheels and tables 
 in this sacred precinct, should no other 
 place be found. The contrast was indeed
 
 204 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 wonderful ; but I am a little staggered by 
 seeing next me a very notorious croupier, 
 with his little boy, and a hymn-book in his 
 hand. The respectable name of "the 
 Bank" I suppose has blinded him. I am 
 glad to see all the carriages in Hornburg 
 have driven out to this function at Kirdorff, 
 and I can make out at the top some fair 
 English girls who do not belong to that 
 fold, but who look on with a gentle inte- 
 rest and respectful attention. There is a 
 little "stereoscopic slide" for my pet.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 There are certain things going on about 
 me here which amaze me. I am of course 
 not surprised at anything here — for I was 
 prepared for much ; and I knew that the 
 very drainage of Europe oozed through this 
 place. From the dirty offscourings of 
 Europe — mean foreign men, and animal 
 women, I could expect nothing special. 
 But I have always held that our own brave 
 nation — our pure Englishwomen, and even 
 pure Englishmen — who use baths, and 
 honest hunting, and field sports, were the 
 "good boys" and monitors of the Great 
 European school. I am sorry, nay shocked,
 
 206 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 to see that this notion must soon pass away. 
 Our Englishmen of rank, as a body, are 
 held to be true gentlemen, and whatever 
 their failings in private, they have had a 
 precious sense of decency. A faith that 
 was immovable in the duty of their station, 
 to do no single act that would sully their 
 coronation robe, or rust their coronet. 
 (Barnard, or whoever sees this, will of 
 course say this is '' fine writing." But 
 whatever comes of these rough notes, I am 
 determined to set down honestly, and as 
 forcibly as I can, what I think, and what 
 I think of all I see. ) There is many a long 
 column in many a newspaper, which de- 
 scribes these things with an indulgent 
 reprobation, a sort of relishing and secretly 
 admiring description. Those who read are 
 invited rather than repelled. They must 
 earn their crust, they will say. But at what 
 an awful discount ! The terrible responsi-
 
 EATAL ZERO. 207 
 
 bility would appal me ! I think they ought 
 to starve. Think of their dying moments, 
 when these foolish light words shall come 
 rushing back on them; when the money is 
 spent, the crust eaten, and the fatal Bill is 
 presented to be taken up. Already the 
 wretched souls of those whom their light 
 words have tempted and destroyed, are mus- 
 tering along the fatal roadside to curse and 
 demand vengeance. No, let us have nothing 
 mealy-mouthed. Let our clergy speak out 
 as boldly as I do. Not that I blame them 
 so much — " 'tis their nature to" — they grow 
 mole-eyed from not using their eyes and 
 wits, and jogging on in the old rut, and in 
 the old cart they use for a pulpit. Again, 
 do I think, if I had taken that course, how 
 much I should have done ! Am I eloquent? 
 Yes. What vanity! No. Let me tell 
 you earnestness is eloquence, Messrs. Bar- 
 nard and Bulmer; wish a thing heartily,
 
 208 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 and it will make you eloquent. Be indiffe- 
 rent, and though you have the tongue of a 
 
 Chrysostom 
 
 I say, if I wore a surplice, and preached 
 of a Sunday, would it not be my duty to 
 denounce, in the most scathing language I 
 could command, the scandal that is acted 
 in high places. There is an English per- 
 sonage here, — ducal, portly, who is here 
 I know not why — scarcely for one end. 
 I do blush for him: and more for the 
 sickly toadyism of our newspapers and 
 their correspondents, who dare not call at- 
 tention to the scandal. At home, this man 
 is great in office, has patronage, and I be- 
 lieve is particular as to the " Service" which 
 he directs, and its conduct. On a breach 
 of morals he would be " down," as the slang 
 goes. Every one at home believes him to 
 be a portly, good humoured, tolerably 
 honest English nobleman, a little German
 
 FATAL ZERO. 209 
 
 in his notions, but sound at the core. He 
 had sown an acre or so of wildish oats — 
 who, in his position, had not done that? 
 
 But what do we see here ? an unblushing 
 outrageous exhibition, and I cannot but 
 think if it was known at home there would 
 be some noise — the virtuous public would 
 take it up. A very ordinary lady, mature 
 in years, mature in colour, Mrs. , ap- 
 pears every morning and evening, and is 
 paid assiduous court to. Out wandering 
 over the innocent hills, breathing the balmy 
 airs, we meet the hired carriage, and the 
 same conventional " happy pair," and almost 
 wish for Peter Pindar to be "redivivus" 
 again, and he would be as facetious on this, 
 as he was on the royalty of his day. This 
 elderly Colin and Amanthis is too good. 
 More, there is an ancient battered hench- 
 man in attendance on the personage, who 
 seems to fetch and carry; his duty is to 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 recruit the dinner each day, whip up the 
 doubtful lordling, and the more doubtful 
 ladyling ; make up the half dozen or so at 
 the kursaal. These have all not so many 
 *^ handles" to their names, so the vulgar 
 phrase goes, as stories. This one separated 
 from his wife — that one, "she had a curious 
 
 affair with Lord ; but there was some 
 
 sort of explanation, you know." 
 
 There, I hear my dear say, " how 
 wicked! how you lash these people, and so 
 satirically. I shall be so afraid after all 
 this !" Poor little soul, I daresay you never 
 thought I had this in me, no more than, I 
 daresay, did Mr. Barnard, or the poor crea- 
 ture Bulmer. I daresay there are other 
 gifts in me which you, dear, don't so much 
 as dream of. This, however, I begin to feel 
 every hour yet more strongly : that it was 
 an ill fate that consigned me to a country- 
 town, to a bank office ; I should have had
 
 FATAL ZERO. 211 
 
 greater and wider space wherein to stretch 
 my arms, to breathe. I was made to deal 
 with, to encounter, men, to pierce into their 
 motives, to tear off shams. 
 
 Vanity, self-confidence ! our friends Bar- 
 nard and Bulmer will repeat. So it would 
 seem to a hundred like them, for such do 
 not see below the surface. Thoughtful 
 men of the world begin to understand that 
 a certain assertion, an outspoken belief in 
 yourself, is not to be confounded with 
 vanity. 
 
 14—2
 
 C?iM 
 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 I MUST repeat here, that for me this going 
 down every day to a fresh table d'hdte is like 
 going out to the play ; 1 feel like Balzac, 
 studying the great comedy of human nature. 
 Plays, indeed, are certain to pall, they are 
 now so poorly written ; but the great drama 
 of human life is ever new and inexhaus- 
 tible. 
 
 It just requires a little tact and instinct 
 to pick out the likeliest situation. Some- 
 times, indeed, I leave it to pure chance, and 
 even then that true instinct helps me un- 
 consciously. There is a way, too, in making 
 the play begin — an art ; otherwise with the
 
 FATAL ZERO. 213 
 
 best materials the actors refuse to act. I 
 am often amused at the clumsy way in 
 which our countrymen try and break con- 
 versational ground — showing that they want 
 to talk for talking's sake — a proceeding, of 
 course, resented — and the curtain refuses to 
 rise. There is quite another way of doing 
 it. You shall hear. 
 
 Yesterday I find myself beside a lady 
 with a widow's cap — tall, and with finely 
 cut features, and who must have been very 
 handsome in her youth. She was by her- 
 self I could see, and there was an air of 
 interest and satisfaction that showed either 
 that the world was excellently well with her, 
 or that she had very little interest in the 
 world at all. (This may seem a paradox 
 to my pet, or perhaps unintelligible, but it 
 is a curious and refined distinction.) Very 
 soon we were talking away, or rather I made 
 her talk away. She told me all about her-
 
 214 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 self: she was Mrs. Arthur Paget, widow of a 
 Colonel Paget, who had died abroad, leaving 
 her with an only son, Arthur. She had 
 been an heiress, and all her money was to 
 go to her only child and son Arthur. There, 
 the stop was drawn out, and on that key 
 she began to play, and played finely and 
 with enthusiasm. I knew in a moment 
 where her heart and treasure was. He was 
 grown up, about one-and-twenty, and only 
 a month before she had made over to him 
 all her money, save a small portion sufficient 
 for herself. He was the finest, noblest, 
 bravest, handsomest fellow in existence; and, 
 she added, doated on her. " All his dear 
 heart is in me," she said, '' as of course mine 
 is in him ; though that is nothing, and one 
 does not balance the other. He worships 
 the ground I walk on, he says, and would 
 do anything I wished. I would have gladly 
 given him everything I possessed in the
 
 FATAL ZERO. 215 
 
 world, and been dependent on him, for 
 everything he had would be mine, and in- 
 deed I would rejoice to be dependent on 
 him. But my dear boy would not hear 
 of it." 
 
 This was their first trip together abroad. 
 They enjoyed everything. It was all new, 
 charming, rapturous. Everything glittered 
 and sparkled; everything was good and 
 kind and obliging. How well I knew this 
 strain; it always flows from the debutante 
 tourist. 
 
 '^ Is he in ill health ?" I asked, gravely ; 
 *' are you in ill health ? Some physician lias 
 ordered the waters, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Dear, no," she said — " God forbid ! He 
 is as healthy as he is handsome. A finer 
 specimen of a boy you could not see, and as 
 innocent as a child — no softness, observe, 
 for he is wide awake, as the slang goes." 
 
 " This is not the place, I fear, for the
 
 216 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 innocent to come to — it takes the bloom off 
 such an article sadly." 
 
 " Oh, I do not look below the surface,'* 
 she answered, coldly ; "we take things here 
 as we find them. My child would walk 
 through the most dangerous places without 
 raising his eyes, save to look round for me. 
 Besides, I wish him to learn a little life, to 
 mix more, and make acquaintances. But 
 he says, poor boy, he asks nothing beyond 
 me, his poor old mamma." 
 
 '^ He must be quite a phoenix," I said, 
 smiling. " I shall be curious to see him." 
 
 " And I should be glad that you should, 
 and know him also. I have noticed you, 
 and some one was speaking about you, that 
 you had done some good here." 
 
 This I disclaimed. I have the wish, and, 
 in my trifling way and tiny circle, would do 
 anything I could; but Heaven knows that 
 is not much.
 
 FATAL ZERO. 217 
 
 So they begin to talk of my little mis- 
 sionary work, such as it is. Well, it is a 
 sign of something. Well, all I say is, wait ; 
 only give me a little time. Perhaps we 
 
 shall have M. D coming to me from the 
 
 gambling firm, with an offer of a large sum 
 down, to go away. That would be a 
 triumph. What would I answer, though? 
 No indignant " spurning," no foolish 
 warmth; a simple, straightforward reply, 
 from one man of the world and of business,- 
 
 to the other. " My good M. D , excuse 
 
 me, you have mistaken your man — / am an 
 Englishman, not a Frenchman.^' That would 
 be thrust the first. " This is a matter that 
 cannot be compromised. What I do is not 
 from any personal spite to you and to your 
 company, but a holy duty. Let me but 
 have strength, and light, and aid from above, 
 and I shall wage an eternal war against you 
 and yours unto the death. Further, be
 
 218 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 prepared for this, — I shall return here again 
 and again, lift up my voice, protest, until 
 this frightful leprosy is extirpated. Please 
 give that as my answer to your firm." 
 
 How he would stare ! Frenchman as he 
 is, he would be thrown back, as it were. 
 How he would shrug and caper to his fel- 
 lows in their den! 
 
 The youth was gone, his mother told me, 
 to join a little party into Frankfort. He 
 was very reluctant to go, but she had in- 
 sisted. '' I am determined," she said, " he 
 shall amuse himself and learn to be a man. 
 Whv should he be tied to the side of his 
 mother ?" 
 
 " One of the best restraints he could have," 
 I answer, gravely ; " it will be relaxed soon 
 enough, never fear." 
 
 After dinner, walking about through the 
 pleasant grounds, listening to the delicious 
 music, I see both mother and son sitting
 
 FATAL ZERO. 219 
 
 together. He scarcely deserved all her 
 raptures, though he was a fresh, girlish, 
 pink-faced boy, abounding certainly in 
 health and spirits. He seemed overflowing 
 with happiness, and enjoyment of this 
 world so new to him. Every moment I 
 could see his eyes turned to her with some- 
 thing like adoration. It was certainly 
 something strange and curious to me, to 
 see, in the centre of this hotbed of corrup- 
 tion, so innocent a flower blooming away 
 like a tropical plant. It was a most dra- 
 matic contrast; and yet, had I been his 
 mother, with the influence she professed to 
 have, I certainly would not have introduced 
 him there. We are told that those who love 
 the danger, have a certain end before them. 
 
 She beckoned to me. 
 
 " Arthur," she said, " I want you to know 
 this gentleman, who has been giving me 
 some very good advice about you."
 
 220 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 The foolish woman ! 
 
 " I should not presume/' I began 
 
 " No," she went on ; " there should be no 
 secrets between mother and son. What I 
 hear, he hears at the same moment. He 
 says we should not have come to this place. 
 Now, as to that, what do you say?" 
 
 " I say what you say, mother." And he 
 looked at her with an inexpressible affection. 
 
 I was a little provoked. This was nur- 
 sery like — very much to be admired in its 
 way, but alas ! would not do for this world. 
 Just as feasting on poetry books will not 
 get a man on at the bar, this sort of exu- 
 berant confidence in oneself was surely 
 tempting fate. 
 
 " No," she went on, smiling in triumph, 
 "Arthur and I are together a match for 
 the world and all its arts. Against each, 
 singly, they might prevail. What do you 
 say, my darling? But against us both "
 
 FATAL ZERO. 221 
 
 His answer was given out of his eyes. 
 
 It was hard not to be touched by such 
 affection. After all, affection, like faith, 
 may remove mountains, and may oppose 
 successfully even avalanches. But still, 
 darling Dora of mine, my old hobby comes 
 prancing up. Too much self-confidence is 
 a challenge, as it were. It invites attack, 
 where less obtrusiveness would escape no- 
 tice. 
 
 I sat down beside them. After all, I 
 hate the role of professional lecturer or 
 monitor. Much more may be done by a 
 little insinuation of good, rather than by 
 a direct homily a la Bulmer. I set myself 
 out to interest and amuse them, pointing 
 out the notabilities, and introducing stories 
 about the fatal scabies, or the leprosy of 
 the place. 
 
 " It is the strangest thing," I said, " how 
 familiarity blunts us to everything. We
 
 222 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 all of us know the nicest, most moral 
 people, who, if they were told, ' that money 
 I now put into your hand was taken 
 from some unfortunate wretches, who first 
 starved, and then in despair committed 
 suicide' — would surely fling it down in 
 horror and disgust. This may be excep- 
 tional—the suicide, I mean; but more cer- 
 tain still is the beggaring, the wrecking of 
 domestic households, and worse again, the 
 wreck of many a soul. This is no specula- 
 tion — these are facts, repeating themselves 
 every hour of the day. And yet you will 
 see English ladies and gentlemen coming 
 away from these tables chuckling over the 
 gold and silver in their hands, their win- 
 ning of which will cause the miseries I 
 have described." 
 
 They seemed actually scared. A sketch 
 of a few touches is often more effectual 
 than a whole elaborate picture. I am so
 
 FATAL ZERO. 223 
 
 full of the awful force of this scourge, that 
 such vigorous etching comes from me natu- 
 rally, and without effort. 
 
 I was content '*to leave it there," as the 
 phrase runs. 
 
 I pointed them out D'Eyncourt and 
 Grainger — the potentate — the great gam- 
 bling Count, who was all the time being 
 drawn by invisible strings towards destruc- 
 tion — with his indifferent interest in the 
 music, &c. I knew the man was acting. 
 Oh, there are many rude, coarse words 
 popular in the odious slang of our time; 
 but I cannot quarrel with that dubbing of 
 a gaming house " a hell ;" — most appro- 
 priate, and not too highly coloured a 
 title. 
 
 The lady seemed to know something 
 about Grainger, and you may be sure, 
 dearest, that I smiled as she said she heard 
 " he had been crossed in some attachment."
 
 224 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 She asked, too, had he *^not been badly- 
 treated?" Rogue Dora! I daresay he 
 had. I said it was possible. I did give 
 them a short sketch of what I knew about 
 him, enlisting I believe their sympathies. 
 The young fellow said he was handsome, 
 and " appeared to have seen a great deal of 
 life." I could not help replying out, with 
 a smile — 
 
 " Do you know what * seeing a great 
 deal of life' means in its conventional 
 shape? Owing large sums of money — 
 ruining your health — ruining other people 
 — destroying your own sense of pure enjoy- 
 ment — destroying your chance of future 
 happiness; in short, injuring yourself in 
 every way; that is seeing a good deal of 
 life! I fancy, Mrs. Paget, it would be 
 better on the whole not to see a good deal 
 of life on such terms." 
 
 She reflected a moment and looked very
 
 FATAL ZERO. 225 
 
 grave. But then brightened and said, " Oh, 
 but he must enjoy himself, and I promised 
 him ! And indeed I would not like them 
 
 to say he was tied to Though," she 
 
 added, smiling, "mothers have long since 
 given up wearing aprons and strings." 
 
 '^ Rather," I answered, " they are snapped 
 over and over again." 
 
 My pet will own to me without fear of 
 making me vain, that since I came to this 
 place, there has developed in me a vein for 
 repartee and of readiness, which I own sur- 
 prises me. I take no pride in such a gift. 
 Heaven knows, but it might have lain till 
 my death in that mean country-town of 
 ours, undiscovered — undreamed of, like a 
 pot of old coins in the ground. 
 
 The youth had been looking at her affec- 
 tionately. He caught her shawl — "This 
 will do as well as an apron-string," he said, 
 " and be much stronger too." 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 I felt a great interest in this pair and in 
 their ahnost pastoral innocence — the looks 
 of unspeakable affection they now and 
 again gave at each other. 
 
 " Ah," she said, " if our dear friend — his 
 darling father, were now with us, how lie 
 would enjoy this ! — such happy days as we 
 had together. He made everything happy. 
 All he cared for in life was to be with us. 
 He was a brother to him, rather than a 
 father. And yet no one knew life better. 
 He knew it only to despise it." 
 
 We may have remained silent for a mo- 
 ment. In such a place, in such an atmo- 
 sphere, it was refreshing to meet such 
 almost holy feelings, though there was a 
 discordance. ^' He would have told you," 
 I said, gently, " the dangers of such a place 
 as this, and his firm paternal voice would 
 warn against that fatal pitfall yonder — that 
 hideous crevasse which is concealed with 
 the loveliest flowers."
 
 FATAL ZERO. 227 
 
 " Oh, the tables !" lie said. 
 
 "Yes," she said, "those dreadful tables! 
 He had a horror of even cards." 
 
 " The tables," I said, " exactly ! That is 
 the gentle name they go by. A vile gam- 
 bling hell would not do for ears polite, or 
 the euphuism that custom and their little 
 attentions to ladies has purchased. Why 
 in the days of Crockford's there was always 
 a supper — champagne; the whole supplied 
 in the handsomest manner gratis. A glass 
 of their wine would be like poison to me." 
 
 *' You are indeed right," she said. " It 
 is a shocking place. It terrifies me some- 
 times ; and only Dr. M'Kee sent us here for 
 the waters He really did, and for Am." 
 
 " To be sure," I said, " and Sir Duncan 
 Dennison sent me. We are not to be de- 
 prived of innocent blessings ; and if a gra- 
 cious Providence strikes the rock and lets 
 a health-giving stream spout up to cure 
 
 lb— 2.
 
 228 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 our ills, we are not to be kept from it be- 
 cause a gang of ruffians choose to encamp 
 under the trees close by. You are justly 
 astonished at my using such a word in 
 speaking of the good-natured, affable gen- 
 tlemen who are doing so much to amuse us 
 all here and make things pleasant. But 
 why indulge in these complacent hypo- 
 crisies? I make n-o secret of it; from the 
 hour I arrived here I laid myself out to call 
 things by their right names — to strip off 
 their gilt washing, and unfold what I 
 know to be conventional lies — yes, lies, in 
 the face of that heaven there. Is it possible 
 that decent, respectable, religious people 
 can suppose, when they come here, that they 
 are to abdicate all the responsibility they 
 have at home? If there was a low gambling 
 place in some of those purlieus of the Hay- 
 market, would any English matron be seen 
 going into it with her daughters? No,
 
 FATAL ZERO. 229 
 
 no, my dear Mrs. Paget, there is no use 
 compromising these matters. Because there 
 are gilded rooms, and servants, and lords 
 and genteel people walk in and look on, we 
 are not the less responsible. The more 
 respectable we are, the more our respec- 
 table sanction contributes to the wreck and 
 ruin of the miserable victims of the system. 
 There are people her^, who will tell you 
 this is all ridiculous, and they may laugh 
 at me^ but I cannot, quixotic as it may 
 seem, look on at what I think sin — sin in 
 all its bearings, colour, size — no matter 
 how you look at it. I speak warmly, I 
 know, and perhaps stand alone, but I am 
 genuine, and feel what I say." 
 
 " You have put it in a way that I never 
 thought of before," she said, reflecting. 
 
 It is indeed a responsibility. He, too, 
 was looking at me with wonder. It had 
 struck his boyish mind. I am convinced
 
 230 FATAT. ZERO. 
 
 if our preacliers and men like Bulmer, were 
 to put their truths in more common shape, 
 and take the measure, as it were, of the 
 minds they were addressing, and shape 
 their speecli accordingly, it would have the 
 happiest effect. I determined to leave the 
 matter as it was, but I knew I had made 
 an impression, and was content. I then 
 changed the subject.
 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 Saturday. — I am getting more and more 
 entertained every hour with the spectacle 
 here. Again I repeat there would seem to 
 be no such dramatic touchstone to bring 
 out human nature and human character. 
 If one had but a window in every fore- 
 head! The strangest thing is the utter 
 ignorance and wildness of these poor dupes, 
 who play on without principle or approach 
 to system. It is all so simple, so easily 
 attainable, and yet it occurs to no one. 
 This morning I win eight times in succession. 
 In spirit I mean. I paste the card in here 
 as a little relic, and as a proof of my fore-
 
 232 
 
 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 casting powers. The marks show when I 
 played — I mean in spirit. 
 
 R. 
 
 N. 
 
 R. 
 
 N. 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 
 • 
 • 
 
 My pet will see this at a glance, that the 
 two colours really alternate in equal batches. 
 Had I been one of the players — -just to give 
 you an idea of the easy way the money is 
 made — I should have earned enough in ten 
 minutes to have paid all our year's rent. 
 
 This morning, when we were all doing 
 our procession at the wells, that agreeable
 
 FATAL ZERO. 233 
 
 man of God, the Dean of , comes up to 
 
 me, with that smug obsequiousness which 
 he has unconsciously got to exhibit to infe- 
 riors, from the habit of always addressing 
 lords and baronets. 
 
 " I saw your name," he said, " in the 
 Fremdenliste, and at once thought you 
 must be one of the Edward Austens of Berk- 
 shire. Am I right — the member?'* 
 
 " Yes," I said; " my father was Edward 
 Austen, the member." 
 
 " Good gracious ! I was sure of it. How 
 wonderful are the ways" — he was going to 
 add " of Providence!" but more decorously 
 substituted, "the ways — ahem — we find 
 people turning up !" 
 
 Of course he had not heard of my fall in 
 the world, or, if he had, thought it was one 
 of those genteel bits of ruin which don't 
 affect people of condition. He was a great 
 man at a charity sermon, and very strong
 
 234 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 "' against Rome." We walked up and down 
 together, he chattering all the time, with 
 every now and again a nod and " How d ye 
 do?" to some one. After which he would 
 get abstracted, and look after the lord un- 
 easily — I think meditating whether there 
 was likely to be a vacancy beside the lord, 
 when he might join in. I remember a 
 sermon by this dignitary of extraordinary 
 warmth and power, on the text, ''Go up 
 higher," which, in his own life, he illustra- 
 ted forcibly; and I believe the true bearing 
 for him of the text was unconsciously this : 
 " he that humbleth himself" was to do so 
 through the hope of being exalted. I dare 
 say I do him wrong in this, for he was a 
 charitable man ; but certainly loved a lord 
 a little too much. He asked me " to make 
 one of their party" at dinner at the " Shep- 
 herdess," a mean, obscure place, which some 
 irreverent people always called "that pot-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 235 
 
 house of a place," but where " the swells" 
 were fond of planning dinners. Is not this 
 the world all over ! Some obscure spot or 
 thing is taken up by " ladies of quality" — 
 no matter what discomfort or stupidity 
 follows, the world pronounces it charming^ 
 and would give their poor battered souls — 
 and cheapest thing they have — to get there. 
 
 I went to the Shepherdess that evening, 
 and found ten people at the dean's table. 
 Only one lord — the salt of the earth — but 
 certainly some "nice people," as he would 
 call them. The dinner was bad enough, as, 
 indeed, Mr. Boxwell, a hearty jovial member 
 of parliament, said plainly. 
 
 " In fact, my dear dean, what surprises 
 me altogether is to find you in this queer 
 place at all." 
 
 "Find me here," repeated the dean — 
 "find me here! Surely there are the 
 nicest people — Lord , Lady , and
 
 236 FATAL ZEKO. 
 
 Sir John ; why, there is nothing queer 
 about tliemr 
 
 " I don't mean that ; but I was thinking 
 of a sermon I have heard of yours, on 
 ' Responsibility,' and all that, and how one 
 preached more by simply not saying a word, 
 than by regular sermons. A capital idea, 
 by the way, which I wish was carried out 
 in all our churches." 
 
 '^ Oh, that's all very well," said the dean. 
 
 (I know these conversations amuse my 
 pet, and I try to recollect scraps of them as 
 nearly as possible.) 
 
 " In short, it is so droll," went on the 
 member, '^ to find the good people gathered 
 here — aprons, shovels, white ties, gaiters, 
 high collars, holy faces — all clustered about 
 a common gambling-house. You can call 
 it Kursaal, and all that, and talk of the 
 croupier and such dignified names ; but we 
 know, if the great Blanc himself took a
 
 FATAL ZERO. 237 
 
 scrubby room in St. James's street, the 
 police would just burst in, and drag him 
 and his croupiers with unnecessary vio- 
 lence before Sir Thomas Henry, who would 
 refuse bail." 
 
 I enjoyed this thoroughly. These are 
 my own views, only put so much better. 
 But the dean was a shrewd man, and when 
 he saw we were all listening, said: "Oh, 
 w^e come for our healths. We are ordered 
 here, sir. Our health. Those people, you 
 know, have nothing to do with me. And, 
 to tell you the truth, I don't look at it in 
 your way at all. They tell me it is all 
 perfectly fair and above board ; and I hear 
 the good they do, the sums they give away 
 in charity, is something incalculable ! The 
 widows and the orphans of the place come 
 to them, and never go away empty." 
 
 I was astonished to hear such careless 
 language from a man in so responsible a
 
 238 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 position, and could not resist saying, " But 
 how many a widow and orphan, Mr. Dean, 
 have they made destitute? How many 
 households have they filled with desolation ? 
 The ruin they have caused spreads over 
 every land, and many and many are the 
 dismal messengers they have dismissed to 
 English homes with hopeless news. Is the 
 wretched alms, which they are forced to 
 pay, any compensation for this wholesale 
 pillage ?' 
 
 I spoke warmly, and the dean looked 
 round at me with disgust. " That is all 
 very good and sound, and we are all agreed, 
 of course : but we must take things as we 
 find 'em. These people found out the wells 
 here, and worked 'em, and developed 'em. 
 If I was inclined to a little sophistry or 
 casuistry, I would ask you, wouldn't 
 the myriads of rheumatic and dys- 
 peptic fathers whom they have restored
 
 FATAL ZERO. 239 
 
 to health — the thousands of wastino^ dauo^h- 
 ters to whose cheeks the what-d'ye-call-'em 
 — Le Wheez'un Broonin" — so he pronounced 
 it — " has brought back colour; the number 
 of homes it has made happy — is not all 
 this a sort of compensation for the weak- 
 minded, ridiculous gambler, whom they 
 justly punish? And serve 'em right too. 
 Now, sir?'^ 
 
 " That's putting it very well, dean," said 
 the member, laughing; "and, if I don't 
 mistake, Mr. Austen has benefited amaz- 
 ingly himself by the gambling waters." 
 
 " Oh dear, yes," said the dean ; '' there is 
 quite too much cant about all this. We 
 must take 'em as we find 'em. My stock- 
 broker, a worthy man, gives money to 
 schools, holds plates, and all that — but he 
 gambles on the Exchange, and wins; and 
 who does he win from ? From some one 
 who has to lose his all to pay him. He
 
 240 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 made a hundred thousand pounds in Italian 
 stock the other day. How? Some poor 
 wretch sold in the panic, and was destroyed. 
 Well. My broker bought his stock. Look 
 
 at the merchants. Look at Lord , who 
 
 made the last bishop, why, he games on the 
 turf. My good sir, if we're to go about 
 setting right everything we see or think 
 wrong, why the world might as well stop. 
 We might all shut up. We must give and 
 take." 
 
 Is not this characteristic ? An ordained 
 man — a dean — and I, a poor, unauthorized, 
 unaccredited being, obliged to tell him his 
 duty! 
 
 I was indignant to hear such indiiference 
 from one in his sacred position — no heart, 
 no earnestness; and I answered, warmly: 
 *' But, Mr. Dean, when we see this place 
 crowded with holy — I mean with officially 
 holy — men, is there not something more
 
 FATAL ZERO. 241 
 
 expected than giving and taking? What 
 do we hear? Not a word, not a protest, 
 not a denunciation of the wickedness going 
 on about us ; no thunderings from the pul- 
 pit. I cannot understand it. Surely, if we 
 could suppose a Whitfield, or a Wesley, or 
 a John Knox, or a Luther, or a Calvin, 
 were found here " 
 
 " Heaven forbid !" said the member of 
 parliament. " The place would get too hot 
 for me! Come, we have had enough of 
 this wine and of the Shepherdess ; and to 
 show that I quite approve of the dean's 
 good sense, 1 am going up to the gambling- 
 rooms now, to try what can be done with a 
 napoleon." 
 
 As we went out the dean spoke to me 
 very testily, as if he were sore, and wincing 
 under my thrust. 
 
 " See here. You are a little too high- 
 flying, my friend," he said, " and not exactly 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 cut out for a reformer. Believe me, there 
 is no liarm in following the general con- 
 sensus of leading men. You see all the 
 distinguished personages here, lay and cle- 
 rical, neither protest nor approve. They 
 go their own way. Joshua was the only one 
 who succeeded in stopping the sun. Above 
 all, let us look at home, and keep a guard 
 over ourselves. While you are busy giving 
 directions, and helping the old ladies across 
 the street, saving them from the omnibuses, 
 you yourself may be run over." 
 
 And these are the pastors for the poor 
 sheep of England; smooth words to make 
 everything comfortable, and macadamize 
 the road to salvation. This man is sure 
 to be a bishop. Well, I shall say no 
 more after this. He has taken no notice of 
 me since.
 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 Monday the sixth. — The more I look 
 about me in this strange world, and cer- 
 tainly in this strangest of places, the more 
 do I feel that it is good for me morally to 
 be here. For my weak, but well-meaning 
 soul, it has the effect of bracing, nerving, 
 cold water. I shall return home streno:th- 
 ened and invigorated. I am not at all sorry 
 to have passed by these furnaces without 
 being scorched. The man who shuts him- 
 self up and turns away his eyes is dis- 
 creet, and if he knows himself to be weak, 
 all is right. Nay, a greater authority than 
 I has written, he is hound to gird himself
 
 244 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 up, and flee as fast as his poor tottering 
 limbs can carry him. If I were a clergy- 
 man — a supposition I very often make, and 
 there was some talk of it when 1 was a boy 
 — I would ascend my pulpit, and preach 
 eternally on this text. If you feel a spark 
 of courage and strength, face the danger 
 cautiously, practise, do as a man does who 
 goes to a gymnasium and trains his muscles 
 — begin to throw a half stone weight, and 
 increase the amount by degrees. I would 
 thunder this at the congregation until they 
 began to think it was a monomania, as I 
 daresay she, whose eyes will be reading 
 this by-and-by, may herself think. Or with 
 more indulgence she will perhaps say, " My 
 dear, I have heard Dr. Bulmer preach far 
 worse." Well, perhaps he has, and I shall 
 be told I have no business to be dressing 
 myself up in a surplice — en amateur. But 
 I say again this does me good, and it
 
 FATAL ZERO. 245 
 
 will do me good again to read it, and per- 
 haps years hence strange eyes will fall upon 
 it, and reflect, and own, perhaps a little 
 reluctantly, " Well, he is the first that has 
 got sermons, not out of stones, which would 
 be a limited range of subject, but out of 
 roulette and the card-table, and the wolfish 
 eyes of ' hell keepers.' " There, darling, I 
 wont preach again until further notice. 
 
 But the truth is, I am in a sort of ela- 
 tion, for I did more than mere rapid preach- 
 ing this day. Speech may be silvern, silence 
 golden, but action is, after all, a diamond. 
 Going in this night to the roulette table, I 
 see an unusual crowd, and faces showing 
 that stupid interest and admiration which 
 is about as sincere as that of the crowd 
 who stand gaping at the foolhardy Blondin 
 or the reckless Leotard. Fifty per cent, of 
 that crowd has a lingering and secret aspi- 
 ration that if a catastrophe were to be, they
 
 246 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 might be only present to see it. Here I 
 find they are staring at a tall gay English- 
 man, a fresh good-looking fellow in some 
 regiment, and whose honest health and loud 
 proclamation of the tub every morning, 
 contrasts with the yellow, dirty faces and 
 the niggardly economy of soap, linen, &c., 
 which they insinuate. His play is of the 
 boldest, not laying the table broadcast with 
 his gold as some foolish ones do; but with 
 a sort of instinct selecting a number here, 
 another there, and "bedding and potting'* 
 it, as some one said, with his gold. What 
 I delight in is his contemptuous treatment 
 of the crew of croupiers, whom he treats 
 as though they were mere scavengers or 
 nightmen, not fit to be addressed, or as 
 you would a dependant. He tosses them 
 his money insolently, and makes them 
 arrange it for him, and if they are awk- 
 ward, speaks to them with a haughty arro-
 
 FATAL ZERO. 247 
 
 gance that seems to exasperate them. He 
 has won with many pieces on Zero, he has 
 hit the number again and again, and I see 
 the brigand eyes of the " hell keepers" 
 glancing at him furtively, with anger and 
 dislike, as though they were thinking, 
 ^' Shall we ' set' him with some of our bul- 
 lies as he goes home to his hotel, and strip 
 him of what he has robbed us of?" Ap- 
 proving faces are bent on this darling, 
 whom Fortune in one of her caprices dan- 
 dles for a few seconds in her arms, like 
 some pretty child, and then allows to drop 
 on the pavement. The enamelled faces of 
 the mermaids are turned towards him ; and 
 the rustling of their fins and tail is heard, 
 as they come swimming round a new prey. 
 I drew near to him, and could hear him 
 tell a friend behind, " I must have got more 
 than a thousand out of them," while a voice 
 that I know, says, in its accustomed drawl,
 
 248 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 " Now is the time then ; sack 'em, and you'll 
 have the glory of being the first to break 
 the bank this season/' 
 
 I knew it seemed intrusive, but I could 
 not resist saying, in a low voice, " Now is 
 the time to retire. Luck always changes." 
 
 The soapstone face was stretched round 
 to look. " Oh, Grainger's friend !" he said. 
 " This is the gentleman I was telling you of, 
 who has the wonderful system " 
 
 " I have no system," I said, coolly. 
 
 '^ I was wrong, then, it seems." He went 
 on, " Well, it is the gentleman who preaches 
 against the bank one day, and in behalf of 
 his infallible system the next." 
 
 The young fellow was naturally not at- 
 tending. 
 
 "Confound it!" he said, "the luck is 
 turning. I have got nothing these last 
 three turns. PU take his advice, and carry 
 off what I have bagged. Come, and let us
 
 FATAL ZERO. 249 
 
 count. Here's Grainger. Look here, Grain- 
 ger, my dear boy !" 
 
 It was now about half-past eleven. Soon 
 the mystic proclamation would be heard — 
 " ^ Za dernier e /" Grainger's eyes sparkled 
 with an unholy fire of envy — possibly of 
 disappointment, for I would not do him 
 wrong — as he looked on the glittering trea- 
 sure which the other was holdino: in his 
 hand as though it were so much mould. 
 But he turned to me suddenly — 
 
 " Here, Pollock, let me introduce a friend 
 of mine — Mr. Austen, the hero of that little 
 story which your brother knows.'' 
 
 I remembered there was a Captain Pollock 
 in the regiment at that time, and I remem- 
 ber, Dora, being ludicrously jealous one 
 night, at your dancing with him. 
 
 '' Oh, indeed !" said the young fellow who 
 had won. " I recollect. But I tell you 
 what; I'll stand a supper at Ghevet's for
 
 250 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 the whole party — neat meat, neat wines, 
 neat everything. Come, no excuse. The 
 winner pays for all, and we'll count the 
 cash between the courses." 
 
 Grainger was delighted. I don't set up 
 to be a Puritan, as you know, Dora, and I 
 always think of that saint with admiration, 
 who used to play cards with a swearing and 
 abandoned crew, and thus gradually ac- 
 quired an influence over them. There again 
 the complacency creeps out— an almost 
 sacerdotal complacency. Precisely like a 
 saint, am I not ? — or Mr. Barnard will say 
 so. But again and again I repeat, this is 
 all for your pretty eye3 and my own ugly 
 ones. 
 
 I went with them. I often say to myself, 
 " On this day, or on this night, let us have 
 a little festival," when I have been good and 
 deserve it ; when I have been otherwise, I 
 assure you I can be very stern and severe
 
 FATAL ZERO. 251 
 
 to myself. So we sat down and counted 
 the gold, which was close on nine hundred 
 napoleons. I otvti to a certain wrench and 
 a yearning as I looked at it, and I think the 
 amount of unconscious greediness — for we 
 are all animals — in the three faces must 
 have been overpowering. I am not at all 
 ashamed to own this. God knows I don't 
 set up to be superior. Two waiters afar off 
 heard the chink — every ear learns that. 
 They sniffed the dear metal as a vulture 
 does carrion. Hungry gamblers looked up 
 from their drink with ferocious envy. The 
 owner alone was unconcerned. 
 
 *' Confound the beggars ! if I didn't think 
 they'd s^vindle me, I'd have been as glad to 
 have banknotes." 
 
 Here was the supper. D'Eyncourt — who 
 to his other vices adds that of gourmandise 
 — spoke little and eat heartily. I confess 
 to doing the same, and most gratefully do I
 
 252 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 owe my thanks to the Providence who has 
 so restored me as to give me the power of 
 enjoying moderately such things. What have 
 I done to deserve these mercies, and not be- 
 come like one of the worn-out beings who 
 come here and drink with a faint hope of 
 miraculously recovering their lost stomachs? 
 
 We were very merry, Grainger specially 
 so, and I suspected that the honest lad had 
 helped his friend with a handful of what he 
 had carried off. But D'Eyncourt's cat-like 
 eyes fell on me several times, as if he was 
 about to say something. I was ready for 
 him. He began, in his drawl : 
 
 " The more I see of you, Mr. Austen, the 
 more you become a mystery to me." 
 
 I have put down some people before now, 
 so I thought I would settle him before he 
 went further. 
 
 " Well, curiously," I said, " the more I 
 see of you^ the less you are a mystery to
 
 FATAL ZERO. 253 
 
 me ; in fact, the first day I read you like a 
 book." 
 
 Pollock laughed loud. " Hit you on the 
 sternum, my boy — and quite right, too, 
 though not very flattering." 
 
 " Austen's mauleys come down hard when 
 they do come down," said Grainger. 
 
 '' What I was saying," said D'Eyncourt, in 
 his slow impressive way (which I do envy 
 him), as though he had not heard, or as if 
 he had stopped speaking to light his cigar, 
 which was now all alight — " what I say is, 
 I don't quite understand your role — I mean 
 the attitude you have to this bank. If I 
 disapproved, / should keep away — turn my 
 back on Jericho — let the fiery sword do its 
 work ; but I certainly wouldn't shelter 
 myself under their gorgeous roof, sit on 
 their luxurious sofas, read their English 
 newspapers, with such strong convictions. 
 I'd be almost inclined to go to M. Blanc,
 
 254 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 the head of the thing, and tell him so 
 boldly/' 
 
 I was not sorry that he had begun in 
 this fashion, and really wished to 'Hackle" 
 him before them; and I was amused too, 
 for I knew this was what would occur to 
 common minds, and to men like Mr. Bar- 
 nard. 
 
 " I think," said I, smiling, " we can all 
 imagine M. Blanc's polite and pleasant re- 
 partee, if any such well-meaning remon- 
 strant were to present himself But the fact 
 is, I do not use their Times^ or their luxu- 
 rious sofas and chairs; and as for their roof 
 — ^Avell, I do own to taking that barren ad- 
 vantage of them." 
 
 " Had you again — on the nob this time, 
 D'Eyncourt," said the youth, who had 
 already taken more wine than fitted him to 
 be a nice judge of such eflfects. 
 
 " Do leave those low boxing metaphors
 
 FATAL ZERO. 255 
 
 aside, Mr. Pollock— at least among gentle- 
 men. You may not be in such spirits to- 
 morrow night. But" — he went on, turning 
 to me — " you are not quixotic enough to 
 expect that a still small voice like yours — 
 of course I mean your conscience's — could 
 make itself heard in this Babel! Have 
 you such a sense of comical self-delusion 
 that you can place yourself at that large 
 doorway and turn back the mob of scoun- 
 drels, blackguards, roughs, cheats, jailbirds, 
 lorettes — aye, and even decent men and 
 women — with your faint expostulation ? Do 
 you tell us that ?" 
 
 '^ No," I said, firmly; and then, as po- 
 litely as I could, " but first of all, suppose 
 it was my whim ; am I not as much entitled 
 to have that^ as any one here ?" 
 
 " Scarcely," he said. " As a rule, the 
 gamblers never make themselves ridicu- 
 lous.''
 
 256 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 " That seems like having you^ my friend/' 
 said the boy to me. 
 
 "But apart from mere verbal quib- 
 bling," I went on, " at the risk of ex- 
 posing myself to the suspicion of what 
 is called cant — which, of course, is saying 
 something that is moral^ or religious^ or im- 
 proving " 
 
 "Excuse me. The sayer being neither 
 moral nor religious, that becomes cant. 
 And you have saved me the trouble of com- 
 ing to the point ; for I believe that, uncon- 
 sciously, you are at heart as great a gambler 
 as any of them ; and — don't be offended, for 
 we are speaking with charming candour — 
 you know the greatest rock is that air of 
 self-righteousness — ' Take heed that ye de- 
 ceive not yourselves.' " 
 
 "Oh, I say, come, no profane quoting 
 here," said the youth, with tipsy gravity. 
 
 "There is no profanity," I said, smiling;
 
 FATAL ZERO. 257 
 
 "your quotation is not in Scripture!" I 
 was in great vein now, and began to feel 
 myself a match for him. '' But supposing, 
 now,'' I went on, " I succeeded in interpos- 
 ing between two, or one even, and their 
 destruction, why I am foolish enough to 
 think it worth while coming so far for 
 that." 
 
 "0! for Grainger, here?" he sneered. 
 " A brand plucked from the burning ? You 
 are the neophyte, it seems, Grainger. Well, 
 there is a class of missionary they call 
 'soupers,' and who have rather a suspicious 
 class of converts. But you are genuine, 
 Grainger. You are being brought to see 
 the light, are you not? Seriously," he 
 added, turning to me, " you don't mean to 
 tell us you have touched that rocky 
 ground?" 
 
 "Seriously," I replied, impatiently, "I 
 don't care to discuss such topics." 
 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 "With all my heart, though I daresay 
 our friend Grainger has been doing a little 
 bit of the new regeneration — the softening 
 of this stony heart. (There is a regular 
 dialect for all that, which I profess myself 
 not quite up to.) I can fancy him saying 
 to you, ' What can I do ? I am led on — 
 dragged on. I have good intentions. I 
 was virtuous once, and I would give worlds 
 to be back in the old innocent times — the 
 fields, the green, the buttercups — to be like 
 youj in short.' Ha, ha!" 
 
 '^Ha, ha I" roared the host. "Devilish 
 good.'' 
 
 It was so like what Grainger had been 
 saying, that I turned sharply and looked at 
 him with surprise. He was looking at 
 D'Eyncourt with quite a wicked glare. 
 
 '^ There is always some devilish malignity 
 in your ideas, D'Eyncourt," he said — a
 
 FATAL ZERO. 259 
 
 speech that was certainly just and nicely 
 descriptive. For he might surely guess 
 that I had, in my poor way, and by the 
 grace of one greater than I acting 
 through me, made some impression on 
 Grainger; and this artful ridicule would 
 be precisely a fashion that Satan himself 
 would have suggested for throwing him 
 back. 
 
 "Well,'' said D'Eyncourt, "weVe had 
 enough. Let us go in and see these honest 
 fellows counting their money. I hope they 
 have got a good bag to-night; they work 
 hard enough for it — harder than many a 
 fellow at home on his sixpence a day, and 
 deserve every coin they get. Good luck to 
 them! I hope they've emptied many a 
 fool's pocket." 
 
 As we went out Grainger whispered, 
 " You don't mind what that snarler says.
 
 260 FATAL ZERO. 
 
 He'd sneer at his dead motlier. I'm bad 
 
 enough, God knows *' 
 
 "Don't, say a word, Grainger, '^ I said, 
 taking his arm; "his speeches will have 
 very little eiFect on me." 
 
 END OF VOL. I.