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 THE CONVICT: 
 
 a ®alc. 
 
 BY G. P. R. JAMES, ESQ. 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 "THE SMDGGLER," " DARNLEY," 'RICHELIEU," 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 N.B. — A German Translation of this work i$ published for the Author 
 by Messrs. Ddncker & Husiblott, Berlin. 
 
 LONDON: 
 SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL. 
 
 1847.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbaina-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/convicttale01james
 
 I/. / 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 To tell a very simple story, in the simplest 
 possible manner, was the object of the author 
 in writing the work which follows. Very few 
 words, therefore, are necessary in way of pre- 
 face; and none, perhaps, would have been 
 written, had it not been pointed out to me, that 
 o men might suppose one of the characters in the 
 \^ work to be intended for the type of a profession, 
 
 •Q 
 
 J when, in reality, it is nothing more than the 
 ~~ picture of an individual. 
 
 "^ In the priest, I have represented a person 
 -^ acting upon principles which I have heard
 
 IV PREFACE. 
 
 maintained by a living man^ and performing 
 deeds which there is much reason to believe 
 that living man performed. The same acts 
 could not have been perpetrated by a Pro- 
 testant in any ordinary circumstances, because 
 he would not have had at command the same 
 means of influencing the minds of others ; but 
 I beg most distinctly to state, that I do not put 
 forth this personage as a specimen of the 
 Roman-catholic clergy, many of whom are 
 amongst the most estimable men I ever knew.
 
 THE CONVICT. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It may be very well in most cases to plunge, 
 according to the rule of the Latin poet, into 
 the middle of things. — It may be very well 
 even, according to the recommendation of 
 Count Antoine Hamilton, to " begin with the 
 beginning." — But there are other cases where 
 there may be antecedents to the actual story, 
 which require to be known before the tale 
 itself is rightly comprehended. With this 
 view, then, I will give one short scene not 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 THE CONVICT. 
 
 Strictly attached to that which is to follow, 
 ere I proceed with my history. 
 
 In a small high room of the oldest part of 
 St. John's College, Cambridge, in a warm and 
 glowing day of the early spring, and at about 
 seven o'clock in the morning, there sat a young 
 man with his cheek leaning on his hand, and 
 his eyes fixed upon the page of an open book. 
 There were many others closed and unclosed 
 upon the table around him, as well as various 
 pieces c£ paper, traced with every sort of 
 curious figure which geometrical science ever 
 discovered or measured. The page, too, on 
 which his eyes were bent was well nigh as full 
 of ciphers as of words, and it was evident, 
 from everything around, that the studies of the 
 tenant of that chamber were of a very abstruse 
 character. 
 
 And yet to gaze at him as he sits there, and 
 to consider attentively the lines of the face, 
 and the development of the organs of the 
 head, the physiognomist or phrenologist would
 
 THE CONVICT. 3 
 
 at once pronounce, that, although by no means 
 wanting in any of the powers of mind, that 
 young man was by nature disposed to seek 
 the pleasures of imagination rather than the 
 dry and less exciting, though more satis- 
 factory, results of science. There were some 
 slight indications, too, about his room, of such 
 tastes and propensities. In a wdne-glass, half 
 filled with water, were some early flowers, so 
 arranged that every hue gained additional 
 beauty from that with which it was contrasted ; 
 a flute and some music lay upon a distant 
 table ; one window, which looked towards the 
 gardens, and through wliich came the song of 
 birds and the fragrant breath of the fresh 
 fields, was thrown wide open, while another, 
 which looked towards courts and buildings, 
 was closed, and had the cmtains drawn. 
 Nevertheless, had any eye watched him since 
 he rose, it would have been found, that from 
 the hour of five he had remained intent upon 
 the problems before him, suffering not a 
 B 2
 
 4 THE CONVICT. 
 
 thought to wander, neither rising from the 
 table, nor turning his eyes even for a moment 
 to the worshipped beauty of external nature. 
 The air came in gently from without, and 
 fanned his cheek and waved the curls of his dark 
 hair ; the smell of the flowers w^as wafted to the 
 sense ; the song of the bird sounded melodious 
 in his ear ; but not the breeze, nor the odom*, 
 nor the lay called off* his attention from the dry 
 and heavy task before him. His cheek was 
 pale with thought, his fine eyes looked op- 
 pressed with study, though still bright, and the 
 broad expansive brow ached with the weary 
 labours of many a day and night — labours to 
 which he saw no end, from which he hardly 
 hoped to obtain any very great result. Tall 
 and manly in person, with limbs apparently 
 formed for robust exercises, and a mind fitted 
 for the enjoyment of every refined and graceful 
 pleasure, he had chained down the body and, 
 I may almost add, the spirit, to the hard cap- 
 tivity of intense study, in the hope some day
 
 THE CONVICT. 5 
 
 of making himself a great name, and recover- 
 ing from the grasp of fortune that T^•ealth and 
 station which had been the inheritance of his 
 ancestors. 
 
 Still he felt weary and sick at heart ; still 
 hopeless despondency would hold him en- 
 thralled ; and though, with an unflinching 
 perseverance, for many a long year he had pur- 
 sued the same wear}' round, he felt that he was 
 fitted for other things, and regretted that the 
 energies of his nature were doomed to struggle 
 with objects the most repulsive to his tastes. 
 
 There was a knock at the door, not a light 
 and timid tap, but strong and familiar. With- 
 out raising his eyes, however, he said, " Come 
 in," and the next instant a gentleman entered, 
 in a black gown and cap. He was an elderly 
 man, with a somewhat florid and jovial, but, 
 upon the whole, benevolent countenance. His 
 forehead was high, and very broad over the 
 brows, and there were lines of thought upon it 
 which mingled somewhat curiously with the
 
 " THE CONVICT. 
 
 cheeiful and almost jocular expression of 
 the lips and eyes. Indeed, he was a man of 
 great eminence in science and in literature, 
 who, having in early life conquered all the 
 difficulties of very arduous pursuits, found no 
 longer any trouble in those tasks which would 
 have startled or overpowered many another 
 man, and who consequently walked lightly 
 under burdens which had become familiar, and 
 which had, in reality, no weight for him, be- 
 cause he had become accustomed to bear 
 them. 
 
 " Well, Edward," he said — the young man 
 was a distant relation of his own — " still poring 
 and plodding! My dear lad, you must not 
 carry this too far. You have already done 
 much, very much, and you must take some 
 thought of health." 
 
 The young man rose with a faint smile, and 
 placed a chair for his old relation. " I have 
 both your example and your precept, my dear 
 sir," he replied, " for pursuing the course before
 
 THE CONVICT. 7 
 
 me without relaxation. You told me, some four 
 years ago, that before you were as old as I 
 was then, you had taken high honours at this 
 universit}'. I could only do so last year ; and 
 you have often said that unremitting study in 
 youth is the only means of winning a title in 
 after years to repose and enjoyment. Besides, 
 I must study hard to recover lost time, and to 
 fit myself for the course before me." 
 
 " True, true, very true," rejoined the elder 
 man ; " but you have studied hard for nearly 
 six years now. There was the great fault. 
 You did not begin early enough ; your father 
 should have sent you here full two years before 
 you came. Let me see : you are now six-and- 
 twenty, and for any man destined to fight his 
 way in one of the learned professions, it is 
 never too early to begin to labom\" 
 
 " But neither my poor father nor myself," 
 replied the young gentleman, " were at all 
 aware that I should ever have, as you so justly 
 call it, to fight my way in one of the learned
 
 8 THE CONVICT. 
 
 professions. I was then the heir of six or 
 seven thousand a year ; I have now only the 
 income of a fellowship, and that I could not 
 have obtained had I not been supported here 
 by your bounty." 
 
 " Say nothing of that, Edward," replied the 
 other ; " neither let us look back. You have 
 done enough for the present. You have dis- 
 tinguished yourself here ; after the long vaca- 
 tion, you will be called to the bar, and eminence 
 doubtless is before you ; but still there are a 
 few hard steps to be taken, which require 
 strength of body as well as powers of mind, and 
 in your case both mind and body will suffer if 
 you pursue this course any farther. — Come, I 
 have something to propose, which I think will 
 be gratifying to you, and which I know will be 
 good for you. The friends of a young noble- 
 man, whose father I knew well, have written to 
 request that I would recommend to them some 
 competent person to accompany their relation 
 upon a short tour which he is about imme-
 
 THE CONVICT. {> 
 
 diat€ly to make upon the continent. The terms 
 they propose are very liberal ; the expedition 
 will be a pleasant one ; and if you choose to 
 undertake the task, it will refresh and invigorate 
 you both mentally and corporeally. The young 
 man w411 be of age in the autumn, and will re- 
 turn about the very time when you are to 
 be called to the bar. The connexion is a very 
 good one, and few* men get on in life \Nithout 
 powerful friends. By both information and 
 character you are fitted to do justice to the 
 tnist reposed in you, and my advice is to ac- 
 cept the offer without hesitation. You know I 
 would not recommend anything to you with- 
 out due consideration of all the circumstances." 
 The young man paused thoughtfully ere he 
 replied. The temptation was too strong to be 
 resisted. At the time when all his prospects in 
 life were blighted, he had been preparing to set 
 out — with all the resources of wealth at his com- 
 mand — upon such a tour as that in which he 
 Tvas now desired to share. Very different were
 
 10 THE CONVICT. 
 
 the circumstances, it is true, but still the plea- 
 sures which he had then anticipated had 
 nought to do with wealth, except as a means. 
 He had formed no schemes of display, of 
 luxury, or splendour : he had only thought of 
 visiting scenes rich in natural beauty and his- 
 toric recollections ; of treading where great 
 men had trod; of dwelling for a time where 
 great deeds had been performed ; of seeing the 
 face of earth in its most beautiful and its 
 gi-andest aspects ; and all that was now before 
 him. But yet there was a certain repugnance 
 to the idea of dependence, to the thought of 
 linking himself, even for a time, to a being of 
 whose character, conduct, and views, he knew 
 nothing, and his first reply was doubtful. 
 
 " Who is this young lord, my dear sir ?" he 
 asked. " I should be very willing to go, as you 
 judge it right — for, to say the truth, I am very 
 weary of this life, which only the strong im- 
 pulse of necessity has made me follow — but 
 you can easily conceive I should not like the
 
 THE CONVICT. 11 
 
 task of guiding- every young man through 
 Europe ;" and he added, with a melancholy 
 smile, " I am not fitted for bear leading, as you 
 know, and in this world there are many bears 
 in high places." 
 
 " True," replied his relation, with a slightly- 
 sarcastic smile, and a touch of that unextin- 
 guishable jealousy which exists between St. 
 John's and another great college — "ti'ue; we 
 see that, every day at Trinity ; but this young 
 man is not a bear, nor a bear's cub ; or, at all 
 events, he is well licked. It is young Lord 
 Hadley, whom you must have seen." 
 
 *^ Oh ! I know him well," replied the student, 
 with a well-satisfied look ; " though not perfec- 
 tion, he is Yery much better than most young 
 men of the present day — a little rash, a little 
 given to dissipation, perhaps, but right at 
 heart, kind and well feeling; too easily led^ 
 but yet, I do believe, always preferring riglit to 
 wrong." 
 
 "As to rashness," replied his companion.
 
 12 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " you are rash enough, Ned, yourself; and as to 
 his being easily led, that will be an advantage 
 wliile he is with you. You have that decision 
 of character which he Avants ; and will, I am 
 sure, have power to restrain his habits of dissi- 
 pation, and supply that firmness — for the time 
 at least — of which he is destitute. I can see by 
 your face that you are willing to undertake the 
 task, and therefore I shall write in that sense." 
 
 Thus saying, he was turning towards the 
 door ; but he stopped after taking a step or two, 
 and, coming back to the table, laid down upon 
 it a piece of paper, which — with one of those 
 curious tricks whereof most men have some — 
 he had been tw isting first round one finger and 
 then round another, during the whole time that 
 the conversation lasted. "You will want a 
 supply for your preparations, my dear lad," he 
 said ; " there is a cheque for a couple of hun- 
 dred pounds. You can repay me when you are 
 a judge." 
 
 "Indeed I do not want it," answered the
 
 THE CONVICT. 13 
 
 Other, with a slight glow coming into his face, 
 " I have quite enough." 
 
 " Pooh ! nonsense," said the old man ; " if 
 you have enough without it, buy oranges witli 
 it." And without waiting for farther discussion^ 
 he left the room.
 
 14 THE CONVICT. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 It was a dark autumnal nighty the wind was 
 strong, and very fierce, sweeping along over 
 fields and downs, tearing the branches and the 
 withering leaves from the trees, and screaming 
 along the rocks and tall precipitous cliffs ujDon 
 a high and iron-bound part of the coast of 
 England. There was no moon in the sky, but 
 from time to time the sudden glance and dis- 
 appearance of a star showed how rapidly the 
 dull gray clouds were hurried over the face of 
 the heavens ; and the moaning of the trees and 
 shrubs, added to the wild whistling of the gale, 
 showed how it vexed the still, reposing,
 
 THE CONVICT. 15 
 
 TOOted things of creation in its harsh fury as it 
 swept through them. 
 
 On the summit of one of the most ele- 
 vated points upon the coast, there vras a 
 little indentation, extending from the highest 
 point of the downs to the edge of the cliff, 
 where it was somewhat lower than at other 
 places. This little hollow was sheltered from 
 most of the winds that blew, except when a 
 gale came very nearly due west ; and in con- 
 sequence of this protection, some low scrubby 
 trees had gathered themselves together, as in a 
 place of refrige, never venturing to raise their 
 heads above the neighbouring slopes, but 
 spreading out broad and tolerably strong in 
 the lower part of the dell. From them there 
 was a footpath extending on either side; on 
 the one, leading to the top of the precipice, on 
 the other, to the high road, which lay at about 
 half a mile's distance. The path was little 
 frequented, ajd the short mountain grass en- 
 croaching upon it here and there, almost obli-
 
 10 THE CONVICT. 
 
 terated the track, but in passing towards the 
 top of the cliff it wound in and out amongst 
 some large stones and rocks, with here and 
 there a scattered tree overshadowing it as it 
 ran on. 
 
 By the side of one of those rocks, on the 
 niglit of which I speak, and guarded by it from 
 the direct course of the blast, were seated three 
 powerful men, each of whom had reached ^vhat 
 is called the middle age. They had a lantern 
 with them ; and between the lantern and the 
 road, one of them was seated with his back to 
 the latter, his left shoulder touching the rock, 
 and his face tow^ards the sea. Thus, no one 
 coming from the eastward could see the light 
 itself, although, perhaps, a faint general glim- 
 mer could be perceived ; but at the same time 
 the lantern could be distinguished by any one 
 on the sea at the distance of half a mile or 
 more. Within that distance, the interposing 
 cliff must have cut it off from the eyes of 
 wanderers upon the wave.
 
 THE CONVICT. 17 
 
 The men ^Ye^e evidently watching for some- 
 thing, and, as usually happens in such mo- 
 ments of expectation, their conversation was 
 broken and desultory. Xone of them seemed 
 to be armed, and tv>-o of them were clothed in 
 sailors' jackets, while the third wore a large 
 shaggy great- coat, such -as was commonly at 
 that time used by pilots. He was a tall, sti'ong, 
 good-looking man enough, with a dark com- 
 plexion, and a skin apparently well accustomed 
 to exposure in all sorts of weathers, being 
 rough and florid, and appearing, perhaps, more 
 so than was really the case, from the glare of 
 the lantern and the contrast of his own grey 
 hair, as its long curls waved about in the night 
 wind. The others were ordinary, hard-featured 
 men, with that sort of gi-ave, self-composed 
 aspect, which is not at all unusual in sailors of 
 all classes — men of few words and vigorous 
 action, who can perhaps ti'oll a song or crack 
 a jest with their boon companions, but who 
 are the most opposite creatures in the world 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 THE CONVICT. 
 
 to the sailor of drama or romance. But 
 lie in the rough coat had something about him 
 which could not well be passed without atten- 
 tion by any one who had even ordinary powers 
 of observation ; and yet it is very difficult to 
 describe what it was, for as he sat there, per- 
 fectly still and tranquil, there was nothing, to 
 all appearance, likely to call for remark. Yet 
 it would have been difficult for any one to 
 watch him at that moment without feeling that 
 there was a something impressive in his figiure 
 — a dignity of aspect, it may be called, for 
 there is such a thing even in the nidest and 
 least cultivated. 
 
 The wind whistled loud and strong — it was 
 heard rushing and roaring farther down, and 
 hissing and screaming high above over the bleak 
 tops of the hills. There was a cheerless, desolate 
 sound about it, a sound of warning and of woe. 
 Well might the traveller hasten towards his jour- 
 ney's end, and the weary, houseless wanderer 
 seek the shelter of shed or outhouse, orthe warm
 
 THE CONVICT. 19 
 
 side of the farmer's stack. But still those three 
 men sat there almost motionless. The rock pro- 
 tected them to a certain degi'ee, but the blast 
 would whirl round the point and sweep chilling 
 in amongst them. They were xery silent, too, 
 and not a word had been spoken for some ten 
 minuteSj when one said to the other, " It wont 
 do ; the wind's getting to the southward, and if 
 it shifts but one point, she can't lay her course." 
 
 " We must wait and see," said the man in 
 the rough coat. " I hope they wont try, if 
 the wind does shift." 
 
 " It has shifted already," said the tliird ; 
 " it is coming right over from the great house." 
 
 No reply was made, and they all fell into 
 silence again. 
 
 " I hope your people are keeping a good 
 look-out. Master Clive," said one of the two 
 sailor-looking men, after another long pause. 
 " Didn't I hear that you had sent your two 
 young men away over to Dorchester .?" 
 
 " I did it on purpose," replied the other ; 
 c2
 
 20 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " but do not you be afraid of the look-out. It 
 is trusted to one who wont be found wanting." 
 
 " It would be awkward if any of them were 
 to pounce upon us," rejoined the other. 
 
 " They might rue it," replied the man in the 
 pilot's coat ; and again the conversation stopped. 
 
 About three minutes after, there was heard a 
 loud halloo from the side of the high-road, and 
 one of the men started up ; but the voice of him 
 they called Clive was heard saying, in a low 
 tone, " Lie close, lie close ! I don't know the 
 tongue ; some drunken fool, perhaps, who has 
 lost his way; but we shall soon see." And at 
 the same time, drawing tlie lantern nearer to 
 him, he put his hand into one of the large 
 pockets of his coat, and pulled out a pistol, 
 which he looked at by the dull light. The next 
 instant the halloo w^as repeated, and the cock 
 of the pistol was heard to click. 
 
 " They are coming this way," said one of the 
 sailors ; " hadn't we better dowse the glim,
 
 THE CONVICT. 21 
 
 *'No," replied the other, sternly; "would 
 you have me endanger the boat and our 
 friends in her, to save myself from a little 
 risk ?" 
 
 As he spoke, steps were heard coming along 
 the side of the hill, and the moment after, a 
 voice called aloud, " Is there a person of the 
 name of Clive there ?" 
 
 The tone was that of a gentleman — there 
 was no country accent, no broad pronunciation ; 
 and Clive instantly started up, replying, " Yes ; 
 what do you want vdih me r" 
 
 " I am sorry to tell you," said the voice they 
 had heard, " that an accident has happened to 
 your daughter ;" and at the same time a tall, 
 powerftil, and handsome young man advanced 
 towards the li^ht. " It is not, I trust, very 
 serious," he added, in a kindly tone, as if 
 anxious to allay the apprehensions which his 
 first words must have produced. '' I am afraid 
 her right arm is broken, but she complains of 
 no other injury."
 
 22 THE CONVICT. 
 
 The old man put the pistol he had in his 
 hand to the half-cock, and replaced the weapon 
 in his pocket, gazing in the stranger's face with 
 a look of apprehension and inquiry, but with- 
 out making any reply for some moments. 
 
 "Are you telling me the truth, sir?" he said, 
 at length. 
 
 " I am, indeed," replied the stranger ; " I 
 would not deceive you for the world. A gen- 
 tleman, with whom I have been travelling, and 
 myself, got out of the carriage to walk up the 
 hill, and just at the top I saw something lying 
 near the road, and heard, as I thought, a groan. 
 On going nearer, I found a girl, partly covered 
 with stones and dirt, and apparently unable to 
 extricate herself. She said she was not much 
 hurt, but could not shake off the mass that had 
 fallen upon her, being unable to use her right 
 arm." 
 
 " It's that devil of a wall has fallen upon 
 her," said one of the sailors ; " I knew it would 
 come down some day in the first gale, for it
 
 THE CONVICT. 2S 
 
 was all bulging out, and nothing but loose 
 stones at the best." 
 
 " Exactly so," said the stranger ; " such was 
 the account of the accident she herself gave ; 
 but it would seem that the wall brought part of 
 the bank with it, which probably prevented the 
 stones from injuring her more severely." 
 
 " Where is she ?" demanded Clive, abruptly. 
 
 " She is in the carriage, just where the path 
 joins tlie high road. We were taking her home 
 as fast as possible, when she asked me to come 
 down hither, and give you information of what 
 had happened, for she said it was necessary 
 you should know." 
 
 '^ Ay ! she is a dear, good girl," said the man, 
 in reply ; " she always thinks of those things ; 
 but I must think of her. I will go up with you, 
 sir. You stay here, lads, and keep a good look 
 out till after the tide has made ; it will be no 
 use staying any longer." And with a quick 
 step he led the way along the edge of the little 
 basin in the hills, taking a much shorter path
 
 24 THE CONVICT. 
 
 than that which had been followed by his 
 visitor while seeking- him. As he went, he 
 asked a few questions, brief and abrupt, but to 
 the point ; and after every answer, fell back 
 into thought again. It is probable that appre- 
 hension for his child occupied his mind in those 
 silent pauses, for the heart of affection is never 
 satisfied with any tale, however true, however 
 circumstantial, when a beloved object has been 
 injured. We always ask ourselves, Is there 
 not something more ? 
 
 At length, as they mounted over the slope, 
 the lighted lamps of a carriage could be seen 
 on the high road, at a little distance, and in a 
 moment after — for he now sprang forward 
 eagerly — Clive was by the side of the vehicle. 
 Two servants, one of whom was dressed in the 
 costume of a courier, with a gold band round 
 his cap, and a good deal of black silk braid on 
 his coat, were standing by the side of the car- 
 riage, and one of them immediately threw open 
 the door.
 
 THE CONVICT. 25» 
 
 " I am not hurt, dearest father," said a sweet, 
 mellow voice, from within — " that is to say, I 
 am very little hurt. These two gentlemen have 
 been very kind to me, and would insist upon 
 taking me home, otherwise I would not have 
 gone away, indeed." 
 
 " You would have done very wrong to stay, 
 my child," answered Clive ; " and I thank the 
 gentlemen much for their kindness. Can you 
 walk now, Helen ?" 
 
 " She shall not walk a step to-night, Mr. 
 Clive," said a young gentleman, who was sitting 
 in the farther comer of the carriage ; '•' she is 
 not fit for it; and we will not suffer such a 
 thing. Nay more, I think it would be very 
 much better for you to get in and take her 
 home. I and my friend can follow on foot 
 verj^ well. It is but a short distance, and she 
 has been telling me the way. Here, Miiller, 
 open this door." And before any one could stop 
 him he was out of the carriage. 
 
 Clive made some opposition, but he suffered
 
 26 THE CONVICT. 
 
 it to be overruled by the persuasions of the 
 two gentlemen, and in a minute or two was 
 seated by the side of his daughter, in the hand- 
 some travelling caniage which had brought 
 her thither, and was rolling away towards his 
 own house, the road to which the postillions 
 seemed to know well. The two young gentle- 
 men sauntered slowly after on foot, conversing 
 over the accident which had diversified their 
 journey. 
 
 " She seems to me to be exceedingly pretty," 
 said the younger one, who had been left with 
 her in the carriage, while the other went to 
 seek Clive. 
 
 " Her language and manners, too," rejoined 
 the other, " are very much superior to her 
 father's apparent station. What in heaven's 
 name could she be doing out there at this 
 time of night ?" 
 
 " Perhaps looking for her lover," replied the 
 younger, with a laugh. 
 
 " No, no," said his companion ; " her own
 
 THE CONVICT. 27 
 
 words and her father's will not admit of such a 
 supposition. I have some doubt as to the trade 
 of the parties; but she certainly seems very 
 little fitted to take part in it, if it be what I 
 suspect. Are you sure you know the way r" 
 
 " Oh ! quite sui'e," answered the other ; " we 
 are to go on till we come to a linger-post, and 
 then to turn do^vn the lane to the left. That 
 wOl lead us to the house, and she says there is 
 no other there." 
 
 " The moon is getting up, I think, to guide 
 us," said the elder of the two young men ; and 
 then, after a moment's silence, during which 
 his thoughts wandered wide, he added, " I 
 dare say we shall be able to get some infonna- 
 tion at the house as to this good Master Olive's 
 avocations. He had a cocked pistol in his 
 hand when I came up, and did not seem at all 
 well pleased at being disturbed." 
 
 In such sort of chat they walked on, the 
 moon rising slowly, and spreading her silvery 
 light over the scene. Sometimes she was
 
 28 THE CONVICT. 
 
 hidden for a moment by the rushing clouds ; 
 but, with the peculiar power of the soft planet, 
 her beams seemed to absorb the vapours that 
 sought to obscure them — as calm truth, shining 
 on and growing brighter as it rises, devours 
 the mists of prejudice and error, with which 
 men's passions and follies attempt to veil it. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour they reached 
 the finger-post which had been mentioned, 
 and there found one of the servants waiting 
 to guide them on the way. By him they 
 were informed that the house was not more 
 than a quarter of a mile distant ; and although 
 one of the young gentlemen said that it 
 might have been as well to order the carriage 
 to come back to the high road as soon as it 
 had set the poor girl and her father down, the 
 other replied that it would be much better to 
 go and see how she was, as there might be no 
 surgeon in the neighbourhood, and they might 
 be able to render some assistance. 
 
 A minute or two after, the road led them to
 
 THE CONVICT. 29 
 
 the brink of a little dell, narrow and Avell 
 wooded, on the other side of which, risinj^ 
 high above the trees, appeared a tail house, 
 flat, and not very picturesque, except from its 
 accessaries, although the moon was now shining 
 bright on the only side which the travellers 
 saw. The road, winding about to avoid the 
 dell, carried them round to the other side of 
 the building, where the}' had to pass through 
 a large farm-yard, the dogs in which recorded 
 in very loud tones their protest against the 
 admission of any strangers, although an old 
 woman servant, with a light shaded by her 
 apron, was waiting at the door to receive the 
 expected guests. 
 
 The place into which they were admitted 
 was evidently a large farmhouse of a very 
 comfortable description. It might have been 
 in former times, indeed, the seat of some 
 country gentleman of small fortune, for the 
 room on the left of the passage in which 
 they entered was handsomely wainscoted with
 
 30 THE CONVICT. 
 
 oak, each panel of which was surrounded by a 
 very respectable garland of flowers carved in 
 the woodwork. There, too, was a little side- 
 board, partly covered with china and glass, 
 rather heterogeneous in its parts, and which 
 might almost have furnished a history of glass 
 ware from the time of the middle ages down- 
 wards. There were tall Venice glasses, cut 
 and gilt like attar of rose bottles. There was 
 the pleasant large claret glass, so light that it 
 added nothing to the weight of the wine with- 
 in, wdth a white spiral in the stalk, and sundry 
 little stars ground upon the delicate sides. 
 There was the large goblet, Somewhat yellowish 
 in tinge, rudely and bluntly cut and polished, 
 looking almost like a cup of rock crystal ; and 
 in the centre was an exceedingly beautiful 
 large chalice, richly gilt and ornamented, very 
 delicate in form. But these were mingled with 
 things of more common use, some handsome 
 enough in their kind, but others of a sort
 
 THE CONVICT. 31 
 
 usually to be seen in the basket of an itinerant 
 vendor of crockery and decanters. 
 
 I might go on farther, describing many other 
 curious little things which that room contained, 
 for there was a number of them ; but I have 
 gone far enough to give some idea of the place, 
 and have done so not •\\ithout thought ; for, 
 rightly read, I know few things that give a 
 more correct indication of the character of par- 
 ticular persons — if they have any character 
 at all, which is not always the case — than the 
 objects with which they suiTound themselves 
 in their familiar dwellings. 
 
 However, the two young gentlemen had 
 hardly tim^ to observe much, before a door, 
 different from that by which they had entered, 
 opened, and Clive himself came in. He had laid 
 aside his heavy coat, and now appeared in the 
 dress of a wealthy farmer ; and certainly a power- 
 ful, well-looking, dignified man he was. There 
 was no want of ease in his manners, though
 
 3-2 THE CONVICT. 
 
 tliey were not in the least familiar or self-suffi- 
 cient. There seemed, indeed, a consciousness 
 of powers mental and coi*poreal about him — a 
 reliance upon his ow-n nature, which left not 
 the slightest touch of embaiTassment in his 
 demeanour. He never seemed to doubt that 
 what he was doing and what he was saying 
 Avas right, though without thinking it at all ex- 
 traordinary or excellent. 
 
 " I am deeply obliged to you, gentlemen, 
 both," he said ; " and to you, sir, in particular;" 
 and he turned to the elder of the two. " My 
 daughter, thank God, is not much hurt; for 
 though her arm is broken, I trust we shall get 
 tlmt set speedily." 
 
 " I hope you have some surgeon here," said 
 the younger gentleman ; " for whatever is to be 
 done, had better be done at once." 
 
 " None nearer than the town, and that is seven 
 miles," replied Clive ; " most unfortunately, 
 too, I have sent both my men to some distance, 
 but I have ordered one of the girls to go and call
 
 THE CONVICT. 33 
 
 up the herd, and bid him bring the doctor 
 directly." 
 
 " Why not send one of the post-boys r" said 
 the young gentleman ; '' he is already mounted, 
 and two horses T^ill carry us easily on, for vre 
 cannot have more than two or three miles to go." 
 The proposal was adopted with many thanks, 
 and the post-boy accordingly sent on, after 
 which the farmer, for so we must call him, re- 
 frained, with a native sense of propriety, from 
 loading the two strangers with any frther 
 expressions of gratitude ; but told them that 
 his daughter would be glad to see them before 
 they went, to thank them personally for the 
 service they had rendered her. 
 
 " She is in the next room," he said, " and 
 will not be satisfied unless I bring you there." 
 There was no great resistance made, for the 
 younger man had a strong inclination to see 
 whether, in the full light, she was as pretty as 
 she had seemed ; and his companion felt that 
 sort of interest in her which a fine mind always 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 THE CONVICT. 
 
 takes in those on whom some benefit has been 
 conferred. The room in which she was, ad- 
 joined that which they had first entered, and 
 was fitted up very neatly, though plainly, as a 
 little sort of drawing-room. The girl herself 
 was seated on a small chintz-covered sofa, with 
 her right arm supported by a cushion, and one 
 small foot resting on a stool. She was cer- 
 tainly exceedingly beautiful, with large dark 
 devoted-looking eyes, and dark eyebrows and 
 eyelashes, but with hair of a light brown, and 
 an exceedingly fair skin. A mixture of races 
 seemed apparent in her ; for the hair and com- 
 plexion of the fair Saxon were blended, yet not 
 inharmoniously, with the dark eyes of more 
 southern lands. Her hand was small and deli- 
 cate, and her form fine though slight ; her dress 
 too, though plain, was very good and ladylike ; 
 and everything that they saw was calcidated to 
 raise greater sui*prise in the minds of her 
 visitors that she should be out alone, appa-
 
 THE CONVICT. 35 
 
 rently watching for something upon the high 
 road, in a cold autumnal night. 
 
 Gracefully, and with much feeling, she thanked 
 the two gentlemen, and especially the elder, for 
 extricating her from her dangerous and painfiil 
 situation, and for the kindness and tenderness 
 which they had afterwards shown her. The 
 colour yaried a good deal in her cheek as she 
 did so ; and having received, in answer to 
 their questions, an assurance that she suffered 
 very little, and that — from the fact of the mass 
 of earth which came down with the wall having 
 diminished the force of the stones — she was un- 
 injured, except inasmuch as her aiTa was 
 broken, and her left foot somewhat bruised, 
 they took their leave, and departed to resume 
 their journey. 
 
 d2
 
 '3G THE CONVICT. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 There was a small party assembled at a large 
 country house not above three miles, by the high 
 road, from the spot where the last events which 
 I have recorded took place. It was a very 
 extensive and very old-fashioned brick building. 
 Old-fashioned! It is a curious term. The 
 house was little more than a century old; a 
 father might have seen it built, and a son 
 might have heard it called old-fashioned, for 
 the savour of earthly things passes away so 
 rapidly, that what our jmrents considered the 
 l^erfection of skill and convenience, we hold to
 
 THE CONVICT. 37 
 
 be but a rude effon towards our own excellence. 
 Yet they were very convenient buildings, those 
 old houses of the reigns of George the Fii'st 
 and George the Second ; solid in their walls, 
 large and yet secure in their windows, high in 
 their ceilings, broad and low in their staircases, 
 many in their rooms, and strong in their parti- 
 tions. There was little lath and plaster about 
 them, little tinsel and bright colouring; but 
 there was a sober and a solid grandeur, a 
 looking for comfort rather than finery, of dm-a- 
 bility rather than cheapness, vrhich made them 
 pleasant to live in, and makes them so even to 
 the present day. 
 
 Nothing that tended to comfort was wanting 
 in that house ; its solidity seemed to set at 
 defiance wind, and stonn, and time ; and its 
 wide gi-ates laughed in the face of frost and cold, 
 and bade them get forth, for they could have 
 no abiding there. Tm'key cai'pets covered 
 most of the floors, even of those rooms which, 
 by a law of the Draco-like dictator, Fashion,
 
 38 THE CONVICT. 
 
 are condemned to bear that sort of carpet 
 called Brussels, although the town which has 
 given it name probably never in the world's 
 history produced a rood thereof. The Turks, 
 when they made them, must have marvelled 
 much at what the Christian dogs could want 
 with such large carpets ; for the one in the 
 room where the party was assembled — which 
 was called the drawing-room, although it 
 was lined with books — could not have been 
 less than forty feet in length, by thirty in 
 breadth, and yet there was a margin between it 
 and the book-cases. There were foiu: windows 
 on one side of the room, as one looked towards 
 which there was a door on the right hand 
 leading into the library, a door on the left 
 leading into the dining-room, and opposite the 
 windows was another door, which opened into 
 a large vestibule, separated from a stone hall 
 by a screen filled up with glass. 
 
 In one of the two fire-places which the room 
 contained was a large blazing fire of wood,
 
 THE CONVICT. 39 
 
 and near it was seated in an arm-chair, reading 
 a book, a very gentlemanly and well-dressed 
 man, a good deal past the middle age, with 
 his feet, warming themselves at the blaze, 
 crossed and elevated upon a low stool. The 
 other fire-place was not so well attended to, 
 but, nevertheless, it was glowing with a tole- 
 rable degree of brightness, and near it were 
 seated two young people, amusing themselves, 
 as best they might, during an evening which 
 expectation had rendered somewhat tedious. 
 Sometimes they played at chess together, 
 and laughed and wi-angled good humouredly 
 enough ; sometimes the one read and the other 
 wrote ; sometimes the one drew and the other 
 read ; sometimes they talked in low tones, and 
 laughed gaily as they conversed. They were 
 very nearly of an age, that is to say, there was 
 not quite two years' difference between them, 
 but those two years had been so allotted, as, 
 considering their sexes, to make the difference 
 of five or six. The lady was the elder of the
 
 40 THE CONVICT. 
 
 two. She was very nearly approacliing onc- 
 and-twenty, Avhile the young man was a few 
 months beyond nineteen. They seemed fond 
 of each other, but it w^as with a fraternal sort 
 of fondness, although they were not brother 
 and sister; and yet, for the young man at 
 least, their near propinquity, and constant com- 
 munication, had it not been for other circum- 
 stances, might have proved dangerous, for 
 certainly a lovelier or more engaging creature 
 has seldom been seen than her with whom he 
 then sat in the unchecked familiarity of near 
 relationship. She was the very opposite, in 
 personal appearance at least, of the girl we 
 have lately spoken of. Her hair could hardly 
 be called black, for in certain lights there was a 
 gleam of rich brown in it, but her eyebrows and 
 eyelashes were as dark as night, and her com- 
 plexion, though by no means brown in itself, 
 and tinged in the cheeks with the rose, was of 
 that shade which usually accompanies black 
 hair ; but her eyes were blue — deep blue, it is
 
 THE CONVICT. 41 
 
 true, so much so, that what with the jetty 
 fringe that surrounded them, and their own 
 depth of hue, many a person thought that they 
 were black. Yet they were bkie — very blue, 
 of the colour of an Italian sky when the sun 
 has just gone down beyond the highest hill, 
 and left it full of depth and lustre. In height 
 she was certainly taller than the Venus de 
 Medici ; but yet she did not strike one as tall, 
 whether it was from the gi'eat symmetry of her 
 figure or some pectdiarity in the proportions. 
 But that which most attracted an observer, and 
 especially those that knew her well, was a 
 sparkling variety in the expression of her 
 countenance, and a similar variety in the grace 
 of her movements. When she was reading, or 
 thinking, or writing, or singing, there was an 
 earnestness, a deep ti*anquillity in her aspect, 
 which would have made one suppose her a being 
 of a very meditative and almost grave dispo- 
 sition ; but in conversation, and on all ordinaiy 
 occasions, the look was quite different, — gay.
 
 42 THE CONVICT. 
 
 si^arkling, flashing with cheerfulness and spirit. 
 When she sat still, the lines of her form fell 
 with such easy gi'ace, and seemed so full of 
 tranquil beauty, that any one might have 
 thought that the predominant character was 
 calm repose ; but when she moved, especially 
 under any immediate excitement, the light 
 elasticity of every motion changed her at once 
 into a different creature. 
 
 Her young companion was very different in 
 every respect. Of a fair and almost feminine 
 complexion, his light hair waved gracefully over 
 a fine high brow, his blue eyes were soft and 
 kindly-looking, and his lips and nose, chiselled 
 with the utmost delicacy, w ould have suited a 
 woman's face better than a man's. No beard or 
 whiskers as yet gave anything masculine to his 
 countenance, and his slight figure and soft 
 satiny skin made him look still younger than 
 he really was. To look upon him, one would 
 not have supposed that he had seen more than 
 sixteen years of age ; and yet under that fair
 
 THE CONVICT. 43 
 
 and delicate form there were many strong and 
 generous impulses, firm and resolute purposes, 
 and even a daring spirit, mingled strangely 
 enough with a tenderness and devote dness sel- 
 dom found in the gi'own and experienced man, 
 and a degi*ee of simplicity not at all approach- 
 ing weakness, but depending upon youth and 
 inexperience. 
 
 ** I care nothing about it, Edgar," said the 
 lady, in a low tone, in answer to somethius: 
 which the other had said ; '•' he may come and 
 go whenever he pleases, without my ever giving 
 the matter two thoughts. You cannot tease 
 me, cousin, for it is a matter of no interest to 
 me, I can assure you." 
 
 " I know better, little heretic," replied her 
 young companion ; " you would fain have me 
 believe, Eda, that you are as cold as ice, but I 
 know better. We shall see the fire kindled 
 some day." 
 
 " Very likely," said the lady, with a smile ; 
 "but you know, Edgar, that even that curious
 
 44 THE CONVICT. 
 
 black stone, ^vllicll seems to have been espe- 
 cially given to England for the purpose of dry- 
 ing and warming our damp, cold climate — 
 smoking our ceilings and dirtying our hands, is 
 as cold as ice, too, till it is kindled." 
 
 " But there may bo such things as concealed 
 fires, fair cousin," retorted the young man, with 
 a laugh. 
 
 The lady's cheek coloured a little, but she 
 instantly changed the defence into an attack, 
 saying, almost in a whisper, and with a glance 
 to the gentleman reading by the fire, " I know 
 there are, Edgar. — Take care, you bold boy, 
 take care ; for if you make w^ar upon me, I shall 
 carry it into your ovrn country." 
 
 The young man glanced hastily round him, 
 in the same direction which her eyes had be- 
 fore taken, and his cheek blushed like that of a 
 young girl at the first kiss of love. The lady 
 saw that she had not missed her mark, and 
 maliciously sent another shaft after the first. 
 " Where were you this morning at eight
 
 THE CONVICT. 45 
 
 o'clock ?" she said, in the same subdued tone ; 
 " and yesterday, and the morning before ? — 
 Ah, Master Edgar! do not jest with edged 
 tools, or, at least, learn how to use them better, 
 or you will cut yom* fingers, dear boy !" 
 
 " Hush, hush !" said the young man, in a 
 low voice, and evidently a good deal agitated ; 
 " let us make peace, Eda." 
 
 *• You began hostilities," replied the lady, 
 satisfied that she had got that command of her 
 young companion which ladies do not at all 
 dislike, and by that very means which they are 
 fondest of employing — the possession of a 
 secret. 
 
 Almost at the same moment in which she 
 spoke, the older gentleman by the fire laid his 
 book upon his knee, and pulled his watch out of 
 his pocket. " Very extraordinary," he said, turn- 
 ing roimd his head ; " it is nearly ten o'clock — 
 I am glad we dined. You see, Eda, there is 
 no counting upon the motions of young men." 
 
 " Especially, my dear uncle," replied the
 
 46 THE CONVICT. 
 
 lady, " when combined with bad roads, bad 
 horses, and high hills. I will answer for it, 
 when Lord Hadley does come, you will have 
 long tales of broken-down hacks, together with 
 abuse of lazy postillions and slow ostlers — But 
 hark ! here he comes, or some carriage, at least, 
 for carts are quiet at this time of night." 
 
 " And don't dash along the avenue at such a 
 rate," said her cousin Edgar; "it is certainly 
 the ship in sight, and we shall soon see the 
 freight." 
 
 The two gentlemen looked towards the 
 door and listened, the lady calmly pursued the 
 task which occupied her, copying some music 
 from a sheet of embossed and pink-edged 
 paper; and one of those little intervals suc- 
 ceeded which take place between the arrival 
 at the door and the appearance in the draw- 
 ing-room of an expected guest. It lasted a 
 minute, or a minute and a half, for there 
 seemed to be some orders to be given in the 
 passage, and some questions to be asked ; and
 
 THE CONVICT. 47 
 
 then the door of the room opened, and a ser- 
 vant, in a well-laced jacket, announced " Lord 
 Hadley" and " Mr. Dudley." 
 
 Had any eye watched the lady's counte- 
 nance, they would certainly have thought that 
 some strong emotion was busy in her heart at 
 that moment, for her cheek first turned very 
 pale, and then glowed warmly; but it might 
 also have been remai'ked that it was not at the 
 first name that the varying hue became appa- 
 rent. The second name produced the change, 
 and, at the same time, the pen in her hand 
 dropped upon the music-paper, and blotted out 
 the note she had been just tracing. 
 
 At the name of Mr. Dudley, too, an alteration 
 of aspect took place in her uncle, but it was mo- 
 mentaiy ; his brow contracted, his face turned 
 pale, but immediately a placable look returned, 
 and with a courteous smile he advanced to meet 
 the two gentlemen who entered. They were 
 the same whom we have seen upon the road, 
 and in the house of Mr. Clive. The second
 
 48 THE CONVICT. 
 
 of the two, also, 1 must remark, not to give 
 the reader tlie trouble of turning back, was 
 the student to whose room at Cambridge I 
 first introduced him. 
 
 Lord Hadley, a young, slight, fashionable 
 man, with a good deal of light hair always in 
 high gloss and beautiful order, and a profusion 
 of whisker nicely curled, advanced at once 
 towards the elder gentleman, and shook him 
 heartily by the hand, calling him Sir Arthur 
 Adelon. He then extended his hand to the 
 young gentleman, whom he seemed to know 
 Avell also, giving, as he did so, a glance, but 
 not one of recognition, towards the face of the 
 lady. Sir Arthur instantly touched his arm 
 gently, and led him up to her, saying, " Eda, 
 my dear, let me introduce to you my friend. 
 Lord Hadley — Lord Hadley, my niece. Miss 
 Brandon." 
 
 Lord Hadley bowed, and the lady curtsied 
 gravely ; but there was evidently no emotion 
 upon her part, at the introduction. In the
 
 THE CONVICT. 49 
 
 meantime, Mr. Dudley had remained in the 
 most unpleasant occupation in the world — 
 that of doing nothing while other peojDle ai'e 
 taken notice of. A moment after, however. 
 Sir Arthur Adelon turned towards him, and 
 with a courteous though somewhat formal bow, 
 said, " I am very happy to see you, Mr. 
 Dudley ; allow me to introduce you to my son 
 and my niece.'* 
 
 " I have already the pleasure of Miss 
 Brandon's acquaintance," said the tutor ; and 
 advancing towards her, he shook hands with her 
 warmly. If she really felt any strong emo- 
 tions at that moment, she concealed them 
 well ; and Mr. Dudley, turning again towards 
 the baronet, finished with graceful ease what 
 he had been saying. " I was not at all aware. 
 Sir Aithm*, that Miss Brandon was your 
 niece, or it would have added greatly to the 
 pleasure I had in accompanying Lord Hadley, 
 which pleasure is more than perhaps you 
 know, for it affords me the opportunity of ex- 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 THE CONVICT. 
 
 pressing my gratitude to an old friend and 
 benefactor of my poor father." 
 
 The gentleman to whom he spoke was 
 evidently embarrassed from some cause, though 
 what that was did not fully appear. His face 
 again turned somewhat pale, and he hesitated 
 in his reply. " Oh ! really," he said ; " then 
 you are the son of Mr. Dudley, of St. Austin's. 
 Well, I am very happy indeed to see you ;" 
 and he shook hands with him, but it was not 
 warmly, adding, as he did so, " but you are 
 late, gentlemen. We waited dinner for you 
 an hour, and had even given up the hope of 
 seeing you to-night." 
 
 " I am really very sorry we detained you," 
 replied Lord Hadley ; *' but we have had two 
 adventures, or, rather, one impediment and 
 one adventure. First, at Dorchester, we found 
 all the post-horses gone to some review, or 
 races, or archery meeting, or one of those many 
 tiresome things, I don't know well what, which
 
 THE CONVICT. 51 
 
 take post-horses away from the places where 
 they ought to be ; and then, not far from this 
 place we found a young lady who had contrived 
 to get herself nearly crushed to death under a 
 wall, which had fallen and carried a whole 
 bank of earth along with it." 
 
 Instant exclamations of surprise and interest 
 followed; and the young nobleman, who did 
 not dislike attracting a little attention, pro- 
 ceeded with his tale. After describing the 
 spot where they discovered the poor girl, he 
 proceeded, in a frank, dashing way, to say, 
 " She owes her life, in truth, to my friend Dudley ; 
 for I, with my usual thoughtlessness, was going 
 to draw her from under the rubbish that had 
 fallen upon her as fast as I could; but he 
 stopped me, showing me that if I attempted it, 
 I should bring down the whole of the rest of 
 the stones ; and then he set to work, as if he 
 had been bred an engineer, and secured her 
 against any fresh accident in the first place. 
 E 2 
 
 O: .r l!X UK
 
 52 THE CONVICT. 
 
 She was not so much hurt as might have been 
 expected, though, I am sorry to say, her poor 
 little arm was broken." 
 
 On the old gentleman the tale had produced 
 little impression ; in Eda Brandon it had ex- 
 cited feelings of compassion and interest ; but 
 it had affected young Edgar Adelon very 
 much more perceptibly. Luckily, no one was 
 looking at him ; and he had not voice to at- 
 tract any attention towards himself by asking 
 even a single question, though there was one 
 he would have given worlds to put. 
 
 " But what did you do with her ?" demanded 
 Eda Brandon, eagerly. " You should have 
 brought her on here, if the place was not far 
 distant; w^e could easily have sent for a surgeon, 
 and Ave would have taken good care of her." 
 
 " We knew neither the way nor the distance, 
 Miss Brandon," said Mr. Dudley ; " but we 
 did what was probably the best under any 
 circumstances. We took her to her father's 
 house, and Lord Hadley kindly^sent on one of
 
 THE CONVICT. 53 
 
 the post-boys to seek for some one to set her 
 arm." 
 
 '' It is doubtless Helen Clive he speaks 
 of," said a voice just behind Mr. Dudley, so 
 peculiar in its tones, so low, so distinct, so 
 silver^', that no one who heard it once could 
 ever forget it. 
 
 Dudley turned quickly round, and beheld a 
 middle-aged man, dressed in a long, straight-cut 
 black coat, with a black handkerchief round his 
 neck, and no shirt-collar apparent. His beard 
 was closely shaved, and looked blue through the 
 pale skin. His eyes were fine, the brow large 
 and fully developed, but the mouth small and 
 pinched, as if that feature, which, together with 
 the eyebrow, is more treacherous in its expres- 
 sion of the passions than any other, was under 
 strong and habitual command. He stooped a 
 little from the shoulders, either fr*om weakness 
 or custom, and indeed he seemed by no 
 means a strong man in frame ; but yet there 
 was something firm and resolute in his aspect.
 
 54 THE CONVICT. 
 
 a look of conscious power, as if he had been 
 seldom frustrated in life. The grey eyebrow, too, 
 hanging over the dark eye, and seeming to veil 
 its fire, gave an expression of inquiring perspi- 
 cacity to the whole face, which impressed one 
 more with the idea of intelligence than of sin- 
 cerity. No one had seen or heard him enter, 
 except indeed Sir Arthur Adelon, whose face 
 was towards the door, but yet he had been 
 standing close to the rest of the party for two 
 or three minutes, before attention was attracted 
 to himself by the words he uttered. 
 
 Lord Hadley turned, as well as his tutor, 
 and looked at the new-comer with some curi- 
 osity. " Yes," he replied, " her name was 
 Clive, and I think the old gentleman called 
 her Helen." 
 
 " If her name was Clive," rejoined the man 
 whom he had addressed, " it was assuredly 
 Helen Clive ; for there is but one Mr. Clive in 
 this neighbourhood, and he has but one child." 
 
 " Really, sir, I am delighted to find you
 
 THE CONVICT. 55 
 
 know so much about him," said Lord Hadley ; 
 " for both he and his daughter, to tell you the 
 trutli, have excited in me a good deal of in- 
 terest and curiosity." 
 
 " Why ?" was the sti-anger's brief question ; 
 and it was put in a somewhat dry and un- 
 pleasant tone. 
 
 " Oh, simply because we found that she had 
 been out upon the high road at nine o'clock at 
 night, sitting under an uncemented stone wall, 
 watching for something or somebody," was 
 the first part of Lord Hadley's reply, for he 
 thought the stranger's tone rather impertinent. 
 ^* So much for my curiosity," he continued. 
 " Then, as for my interest ; in the first place, 
 my dear sn, she was exceedingly pretty ; in 
 the next place, wonderfully lady-like, con- 
 sidering the cu'cumstances in which we found 
 her ; then, she had broken her arm, which, 
 though perhaps not as poetical as some other 
 accidents, was enough to create some sympathy 
 s urely ; and, moreover, Dudley found her father
 
 56 THE CONVICT. 
 
 sitting upon the top of the cliff, looking over 
 the sea, with a cocked pistol in his hand." 
 
 " As to her beauty," replied the stranger, 
 *' with that I have nothing to do. The interest 
 you feel is undoubtedly worthy and well-de- 
 served ; and as to the wonder, sir, you may 
 depend upon it, that whatever Helen Clive was 
 doing, she had good reason for doing, and 
 motives which, if she chose to explain tliem, 
 would quiet your surprise very speedily." 
 
 Mr. Dudley, who had taken no part in the 
 conversation, smiled slightly to hear a perfect 
 stranger to Lord Hadley assume at once that 
 tone of calm superiority which he knew was 
 likely to be most impressive with his pupil. 
 
 The young nobleman was about to reply, 
 however, when Sir Arthur Adelon interposed, 
 saying, " My lord, I should have introduced to 
 you before now our friend, the Reverend Mr. 
 Filmer — Mr. Filmer, Lord Hadley." The young 
 lord bowed, and the other gentleman advanced 
 a step, when, as he ])assed, Mr. Dudley per-
 
 THE CONVICT. 57 
 
 ceived that a small spot, about the size of a 
 crown piece, on the top of the head was shaved ; 
 and recognising at once the Roman-catholic 
 priest, he gained, with rapid combination, some 
 insight into several things which had before 
 been obscure. 
 
 The priest's manner softened. In a fevy- 
 moments, he, with Lord Hadley and then* host, 
 were in full conversation ; with timid hesitation 
 young Edgar Adelon drew near and joined 
 them ; and Dudley, approaching the table near 
 which Miss Brandon was still standing, spoke 
 a few words with her in perhaps a lower tone 
 than is quite customaiy on ordinary occa- 
 sions. They neither of them knew that they 
 were speaking lowj but the emotions of the 
 heart have immense mastery over the tones of 
 the voice; and though the words that they 
 uttered were little more than common-place 
 sentences of surprise and pleasure at their un- 
 expected meeting, of question and explanation 
 of what had occuiTed to each since they had
 
 58 THE CONVICT. 
 
 last seen each other, they were certainly both 
 a good deal moved by the unspoken eloquence 
 of the heart. In a short time, just as Lord 
 Hadley was about to retire to his room to put 
 his dress in order, supper was announced, 
 and, postponing his toilet, he offered his arm 
 to Miss Brandon, and led her into the adjacent 
 room. Sir Arthur Adelon and Mr. Dudley 
 followed, and the priest lingered for a moment 
 or two behind, speaking to the baronet's son, 
 and then entered the supper room with a quick 
 step. He then blessed the meal with every 
 appearance of devotion; and Dudley's eye, 
 which was marking much, perceived that Su* 
 Arthur and his son made the sign of the cross, 
 but that Eda Brandon forbore ; and he was 
 glad to see it. 
 
 The meal became very cheerftd as it went 
 on, the first strangeness of new arrival wore off 
 with the two guests. Jest and gaiety succeeded 
 to more serious discourse, and topic after topic 
 was brought forward and cast away again with
 
 THE CONVICT. 59 
 
 that easy lightness which gives a great charm 
 to conversation. The master of the house was 
 somewhat stiff and stately, it is true ; but the 
 three young men did not suffer his dignified 
 air to chill tliem. The priest was a man of 
 great and very various information, had seen, 
 studied, and penetrated not only all the ordi- 
 nary aspects of society, but the hearts and 
 spirits of thousands of individuals. There was 
 not a subject that he could not talk upon, 
 whether gay or grave, from the green-room of 
 the theatre or opera-house, to the cabinets of 
 statesmen and the saloons of monarchs. His 
 conversation was all gi'acefiil, easy, flowing, and 
 becoming ; and although there was a point of 
 sarcastic wit in it, wliich gave it, in the opinion of 
 Dudley, almost too great a piquancy, yet, when 
 that gentleman recollected what had been said, 
 he could not find one word that was unfitted to 
 the character of a well-bred man and a priest. 
 It was all so quietly done too, the stinging gibe, 
 the light and flashing jest, that the young tutor
 
 60 THE CONVICT. 
 
 sometimes thought the whole must have re- 
 ceived point and peculiar application from 
 the manner ; but yet he could not recollect 
 emphasis laid upon any word ; and he carried 
 away from that table, when he retired to rest 
 at night, much matter for thought upon all that 
 he had seen, and many a deep feeling re- 
 awakened in his heart, which he had hoped 
 and ti-usted had been laid asleep by the power 
 of reason, and the sti-uggle of a strong mind 
 asrainst a warm and enthusiastic heart.
 
 THE CONVICT. 61 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The wind had blown a^Yay the clouds which lay 
 so heav^' on the sky the night before. The 
 morning rose bright and sparkling, with a brisk 
 gale stirring the air, and a clear, fresh, frosty 
 look over the whole earth. At an early hour — 
 for matutinal habits had become inveterate — 
 Mr. Dudley rose, and going to the window, 
 gazed out upon a scene of which he had been 
 able to discover little at the dark hour of his 
 arrival. 
 
 I will not pause to describe all that he be- 
 held, for the public taste is as capricious in 
 matters of composition as in regard to mere
 
 62 THE CONVICT. 
 
 dress ; and the detailed description of scenery^ 
 the pictures with the pen, which please much 
 at one time, weary at another. It is a railroad 
 age, too — all the world is anxious to get on, and 
 we hurry past remorselessly all the finer traits 
 of mind and character which were objects of 
 thought and study to our ancestors, just as the 
 traveller, in the long, screaming, groaning, 
 smoking train, is hurried past those sweet and 
 beautiful spots in which the contemplative man 
 of former days Avas accustomed to pause and 
 ponder. 
 
 On one small portion of the landscape, how- 
 ever, I must dwell, for I shall have to speak of 
 it presently, and must recur to it more than 
 once hereafter. The house was situated in an 
 extensive park; and a long avenue of beech 
 trees, not perfectly straight, but sweeping with 
 a gracefid curve over the undulations of the 
 ground, led down to the park gates and to the 
 lodge. At a short distance fi*om that lodge, a 
 little thicket or wood joined on to the avenue^
 
 THE CONVICT. 63 
 
 and ran along in irregular masses till it reached 
 the park wall ; and these objects — the avenue, 
 the wavy green slopes of the park, the thicket 
 beyond, and the top of the park wall, were those 
 upon which Mr. Dudley's eye first rested. Be- 
 yond the limits of the park again, in the same 
 direction, he caught a glimpse of a varied 
 country, apparently tolerably fertile and well- 
 cultivated, close to the park, but gi'owing rapidly 
 wilder and more rude, as it extended into some 
 high and towering downs, which Dudley con- 
 ceived to be those he had traversed the night 
 before. . 
 
 As the reader well knows, some kinds of 
 beech tree retain their leaves longer than almost 
 any other tree or shrub, except the tribe of 
 evergreens, and even through frost, and wind, 
 and rain, they hang yellow upon the wintry 
 boughs, till the coming of the new green buds, 
 like ambitious children, forces their prede- 
 cessors down to the earth. The avenue was 
 thus thickly covered, so that any one might
 
 64 THE CONVICT. 
 
 have walked there long unseen from most 
 parts of the house or park. But when Lord 
 Hadley, on his way back to London from the 
 Continent, had accepted a kind, though not 
 altogether disinterested invitation to Brandon 
 — for so the place was called — he had merely 
 mentioned that his tutor was with him, and to 
 the tutor had been assigned a room consider- 
 ably higher in the house than the apartments 
 of more lordly guests. Dudley did not feel at 
 all displeased that it should be so ; and now as 
 he looked forth, he had a bird's-eye view, as it 
 were, of the avenue, and a fine prospect over 
 the distant country. Thus he was well con- 
 tented ; and as he had been informed that the 
 family did not meet at breakfast till half-past 
 nine, and it was then little more than six, he 
 determined to dress himself at once, and roam 
 for an hour or two through the park, and per- 
 haps extend his excursion somewhat beyond 
 its walls. 
 
 One of the first operations in a man's toilet —
 
 THE CONVICT. 65 
 
 I say it for the benefit of ladies, who cannot 
 be supposed to know the mysteries thereof — is 
 to shave himself; and an exceedingly disagree- 
 able operation it is. I know not by what bar- 
 barous crotchet it has happened that men have 
 tried to render their faces effeminate, by taking 
 off an ornament and a distinction with which 
 nature decorated them ; but so it is, that men, 
 every morning, doom themselves to a quarter 
 of an hour's torture, for the express purpose of 
 making their chins look smug, and as unlike 
 the grown man of God's creation as possible. 
 Dudley's beard was thick and black, and 
 required a good deal of shading. He therefore 
 opened a very handsome dressing-case — it was 
 one which had been a gift to him in his days of 
 prosperity — and taking out a small finely- 
 polished mirror, he fastened it — for the sake of 
 more light than he could obtain at the looking- 
 glass on the toilet-table — against the left-hand 
 window of the room ; then with a little Naples 
 soap, brought by himself from the city of the 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 6'G THE CONVICT. 
 
 syren, a soft badger' s-hair brush and cold water, 
 — for he did not choose to ring the servants up 
 at that early hour of the morning — he set to 
 work upon as handsome a face as probably had 
 ever been seen. The brush and the soap both 
 being good, he produced a strong lather, not- 
 withstanding the cold water; and turning to 
 put down the brush and take up the razor which 
 he had laid down on a little table in the window, 
 his eyes naturally fell upon that part of the 
 park grounds beneath him, where the avenue 
 terminated close to the house. As they did so, 
 they rested upon a human figure passing 
 rapidly from the mansion to the shade of the 
 beech trees; and Dudley instantly recognised 
 young Edgar Adelon, the son of his host. There 
 was nothing very extraordinary in the sight ; 
 but Dudley was a meditative man by habit, and 
 while he reaped the sturdy harvest of his chin, 
 he went on thinking of Edgar Adelon, his ap- 
 pearance, his character, his conversation ; and 
 then his mind turned from the youth to another
 
 THE CONVICT. 67 
 
 subject, near which it had been fluttering a great 
 deal both that morning and the night before, 
 and settled upon Eda Brandon. Whatever was 
 the course of his meditations, it produced a sigh, 
 which is sometimes like a barrier across a dan- 
 gerous road, giving warning not to proceed any- 
 farther in that direction. 
 
 He then gazed out of the window again, and 
 following with his eyes the course of the avenue, 
 he once more caught sight of the young gen- 
 tleman he had just seen, hurrying on as fast as 
 he could go. He had no gun with him, no 
 dogs ; and a slight degree of curiosity was ex- 
 cited in the tutor's mind, which he would have 
 laughed at had it been anything but very slight. 
 Shortly after, he lost sight of the figure, which, 
 as it seemed to him, entered the thicket on the 
 right hand of the avenue ; and Dudley thought 
 to himself, " Poor youth ! he seemed, last night, 
 though brilliant and imaginative enough at 
 times, sadly absent, and even sad at others. 
 He is gone, perhaps, to meditate over his love ; 
 f2
 
 68 THE CONVICT. 
 
 ay, ho knows not how many more pangs may 
 be in store for him, or what may be the dark 
 turn of fate near at hand. I was once as pros- 
 perous and as fair-fortuned as himself, and 
 
 now " 
 
 He would not go on, for it was a part of his 
 philosophy — and it was a high-minded one — 
 never to repine. As he passed to and fro, 
 however, in the room, he looked from time to 
 time out of the window again ; and just as he 
 was putting on his coat, he suddenly saw a 
 figure emerge from the thicket where it ap- 
 proached closest to the park wall, beheld it 
 climb easily over the boundary, as if by a stile 
 or ladder, and disappear. At that distance, 
 be could not distinguish whether the person 
 be saw was Edgar Adelon or not; but he 
 thought the whole manoeuvre strange, and was 
 meditating over it, with his face turned to the 
 window, w^hen he heard a knock at his door, 
 and saying, " Come in," was visited by tlie 
 Reverend Mr. Filmer.
 
 THE CONVICT. 69 
 
 The priest advanced with a calm, gentle- 
 manly smile and quiet step, saying, " I heard 
 you moving in your room, Mr. Dudley, which 
 adjoins mine, and came in to wish you good 
 morning, and to say that if I can be of any 
 service in pointing out to you the objects of 
 interest in this neighbourhood, of which there 
 are several, I shall be most happy. Also in 
 my room I have a very good, though not very 
 extensive, collection of books, some of great 
 rarity; and though I suppose we are priests 
 of different churches, you are too much a man 
 of the world, I am sure, to suffer that circum- 
 stance to cause any estrangement between 
 us." 
 
 " It could cause none, my dear sir," replied 
 Dudley, " even if your supposition were cor- 
 rect ; but I am not an ecclesiastic, and I can 
 assure you I view your chm'ch with anything 
 but feelings of bigotry ; and, indeed, regret 
 much that the somewhat too strict definitions 
 of the Council of Trent have placed a barrier
 
 70 THE CONVICT. 
 
 between the two churches which cannot be 
 overleaped." 
 
 " Strict definitions arc very bad things," 
 said the priest ; " they are even contrary to 
 the order of nature. In it there are no 
 harsh lines of division, but every class of 
 beings in existence, all objects, all tones, glide 
 gradually into each other, softened off, as if to 
 show us that there is no harshness in God's 
 own works. It is man makes divisions, and 
 bars himself out from his fellow men." 
 
 Dudley did not dislike the illustration of his 
 new acquaintance's views; but he remarked 
 that he did not touch upon any definite point, 
 but kept to generals ; and having no inclina- 
 tion himself for religious discussions, he thanked 
 Mr. Filmer again for his kindness, and asked 
 him if there were any objects of particular 
 interest within the limits of a walk before 
 breakfast. 
 
 " One which for me has much interest," re- 
 plied the priest — " the ruins of a priory, and
 
 THE CONVICT. 71 
 
 of the ehm-cb once attached to it, which lie 
 just beyond the park walls. I am ready to be 
 your conductor this moment, if you please." 
 
 Dudley expressed his willingness to go ; 
 Mr. Filmer got his hat, and in a few minutes 
 they issued forth into the fresh air. 
 
 Taking their way to the right, they left the 
 avenue of trees upon the other hand ; and, by 
 a well-worn path over the grassy slopes of the 
 park, they soon reached the wall, over which 
 they passed by a stone stile, and then de- 
 scended a few hundred yards into a little wooded 
 dell, with a verj' bright but narrow stream run- 
 ning through it. A well-trimmed path through 
 the copse brought them, at the end of five 
 minutes more, to an open space bosomed in 
 the wood, where stood the ruin. It was a fine 
 specimen, though much decayed, of that style 
 of ai'chitecture which is called Norman ; a 
 number of round arches, and deep, exquisitely 
 chiselled mouldings, were still in good preser- 
 Tation ; and pausing from time to time to look
 
 72 THE CONVICT. 
 
 and admire, Dudley was led on by his compa- 
 nion to what had been the principal door of 
 the church, the tympanum over which was 
 quite perfect. It was highly enriched with 
 rude figures ; and the tutor gazed at it for 
 some time in silence, trying to make out what 
 the different personages represented could be 
 about. Mr. Filmer suffered him, with a slight 
 smile, to contemplate it uninterruptedly, for 
 some time ; but at length he said, " It is a very 
 curious piece of sculpture that. If you remark, 
 on the right hand side there is represented a 
 hunt, with the deer flying before the hounds, 
 and a number of armed men on horseback fol- 
 lowing. Then in the next compartment you 
 see dogs and men again, and a man lying 
 transfixed by a javelin." 
 
 " But the third is quite a different subject," 
 said Dudley — "a woman, seemingly singing 
 and playing on a harp, with a number of 
 cherubim round her, and an angel holding a 
 phial ; and the fourth compartment is different
 
 THE CONVICT. 73 
 
 also, showing two principal figures embracing 
 iu the midst of several others, apparently mere 
 spectators.'* 
 
 " It is, nevertheless, all one story," said the 
 priest ; " and is, in fact, the history of the 
 foundation of this church and priory, though 
 connected with a curious legend attached to 
 three families in this neighboui'hood, of each of 
 which you know something. I will tell it to 
 you as we return ; but first let us go round to 
 the other side, where there is a fragment of a 
 very beautiful window." 
 
 Dudley was not content without exploring 
 the whole of the ruin ; but when that was done, 
 they turned back towards the park again, and 
 Mr. Filmer began his tale : — 
 
 " Nearly where the existing house stands," he 
 said, " stood formerly Brandon castle, the lord 
 of which, it would appear, was a rash, impe- 
 tuous man, given much to those rude sports 
 which, in the intervals of war, were the chief 
 occupations of our old nobility. In the neigh-
 
 74 THE CONVICT. 
 
 bourhood there was a family of knightly rank, 
 of the name of Clive, the head of which, in the 
 wars of Stephen and Matilda, had saved the 
 life of the neighbouring baron, and became his 
 dearest, though comparatively humble friend. 
 The lord of Brandon, though not altogether 
 what may be called an irreligious man, was 
 notorious for scoffing at the church and some- 
 what maltreating ecclesiastics. He had con- 
 ceived a passion for a lady named Eda Adelon, 
 the heiress of some large estates at the distance 
 of about thirty miles from this place, and had 
 obtained a promise of her hand ; but upon one 
 occasion, he gave her so great oifence in regard 
 to an abbey which she had aided principally in 
 founding, that she refused to ratify the engage- 
 ment, and entered into the sisterhood herself, 
 telling him that the time would Come when he, 
 too, would found monasteries, and perhaps 
 have recourse to her prayers. Five or six 
 years passed afterwards, and the baron himself, 
 always irascible and vehement, became more
 
 THE CONVICT. 75 
 
 no from the disappointment he had undergone. 
 The only person who seemed to have any power 
 over him, and that was the power which a 
 gentle mind sometimes exercises upon a violent 
 one, was his companion, the young Sir William 
 Clive. Hunting was, as I have said, his fa- 
 vourite amusement; and on one occasion he 
 had pursued a stag for miles through the 
 countr}-, always baffled by the s\N-iftness and 
 cunning of the beast. He had thrown a number 
 of javelins at it, always believing he was sure 
 of his mark ; but still the beast reappeared un- 
 wounded, till at length it took its way down 
 the Yery glen where Brandon priory stands, 
 and then entered the thicket, just as the baron 
 was close upon its track. Fearing to lose it 
 again, he threw another spear, with angr}- vehe- 
 mence, exclaiming, with a fearful oath, * I will 
 kill something this time !' A faint cr}- imme- 
 diately followed, and the next instant Sir Wil- 
 liam Clive staggered forth from the wood, 
 transfixed by his friend's javelin, and fell, to all
 
 76 THE CONVICT. 
 
 appearance dying, at the feet of the baron's 
 horse. You have now the explanation of the 
 first two compartments ; I will proceed to give 
 you that of the two others. The great lord 
 was half frantic at the deed that he had done ; 
 the wounded man was taken up and carried to 
 the castle; skilful leeches were sent for, but 
 employed their art in vain ; the young knight 
 lay speechless, senseless, with no sign of life 
 but an occasional deep-drawn breath and a 
 slight fluttering of the heart. At length, one 
 of the chirurgeons, who was an ecclesiastic, 
 ventured to say, ' I know no one who can save 
 him, if it be not the abbess Eda.' Now, Eda 
 Adelon had by this time acquired the reputa- 
 tion of the highest sanctity, and she was even 
 reported to have worked miracles in the cure 
 of the sick and the infirm. Filled with anguish 
 for his friend, and remorse for what he had 
 done, the baron instantly mounted his horse, 
 and rode, without drawing a rein, to the abbey, 
 where he was admitted to the presence of the
 
 THE CONVICT. 77 
 
 abbess, and casting himself upon his knees 
 before her, told the tale of his misadventure. 
 ' Kneel to God, and not to me, Lord Brandon,* 
 said the abbess ; ' humble your heart, and pray 
 to the Almighty. Perchance he will have com- 
 passion on you.' 
 
 " ' Pray for me,' said the baron ; ' and if your 
 prayers are successful, Eda, I vow by Our 
 Lady and all the saints, to lead a new and 
 altered life for the future, and to found a priory 
 where my poor friend fell, and there twelve 
 holy men shall day and night say masses in 
 commemoration of the mercy sho\\Ti to me.' 
 
 " * I will pray for you,' replied the abbess ; 
 ' wait here awhile ; perchance 1 may return with 
 good tidings.' 
 
 " While left alone, the baron heard a strain 
 of the most beautiful and solemn music, and 
 the exquisite voice of the abbess Eda singing 
 an anthem ; and at the end of about an hour 
 she returned to him, carrying a phial of pre- 
 cious medicine, which she directed him to give
 
 78 THE CONVICT. 
 
 to his friend as soon as he reached his castle. 
 The legend goes, that the phial had been 
 brought down to her by an angel, in answer to 
 her prayers ; but certain it is, the moment the 
 medicine was administered to the wounded 
 man, his recovery commenced, and he was 
 soon quite restored to health. The baron did 
 not forget his vow, but built the priory where 
 you have seen the ruins ; and, in commemora- 
 tion of the event, caused the tympanum you 
 have examined to be chiselled by a skilful 
 mason. We find, moreover, that he bestowed 
 the hand of his only sister upon the young Sir 
 William Clive ; and the malicious folks of the 
 day did not scruple to affirm that the young 
 lady had been w^alking in the wood with the 
 gallant knight at the very moment when he 
 received the wound." 
 
 The priest ended with a quiet smile, and 
 Dudley replied, with that sort of interest which 
 an imaginative man always takes in a legend
 
 THE CONVICT. 79 
 
 of this kind, " I do not wonder that where 
 there are such tales connected with a family, it 
 clings to the old faith with which they are 
 bound up, in spite of all the changes that go 
 on around." 
 
 "Alas! in this instance, my dear sir," re- 
 plied the priest, " such has not been the case. 
 The Adelons and the Clives, it is true, have 
 remained attached to the church ; the Brandons 
 have long abandoned her. Even this fair girl, 
 Sir Arthur's niece, has been brought up in your 
 religion — " he paused a moment, and then 
 added, with a sigh — " and contiuues in it." 
 
 Dudley could not say that he was sorry to 
 hear it; but he was spared the necessity of 
 making any reply by the approach of another 
 person, in whom he instantly recognised the 
 father of the girl whom he had aided to rescue 
 from extreme peril the evening before. " Ah I 
 Mr. Clive," he said, as the other drew near, 
 " I am very happy to see you ; I should have
 
 80 THE CONVICT. 
 
 come down during the morning to inquire after 
 your daughter. I trust that she has not suffered 
 much, and that you got a surgeon speedily." 
 
 " In about two hours, my lord," said Clive ; 
 " country doctors are not always readily to be 
 found ; but the delay did no harm ; the broken 
 arm was set easily enough, and my poor girl is 
 none the worse for what has happened, except 
 inasmuch as she will have to go one-handed 
 about the world for the next month or so." 
 
 " You have mistaken me for the gentleman 
 who was with me, Mr. Clive," said Dudley ; ^' he 
 was Lord Hadley ; I am a very humble indi- 
 vidual, having neither rank nor honours." 
 
 " The nobility of the heart, sir, and the ho- 
 nours which are given unasked to a high mind," 
 replied Clive. " I know not why, but both my 
 daughter and myself fancied that you were the 
 nobleman, and the other was a fi'iend." 
 
 " The very reverse," answered Dudley ; " he 
 is the nobleman, I am merely his tutor." 
 
 The old man mused for a minute or two
 
 THE CONVICT. 81 
 
 very profoundly, and said at length, " Well, 
 I suppose it is all just and right in the sight of 
 the gi-eat Distributor of all gifts and honours ; 
 but I beg your pardon, sir, for giving you a 
 title that is not your due, which I know is a 
 gi'eater offence when it is too high than when 
 it is too low. Against the one offence, man is 
 sheltered by his pride ; to the other, he is laid 
 open by his vanity. Mr. Filmer, I should like 
 to speak a word with you, if possible." 
 
 " Certainly," said the priest, " certainly ; if 
 you will walk on, Mr. Dudley, for a very short 
 way, I will talk to Mr. Clive, and overtake you 
 immediately. I beg pardon for our scanty ex- 
 pedition ; after breakfast, or in the evening, we 
 will take a longer ramble." 
 
 Dudley bowed and walked on, with very 
 little expectation, to say the truth, of being 
 rejoined by the priest before he reached the 
 house ; but he miscalculated, for five minutes 
 had hardly passed, when, with his peculiarly 
 quiet step, rapid but silent, Mr. Filmer rejoined 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 THE CONVICT. 
 
 him. Dudley had clearly comprehended from 
 the first that Mr. Filmer was a man likely to be 
 deeply acquainted with the affairs of all the 
 Roman-catholic families in the neighbourhood. 
 There is one great inconvenience attending 
 the profession of the Roman-catholic faith, in 
 a country where the great bulk of the popula- 
 tion is opposed to it. The nearest j^riest must 
 be the depositary of the secrets of all ; and it 
 must depend upon the honesty with which they 
 are kept, whether the private affairs of every 
 family are, or are not, bruited about through 
 the whole adjacent country. In lands where 
 the population is principally papistical, such is 
 not the case ; for the numbers of the priesthood 
 divide the secrets of the population, and it 
 rarely happens that one man has enough to 
 make it worth his while to talk of the concerns 
 of the families with which he is connected, 
 even were not his lips closed upon the weightier 
 matters by the injunctions of the church. 
 Dudley was somewhat curious to have an ex-
 
 THE CONVICT. 83 
 
 planation of the circumstances in which he had 
 found both Clive and his daughter on the pre- 
 ceding evening; but a feeling of delicacy made 
 him forbear from putting any question to Mr. 
 Filmer upon the subject, and as they walked 
 on to the house he merely remarked, '' I sup- 
 pose this gentleman whom we have lately seen 
 is a descendant of the person mentioned in 
 your legend ?" 
 
 " From father to son direct," replied the priest. 
 " It is but little known how much noble blood 
 there is to be found amongst what is called the 
 yeomanry of England. If the old Norman race 
 were still considered worthy of respect, many a 
 proud peer would stand unbonneted before the 
 farmer. But Mr. Clive cultivates his ov.n land, 
 as was done in days of yore." 
 
 " I should almost have imagined," said Dud- 
 ley, vnxh a laugh, " from the spot and manner 
 in which I found him last night, that he added 
 other occupations, probably, if less noble, not 
 less ancient." 
 
 g2
 
 84 THE CONVICT. 
 
 Mr. Filmer turned and gazed at him "with a 
 look of some surprise ; but he made no reply, 
 and as they were by this time near the house, 
 the conversation dropped entirely.
 
 THE CONVICT. 85 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 With a quick step Edgar Adelon pursued his 
 way along the avenue, through the thicket, by 
 the paths which he knew well, and over the 
 wall of the park by the stones built into it to 
 form a stile ; but it was the eager beating of 
 his heart which made his breath come fast and 
 thick, and not the rapidity with which his 
 young limbs moved. He knew not that he 
 was observed by any one ; and with that inten- 
 sity of feeling which few are capable of, and 
 which, perhaps, few for their own happiness 
 should desire, his whole mind and thoughts
 
 86 THE CONVICT. 
 
 were filled with one subject, so that he could 
 give no heed to anything that passed around 
 him. He walked on down a very narrow, 
 shady lane — which led, by a much shorter way 
 than had been taken by the carriage of Lord 
 Hadley the night before, to the house of Mr. 
 Clive — and was entering a meadow upon the 
 side of the hill, without observing that any one 
 was near, when suddenly a voice called him by 
 name, and turning, he beheld the tall old man 
 himself, and instantly advanced towards him, 
 and gTasped his hand eagerly. 
 
 " How is Helen ?" he said — " how is Miss 
 Clive ? Lord Hadley and Mr. Dudley told us 
 of the accident last night, and I have been in a 
 fever to hear more of her ever since. They said 
 she was not much hurt; I hope it is so, but I 
 must go down and see her." 
 
 The old man had gazed at him while he 
 spoke with a fixed, steadfast look, full of inte- 
 rest, but in some degree sad. " She is not 
 much hurt, Edgar," he answered ; " her arm is
 
 THE CONVICT. 87 
 
 broken, but that will soon be well. Otherwise 
 she is uninjured. But, my dear boy, what are 
 you doing ? This cannot go on. You may go 
 down to-day and see her, for you would not 
 pain her, or injure her, I know ; but you must 
 tell your father that you have been. That I 
 insist upon, or I do not let you go." 
 
 "I will, I will!" answered Edgar Adelon; 
 " surely that will satisfy you. — Injure her ! I 
 would not for the world — no, not for anything 
 on earth." 
 
 " Well, if your father knows it, Edgar, I have 
 nought to say," rejoined the old man; " and I 
 wUl trust to your word that you do tell him. 
 That which he does with his eyes open is his 
 fault, not ours. All I say is, I will have no 
 deceit." 
 
 " You will hear from himself that I have 
 told him," replied the young man, with a 
 glowing cheek ; " but mark me, Clive, I do not 
 always say when I go to your house, any 
 more than when I go to other places. If the
 
 88 THE CONVICT. 
 
 occasion requires it, I speak ; but if not, I am 
 silent." 
 
 Clive again looked at liim steadfastly, as if 
 he Avere about to add something more in a 
 grave tone ; but then suddenly laying his hand 
 upon his shoulder, he gave him a friendly 
 shake, saying, " Well, boy, well !" and turned 
 away and left him. 
 
 Edgar Adelon pursued his course with a 
 well-pleased smile and a light step. His con- 
 versation with Clive was a relief to him ; it was 
 something which he had long seen must come, 
 which he had dreaded, and it was now over. 
 Five minutes brought him in sight of the house 
 towards which his steps were bent; and he 
 paused for a moment, with joyful beating of the 
 heart, to look at it, as it stood rising out of its 
 trees upon the opposite side of the dell, as if it 
 were perched upon the top of a high cliff over- 
 hanging the valley ; though, in truth, beneath 
 the covering of the wood was stretched a soft 
 and easy descent, with manifold walks and
 
 THE CONVICT. 89 
 
 paths leading to the margin of the little 
 stream. 
 
 It is no unpleasant thing to pause and 
 gaze into the sparkling wine of the cup of 
 joy before we quaff it : and such was the act 
 of Edgar Adelon at that moment, although his 
 whole heart was full of those tremulous emo- 
 tions which are only combined with the intense 
 and thirsty expectation of youth. Then with a 
 wild bound he darted down the road, crossed 
 the little bridge, and ran up the opposite slope. 
 He entered the yard of the building at once ; 
 and no dogs barked at him. A small terrier came 
 and wagged his tail, and the great mastiff crept 
 slowly out of his kennel, and stretched himself 
 in the morning sunshine. Edgar Adelon must 
 have been often there before. He walked into 
 the house, too, without ceremony, and his 
 question to the first woman servant he met 
 was, " Where is Helen ?" but he corrected it 
 instantly into " Where is Miss Clive ?" 
 
 The woman smiled archly, and told him
 
 90 THE CONVICT. 
 
 where she was, and a moment after, Edgar 
 was seated beside her on a sofa in the little 
 drawing room which I have described. I do 
 not know that it would be altogether fair or 
 just to detail all that passed between them; but 
 certainly Edgar's arm stole round the beautiful 
 girl's waist, and he gazed into her dark eyes 
 and saw the light of love in them. He made 
 her tell him all that happened — that is to say, 
 all that she chose to tell ; for she refused to 
 say how or why she was out, watching uj^on 
 the road, at a late hour of the evening. He 
 was of a trustful heart, however, and when she 
 first answered, with a gay look, " I w^ent to 
 meet a lover, to be sure, Edgar," he only 
 laughed, and kissed her cheek, saying, " You 
 cannot make me jealous, Helen." 
 
 " That is, I suppose, because you do not 
 love me sufficiently," said Helen Clive. 
 
 " No, love," he replied, " it is because I 
 esteem you too much." And then he went on 
 to make, her tell him when the surgeon had
 
 THE CONVICT. 91 
 
 arriyed, and whether the setting of her arm had 
 pained her much, and whether she was quite, 
 quite sure that she was not otherwise hurt. 
 
 '' My foot, a little," replied his fair com- 
 panion; "it is somewhat swelled; don't you 
 see, Edgar r" And he knelt down to look, and 
 kissed it with as much devotion as ever a pil- 
 grim of his own faith kissed the slipper of the 
 Pope. 
 
 Then came the account of her deliverance 
 from the perilous situation in which she had 
 been found. "Do you know," she said, " if I 
 had not been a great deal frightened and a 
 little hurt, I could have laughed as I lay; for 
 it was more ridiculous than anything else to 
 feel one's self half buried in that way, and not 
 able to move in the least. Luckily, it was the 
 earth fell upon me first, and then the stones 
 upon that, so that I could only move my arms ; 
 and when I tried to do that, it instantly set 
 some of the stones rolling again, by which my
 
 92 THE CONVICT. 
 
 poor arm was broken ; so then I lay quite still, 
 tliinking some one must come by, sooner or 
 later, till I heard a carriage coming up the hill, 
 and saw, by the light of the lamps, two gentle- 
 men walking fast before it. I called to them 
 as loud as I could, and they both ran up. 
 The one was kind enough, and was going to 
 pull me out at once ; but if he had done so, 
 most likely he and I and his companion 
 would have been all killed, or very much hurt. 
 The other, however, stopped him, and kindly 
 and wisely and gently secured all the frag- 
 ments of the wall that were still hanging over, 
 so that he could get me out without danger; 
 and then he lifted off the stones one by one, and 
 he, and the sei*vants, and the other gentleman 
 removed the weight of earth and lifted me up ; 
 and all the time he spoke so kindly to me, and 
 comforted and cheered me so that I shall always 
 feel grateful to him till the last day of my life." 
 " And so shall I, my sweet Helen," said
 
 THE CONVICT. 93 
 
 Edgar Adelon, eagerly ; " but which was it, 
 the dark one or the fair one r" 
 
 " Oh, the dark one," replied Helen Clive ; 
 "the tallest of the two. I think the post-boy 
 told my father that it was Lord Hadley." 
 
 " No, no," said her lover ; " the fair one is 
 Lord Hadley, the dark one is Mr. Dudley, his 
 tutor, and I am glad of it ; first, because I like 
 him best, and secondly, because I am more 
 likely with him to have an opportunity of 
 showing my gratitude for what he has done for 
 you, dear girl. If ever I have, I shall not 
 forget it, Helen." 
 
 " You must not, and you will not, I am 
 sm'e, Edgar," answered Helen Clive. " I think 
 that men's characters and nature are often shown 
 more by the manner in which they do a thing, 
 than by the act itself; and though I felt 
 grateful enough for deliverance, yet I will con- 
 fess I felt more grateful still for the kind and 
 gentle way in which he spoke to me, asked if I
 
 94 THE CONVICT. 
 
 were much hurt, told me not to be frightened, 
 that they woidd soon release me ; and still, 
 while he used the very best means of extri- 
 cating me, kept talking cheerfully to me all the 
 time." 
 
 " God bless him !" said Edgar Adelon; " I 
 shall love that man, I am sure." 
 
 " Then, too," continued Helen, " when- they 
 had put me in the carriage, and we had gone 
 about half a mile over the down, I asked them 
 to stop and let one of their servants go and tell 
 my father what had happened to me ; and the 
 young light-haired one called to a servant he 
 named * Miiller,' to go ; but the other said, 
 * No, no ! I will go myself. The man might 
 only frighten your father ;' and he opened the 
 carriage door and jumped out, as if he had a 
 real pleasure in doing all he could for a poor 
 girl whom he had never seen before, and a man 
 whom he had never seen at all." 
 
 " That is the true spirit of a gentleman," 
 said Edgar — " a better coronet, my Helen,
 
 THE CONVICT. 95 
 
 than gilded leaves and crimson velvet can 
 make. But now tell me more about yourself. 
 "When does the sm-geon say your arm will be 
 well, and when can you come out again to take 
 a morning's walk ? " 
 
 " I can walk quite well," answered Helen 
 Clive ; " my foot and ancle are a little bruised, 
 but that is all. As for my arm, it may be 
 six weeks, or two months, Mr. Sukely says, 
 before I can use it ; so no more playing upon 
 the guitar, Edgar, for a long time." 
 
 " Well, we must have patience," answered 
 Edgar Adelon. " It is pleasant, my Helen, to 
 hear you make sweet music, as the poet calls it, 
 and warble like a bird in spring ; but yet I do 
 not know that the best harmony to my ear is not 
 to hear the spoken words of that dear tongue 
 in the tones of love and confidence. But come, 
 we wUl have our morning walk ; the brightest 
 hour of all my day is that between seven and 
 eight" 
 
 " I will get my bonnet on, and come," an-
 
 96 THE CONVICT. 
 
 swered Helen ; and she left the room for the 
 purpose she mentioned. 
 
 Edgar, in the meanwhile left alone, gazed 
 for a moment or two at the pages of the book 
 she had been reading, and was writing a lover's 
 comment in the margin, when one of the doors 
 of the room opened, and he started up, think- 
 ing that Helen had returned prepared. He 
 was surprised, however, to see a tall, powerful, 
 broad-shouldered man of about forty, well- 
 dressed, and having the appearance of a gen- 
 tleman. His face, however, though intelligent, 
 was not altogether pleasant in expression ; the 
 head was round, the forehead square-cut and 
 massive, the jaw-bone large and angular, the 
 eyes grey, but sharp and flashing, the eyebrows 
 bushy and overhanging, and the greyish red 
 hair cut short, and standing stiff and bristly, 
 while enormous whiskers of the same hue 
 almost concealed each cheek. The young 
 gentleman, it is tme, got but an imperfect 
 view of him ; for the intruder withdrew as
 
 THE CONVICT. 97" 
 
 soon as he saw that there was any one in the 
 room, and closed the door. Edgar felt some- 
 what surprised and curious, for he had never 
 before seen any one in Mr. Clive's house at that 
 hour of the morning but himself, his servants and 
 labouring men, and Helen ; and with the rapid 
 divination of thought, he at once connected the 
 appearance of this stranger with the events of 
 the night before. He had not much time for re- 
 flection before Helen Clive returned ; but then 
 he instantly told her what had occurred, and 
 inquired who the visitor was. 
 
 " Ask no questions, Edgar," replied Helen, 
 " or put them to my father; but at all events, 
 do not mention to any one else, I beseech you, 
 that you have seen such a person here." 
 
 Edgar mused, and walked out with her, per- 
 haps in a more meditative mood than he had 
 ever experienced in the society of Helen Clive 
 before. It soon passed away, however, and 
 they wandered on, side by side as usual, in 
 conversation too deeply interesting to them to 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 96 THE CONVICT. 
 
 be very interesting to a reader of a work like 
 this ; but all bright things will come to an end, 
 and that sweet hour, which perhaps they too 
 often indulged in, terminated all too soon; and 
 the impassioned boy took his way back to 
 Brandon full of wild and glittering visions of 
 love and happiness. He had somewhat out- 
 stayed his time; and when he reached the 
 house, he found the whole party sitting down 
 to breakfast. 
 
 " Why, why, where have you been, Edgar ?'* 
 asked Sir Arthur ; " you have been an early 
 wanderer." 
 
 " Oh ! I often am," answered Edgar ; but 
 remembering his promise to Mr. Clive, he 
 added, " I have been down to Knights-hyde 
 grange, to see poor Helen Clive, after the acci- 
 dent of last night.'' 
 
 Sir Arthiu' Adelon seemed neither surprised 
 nor displeased. " How is she ? " he inquired. 
 " Not much hurt, I hope ?' 
 
 " Not much," replied Edgar, encouraged by
 
 THE CONVICT. 99 
 
 his father's manner ; " the dear girl's anu is 
 broken, and her foot a Httle bruised, but that 
 is all." His cheek flushed a little as he ended, 
 for he saw not only the deep blue eyes of his 
 beautiful cousin fixed upon him, but those of 
 the priest also. 
 
 Sir Arthur took no notice, however, but 
 merely said, " Did you see Mr. Clive, also?" 
 
 " Yes, I met him," replied the young man ; 
 " he was coming up this way." 
 
 " I must see him to-day, myself," said tlie 
 baronet ; " and I suppose, in gallantly, I ought 
 to go down and ask after your fair playfellow, 
 too, Edgar;" and turning towards Lord Had- 
 ley, he added, " They were children together, 
 and many a wild race have they had in the 
 park, when my poor brother-in-law Brandon 
 was alive. Clive and he were related; for 
 there is no better blood in the country than 
 that which flows in the veins of this same 
 farmer-looking man whom you met last 
 night." 
 
 h2
 
 100 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " Let us all go down and visit them, my dear 
 uncle," said Eda Brandon; " I have not seen 
 Helen for a long time." 
 
 The party was agreed upon, and the break- 
 fast proceeded ; but to one at least there pre- 
 sent, the cheerful morning meal seemed not a 
 pleasant one. Mr. Dudley ate little, and said 
 less; and yet there seemed to be no great 
 cause for the sort of gloom that hung upon 
 him. Everybody treated him with the utmost 
 courtesy and kindness ; he was seated next to 
 Sir Arthur Adelon, between him and Mr. 
 Filmer. Lord Hadley, in his good-humoured 
 way, never seemed to look uj^on him as the 
 tutor, but called him on more than one occa- 
 sion, " My friend Dudley ;" and there was a 
 warmth, mingled with reverence, in the manner 
 of young Edgar Adelon, when he spoke to 
 him, which must have been gratifying. 
 
 Could the cause of the sort of melancholy 
 which affected him, be the fact that Lord Hadley 
 ■was seated next to Eda Brandon, and that his
 
 THE CONVICT. 101 
 
 eyes and his manner told, he thought her very 
 beautiful ? 
 
 However that might be, as soon as breakfast 
 was over, and the party rose, Dudley retired 
 at once to his room, and when he had closed 
 the door, he stood for a moment with his hands 
 clasped together, gazing on the floor. " This 
 is worse than vain," he said, at length ; " this 
 is folly — this is madness. Would to God I had 
 not come hither ; but I must crush it out, and 
 suffer myself to be no longer the victim of 
 visional}^ hopes, which have no foundation to 
 rest upon, and feelings which can never be 
 gratified, and which it is madness to indulge." 
 He sat himself down to read, but his mind had 
 lost its usual power, and he could not bend 
 his thoughts to the task. Perhaps three 
 quarters of an hoiu: had passed, when some 
 one knocked at his door, and Edgar Adelon 
 came in. 
 
 " They are all ready to go, Mr. Dudley," 
 he said. *^ Will you not come with us r"
 
 102 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " I think not," replied Dudley ; " I am not 
 in a very cheerful mood. This day is an anni- 
 versary of gi-eat misfortunes, Mr. Adelon, and 
 it is not fair to cloud other people's cheerful- 
 ness with my grave face." 
 
 " Oh ! cast away sad thoughts," said Edgar; 
 " if they are of the past, they are but shadows ; 
 if they are of the future, they are morning 
 clouds." 
 
 " Clouds that may be full of storms," replied 
 Dudley, sadly. 
 
 " Who can tell ?" cried the young man, 
 enthusiastically ; " and if they be, how often do 
 the rain-drops of adversity water the field, and 
 advance the harvest of great future success. I 
 have read it, I have heard of it, I am sure 
 that it is true. Come, Mr. Dudley, come ; for 
 the man who gives himself up to sorrow, makes 
 a league with a fiend when there is an angel 
 waiting for him. Hope is energy, energy is 
 life, life is happiness if it is rightly used. We 
 wound the bosom of the earth to produce fruits
 
 THE CONVICT. 103 
 
 and flowers, and Heaven sometimes furrows 
 the heart with griefs to produce a rich crop of 
 joys hereafter." 
 
 Dudley grasped his hand warmly. " Thanks, 
 thanks, my young friend," he said ; " I will 
 come. I certainly did not think to receive such 
 bright lessons, and such wise ones, from ,one 
 so young." 
 
 " The philosophy of youth," answered Ed- 
 gar, with a laugh, " is, I believe, the best, for it 
 is of God's implanting. It is an instinct to be 
 happy ; and where is the reason that is equal 
 to instinct ?" 
 
 " Nowhere," answered Dudley, taking his 
 hat, with a smile ; " and I will follow mine."
 
 104 THE CONVICT. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 I WILL beg leave "with the reader to .precede 
 the party which was just setting out from 
 Brandon, and to give one more scene at the 
 house of Mr. Clive, which took place shortly 
 before their arrival. 
 
 About a quarter of an hour after Edgar had 
 turned his steps homeward, Mr. Clive entered 
 the room where Helen was sitting, and placed 
 himself in a chair opposite to her. But upon 
 Helen's part there was nothing like a bashful 
 consciousness; she had been accustomed to 
 her lover's coming and going for years ; their
 
 THE CONVICT. 105 
 
 mutual affection had sprung up so gradually, 
 or rather, had developed itself so easily, that 
 she could hardly mark the time when they 
 had not loved ; there had been none of those 
 sudden changes which staitle timid passion, 
 and neither her father nor Sir Arthur Adelon 
 had ever sho^vn any of that apprehension, in 
 regard to their frequent meeting, which might 
 have created anxiety, if not fear, in her own 
 breast. She therefore looked up frankly in 
 her father's face, and said, " Edgar has been 
 here, my dear father, and unfortunately Mr. 
 Norries opened the door and came in while he 
 was in the room ; but I am sm*e there is no 
 cause for apprehension, for I begged Edgar not 
 to speak of it to any one, and he gave me his 
 word that he would not." 
 
 Mr. Clive cast down his eyes, and thought 
 for several minutes without reply. But he then 
 murmured some words more to himself than to 
 his daughter, saying, " That is bad — that is un- 
 fortunate ; — not that I doubt Edgar, my Helen ;
 
 106 THE CONVICT. 
 
 but I must speak with Nonies about ; it for he 
 is somewhat rash, and he may show himself to 
 others not so much to be trusted. That I do 
 trust Edgar you may well judge, my dear child, 
 othei-wise he would not be so often here." 
 
 He spoke, gazing at his daughter with a look 
 of some anxiety, and with the white eyebrows 
 drawn far over the eyes. " I know not that I 
 am right, my Helen," he added ; " I almost 
 begin to fear not. I feel I should only be doing 
 right if I were to bid this youth make his visits 
 fewer and shorter ; and yet I would not pain 
 him for a great deal, for he is kind, and good, 
 and honest — but it must come to that in the 
 end, Helen." 
 
 " Oh ! no, my father, no," cried Helen Clive, 
 imploringly. " Why should you do that ?" 
 
 " Listen to me, Helen," said her father ; 
 " you have not thought of these things fully. 
 He loves you, Helen." 
 
 " I know it," cried Helen Clive, with the 
 ingenuous blood mounting into her cheek — " 1
 
 THE COXVICT. 107" 
 
 kno>Y it, and I love hini ; but "svliy should that 
 prevent him from coming — why should that 
 deprive us of the very happiness which such 
 love gives?" 
 
 " Because it cannot be happy, mv Helen," 
 answered her father ; " because he is a gentle- 
 man of high degree, and you the daughter of 
 no better than a yeoman." 
 
 " My father," said Helen, rising, and laying 
 the hand that was uninjured on her father's 
 arm, " have I not heard you say that the blood 
 of the yeoman Clive is as pure as that of the 
 noble house of Adelon, and perhaps of older 
 strain? Is not the land you cultivate your own, 
 as much or more than his that he farms to 
 others ? There is not that difference between 
 us that should be reasonably any bar; but even 
 suppose it were so, what could you seek by 
 separating us?" 
 
 " Your own happiness, my child," answered 
 Clive, gravely. 
 
 " By making us both miserable some years,
 
 108 THE CONVICT. 
 
 months, or weeks, before we otherwise might be 
 so," rejoined Helen, eagerly ; " that is all that 
 can be done now. We love as much as we can 
 love, and so long as we are doing nought that 
 is wrong, violating no duty to you, or to his 
 father, surely w^e may enjoy the little portion 
 of happiness that is sure, and leave to the 
 future and God's good will the rest." 
 
 She spoke eagerly, and with her colour 
 heightened, her eye full of light, and her 
 beautiful lips quivering in their vehemence ; 
 and Clive could not help feeling a portion of a 
 father's pride rise up and take part with her. 
 He could not but say to himself, as he gazed 
 at her in her beauty, " She is worthy to be the 
 bride of the greatest lord in all the land." — 
 " Well, Helen, well," he said, using an expres- 
 sion which was habitual to him, " I must trust 
 you both ; but remember, my child, in making 
 over to you the care of your own happiness, I 
 put mine under your guardianship also, for 
 mine is wrapped up in yours. But hark ! there
 
 THE CONVICT. 109 
 
 is Norries pacing to and fro above. I must go 
 and speak with him. That wild sjjirit will not 
 brook its den much longer." And walking to 
 the door, he mounted the staii's to the room, 
 which was just over that where he had been 
 sitting. 
 
 " Ah ! you are come back at last, Clive," said 
 the strong, hard-featured man whom I have be- 
 fore described. " Well, what have you heard .? 
 — were all those movements that alarmed you 
 so much last night but mere idle nimoiu' ?" 
 
 " No," answered Clive ; " but I find you were 
 not the object. A party of smugglers was taken 
 farther down the coast, and the intimation 
 which the officer so mysteriously hinted to me 
 they had received, refen-ed to that affair." 
 
 " To be sure," replied his companion ; " they 
 all think me in the United States. No one 
 but yourself has ever kno-svn that I was in 
 France the while." 
 
 *' I can't help thinking, my good fi'iend," re- 
 plied Clive, '• that it might have been better for
 
 110 THE CONVICT. 
 
 you to have stayed there. You know you are 
 in jeopardy here, and may be recognised at 
 any moment." 
 
 " Well, well, Clive," answered his companion, 
 " I will not jeopardise you long ; it is my in- 
 tention to go on this very night, so do not be 
 alarmed. I thank you much for what you have 
 done, which is as much or more than I could 
 expect, and am only sorry that poor Helen has 
 been injured in my cause." 
 
 Clive looked at him steadfastly for a moment 
 or two, with his usual calm, steady, gi*ave ex- 
 pression of countenance, and then replied, with 
 a faint smile, " It is curious, Norries, how, 
 whenever men are blamed by their best friends 
 for a foolish action when it is committed, or 
 warned against a rash action which they are de- 
 termined to commit, they always affect to believe 
 that there is some personal feeling actuating 
 their counsellor, and persuade themselves that 
 his advice is not good, not by trying it on the 
 principles of reason, but by their own preju-
 
 THE CONVICT. Ill 
 
 dices. I have no personal fears in the matter ; 
 I anticipate no danger to myself or to my 
 family; neither should you think so. Last 
 night I was ready to have shed my blood to 
 insure your safet}-, which I certainly should 
 not have been likely to do if I were a man full 
 
 of the cold calculations you suppose " 
 
 " Well, well, well, Clive," said Norries, in- 
 terrupting him, " I was wrong, I was wTong — 
 think of it no more ; but one meets so much 
 cold calculation in this life, that one's heart 
 gets cliilled to one's best friends. My coming 
 might, indeed, as you say, be what the world 
 would call rash; but eveiy attempt must be 
 estimated by its object, and till you know mine, 
 do not judge me hastily. Where I was wrong, 
 was in not giving you sufficient intimation of 
 my intention, that you might have prepared and 
 let me know when I could land without risk ; 
 but the man I sent over to you was delayed 
 one whole day for a passage, and that day 
 made a gi-eat difference."
 
 112 THE CONVICT. 
 
 '* It did," answered Clive ; " for I had barely 
 time to send my own two men away to a dis- 
 tance, and get others, in whom I could better 
 trust, to help me. I had no means either 
 of giving you warning that there was a great 
 movement at Barhampton, and that the officers 
 were evidently on the look out for some one 
 on the coast. You only said that you would 
 land in the cove between nine and ten, and 
 that I must show a light due east of the cove 
 mouth to guide you, as there was no moon. 
 I had nothing for it, therefore, but to make 
 ready against attack, in order that you might 
 get back to the boat if you were the person 
 these men were looking for. But now, Nomes, 
 I am very anxious to hear what is your object, 
 for it should be a great one to induce you to 
 undertake such a risk." 
 
 " It is a great one," answered Norries, with 
 his grey eyes flashing under his contracted 
 brow — " no less than the salvation of my 
 country, Clive. In that last affair, the rash
 
 THE CONVICT. 113 
 
 fools of the manufacturing districts hurried on, 
 against all persuasion, before matters were half 
 ripe, "with the light spirit of the old Gauls — 
 firm in the onset, daunted by the first check, 
 and tame and crouching in defeat. Had they 
 behaved like men, I vrould have remained with 
 them to the last, to perish or to suffer ; but there 
 was no shame in abandoning men who aban- 
 doned their own cause at the very first fi'own 
 of fortune. Now there is a brighter prospect 
 before me and before England. There are 
 sterner, calmer, more determined spirits, ready 
 and willing to dig a mine beneath the gaudy 
 fabric of corruption and tyranny which has been 
 built up by knavish statesmen in this land, and 
 to spring the mine when it is dug. The boasted 
 constitution of England, which protects and 
 nurses a race of privileged tyrants, and refiises 
 justice — aye, and almost food — to the great 
 mass of the people, is like one of the feudal 
 castles of the old barons of the land, built high 
 and strong, to protect them in their aggressions 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 THE CONVICT. 
 
 upon their neighbours, and in their despotic 
 rule over their serfs. But there have been 
 times in this and other hinds ^vhen the serfs, 
 driven to madness by unendurable tyranny, 
 have, with the mattock and the axe of their 
 daily toil, dug beneath the walls of the strong- 
 hold, and cast it in ruins to the ground. So 
 will we, Clive — so will we !" 
 
 Clive crossed his arms upon his chest, and 
 gazed at him with a thoughtful and a melan- 
 choly look; and when he had done, he shook 
 his head sadly, as if his mind could take no 
 part in the enthusiastic expectations of his 
 companion. 
 
 " Why do you shake your head, Clive ?" de- 
 manded Norries, impatiently. 
 
 " Because I have lived long enough, my good 
 friend," replied Clive, " to see some hundreds 
 of these schemes devised, perfected, executed, 
 and every one has brought ruin upon the 
 authors, and worked no amelioration in the 
 institutions of the land."
 
 THE CONVICT. 115 
 
 " Simply because men are tame imder inju- 
 ries ; simply because they submit to injustice ; 
 simply because, out of every ten men in the 
 land, there is not one who has a just notion of 
 the dignity of man's nature, or a just appreci- 
 ation of man's rights," was the eager reply of 
 Norries. " But their eyes have been opened, 
 Clive ; the burden is becoming intolerable ; the 
 Yery efforts that have been made, and the strug- 
 gles that have been frustrated, have taught our 
 fellow countrymen that there is something to 
 struggle for, some gi'eat object for endeavour. 
 They have asked themselves, what ? and we 
 have taught them. One success — only one gi'eat 
 success, and the enormous multitude of those 
 who are justly discontented with the foul and 
 corrupt system which has been established, but 
 who have been daunted by repeated failures, 
 will rise as one man, and claim that which is 
 due to the whole human race, sweej^ing away 
 all obstacles -svith the might and the majesty 
 of a torrent. You, Clive, you, I am sure, 
 I 2
 
 116 THE CONVICT. 
 
 are not insensible to the wrongs which we all 
 suffer." 
 
 " I am neither unaware that there are many 
 evils tolerated by law, nor many iniquities 
 sanctioned by law," replied Clive, " nor insen- 
 sible to the necessity of their removal ; but at 
 the same time, I am fully convinced that there 
 is a way by which they can be removed — and 
 that the only way in which they ever will be re- 
 moved — without violence or bloodshed, or the 
 many horrors and disasters which must always 
 accompany anything like popular insurrection. 
 When the people of England think fit to make 
 their voice heard — I mean the great mass of the 
 people — that voice is strong enough to sweep 
 away, slowly but surely, every one of the 
 wrongs of which we have cause to complain." 
 
 " But how can it make itself heard, that voice 
 of the people of England ?" demanded Nomes ; 
 " where can it make itself heard ? The people 
 of England — the many, the multitude, the 
 strength of the land, the labouring poor — have
 
 THE CONVICT. 117 
 
 no voice in the senate, at the bar, on the bench. 
 The church of the majority is the rich man's 
 church, the law of the land is the rich man's 
 law, the parliament of the country is the rich 
 man's parliament. But it is vain talking with 
 you of such things now ; but come and hear us 
 for one single night — hear our arguments, hear 
 our resolutions, and you will not hesitate to 
 join us." 
 
 " No," replied Clive, in a firm tone, '' I will 
 not, Norries ; I would rather trust myself to calm 
 deliberate thought than to exciting oratory or 
 smooth persuasions. In fact, Norries, as you 
 well know, and as I have known long, I am 
 of too eager and impetuous a nature, too easily 
 moved, to place myself willingly in temptation. 
 When I argue tranquilly with myself, I am 
 master of myself ; but when I go and listen to 
 others, the strong passions of my young nature 
 rise up. I keep myself free from all brawls ; I 
 enter into disputes with no man, for in my past 
 life the blow of anger has too frequently preceded
 
 118 THE CONVICT. 
 
 the word of remonstrance, and I have more 
 than once felt occasion to be ashamed of myself 
 as an impetuous fool, even where I have not 
 had to reproach myself as an unjust aggressor." 
 
 "You have had enough to bear, Clive," 
 replied Norries; "as I know from my poor 
 lost Mary, your dear sister — ' the oppressor's 
 wrong, the proud man's contumely, the inso- 
 lence of office, and the spurns that patient 
 merit of the unworthy takes.' With the old Saxon 
 blood strong in your veins, the old Saxon 
 freedom powerful in your heart, have not you 
 and yours, from generation to generation, been 
 subject to the predominating influence of the 
 Norman usurpers, and are you not still under 
 their sway? — But hark! there are people at 
 the door, and many of them. Perhaps they 
 have come to seek me." 
 
 Clive strode hastily to the window, and 
 looked out, but then turned round, saying, 
 " No, it is the people from Brandon House — 
 Sir Arthur Adelon and all the rest — come down,
 
 THE CONVICT. 119 
 
 I dare say, to inquire after Helen, for they are 
 very fond of her, as well they may be." 
 
 "Sir Arthur Adelonl" repeated Norries, 
 with a slight smile, " that is well ; let me look 
 at him ;" and he too approached the window. 
 "He is much changed," he continued, as he 
 gazed out, " and perhaps as much changed in 
 mind as in person — but yet I must have him 
 with us, Clive. He must give us his support, 
 for it is necessary to have some gilding and 
 some tinsel even on the flag of liberty." 
 
 Clive laughed aloud. " You mistake, you 
 mistake, Norries," he said; "if you calculate 
 thus rashly, your schemes are vain indeed. 
 Sir Arthur Adelon is a mere man of the world ; 
 kind and good-humoured enough, but with no 
 energy or resolution such as are absolutely 
 necessary in those who join in great under- 
 Ukings." 
 
 "It is you who mistake, Clive," replied 
 Norries ; " you see but the exterior. Under- 
 neath it there are strong things mingled with
 
 120 THE CONVICT. 
 
 weak ones — passions powerful enough and 
 persevering ; and you shall see : that man, with 
 his high station, wealth, and name, shall go 
 with me in that which I undertake, and shall 
 prove a shelter and defence in case of need, 
 should anything discover a portion of our 
 schemes before they are matured. I must see 
 him this very day before I go to Barhampton, 
 for thither I shall certainly proceed to-night." 
 
 "Well, Norries, well, you know best," an- 
 swered Clive, with a faint smile ; " when I see 
 these wonders, I may have more confidence. 
 Till then, I tell you fairly, all your plans seem 
 to me to be rashness approaching to madness. 
 — I must go down and receive them, however, 
 for I hear they have come in. Shall I tell Sir 
 Arthur that you wish to see him, Norries ?" 
 
 " No," answered the other, thoughtfully ; " I 
 will take my own opportunity." And Clive 
 departed, leaving him alone.
 
 THE CONVICT. 121 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 I KNOW no more delightful sensation upon 
 earth, than when a being whom we love, acting 
 beneath our eyes, but unconscious that we are 
 watching, fulfils to the utmost the bright ex- 
 pectations that we have formed ; while in the 
 deed, and the tone, and the manner we see the 
 confirmation of all that we had supposed, or 
 dreamed, or divined of excellence in heart and 
 mind. Charles Dudley loved Eda Brandon, 
 and all she did or said was of course a matter 
 of deep interest to him ; and although I will 
 not say he watched, yet he observed her con-
 
 122 THE CONVICT. 
 
 duct during the morning of which I have been 
 writing, and especially during their visit to the 
 Grange, as Mr. Olive's house was called. He 
 thought it was perfect; and so perhaps it was, as 
 nearly as anything of the earth can be perfect ; 
 and perhaps, although there was no great 
 event to call strong feelings into action, al- 
 though there was nothing which would seem to 
 an ordinary eye a trial of character or de- 
 meanour, yet there was much which, to a very 
 keen and sensitive mind, showed great qualities 
 by small traits. Helen Clive was in an inferior 
 position of life to Eda Brandon. It may be said 
 that the difference was very slight, that her 
 father cultivated his own land, that she had 
 evidently received the education and possessed 
 the manners of a lady; but yet the very 
 slighness of the difference might make the de- 
 meanom: of the one towards the other more 
 difficult— not, perhaps, to be what the world 
 would call very proper, but to be perfect. It 
 might be too cold, it might be too familiar ; for
 
 THE CONVICT. 123 
 
 there is sometimes such a thing as familiarity 
 which has its rise in pride, and the object of it 
 
 m 
 
 is more likely to feel hurt by it than even by 
 distance of manner. But there was nothing of 
 the kind in the conduct of Eda Brandon. She 
 treated Helen in every respect as an equal, 
 one with whom she had been long on terms of 
 intimate affection, and who required no new 
 proof that she saw no difference between the 
 position of Mr. Clive's daughter and that of the 
 heiress of Brandon and all its wealth. There 
 was no haughtiness, there was no appearance of 
 condescension — the haughtiest mark of pride. 
 It was easy, kind, unaffected, but quiet and 
 ladylike; and although Helen herself felt a 
 little nervous, not at the station, but at the 
 number of the guests who poured in, Eda's 
 manner soon put her completely at ease, and 
 the only thing which seemed at all to discom- 
 pose her, was a certain sort of familiar gallantry 
 in the manners of Lord Hadley, which even 
 pained another present more than herself.
 
 124 THE CONVICT. 
 
 But it is with Eda and Dudley that I wish 
 particularly to deal just now ; and one thing I 
 may remark as seemingly strange, but not 
 really so. It was with delight, as I have said, 
 that Dudley observed the demeanour of Eda 
 Brandon towards Helen Clive ; but a saddening 
 sensation of despondency mingled with the 
 pleasure, and rendered it something more than 
 melancholy. It was like that of a dying parent 
 w^itnessing the success and growing greatness 
 of a beloved child, and knowing that his own 
 eyes must soon close upon the loved one's career 
 of glory. He said to himself, " She never can 
 be mine : long years of labour and toil, strug- 
 gles with a hard and difficult profession, and 
 fortunate chances with many long lapses be- 
 tween, could alone put me in a position to seek 
 her love or ask her hand ; and in the meantime 
 her fate must be decided." 
 
 As they had walked down from the house. 
 Lord Hadley had been continually by her side. 
 He had evidently been much struck and capti-
 
 THE CONVICT. 125 
 
 vated. A vagiie hint had been thrown out that 
 a union bet^Yeen himself and the heiress of 
 Brandon had been contemplated by kind and 
 judicious friends ; and a meaning smile which 
 had crossed the lip of young Edgar Adelon, 
 when he saw Lord Hadley bending down and 
 saying something apparently very tender in 
 his cousin's ear, had sent a pang through the 
 heart of Dudley, which his young companion 
 would not have inflicted for worlds had he 
 known the circumstances. Again and again 
 Dudley repeated to himself, " It is impossible. 
 How can 1 — why should I entertain any ex- 
 pectation? The warrior goes into the strife 
 armed ; the racer is trained and prepared for the 
 course ; I have no weapons for the struggle, no 
 preparation for the race, although the prize is 
 all that is desirable in hfe. I will yield this 
 all-vain contention; I will withdraw from a 
 scene where everything which takes place must 
 give me pain. It is easily done. The term of 
 my engagement with Lord Hadley is nearly at
 
 126 THE CONVICT. 
 
 an end ; and I can easily plead business of 
 importance for leaving him here, now that om- 
 tour is finished, and, once more betaking 
 myself to my books, wait in patience till the 
 time comes for that active life in the hard 
 world of realities, which will, I trust, engross 
 every feeling, and occupy every thought." 
 
 Such were his reflections and resolutions as 
 the party, after taking leave of Helen and Mr. 
 Clive, walked out of the door of the Grange to 
 return to Brandon House. I often think that 
 all reflections are vain, and all resolutions 
 worse than vain. The first are but as the games 
 of childhood — the construction of gay fabrics 
 out of materials which have no solidity; the 
 second are but shuttlecocks between the 
 battledores of circumstances. So, at least, 
 Charles Dudley found them both. 
 
 It is necessary, however, before I proceed 
 farther, to say something of the exact position 
 of the parties as they quitted the house. Eda 
 and her uncle went first ; Dudley followed half
 
 THE CONVICT. 127 
 
 a step farther back; and Lord Hadley and 
 Edgar came next. As Dudley was walking on, 
 with his eyes bent on the ground, he heard the 
 voice of Sir Arthur's son exclaim, " Eda, Eda, 
 we are going down by the stream. Lord Hadley 
 and I, to see the ruins of the priory. Let us 
 all go !" 
 
 "No, dear Edgar," answered Miss Brandon, 
 " I can't indulge your wandering propensities 
 to-day. I shall be tired by the time I get 
 home, and have got a letter to write." 
 
 " I can't go, either, Edgar," said his father ; 
 " for I have a good deal of business to do." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Dudley, at all events you will 
 come," said Edgar Adelon ; but Mr. Dudley 
 replied by informing him that he had passed 
 some time at the j^riory already that morning. 
 " Well, come along. Lord Hadley, then," said 
 Edgar, in a gay tone ; "I never saw such unin- 
 teresting people in my life, and you shall have 
 the treat and the benefit of my conversation 
 all to yourself. I will tell you the legend, too,
 
 128 THE CONVICT. 
 
 and show you what a set of people these 
 Brandons have been from generation to gene- 
 ration." 
 
 Lord Hadley did not decline, and they 
 walked away together down the course of the 
 stream, whilst Sir Arthur and his niece, accom- 
 panied by Dudley, pursued their course to- 
 wards Brandon. They were about half-way 
 between the Grange and the gates of the park, 
 when a quick but heavy step was heard behind 
 them, and Dudley, turning his head, saw a 
 stout farm- servant following, somewhat out of 
 breath. The man walked sti-aight up to Sir 
 Arthur Adelon, and presented a note, saying, 
 " I was to give you that directly, your 
 honour." 
 
 Sir Arthur took the note, and looked at the 
 address without any apparent emotion ; but 
 when he opened it, his aspect changed consi- 
 derably, and he stopped, saying, in a hesi- 
 tating manner, " I must go back — I must go 
 back."
 
 THE CONVICT. 129 
 
 " Oh ! it is but a short distance," said Eda ; 
 " we can return with you." 
 
 " Xo, my dear, no," answered her uncle, with 
 what seemed a good deal of embarrassment in 
 his air ; " you had better go on to Brandon. 
 Mr. Dudley will, I am sm'e, escort you." 
 
 " Assui-edly," replied Dudley, gravely ; and 
 Sir Arthur, adding, " I may not, perhaps, be 
 back to luncheon, Eda, but do not wait for 
 me," turned, and with a quick step humed 
 along the road towards Mr. Clive's house. 
 
 It seemed as if everytliing had combined 
 to leave Charles Dudley and Eda Brandon 
 alone together. If he had laboured a couple 
 of years for such a consummation it would not 
 have occurred. He did not offer Eda his 
 arm, however ; and although his heart was 
 beating very fast with feelings that longed for 
 utterance, he walked on, for at least a hundred 
 and fifty yards, without a word being spoken 
 on either side. Ladies, however, feel the 
 awkwardness of silence more than men; and 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 THE CONVICT. 
 
 Eda, though she was shaking very unaccount- 
 ably, said, at length, " I am afraid, Mr. Dud- 
 ley, that what you find here is not so beautiful 
 and interesting as the scenes you have lately 
 come from. You used, I remember, to be a 
 very enthusiastic admirer of the beauties of 
 nature." 
 
 Dudley raised his fine eyes to her face, and 
 gazed at her for a moment with melancholy 
 gravity. "All I admired then," he said, at 
 length, " I admire now. All I loved then, 
 dear Miss Brandon, I love now. It is circum- 
 stances which have changed, not I." 
 
 " I did not know that circumstances had 
 changed," said Eda, in a low and sweet tone, 
 as if she really felt sympathy with him for the 
 grief his manner implied. " I had heard that 
 a sad, a terrible change of circumstances had 
 occurred some time before ; but I was not at 
 all aware that any new cause of grief or dis- 
 appointment had been added." 
 
 Dudley again thought before he answered ;
 
 THE CONVICT. 131 
 
 but it was not the thought of calculation, 
 or if it was, it was but the calculation of 
 how he should answer calmly — how he should 
 speak the true feelings of his heart with mo- 
 deration and gentleness — not at all a calcula- 
 tion of whether it were better to speak those 
 feelings or not. 
 
 " You are right. Miss Brandon," he said, 
 " the change of circumstances had taken place 
 before ; but all things have their consequences; 
 and the results of those material alterations in 
 fortune and station which had befallen me, 
 were still to be made manifest to, and worked 
 out by, myself. When fii-st we met, you were 
 very young — not sixteen, I think — and I was 
 not old. Ever}'thing v>as in the spring-day 
 mth me. It was all full of promise. I had in 
 those days two fortimes : worldly wealth, and 
 even a greater store of happy hopes and ex- 
 pectations — the bright and luxmiant patrimony 
 of inexperienced youth. From time to time 
 we saw each other; till, when last we met, 
 k2
 
 132 THE CONVICT. 
 
 prosperity had been taken from me — the trea- 
 sure of earthly riches was gone, and though 
 not actually beggared, I and my poor father 
 were in a state of absolute ])overty. Still the 
 other fortune, that rich estate of youthful hope 
 and inexperienced expectation, though some- 
 what diminished, was not altogether gone. I 
 fancied that, in the eyes of the noble and the 
 good, wealth would make no difference. I 
 had never found it make any diiference to me 
 in my estimation of others. I imagined that 
 those qualities which some had esteemed and 
 liked in me, would still at least retain my 
 friends. I never for an instant dreamed that it 
 could or ought to have an influence on the 
 adamant of love. I had almost said and done 
 rash things in those days ; but you went away 
 out of London ; and I soon began to perceive 
 that I had bitterly deceived myself." 
 
 " You never perceived any difference in me,'^ 
 cried Eda, her voice trembling with emotions
 
 THE CONVICT. 133 
 
 -which carried away all discretion. '' You do 
 not mean to say, Mr. Dudley, that you saw, or 
 that you thought you saw, such base weakness 
 in my nature as ayouUI render of the slightest 
 value in my eyes a change of fortune in those 
 
 I — I " And extending her left hand, as if 
 
 to cast the idea from her, she turned away, and 
 shook her head sorrowfully, with her eyes full 
 of tears. 
 
 " No, no. Miss Brandon," answered Dudley 
 — " no, no, Eda, I said not so. It was the 
 world taught me the world's ^-iews. Xay, more, I 
 laid the blame of misunderstanding those views 
 upon myself, not others. I saw some reason 
 even in those views which debarred me from 
 happiness ; I felt the due value of station and 
 fortune when I had lost them, which T never 
 felt while they were my o\\'n. But listen to me 
 still with patience for one moment. Expecta- 
 tion was not yet fidly tamed. I said to myself, 
 I will make myself a station, I will regain the
 
 134 THE CONVICT. 
 
 fortune which has been lost; and then, per- 
 haps, love may re-illumine the torch of hope at 
 its own flame, and all be light once more." 
 
 " Love ! " munnured Eda, in a low tone, as 
 he paused for an instant ; but Dudley went on. 
 
 " The hardest lesson of all was still to learn 
 — how slow, how hopelessly slow, is man's pro- 
 gress up the steep hill which leads to fame and 
 emolument in this world — how yain is the 
 effort to start into eminence at once. I had 
 to learn all that consuming thought, and bitter 
 care, and deep disappointment, and hopeless 
 love, and the anguish of regi'et can do to wear 
 the sti'ongest frame, and wring the firmest 
 heart, and quell the brightest expectations, 
 and batten down the springs of life and hope 
 beneath the heavy load of circumstances." 
 
 " Oh ! Dudley, Dudley," cried Eda, " why, 
 why should you yield to such dark impres- 
 sions ? " 
 
 " Eda," said Dudley, " \vould you have had 
 me hope ? "
 
 THE CONVICT. 135 
 
 " Yes, yes," she answered, with her cheek 
 glowmg and her eves full of tears, as they 
 passed the park gates and entered the avenue. 
 " Hope ! ever, ever hope ! and let not adverse 
 circumstances crush a noble spirit and a gene- 
 rous heart. See, there is Mr. Filmer coming 
 down towards us ; I must wipe these foolish 
 tears from my eyes. But let me add one warn- 
 ing. I have said a generous heart, because, 
 indeed, I believe yours to be so ; but yet, Dud- 
 ley, it was hardly generous enough when you 
 imagined that those whom you judged worthy 
 of love and esteem could suffer one consider- 
 ation of altered fortunes to make even the 
 slightest change in their regard or in their con- 
 duct. You should never have fancied it, and 
 must never, never fancy it again. I can hardly 
 imagine," she said, turning, and looking at him 
 with a bright smile as she uttered words of 
 reproach which she knew were not quite jus- 
 tified, thus qualifying with that gay look the 
 bitter portion of her speech — " I can hardly
 
 136 THE CONVICT. 
 
 imagine that you know what true love is, or you 
 would be well aware that it is indeed, as you 
 said yourself, a thing of adamant — unchange- 
 able and everlasting. On it no calumny can 
 rest, no falsehood make impression ; the stonns 
 and tempests of the world, the labour of those 
 who would injure or defame, the sharp chisel 
 of sarcasm, the grinding power of argument and 
 opposition, can have no effect. Such is strong, 
 true love. It must be love founded on esteem 
 and confidence, but then, believe me, it is 
 immovable. If ever you love, remember this." 
 
 " If ever I love, Eda!" answered Dudley, 
 gazing at her ; " you know too well that I do 
 love, that I have loved for years." 
 
 " I once thought so," replied Eda, in a low 
 tone ; '' but hush ! Dudley, hush ! let us com- 
 pose ourselves — he is coming near." 
 
 " He does not see us," said Dudley ; " his 
 eyes are bent upon the ground. Can we not 
 avoid him by tm*ning through the trees ?" 
 
 " No, no," answered Miss Brandon ; " he
 
 THE CONVICT. 137 
 
 sees everything. Never suppose at any time 
 that because his eyes are bent down they are 
 unused. He is all sight, and never to be 
 trusted. — Is my cheek flushed ? I am sure it 
 ought to be," she added, as her mind reverted 
 to the words she had spoken — " I am sure it 
 ought to be, for I feel it burn." 
 
 "A little," replied Dudley, gazing at her 
 "with a look of grateful love ; " but he will not 
 remark it." 
 
 " Oh yes, he will," answered Eda, giving a 
 timid glance towards Dudley's face, and then 
 drawing down her veil. '* Yours is quite pale." 
 
 " It is with intense emotions," replied 
 Dudley ; " emotions of gratitude and love." 
 
 " Hush ! hush !" she said ; " no more on 
 that score ; we shall be able to talk more here- 
 after. — AVhat a beautiful day it has been after 
 such a stormy night. One could almost fancy 
 that it was spring returned, if a bird would 
 but begin to sing." 
 
 " Ah ! no," answered Dudley, somewhat
 
 138 THE CONVICT. 
 
 soiTowfully ; " though there be browns in both, 
 the colours of the autumn are very different 
 from those of the spring ; the hues of nascent 
 hope are in the one, of withering decay in the 
 other ; and though the skies of autumn may be 
 glorious, they are the skies of spring which are 
 sweet." 
 
 They were now within some twenty or thirty 
 paces of Mr. Filmer, who was still walking on, 
 calmly and quietly, with his eyes bent upon 
 the ground, as if absorbed in deep and solemn 
 meditation. The light and shadow, as he 
 passed the trees, fell strangely upon him, giving 
 a phantom-like appearance to his tall dark 
 figiu-e and pale face; and there was a fixed 
 and rigid firmness in his whole countenance 
 which might have made any casual observer at 
 that moment think him the veriest ascetic that 
 ever lived. 
 
 Eda, who knew him well, and had read his 
 character more profoundly, than he imagined, 
 led the way straight up to him, though they
 
 THE CONVICT. 139 
 
 had before been on the other side of the 
 avenue, as if she were determined that he 
 should not pass -without taking notice of them, 
 and when they were at not more than tln*ee 
 yards' distance, he started, saying, " Ah ! my 
 dear young lady, I did not see you. — Why, 
 your party has become small." And his face at 
 once assumed a look of pleasing urbanity, 
 which rendered the whole expression as dif- 
 ferent as possible from that which his counte- 
 nance had borne before. 
 
 " Edgar and Lord Hadley," answered Eda, 
 " have gone to see the priory, and my uncle 
 was coming home with us, when somebody 
 stopped him upon business and earned him 
 off." 
 
 ^'Mr. Dudley and I visited the prioiy this 
 morning," replied Mr. Filmer ; " and he seemed 
 exceedingly pleased with it, I am happy to 
 say." 
 
 " I was very much so, indeed," said Dudley. 
 " In truth, my reverend friend, I feel a great
 
 140 THE CONVICT. 
 
 interest in all those remnants of former times, 
 when everything had a freshness and a vigorous 
 identity which is lost in the present state of 
 civilization. I forget who is the author who 
 compares man in the present polished and 
 artificial days to a worn shilling which has 
 lost all trace of the original stamp ; but it has 
 often struck me as a very just simile. I like 
 the mark of the die, and every object which 
 recals to my mind the lusty, active past, is 
 worth a thousand modern constructions. Even 
 the university in which I have been educated 
 I love not so much for its associations w^ith 
 myself as for its associations with another 
 epoch. There is a cloistral, secluded calm 
 about some of the colleges, which has an effect 
 almost melancholy and yet pleasurable." 
 
 Mr. Filmer replied in an easy strain, as if he 
 had remarked nothing ; but, nevertheless, he 
 had perceived, somehow, without even raising 
 his eyes, that Eda had dropped the veil over 
 her face as he came near, and he saw that there
 
 THE CONVICT. 141 
 
 were ti'aces of agitation both on her counte- 
 nance and on that of Dudley. He remarked, 
 too, that Dudley spoke more and more elo- 
 quently upon many subjects during the rest of 
 the day ; that, in fact, there Tras a sort of relief 
 apparent in his whole manner, and in all his 
 ■words; and he formed a judgment not very far 
 from the truth. Such a judgment, from indica- 
 tions so slight, is not unusual in men who have 
 been educated as he had been, to mark the 
 slightest peculiarities of manner, the slightest 
 changes of demeanour, that occur in their 
 fellow-men, in order to take advantage of them 
 for their own purposes. In the present instance 
 he continued quietly his obsen ations, without 
 letting any one perceive that he was watching 
 at all ; but not a word, nor a look, nor a tone 
 of Eda Brandon and Charles Dudley escaped 
 him during the day. 
 
 Turning back with Miss Brandon and her 
 lover towards the house, Mr. Filmer, or Father 
 Peter, as he was sometimes called by Sir
 
 142 THE CONVICT. 
 
 Arthur's servants, accompanied them to the 
 door, and then proposed that they should 
 cross the park to a little fountain, covered with 
 its old cross and stone, which he described as 
 Avell worthy of Dudley's attention. Eda con- 
 firmed his account of its beauty, but said that 
 she must herself go in, as she was a good deal 
 fatigued, and had also to write a letter. She 
 ad\Hsed Dudley, however, to go and see it; 
 and, if the truth must be told, she was not 
 sorry to avoid the priest's society, for in his 
 presence she felt a restraint of which she could 
 not divest herself, even at times when she could 
 detect no watching on the part of Filmer. She 
 knew that he was observing with the quiet, 
 shrewd eyes of Rome, and the very feeling 
 embarrassed her. 
 
 Dudley had no excuse for staying behind, 
 and he accompanied the priest on his walk, 
 conversing on indifferent subjects, and not yet 
 fully aware that every word and even look was 
 watched by one who let nought fall to the
 
 THE CONVICT. 143 
 
 ground. For nearly a couple of hundred yards 
 the tsvo gentlemen walked on in silence ; but 
 then Mr. Filmer, in pursuit of his own investi- 
 gations, observed, in a sort of meditative tone, 
 " What a sweet, charming girl that is ! — I think 
 I understood that you had known her long, 
 Mr. Dudley." 
 
 " For many years," replied his compa- 
 nion. " When first I knew her she was quite 
 a girl — I had almost said a child, and very 
 lovely even then ; but I had no idea that she 
 was the niece of Sir Arthur Adelon." 
 
 " Her mother was his sister," replied Mr. 
 Filmer ; " and the way in which she became 
 Sir Arthur's ward was this : — Her father died 
 when she was quite yoimg, leaving her entirely 
 to the control of her mother, as her sole 
 guardian and his executiix. She was a very 
 amiable woman, Mrs. Brandon, though, unfor- 
 tunately, her husband had converted her to 
 your church. I believe she was very sorry for 
 her apostasy before her death, and, at all
 
 144 THE CONVICT. 
 
 events, she left Miss Brandon to the guardian- 
 ship of her brother, Sir Arthur, with the entire 
 management of her property." 
 
 " Till she comes of age, I suppose," Dud- 
 ley replied, as the other made a short pause. 
 
 " Yes, but before that time she will be pro- 
 bably married," answered the priest. 
 
 " To Lord Hadley, perhaps you think ?" re- 
 joined Dudley, with very different feelings from 
 those with which he would have pronounced 
 such words some two or three hours before. 
 
 " Oh, no," answered Mr. Filmer, calmly; " I 
 do not think that Sir Arthur would ever con- 
 sent to her marriage with a Protestant. I know 
 that he Avould sooner see her bestow her hand 
 upon the humblest Catholic gentleman in 
 England." 
 
 Dudley was somewhat puzzled. If the as- 
 sertion of the priest could be relied upon, why 
 had Sir Arthur Adelon so ostentatiously asked 
 Lord Hadley there. The priest said it in a 
 natural, easy tone; but Dudley felt that, in
 
 THE CONVICT. 145 
 
 some degree, he had himself been trying to 
 extract infoimation fiom Mr. Filmer, and that 
 the attempt was somewhat dangerous with a 
 Roman- catholic j^riest. He did not feel quite 
 sure, indeed, that he had not betrayed a part 
 of his own secrets while endeavouring to gain 
 intelligence of the ^'iews of others. " I should 
 have thought that the feelings of Sir Arthur 
 Adelon were more liberal, especially as he has 
 always yourself beside him," said Dudley, with 
 a slight inclination of the head. 
 
 " You do me more than justice, my young 
 friend," replied Mr. Filmer; " it is veiy natural 
 in these times, when there is a persecuting 
 and oppressive spiiit abroad, that we should 
 wish to see an heiress of great wealth, and whose 
 husband must possess gi*eat influence, bestow 
 her hand upon a person of our own religious 
 creed. I may say this can be felt without the 
 slightest degree of bigotiy, or any view of pro- 
 selytism. I have none, I can assure you ; and 
 indeed you may judge that it is so, when you 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 THE CONVICT. 
 
 know that one of my best friends and most 
 constant companions is the clergyman of the 
 little church the sim-e of which you see rising 
 up there just above the hill. My feeling is, 
 that there is not sufficient difference between 
 the two churches, although yours, I feel, is in 
 some points a little heretical, to cause any dis- 
 union between honest and well-meaning men ; 
 and moreover, though anxious myself to see 
 others adopt what I conceive to be just views, 
 yet I confess the object of their conversion 
 does not appear to me so great a one as to 
 hazard the slightest chance of dissension in 
 order to obtain it." 
 
 " Those are very liberal opinions, indeed," 
 said Dudley ; " and though I know that a good 
 many of the laymen of the church of Rome 
 entertain them, I was not aware that they are 
 common amongst the clergy." 
 
 " More common than you imagine, my young 
 friend," answered the priest ; " in fact, the heads 
 of the church itself are not so intolerant as you
 
 THE CONVICT. 147 
 
 suppose. Rules have been fixed, undoubtedly; 
 definitions have been given ; but it is always in 
 the power of the church to relax its own regu- 
 lations; and when sincere and devout Chris- 
 tianity, a feeling of that which is orthodox, and 
 a veneration for those traditions which, descend- 
 ing from generation to generation through the 
 mouths of saints and martyrs, may be consi- 
 dered as pure and uncorrupt as the Scriptui'es 
 themselves, are perceived in anyone, the chiu'ch 
 is always willing to render his return to her 
 bosom easy and practicable, by relinquishing 
 all those formal points of discipline which may 
 be obnoxious to his prejudices, and by relaxing 
 the severity of those expositions, the cutting 
 clearness of which is repugnant to a yet un- 
 confirmed mind." 
 
 Dudley paused in great surprise, asking him- 
 self, "What is his object?" That is a question 
 which is rarely put by any man to his own 
 heart, without some strong doubt of the since- 
 rity of the person he has been conversing with. 
 l2
 
 148 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " What is his object r" thought Dudley. " Does 
 he really hope to convert me, by the mingled 
 charms of his own eloquence, and the fascina- 
 tion of my dear Eda's fortune ?" He resolved, 
 however, not to display his real opinion of 
 the arguments used, but to suffer the worthy 
 priest to pursue his own course and expose his 
 own purposes. " He must do it sooner or 
 later," he said ; " and then I shall discover 
 what is the meaning of this long discourse. In 
 the meantime, he cannot shake Eda's confi- 
 dence in me, nor my love for her." 
 
 " I am happy to find," continued Dudley, 
 aloud, " that such very just and liberal views 
 are entertained; for undoubtedly, the defini- 
 tions of the Council of Trent have been one of 
 the great stumbling-blocks in the way of those 
 persons who would willingly have abandoned 
 doctrines of which they arc by no means sure, 
 to embrace others emanating from a church, 
 the principal boast of which is its invariable 
 consistency with itself."
 
 THE CONVICT. 149 
 
 The priest looked at him with a doubtful 
 and hesitating glance. He was apprehensive, 
 perhaps, of showing too much of the policy of 
 the church of Rome ; and he stopped, as it was 
 his invariable custom to do when the expres- 
 sion of his opinions might do injury to the 
 cause he advocated, and no great object was to 
 be obtained. He thought, indeed, in the pre- 
 sent instance, that something more might be ven- 
 tured; but yet he judged it more prudent to wait 
 awhile, calculating that if he managed well, 
 growing passion might do the work of argu- 
 ment ; and after viewing, with Dudley, the little 
 fountain, he turned back to the house, directing 
 his conversation to subjects of a totally differ- 
 ent character, grave but not ascetic, round 
 which he threw a peculiar and extraordinary 
 charm. It was ver}' strange, the fascination of 
 his manner and conversation. When first its 
 power was felt by any keen and quick mind, 
 one strove to gi*asp and analyze it, to ascertain 
 in what it consisted ; but like those subtle and
 
 150 THE CONVICT. 
 
 delicate essences which chemists sometimes 
 prepare, and which defy analysis, something, 
 and that the most important, that which gave 
 efficacy and vigour to the whole, always 
 escaped. The words seemed nothing in them- 
 selves — a little subtle, perhaps — somewhat 
 vague — not quite definite. The manner was 
 calm and gentle, the look was only at wide 
 distant moments emphatic ; but yet there was 
 a certain spirit in the whole w^hich seemed 
 to glide into the heart and brain, unnerving and 
 full of languor, disarming opposition, per- 
 suading rather than convincing, wrapping the 
 senses in pleasing dreams, rather than present- 
 ing tangible objects for their exercise. It was 
 like the faint odours of unseen plants, which, 
 stealing through the night air, visit us with a 
 narcotic rather than a balmy influence, and lull 
 us to a deadly sleep, without our knowing 
 whence they come or feeling the effect till it is 
 too late.
 
 THE CONVICT. 151 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Sir Arthur Adelon, after lea^•ing Eda and 
 Dudley together, hurried back as fast as he 
 could go to the house of Mr. Clive, passing by 
 the way the man who had brought him the note, 
 which he still held clasped firmly in his hand« 
 He was evidently a good deal agitated when he set 
 out — the muscles of his face worked, his brow 
 contracted, and muttered sentences escaped 
 his lips. From this state he seemed to fall 
 into deep thought. The emotions probably 
 were not less intense, but they were more pro- 
 found ; and when he came near the house, he
 
 152 THE CONVICT. 
 
 stoj^ped, and leaned for a moment against the 
 gate, murmuringj " What can it be ?" After a 
 pause of a moment or two, he rang tlie bell^ 
 and asked the maid who appeared, where the 
 gentleman was who had sent him that letter. 
 The woman seemed somewhat confused, said 
 she did not know anybody had sent him a 
 letter, but that Mr. Clive was in the drawing- 
 room with his daughter. Her embarrassment, 
 and that of the baronet, however, were removed, 
 almost as she spoke the last words, by a voice 
 calling down the stairs, and saying, " Sir 
 Arthur Adelon, will you do me the honour of 
 walking up hither ?" 
 
 • The baronet instantly obeyed the invitation, 
 but it was with a very pale face, and the next 
 instant he was in the room wdth Norries. The 
 latter had withdrawn into the chamber where 
 his conference had taken place with Clive, and 
 he fixed a steadfast gaze on the baronet as he 
 entered; then turning towards the door, he 
 closed it and waved his visitor to a seat,
 
 THE CONVICT. 153 
 
 taking one himself at the same time, and still 
 keeping his bright grey eyes fixed fiimly upon 
 the baronet's face. Hitherto not a word had 
 been spoken, and Nomes remained silent for 
 some instants ; but at length he said, " I per- 
 ceive, both by your coming and your de- 
 meanour, Sir Arthur Adelon, that you have not 
 forgotten me." 
 
 " Oh, no ! Mr. Norries," replied the baronet ; 
 " I remember you quite well, and am happy to 
 see you. But is it not somewhat dangerous 
 for you to visit England just now ?" 
 
 " Not in the least, I think," said Norries. 
 " I am obliged to you for your solicitude, Sir 
 Arthur ; if it had shown itself materially twelve 
 months ago, it might have kept me out of York 
 Castle." 
 
 " I really do not see how I could have 
 served you," answered Sir Ai'thur Adelon — 
 " indeed, I never knew that you were in York 
 Castle." 
 
 " For three days," replied Norries, laconic-
 
 154 THE CONVICT. 
 
 ally. " But this is irrelevant ; let me speak of 
 more important affairs. As your memory is so 
 good, you have probably not forgotten yet 
 what took place eight and six years ago, in 
 regard to transactions affecting Charles Dud- 
 ley, Esquire, since dead." 
 
 " Well, sir, well," cried Sir Arthui', " what of 
 that.?" 
 
 " You inquired once," said Norries, " for 
 the correspondence respecting that affair; I 
 think I could give you some information con- 
 cerning it." 
 
 " Was it not burnt ?" exclaimed Sir Arthur. 
 " You told me it was burnt." 
 
 " Pardon me. Sir Arthur," replied Norries ; 
 " I never told you any such thing. My partner 
 did, but he lied in this case as in many others, 
 and I, who knew little of the transaction at 
 the time, found the papers after his death, and 
 have them safe in my possession." 
 
 There was some writing paper lying on the 
 table, clean and unsullied ; but without know-
 
 THE CONVICT. 155 
 
 ing what he did, Sir Arthur Adelon took it in 
 his hands, and in t^o minutes it was twisted 
 into every conceivable shape. Norries gazed at 
 him with the slightest possible smile ; and in 
 the end he said, " I am afraid, Sir Arthur, that 
 paper will not be very serviceable ; however, 
 we can get morei" 
 
 " Psha !" cried Sir Arthur Adelon ; " let us 
 think of serious things, Mr. Norries. Those 
 letters must be destroyed. Do you mean to 
 say they were all preserved?" 
 
 " Ever}' one," answered Norries — " nay, 
 more. I have spoken of eight and of six years 
 ago, but amongst the documents there ai*e 
 several of a much earlier period, which show 
 that the schemes then executed had been long 
 devising, that the purpose then accomplished 
 had been long nourished. The motives, too, 
 are very evident from certain passages ; and I 
 now tell you. Sir Arthur Adelon, that if I had 
 been made aware of the facts — of the whole 
 facts — those schemes would never have been
 
 156 THE CONVICT. 
 
 accomplished, that purpose ^vould have been 
 frustrated." And he gazed sternly at the baro- 
 net, setting his teeth hard. 
 
 " My partner, Mr. Sherborne," continued 
 Norries, after a pause, during which his com- 
 panion uttered not a word, but remained with 
 his eyes bent down, and his teeth gnawing his 
 nether lip — " my partner, Mr. Sherborne, was 
 a great scoundrel, as you know. Sir Ai-thur. 
 In fact, you knew it at the time you employed 
 him." 
 
 " No, sir, I did not," exclaimed Sir Arthur, 
 catching at the last word. 
 
 " Yes, Sir Arthur, you did," replied Norries, 
 iii*mly, " or you never would have employed 
 him in so rascally a business." 
 
 " He suggested to me everything that was 
 done," replied the baronet, eagerly. 
 
 " In consequence of a private conversation, 
 of which he made a note," rejoined Norries, 
 " and of a letter, still preserved, so confirmatoiy
 
 THE CONVICT, 157 
 
 of the memorandum, that there can be no 
 doubt of its accuracy." 
 
 The face of Sir Arthur Adelon flushed. He 
 was a man of one sort of courage, and he 
 replied, haughtily, " I tliink you intend to in- 
 sult me, sir. Beware what you are doing." 
 
 "I am quite aware," answered Xorries, slowly 
 inclining his head ; " neither do I intend at all 
 to insult you, Sir Arthur. I speak truth in 
 plain terms, having learned in sorrow and 
 adversity that such is the only right course to 
 pursue. In justice and in good faith I ought 
 to place the whole of those papers in the hands 
 of a gentleman nearly related to that Mr. Dud- 
 ley — his son, I mean." 
 
 " It could do him no good," exclaimed the 
 baronet ; " the thing is past and gone ; the 
 ruined and dead ; nothing can by any father 
 means be recovered. This Mr. Dudley could 
 not regain a shilling, nor an acre of his father's 
 property as you well know."
 
 158 THE CONVICT. 
 
 ** True," replied Norries ; " there are some 
 tilings in law which have no remedy, as I do 
 well know ; but it is right that the son should 
 leani who ruined his father, and he should 
 have known long ago but for one circumstance 
 which may perhaps operate still farther.*' 
 
 " What is that ?" demanded the baronet, 
 quickly; " I have no objection whatsoever to 
 give a considerable sum for the possession of 
 those papers. — They can be of no use to any 
 one but myself. Come, let us talk reasonably, 
 Mr. Norries — ^let us say a thousand pounds." 
 
 '' Money will not do here, sir," answered the 
 other, in a contemptuous tone; "it had its 
 eifect upon Mr. Sherborne, who was a rascal, 
 but it will have no effect upon his partner, who 
 is an honest man." 
 
 "Then what, in Heaven's name, do you 
 want ?" demanded Sir Arthur Adelon. 
 
 " To see you act up to your professions, Sir 
 Arthur," replied Nonies. "At the election 
 which began poor Mr. Dudley's ruin, and
 
 THE CONVICT. 159 
 
 which I had some share in conducting on 
 your part, you professed, and I really believe 
 entertained — for I think that, in that at least, 
 you were sincere — principles of firm and de- 
 voted attachment to the cause of the people. 
 You declared that if they did but return you to 
 Parliament, you would advocate all measures 
 in favour of their rights and liberties ; you were 
 more than what is called a Radical — you were 
 a Reformer in the true sense of the word ; you 
 gloried in being descended from the old Saxon 
 race ; you pointed out that your name itself 
 was but a corruption of that of one of our last 
 Saxon princes ; and you promised to do your 
 best to restore to the people that perfect 
 freedom which is an inalienable inheritance of 
 the Saxon blood. You called your son Edgar, 
 in memory of Edgar Atheling, and you pro- 
 mised, in my hearing, to maintain those prin- 
 ciples at all times and under all circumstances, 
 with your voice, with your hand, with your 
 heart's blood. Now, Sir Arthur, I call upon
 
 160 THE CONVICT. 
 
 you to redeem that promise ; and if you do, in 
 the way I sliall point out, you shall have those 
 papers. I have kept them back from the 
 person to whom, perhaps, they ought justly to 
 have been given, because I would not blacken 
 the name of one whom I believe to be a ti*ue 
 patriot. I found excuses for you in your own 
 mind to excuse to myself my retention of them. 
 I knew you to be a man of strong passions 
 under a calm exterior; I knew that strong 
 passions, whenever they become masters, are 
 sure to become despots ; and I thought that you 
 had acted to the man we have mentioned, 
 under an influence that was overpowering — the 
 influence of the strongest and most ungovern- 
 able of all the passions, the thirst for revenge." 
 
 " Revenge !" exclaimed Sir Arthur. " Who 
 told you I was moved by revenge ? " 
 
 " No one told me," answered Norries ; " I 
 knew it. I might have read it in every line of 
 those letters; I might have seen it in every 
 deed you did ; but there was a portion of your
 
 THE CONVICT. 161 
 
 pre^'ious history, Sir Arthur, which I knew from 
 my connexion with that part of the country, and 
 which, when once the machinations were ex- 
 posed to my view, aflforded the key to all. I 
 ask you. Sir Arthur Adelon, whether, some six 
 or seven- and-twenty years ago, Mr. Charles 
 Dudley did not carry off from your pur- 
 suit, the lady on whom you had fixed your 
 heart?" 
 
 Sii- Arthur Adelon's usually placid face 
 assumed the expression of a demon ; and no 
 longer averting his eyes from the fixed, stern 
 gaze of Norries, he stared full in his face in 
 return, and slowly inclined his head. He said 
 not a word, but that look and that gestui'e were 
 sufficient reply. They said, more plainly than 
 any words could have spoken, " You have 
 divined it all ; you have fathomed the dark 
 secret of my heart to the bottom." 
 
 " Well, Sir Arthur," continued Norries, with 
 a softened air, " I can excuse strong passions, 
 for I have them myself, and I know them at 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 THE CONVICT. 
 
 times to be irresistible. In your case, I was 
 sure you had been thus moved. I looked 
 upon you as a man devoted to the service of 
 your country ; and I thought that, in a case 
 where all other considerations should give 
 place to the interests of my country, it would 
 be wrong to damn for ever the name of one 
 who might do her the best and highest of 
 services. There was but one thing that made 
 me doubt your sincerity." 
 
 " You should not doubt it," said Sir Arthur ; 
 " I am as sincerely devoted to the service of 
 my country as ever." 
 
 " It is your general sincerity to which I 
 allude," said the plain-spoken Norries ; " and 
 the reason why I doubted it is this. When 
 you had effected your purpose — when you had 
 ruined an honest and good man, though a 
 Norman and an aristocrat — you did not boldly 
 and fearlessly leave him to his fate, you afforded 
 him assistance to save a pitiful remnant of his 
 property, and affected benevolence and kind-
 
 THE CONVICT. 163 
 
 ness to a man you hated. I understand it all. 
 Sir Arthur ; it was not unnatural, but it was 
 insincere." 
 
 " We had been upon good tenns for many 
 years," replied the baronet, who had now 
 resumed his usual demeanour. 
 
 " Good terms ! " repeated Norries, with a 
 laugh ; '^ well, be it so. You are now keeping 
 up the appearance of good terms with the 
 government which you then opposed, and of 
 which you spoke in language certainly seditious, 
 as it is called, and perhaps treasonable. These 
 things have created a doubt. That doubt must 
 be removed, not by words and professions, not 
 by appearances and pretences, but by acts." 
 
 " Speak plainly," said Sir Arthur Adelon. 
 " What is it that you want r " 
 
 " There is a meeting to be held at twelve 
 o'clock this night in the little towTi of Bar- 
 hampton," said Norries, "where several gen- 
 tlemen, entertaining precisely the same senti- 
 ments which you expressed some eight years 
 m2
 
 164 THE CONVICT. 
 
 ago to the people of Yorkshire, are to take into 
 consideration what decisive measures can be 
 adopted for obtaining those objects which you 
 then professed to seek. I require that you 
 should then join us, and be one of us." 
 
 " Impossible !" cried Sir Arthur Adelon, 
 with a look of consternation and astonishment. 
 *' Would you have me attend a seditious meet- 
 ing at midnight with a man who has fled from 
 the course of justice — I, a magistrate for the 
 county ? " 
 
 A bitter smile came upon the lip of his com- 
 panion ; but he replied immediately, " Even 
 so ! I would, indeed, Sir Arthur. The spirit 
 of patriotism is not so strong in you, it would 
 seem, as the spirit of revenge, or you would 
 not hesitate. But thus much, to end all, one 
 way or the other — you either come, and, if 
 vou do come and frankly join us without any 
 insincerity, receive the papers I have men- 
 tioned; or you stay away, and Mr. Edward 
 Dudley receives them."
 
 THE CONVICT. 165 
 
 " This is unfair," exclaimed Sir Arthur Adelon. 
 
 " Unfair I" replied Xorries; "how unfair, 
 sir ? I am acting according to my conscience, 
 however you may be acting. My only reason 
 for withholding these letters from the person 
 who would have a right to possess them if their 
 suppression were not necessary to the service 
 of my country, is, because I trust that you, 
 whose name and station may be an infinite ad- 
 vantage as a leader of the people hereafter, will 
 put yourself in that position in which no want 
 of moral com'age, no vacillating hesitation can 
 be shown, or would be possible. If you refuse 
 to do so, you will take from me my only motive 
 for not giving them to him who will know how to 
 use them rightly. You will show yourself as in- 
 sincere in your professions of patriotism as you 
 were insincere in your professions of fiiendship ; 
 and I shall then regard you with contempt, and 
 treat you without consideration." 
 
 There was a stem and commanding energy 
 in his manner, which crushed down, as it were.
 
 166 THE CONVICT. 
 
 in the breast of Sir Arthur Adelon the angiy 
 feelings which his impetuous words aroused. 
 He felt cowed in the presence of the bold, fear- 
 less man who addressed him. He remembered, 
 in former times, several traits of his decision 
 and unhesitating vehemence, and he felt sure 
 that he would do as much or more than he 
 said. At first, indeed, anger was predominant ; 
 he gathered himself up, as it were, for a spring; 
 but his heart failed him, and he said, in a mild 
 tone, " You are too fierce — you are too fierce ! 
 Let me consider for a moment how this can be 
 arranged. I am as willing as any one to make 
 sacrifices for my country's advantage ; but first 
 you take me by sui-prise, next you use words 
 and proceed in a manner which are little likely 
 to induce me to trust to your guidance." 
 
 He thought he had got an advantage, and 
 he was proceeding, gi'adually resuming a tone 
 of dignity, when Non'ies stopped him, saying, 
 " Sir Arthur Adelon, there are times and cir-
 
 THE CONVICT. 167 
 
 cumstances which of themselTes, and in their 
 own pressing nature, abridge all ceremonies. 
 If your house were on fire, and you in danger 
 of perishing by the flames, I should not wait 
 for the punctilios of etiquette, but should wake 
 you roughly, sapng, ' Run, run, save yoiu* life 
 and your family !' Sir, I tell you England is 
 on fire, and the time is come for all men to 
 choose their part. The days of weak indiffer- 
 ence are over. Now is the time for decision 
 and action ; but nevertheless, I will not leave 
 you any excuse, but humbly entreat you to 
 come to oiu: meeting to-night, and support with 
 your presence, and your voice, and your influ- 
 ence, those principles which you have asserted 
 warmly on other occasions." 
 
 " But it may be very difficult to manage," 
 said Sir Arthur Adelon ; " I have guests in my 
 house, whom I cannot in courtesy leave with- 
 out some exceedingly good excuse. I am not 
 accustomed to go out at such hours of the
 
 168 THE CONVICT. 
 
 night, and to do so will certainly appear very 
 suspicious, especially under existing circum- 
 stances." 
 
 " All that will be easily arranged," answered 
 Norries. '- You are a magistrate, you say, and 
 may consequently be called upon at any horn- 
 on pressing occasions. You do not, of course, 
 communicate to your family or } our guests the 
 exact business which calls you forth, or the 
 motives for going at one hour rather than an- 
 other; but should anything more be wanting 
 to smoothe the way for you, I will presently 
 write you a note; calling upon you to be at 
 Barhampton to-night at twelve, on matters of 
 importance. I do not think," he added, with a 
 sneering smile, " that even your confessor will 
 ventiu-e to cross-question a gentleman of your 
 independence upon a business with which he 
 has nothing to do." 
 
 " Certainly not," replied Sir Arthur Adelon ; 
 " and I have no objection to -come \ but I can-
 
 THE CONVICT. 169 
 
 not bind myself to anything till I hear upon 
 what measures your friends decide." 
 
 " Xor can I bind myself to anything, then, 
 till I hear upon what you do decide," rejoined 
 Norries. " The papers are yours whenever 
 you act up to your professions. I shall ask 
 nothing more, Sir Arthur. I have a copy of 
 your speech upon an occasion which you well 
 remember ; I will require nothing more of you 
 than to fidfil the pledges therein given, and the 
 moment you prove you are ready so to act, I 
 resign into your hands those letters, of which 
 others might not judge so favourably as I am 
 inclined to judge. Do you promise to come r" 
 
 " I do," answered Sir Arthur Adelon, in a 
 firmer tone than he had hitherto used, but with 
 a ceitain degree of bitterness too. " Yet, 
 Nomes, there are various other thoughts and 
 considerations of deep moment, which our con- 
 versation of to-day suggests. It revives in me 
 the memories and feelings of past years. You
 
 170 THE CONVICT. 
 
 should have considered that these matters had 
 passed away from my mind for a long time ; that 
 of the plans, and hopes, and schemes, and pas- 
 sions of those times, some have been accom- 
 plished or gratified, and have been well nigh 
 forgotten; some, from the utter hopelessness 
 of seeing them accomplished, have faded away, 
 and become more like a vision than a reality. 
 What will not a man do when he is eager and 
 excited with the vehement impulse of fresh 
 feelings and sharp discussions, and the enthu- 
 siasm of those who surround him ? — But take 
 those accessories away, and the purposes them- 
 selves fall into a sleep from which it requires 
 some time and preparation to arouse them into 
 active and energetic being again. You should 
 have considered this, and not pressed me so 
 eagerly without some preparation." 
 
 " Perhaps I should," replied Norries ; " but. 
 Sir Arthur, you have known me long, and have 
 known me to be a brief and abrupt man. My 
 purposes never sleep: my objects never fade —
 
 THE CONVICT. 171 
 
 the one engrossing object of my countiy's fate 
 and the welfare of my fellow-men is never a 
 passing vision to my eyes, but a stem reality 
 ever present, so that I am but little able to 
 comprehend the hesitations of other men." 
 
 Sir Arthiu- Adelon, while the other spoke, 
 had cast down his eyes thoughtfully, as if little 
 attending to the words of his companion ; but 
 when he ceased speaking, he said, in an ab- 
 stracted manner, " This Dudley, too, he has in- 
 truded himself into my family. He is now at 
 Brandon, as you have doubtless heard. The 
 cold, icy hand seemed to seize my heart again 
 when I saw him. I felt as if the spawn of the 
 viper were before me, and as if it were destined 
 that the race were to survive and poison my 
 peace, even when the reptile that first stimg me 
 was crushed." 
 
 Norries gazed at him steadfastly, with his 
 brow contracted ^vith a steady, contemplative, 
 inquiring look ; and then he replied, " I do be- 
 seech you. Sir Arthur Adelon, to banish such
 
 172 THE CONVICT. 
 
 thoughts — to let the faults of the dead, if faults 
 there were, rest with the dead. I think you be- 
 lieve in a God, do you not ? Well, sir, there is 
 a God who will judge him and you. He is gone 
 to receive his judgment; the time will come, 
 ere long, for you to receive yours. In the mean- 
 while, injure not one who has never injured 
 you, and pursue this fell and heinous vengeance 
 no further against the son of one whom you 
 
 once loved " 
 
 " And of one I always hated," answered the 
 baronet, finishing the sentence for him. " But 
 do you not know, Norries, that as the sweetest 
 wine turns soonest to vinegar, so love, wTonged 
 and despised, changes to the bitterest hate ; as 
 for the rest, I purpose pursuing no vengeance 
 against the young man. I wish he would quit 
 my dwelling, for the very feeling of being 
 obliged to maintain a courteous and soft de- 
 meanour towards him, increases the loathing 
 with which I regard him. That is all — that is
 
 THE CONVICT." 17$ 
 
 all, I assure you ; I would do him no harm — 
 but I love him not, nevertheless." 
 
 " I can see that, Sir Arthur Adelon," an- 
 swered his companion ; " and I see, moreover, 
 a dark and sinister fire in your eyes, which I 
 observed once before, when first in my j^resence 
 you mentioned the name of Mr. Dudley to my 
 partner. There were deeds followed that 
 mention, which I need not call to your mind. 
 I trust there will be none such now — uav, nor 
 any attempt towards them ; if there be, I will 
 prevent it. I am not so good a lawyer — in- 
 deed, I know but little of the trade— ^1 am not 
 so good a lawj'er as Mr. Sherborne, but I am 
 a bolder, more resolute, and more honest man. 
 However, I shall see you to-night. Is it not so r" 
 
 " Undoubtedly," answered Sir Arthur Ade- 
 lon ; " but you have not yet told me where I 
 shall find you in Barhampton." 
 
 " You had better go to the little inn — tlie 
 Rose, I think it is called," replied Norries ;
 
 174 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " there is but one. There some one shall come 
 to lead you to us ; for we are upon oiur guard, 
 Sir Arthur, and resolute neither to be taken 
 unawares, as some men have been, nor to act 
 rashly, and bring down destruction on our 
 own heads, as those thoughtless, weak, and 
 poor-spirited men did in Yorkshire." 
 
 " I am very happy to hear it," said the ba- 
 ronet, in a tone of sincerity. " I will be there 
 somewhat before twelve; till then, farewell." 
 And shaking Norries by the hand wdth every 
 sort of apparent cordiality, he left him, and 
 returned to Brandon. But when he had re- 
 entered the house, he retired for some time to 
 the library, not to consider his future conduct, 
 not to review the past. It was, in truth, that 
 the conversation of that morning had aroused 
 within him feelings dark, bitter, and deadly, 
 which had slept for years ; and he felt he could 
 not see Mr. Dudley without calming himself, 
 lest sensations should appear which he wished 
 studiously to conceal from every eye.
 
 THE CONVICT. 175 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 With a quiet, cat-like watchfulness, Mr. Fil 
 mer remarked everything which passed between 
 Eda Brandon and Charles Dudley. It was 
 not words that he laid in wait for, but looks 
 and gestures, the involuntary as well as the 
 voluntary, the trifling as well as the important. 
 Nothing escaped him, not even the accidental 
 trait or the slightest possible indication of a 
 passing emotion. Not the quick glance of the 
 eye, withdrawn as soon as given, not the trem- 
 bling hand nor the quivering lip, not the irre- 
 pressible sigh : not the fit of absence and the
 
 176 THE CONVICT. 
 
 sudden raising of the look to the loved one's 
 face, was unremarked by one who knew human 
 nature well, and had made a trade of observa- 
 tion. " They love," was his conclusion, " and 
 they understand each other. That walk home 
 has concluded what seems to have been begun 
 long ago. Now, then, what good is to be 
 derived from this affair ? " 
 
 It is a common calculation which he made, 
 but one very apt to mislead. Men who see 
 others labouring for the gratification of their 
 passions are often tempted by the opportunity 
 to endeavour to rule them for their own pur- 
 poses, and then whatever event occurs, they 
 ask, " What good is to be derived from this 
 affair ?" But they often miscalculate, because 
 they do not ask themselves also, " Is there 
 an}i;hing to be made of it, with honour and 
 honesty ? " If they did, they might succeed 
 where they every day fail. 
 
 Mr. Tilmer, however, had his own parti- 
 cular views, which led him upon one peculiar
 
 THE CONVICT. 177 
 
 course. His very position gave a direction 
 to all his actions. The Roman priest stands 
 alone amidst the -svorld, separated from all 
 the dearest ties of our nature by an irre- 
 movable barrier. He may have s^-mpathies, 
 but they are curtailed and restricted ; he may 
 have affections, but they are limited and en- 
 thralled. One predominant object is ever be- 
 fore him — one career is fixed for his efforts. 
 He stands alone in the world, I repeat, not so 
 much the servant of God as the servant of a 
 hierarchy, to the interest and advancement of 
 which all his energies must be devoted, and 
 for whose purposes all his talents must be em- 
 ployed. As long as he can bring the satisfac- 
 tion of affections, and the gratification of any 
 passions, within the circle to which the whole 
 course of education fi-om his earliest years has 
 restricted his consciousness of duty, perhaps 
 they may be more strongly — I had almost said 
 more fiercely — exercised from the very fact of 
 their narrow range ; but the moment they 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 THE CONVICT. 
 
 would go beyond that limit, the petrifying in- 
 fluence of an engrossing church comes in, and 
 changes the man into the mere representation 
 of a system. 
 
 Such was the situation of Mr. Filmer. He 
 was by no means without passions, fiery, eager, 
 impetuous ; but they were subdued to the one 
 strict rule, and setting out with that mighty 
 conquest, it was in general more easy for him 
 to subdue the minds of other men also. He 
 was not without considerable abilities — abili- 
 ties approaching genius. He might have been 
 a great man, in short, if he had not been 
 compelled to be an artful man. But for a 
 priest of that chui'ch, in the midst of an adverse 
 population, it is impossible to be otherwise. 
 It is not a religion of openness and candour ; 
 and its means must be covert, its course tor- 
 tuous and indirect. Even in the very case of 
 Mr. Dudley, his passions were not quiescent ; 
 but he was prepared to sacrifice all personal 
 feeling for the one great object of his existence,
 
 THE CONVICT. 179 
 
 and he watched, as I have said, asking himself, 
 " To what uses the events taking j^lace could 
 be applied ?" 
 
 It was not, however, Dudley alone whom he 
 watched, nor Dudley and Eda. Sir Arthur 
 Adelon was also an object of attentive consi- 
 deration during the evening. There was some- 
 thing in his manner which showed the keen 
 eye of the priest that the mind was not at ease, 
 that there was something working within the 
 baronet's bosom ; and he was surprised that it 
 was not revealed to him at once, for the secret 
 of Sir Arthur Adelon's thoughts was hot often 
 concealed from him. The whole of his past 
 life had been displayed before Filmer's eyes, and 
 much which had been taking place had been 
 discussed again and again between them. So 
 far there was nothing to be concealed ; and the 
 priest marvelled that, if anything had gone 
 wrong in the course of Sir Arthur's morning 
 expedition, he could sit for several hours with- 
 out communicating the fact to him. 
 n2
 
 180 THE CONVICT. 
 
 Sir Arthur, however, paused and hesitated; 
 not that he feai'ed at all to recur to the past, 
 but it was his yet unconfinned purposes for the 
 future which he hesitated to reveal. He knew 
 that Filmer was a firmer, more resolute man 
 than himself; he doubted that he would approve 
 any — even the slightest, concession to fear. 
 That he was politic and skilful he knew, and 
 that his policy and skill would be exercised in 
 his patron's behalf he was also fully convinced. 
 But there was a dread upon him, and he appre- 
 hended that the priest would advise measures 
 too bold for his nerves at that time. If he had 
 been forced into vigorous defence. Sir Arthur 
 would have sought his advice at once ; but there 
 was a choice of courses before him ; he hesi- 
 tated ; hesitation is always a weakness, and as 
 such is sure to take the weaker course. Twice, 
 however, during the evening, he caught Filmer's 
 eye resting upon him with a very inquiring look. 
 He judged that he suspected something, and 
 therefore he resolved in the end to tell him a
 
 THE CONVICT. 181 
 
 part — to show him a half-confidence ; deceiving 
 himself, as all men in such circumstances do 
 deceive themselves, and believing that he could 
 to a certain extent deceive Mr. Filmer also, 
 although he had known that clear-sighted and 
 penetrating man for seven-and-twenty years. 
 
 The dinner passed most cheerfully with all 
 but Sir Arthur Adelon. Lord Hadley was in 
 great spmts; and, seated next Eda, he made 
 himself as agreeable as moderate talents, gentle- 
 manly manners, and no very decided character 
 would admit. Dudley was calm, by no means 
 so gay as his young companion ; but yet the 
 happiness that was in his heart, like a lamp 
 within an alabaster um, spread light and cheer- 
 fulness over all. Mr. Filmer was, as usual, 
 composed and tranquil in his manner; at times 
 impressive in his language, but often adding to 
 the gaiety of others by a quiet jest or epigram- 
 matic reply, which derived additional force from 
 his seeming unconscious of its possessing any. 
 Eda left the table verj- soon after the dessert
 
 182 THE CONVICT. 
 
 had appeared. There were those things in her 
 bosom which made her feel happy in the soli- 
 tude of her own chamber. Thought, calm, 
 uninterrupted thought, was at that moment 
 very sweet to her. She loved and was beloved ; 
 and she had the grand satisfaction of feeling 
 that she had it in her power to raise one to 
 whom her affections had been given for years, 
 who possessed her highest esteem, and who, 
 she knew, well deserved high station, from 
 unmerited misfortunes to the position which he 
 was born to ornament. It was indeed a bless- 
 ing, and Eda went and pondered upon it till 
 her eyes filled with pleasant tears. 
 
 For about a quarter of an hour after she had 
 gone. Sir Arthur Adelon continued at the table, 
 passing the wine with somewhat nervous haste, 
 and keeping up a broken conversation from 
 which his thoughts were often absent. At 
 length he said, speaking across the table, " Fil- 
 mer, my reverend friend, I wish to speak with 
 you for a few minutes — Lord Hadley, Mr.
 
 THE CONVICT. 183 
 
 Dudley, you must not suffer the wine to stand 
 while we are absent j I shall be back almost 
 immediately." And he led the way out of the 
 room. 
 
 Filmer followed him with a quiet smile, say- 
 ing to himself, as he walked along towards the 
 library, " "What men do timidly they always do 
 awkwardly; in that they are different from 
 women, in whom timidity is grace. Adelon 
 has had twenty opportunities of speaking to 
 me, and has of course chosen the worst." 
 
 " Well, Filmer," said the bai'onet, almost 
 before the door was closed, " I have some- 
 thing to talk to you about of great importance." 
 
 " I thought so. Sir Arthur," answered Mr. 
 Filmer. " What is it ?" 
 
 " Why did you think so r" inquired his 
 friend, somewhat surprised, and somewhat ap- 
 prehensive. 
 
 " Because it seemed to me that you had 
 been annoyed at something," replied Filmer. 
 " When you are uneasy. Sir Arthur, it is soon
 
 184 THE CONVICT. 
 
 perceived — too soon, indeed. The young and 
 unobserving may not remark such things, but 
 one who has been, I trust I may say, your 
 fi'iend for so many years, can perceive when 
 you are uneasy in a moment; and a very 
 shrewd judge of men's feelings and actions, 
 which I do not pretend to be, would, I doubt not, 
 discover the uneasiness, even without having 
 had the advantage of such long acquaintance." 
 
 These words, as he intended, added to the 
 embarrassment which Sir Arthur already felt ; 
 but nevertheless he pursued his course, endea- 
 vouring, as far as possible, to conceal that he 
 had any concealment. " Well, Filmer, well," 
 he said, " men cannot alter their natures, you 
 know ; and the matter is one which might well 
 cause uneasiness. You recollect that affair of 
 Charles Dudley. You do not at all doubt that 
 this is his son who is here ?" 
 
 " No," answered Mr. Filmer, drily ; " but 
 we knew that last night. I certainly did, 
 from the moment I saw the back of his head,
 
 THE CONVICT. 185 
 
 and your face left no doubt that you had 
 made the same discoverv." ^ 
 
 " The very first sight of him," answered Sir 
 Arthur Adelon, bitterly, " and the feelings, 
 which that sight produced, left me no doubt of 
 who it was that stood before me. But listen a 
 moment, Filmer — listen a moment. There is 
 much more behind. You remember well that 
 business of Charles Dudley, I say — of him 
 who was my friend and companion, my rival 
 and my enemy, and, last, my acquaintance " 
 
 '• And your victim," murmured Filmer, in so 
 low a tone that Sir Arthur Adelon did not 
 remark the words, but added, " — and my debtor. 
 You doubtless also remember the election 
 which we contested, and my lawyers, Messrs. 
 Sherborne and Xorries ?" 
 
 " Perfectly," answered Filmer ; " the one the 
 soul of policy and inti'igue —shrewd, penetrat- 
 ing, subtle, and faithless ; the other, the incar- 
 nation of republican energy' and determination 
 — rash and inconsiderate, though full of vigour
 
 186 THE CONVICT. 
 
 and ability. He was implicated, a short time 
 ago, in the Chartist insurrection, apprehended 
 with his fellows, if I remember right, and 
 thrust into York jail " 
 
 "Whence he made his escape in two or 
 three days," rejoined Sir Arthur Adelon ; " it 
 would be a strong prison that would keep him 
 in. However, Sherborne is dead; Norries, 
 alive, well, and in this countiy." 
 
 " That is no great matter, then," answered 
 Mr. Filmer ; " Sherborne was the dangerous 
 man, and he is gone. All your communica- 
 tions were with him, my good friend — at least, 
 as far I know, and I think I saw every letter." 
 
 The words, " I think," were spoken in a 
 somewhat doubtful tone, as if he did not feel 
 quite sure of the extent of Sir Arthur's confi- 
 dence ; but the baronet replied, eagerly, "Every 
 one, Filmer; and indeed, as you well know, 
 many of them were dictated by yourself." 
 
 " True !" said the priest — " true ! I am 
 happy to say they were — I say I am happy,
 
 THE CONVICT. 187 
 
 Sir Artliur, because it was but right that man 
 should receive a check. Not contented with 
 marrj^ing a lady of the only true church, who 
 was promised by her relations to one of their 
 own just and reasonable belief, he peiTcrted 
 her from the path of truth into that of error, 
 and in twelve months had filled her mind with 
 all the foulest doctrines of that heresy in 
 which he had himself been brought up. It 
 was just and right, Su* Arthur, that he should 
 not be permitted to go on in such a course, 
 and that he should feel even here the conse- 
 quences of those acts." 
 
 " Yes ; but, my dear fi'iend," replied Sir 
 Arthiu- Adelon, "those papers are of much 
 importance, let nie tell you. Both your cha- 
 racter and mine are compromised if they 
 should ever see the light " 
 
 " But you told me they were burned," said 
 Mr. Filmer, with a countenance less firm and 
 tranquil than usual. 
 
 "Yes, so Sherborne assured me most so-
 
 188 THE CONVICT. 
 
 lemnly," replied Sir Arthur Adelon; "but 
 nevertheless it is not the truth. They are all 
 in the hands of this Norries, and he is using 
 every possible means to render them available 
 for his own pmposes." 
 
 This was, as the reader knows, substan- 
 tially true ; for Sir Arthur Adelon was one 
 of those men who do not like to tell a direct 
 falsehood, even when it is their intention 
 to deceive ; and he intended his words to 
 convey to the mind of the priest a very dif- 
 ferent impression of Nonies' intentions, while 
 he could always fall back upon the precise 
 terms he had employed, and put a larger inter- 
 pretation upon them than Mr. Filmer was 
 likely to do at the moment. 
 
 The priest mused. " Why, what can he do 
 with them ?" he demanded, at length, still in a 
 thoughtful tone. " They can be of little ser- 
 vice to him. The time is long past; the cir- 
 cumstances altogether forgotten. Charles 
 Dudley, of St. Austin's, is dead "
 
 THE CONVICT. 189 
 
 " But his son is living," replied the baronet, 
 quickly, impatient that his companion did not 
 see the importance of the documents at once — 
 " his son is living ; Norries knows that he is 
 here, and he threatens to place the whole of 
 the papers in his hands." 
 
 " That might be unpleasant, certainly," an- 
 swered Filmer ; " although you had every right 
 to act as you did act — at least such I humbly 
 judge to be the case — yet one would not like to 
 have all one's private and confidential commu- 
 nications to a solicitor exposed to the eyes of 
 an adversary's son." 
 
 " Like !" exclaimed Sir Arthur, vehemently ; 
 " Filmer, you use wonderfully cold terms to- 
 night. Why, it would be ruin and destruction! 
 Call to mind, I beg of you, all the particulars 
 of the transaction. Remember what was done 
 to lead him on from expense to expense in that 
 business. Remember all which that man Sher- 
 borne suggested, and which we executed. — The 
 matter of the petition, too, against his return,
 
 190 THE CONVICT. 
 
 and what was arranged between our people 
 and his otvti agents, and the business of the 
 flaw in the title — you must have forgotten, I 
 think." 
 
 " Oh ! no," rejDlied the priest ; '' I have not 
 forgotten, Sir Arthur, and I say it would be 
 unpleasant, very unpleasant. — What does this 
 person Norries ask for the papers ?" 
 
 "Oh! a great deal," answered Sir Arthur 
 Adelon, still speaking with that sort of mental 
 reservation which he had learned betimes; 
 "more than I am inclined to grant — a gi*eat 
 deal more; but I shall see him to-night. I 
 have an appointment with him at Barhampton, 
 and shall there learn what is the real extent of 
 his demand." 
 
 The priest meditated for several minutes, 
 with a grave and somewhat anxious counte- 
 nance. " Norries," he said, at length, " was a 
 wild and somewhat eccentric man, but, as far 
 as I could judge, a just and honest one. His 
 views, too, though somewhat excessive, as his
 
 THE CONVICT. 191 
 
 acts were occasionally ill-timed, were all in a 
 right direction. I am afraid, Sir Arthur, we 
 have fallen back fi'om the ground we then 
 occupied. The truth is, my excellent friend, 
 the Church of Rome, as it is called, the Catholic 
 Church, as it really is, has not that tendency 
 which men suppose towards the aristocratic 
 distinctions which have risen up in this land. 
 It might place upon its banner the words 
 'Civil libert}', spiritual submission.' It reve- 
 rences all ancient things, amongst the rest, 
 ancient blood. But is certainly opposed to an 
 aristocracy springing from the people, and 
 founded upon wealth, although in itself it may 
 be termed a spiritual republic, in which every 
 man, according to his genius and ability, can, 
 with the grace of God, rise to the veiy highest 
 of its gi'ades, even to the chair of St. Peter 
 itself. — We have often seen it. — But, as is the 
 case in all republics, the utmost submission is 
 required to the ruling power, although there is 
 always a corrective for the misuse of power
 
 192 THE CONVICT. 
 
 in the synods and councils. It is a hierarchy, 
 indeed, but a hierarchy open to all men ; 
 and, as a hierarchy, it is opposed to the 
 domination of all lay powers, which are ever 
 inclined to resist the milder influence of spiri- 
 tual powers." 
 
 " But what has all this to do with the ques- 
 tion ?" exclaimed Sir Arthur Adelon, not com- 
 prehending what the reader has perhaps per- 
 ceived — that the priest was carrying on in words 
 one train of reasoning, very loosely connected 
 with the immediate subject, while in thought 
 he was revolving more pertinently all the difii- 
 cult points that were before him. 
 
 " What I mean to say is this," replied Mr. 
 Filmer. " Men consider it strange that Roman 
 Catholics should, from time to time, give their 
 support to movements savouring of republi- 
 canism ; and that persons, whose views tend to 
 republicanism, should often link themselves 
 closely with Catholics ; but, as I have shown, 
 the connexion is not at all unnatural, and the
 
 THE CONVICT. 193 
 
 views of this good man Norries might well be, 
 as they were, supported by ourselves, even 
 were it not perfectly right and justifiable, in the 
 pursuit of a gi-eat and all-important religious 
 object, to combine even with men the most 
 opposed to us in the minor points of politics, 
 when, by so doing, we see the probability of 
 advancing the truth." 
 
 " What ! would you have me, then, join vdih 
 him now?" exclaimed Sir Arthur, in consider- 
 able surprise ; for the arguments of Father 
 Peter went so directly to support the induce- 
 ments held out by Nonies, that the baronet 
 could hardly persuade himself there had not 
 been some communication between the Chartist 
 and the priest. 
 
 "I did not exactly say that," answered 
 Filmer. "Men's \-iews fi-equently undergo a 
 change in a few years. I know not what this 
 man's opinions may now be. He was then an 
 eager advocate for perfect freedom of religious 
 opinions — he was then for sweeping awa} 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 THE CONVICT. 
 
 altogether what they call here the Church of 
 the State, and leaving every man to follow 
 what creed he thinks best." 
 
 " But, surely, my reverend fiiend," exclaimed 
 Sir Arthur Adelon, "such are principles you 
 would never support or even tolerate. It was 
 in his religious views alone that I differed from 
 Norries." 
 
 The priest smiled with one of those calm, 
 sagacious smiles that have a certain though 
 moderate portion of triumph in them, the 
 triumph of superior astuteness. " I would sup- 
 port them for their hour," he said. " I remem- 
 ber hearing of a wise stratagem practised by a 
 great general who was besieging a refractory 
 city. The inhabitants had dammed up a river 
 which ran on one side of the town, and thus had 
 defended their walls on that side from all 
 attack. The dam or barrier which they had 
 constructed was immediately under the fire of 
 one of their strongest works, so that it was 
 unassailable ; but the general of whom I speak,
 
 THE CONVICT. 196 
 
 by a week's hard labom-, turned the course of 
 a still larger river into that which served for 
 their defence, and the mighty torrent, rushing 
 down, swept away the barriers altogether. The 
 river resumed its equal flow, and the attacking 
 army, marching on, took the town by storm on 
 the very side where it had been judged im- 
 pregnable. Now, my dear fiiend, the Catholic 
 religion is the attacking anny ; the revolted and 
 besieged city is this country of England ; the 
 overflowed river which defends us is moderate 
 toleration of opinion ; the barrier which keeps 
 the waters up is the heretical church of this 
 country, and we have nought to do but to pour 
 the torrent of licentious freedom against that 
 barrier till it is quite overthrown, in order to 
 have a clear way for our march, and to secure 
 our ultimate triumph." 
 
 The baronet paused and mused for several 
 
 moments, partly considering the new views 
 
 which his companion had propounded, partly 
 
 debating with himself as to whether he should 
 
 o2
 
 196 THE CONVICT. 
 
 make his confidence more complete than he 
 had at first intended, and before he replied, Mr. 
 Filmer went on again. " I do not mean to say, 
 Sir Arthur," he continued, " that I would advise 
 you to take any rash or dangerous step ; and 
 indeed, on the contrary, I think you had a great 
 deal better, while you give encouragement to 
 the moral movement, oppose most strongly all 
 appeal to force, till the country is far more pre- 
 pared for it than at present. To show yourself 
 upon their side may give vigour to their pro- 
 ceedings, may gain many adherents to range 
 themselves openly with them, who are merely 
 restrained by fear and timidity, and may assist 
 them in raising that prestige of power, numbers 
 and respectability, which, if it can be maintained, 
 conquers in the end all opposition ; for, as you 
 are well aware, so curiously constituted is the 
 mind of this nation, that no question, however 
 absurd, no view, however false, no measure, 
 however evil and detrimental, will not gain the 
 adherence of the great multitude, if they can
 
 THE CONVICT. 197 
 
 once be taught to believe, by truth or falsehood, 
 that it is supported by numbers and by respect- 
 ability. I have no doubt, that if I could show, 
 or rather, if I could persuade, the people of 
 England that there are a million or two of 
 atheists in the land demanding the abolition of 
 all religious worship whatsoever, the gi-eat body 
 of the people would be easily induced to 
 renounce their God, and endeavour to sweep 
 away every trace of religion from the land. 
 There is no being on the face of the earth so 
 susceptible of moral contagion as an English- 
 man.'* 
 
 " It is a dark view of the case," said Sir 
 Arthur Adelon. 
 
 " But a true one," answered Filmer, " other- 
 wise England would have been still Catholic. — 
 However, to return to these papers. You say 
 you will see Norries again to-night ; you must 
 then discover what is the extent of his demand. 
 I would make him no promises, were I in your 
 place, till I had had time for thought and deli-
 
 198 THE CONVICT. 
 
 beration — neither would I refuse anything that 
 he might demand, that is to say, not absolutely, 
 till we have consulted together. — I will go with 
 you, if you like, to speak with him." 
 
 " I do not think he would open his views 
 before another," said Sir Arthur, hastily ; " but 
 as it is well, my reverend friend, to be pre- 
 pared against the worst, let us consider what 
 must be done should this man's views be very 
 exorbitant, and should he refuse all time for 
 deliberation." 
 
 " Then you must say No, of course," replied 
 Filmer ; and we will take measures against his 
 measures." 
 
 "I see none that we can take," answered 
 the baronet, gloomily. " He would instantly 
 place the papers in this young man's hands, 
 and then min, and destruction, and disgrace 
 would be the consequence." 
 
 " Should you find that thereis danger of his 
 doing so suddenly," was Mr. Filmer's reply, 
 " we must deal with Mr. Dudley ourselves,
 
 THE CONVICT. 19i 
 
 either in attaching him to us by bringing him 
 over to the true faith again, or " 
 
 " There is no chance of that — there is no 
 chance of that !" exclaimed the baronet, inter- 
 rupting him, and waving his hand impatiently. 
 " Filmer, you think your eloquence can do 
 everything ; but you would as soon move the 
 church of St. Peter, and set it down in the 
 capital of England, as you would bring back 
 to the true faith one of that stubborn race of 
 heretics !" 
 
 " You are prejudiced, my friend," replied 
 Filmer, calmly ; " but do not suppose that I 
 rely upon my own eloquence. It can do 
 nothing but by strength from on high, and the 
 voice of the true church is powerful. Still, tem- 
 poral means must be employed as well ; and I 
 see a way before me of so completely rendering 
 it his interest, notwithstanding every cause of 
 enmity he may have, to bury all past deeds in 
 oblivion, to seek your friendship rather than your 
 hate, and, I trust, even to return to the bosom
 
 200 THE CONVICT. 
 
 of the church, that I am not without very great 
 hopes of success. Should those hopes prove 
 vain, however, my dear Sir Arthur, — should he 
 show himself deaf to the voice of truth, obsti- 
 nate in error, and revengeful and rancorous 
 in disposition, we must use the right of self- 
 defence, which every creature has, and, in a 
 firm, determined spirit, but with prudent skill, 
 retort upon him any attack he may make upon 
 you, and, without hesitation or fear, aim blow 
 after blow, till he either sinks beneath the 
 assault, oris driven to flight for safety." 
 
 His brow gathered into a stern and deter- 
 mined frown as he spoke; and Sir Arthur 
 Adelon so well knew his unflinching resolution 
 in the hour of danger, and his keen and subtle 
 policy in the time of difficulty, that he gained 
 courage from the courage of his companion, 
 and smiled with some bitter satisfaction at the 
 thought of pursuing the vengeance he had 
 already heaped upon the father to the destruc-
 
 THE CONVICT. 201 
 
 tion of the son likewise. He only ventured to 
 obsers'e, "How either of these two objects is 
 to be accomplished T do not see." 
 
 " Leave that to me," answered Filmer, in a 
 confident tone. "I think you have never known 
 me fail, Sir Arthur, in that which I promised 
 you to perform. I will mature my plans, pre- 
 pare my ground for either course ; and though 
 there may be difficulties which would startle a 
 weak, irresolute, or unpractised mind, they 
 alarm not me. On the contrary, I often think 
 it is a blessing of God that I am placed in a 
 calm and tranquil position of life, and have 
 embraced a sacred profession, which rules and 
 regulates the turbulent impulses of our natiure; 
 for I feel a sort of expansion of mind and re- 
 joicing of heart when circumstances compel me 
 to struggle with intricate and perilous difficulties, 
 and overcome stubborn and apparently insur- 
 mountable obstacles, which might have led me, 
 had I not been excluded fi'om mundane things.
 
 202 THE CONVICT. 
 
 into the strife and toil and degrading greatness 
 of mere earthly ambition." 
 
 It is probable that he really believed what he 
 said ; for there is no man who does not deceive 
 himself more or less, and those who from pas- 
 sion, or interest, or education, or any other 
 evil inducement, fall into the darkest errors, 
 are those who are in most need of self-decep- 
 tion. He thought deeply for a moment or two 
 after he had spoken, and there was a gloomy 
 look of pride upon his countenance, too, as if 
 he even regretted that in which he pretended to 
 rejoice — a shadow from the fallen archangel's 
 wing. But then again he roused himself with 
 a start, and said, in an ordinary and composed 
 tone, " We will talk over our old plans early 
 to-morrow, Sir Arthur ; you had better now go 
 to your conference." 
 
 " Not yet," said Sir Arthur, rising. " It is 
 not to take place till twelve. But we must 
 rejoin those young men, or they may tliink our
 
 THE CONVICT. 203 
 
 prolonged absence strange." Thus saying, he 
 led the way to the door, and Filmer only de- 
 tained him to add one sentence. 
 
 " Remember," he said, " do not commit your- 
 self."
 
 204 THE CONVICT. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The town of Barhampton — or rather, that 
 town which it suits me so to denominate — is 
 one of no great importance in point of size, 
 and of no great commerce, for railroads have 
 not yet reached it ; and the nearest point which 
 had been attained by any of those strange con- 
 trivances for hurrying man through life and 
 through a country, lay at the distance of nearly 
 fifty miles at the time of which I speak. 
 Nevertheless, it was a sea-port; and had it 
 been near the capital, near any important 
 town, or situated in a thickly-populated dis-
 
 THE CONVICT. 205 
 
 trict, it possessed several considerable advan- 
 tages, which would have secured to it, in all 
 probability, an extensive and lucrative trade. 
 It had a very nice small harbour, for which man 
 had done something and nature much. The 
 water was deep therein ; and had there been 
 room for one of the unwieldy monsters of the 
 deep, a three-decker might have lain at anchor 
 there with six fathom under her keel. But the 
 harbour was very small, and had a line-of- 
 battle ship attempted it, her boom would pro- 
 bably have knocked down the harbour-master's 
 office, at the end of the little jetty, while her 
 bowsprit entered the Lord Nelson j^ublic-house 
 by the windows of the first floor. Boats and 
 coasters, of from thirty to ninety tons, could 
 come in at all times of tide, but nothing larger 
 was seen in the harbour of Barhampton. 
 
 Outside the harbour, however, in what was 
 called the bay, especially when the wind set 
 strong from the south-west, a very different 
 scene was displayed, for there nature seemed
 
 206 THE CONVICT. 
 
 to have laboured alone on a far grander scale. 
 Two high and rocky promontories, at some 
 points about a mile and a half apart, stretched 
 forth from the general line of the coast into the 
 sea, like two gigantic piers. One, following the 
 line of the high ridge which crowned it, was 
 nearly straight ; the other swept round in the 
 arc of a large circle, projecting considerably 
 farther into the ocean than the other, but gra- 
 dually approaching, in its sweep, the opposite 
 promontory ; so that, at the entrance of this 
 magnificent bay, the passage was not more 
 than half a mile in width. Few winds, of all 
 those to which mariners have given name, 
 affected in any great degree the deep still 
 waters within that high and mountainous circle ; 
 and there, when tempests were raging without, 
 might be seen riding, in calm security, the rich 
 argosie and the stately ship of war. No car- 
 goes, however, were now disembarked at Bar- 
 hampton, except those of the small vessels 
 which entered the harbour, and which supplied
 
 THE CONVICT. 207 
 
 the town and the neighbouring country with 
 a variety of miscellaneous articles of ordinary 
 use. 
 
 Nevertheless, in former times, the town, it 
 would appear, must have been a place of some 
 importance. Rising up the slopes of the hills, 
 from the brink of the harbour, its narrow, tor- 
 tuous, ill-lighted, unswept, and dilapidated- 
 looking streets reached the summit of the high 
 ground, where a number of superior houses 
 were to be found, somewhat stately in appear- 
 ance, antique in form, and cold and formal in 
 aspect, except, indeed, where a cheerful little 
 garden interposed, blushing with china-astres, 
 dahlias, and other autumnal flowers. Yet even 
 these could not give it an air of life, or if 
 they did at all, it was an air of vegetable life. 
 There was no movement, there was no activity 
 in it. It seemed as if everybody in the place 
 was dead, except a few men who had come 
 in to bury the rest. Beyond these houses of 
 the better classes, as rich people are called.
 
 208 THE CONVICT. 
 
 were some poorer dwellings, descending the 
 slope on the opposite side of the ridge; and 
 beyond these again, came the ancient walls of 
 the town, built and perfected when Barhampton 
 was a place of strength. 
 
 The town had not, indeed, been dismantled 
 even yet, but it had been disarmed ; and 
 now, instead of large cannon and soldiers, 
 " bearded like pard," the broad ramparts dis- 
 played the nursery-maids and the little chil- 
 dren of the citizens flirting with apprentices, 
 or peeping out of empty embrasures, or, on 
 the Sunday, the great mass of the inhabitants 
 of the town walking in gay attire, enjoying the 
 fine air, and gazing over the wide prospect. 
 Round about, nearly in the shape of a horse- 
 shoe, from one point of the harbour to the 
 other, enclosing the whole city, if it could be 
 so called, within their area, swe])t those old 
 walls, time-worn, and lichen-covered, and loaded 
 with snapdragon. No mason's trowel, no busy 
 chisel, had been employed upon them for more 
 than two centuries, and the hard knocks of
 
 THE CONVICT. 209 
 
 Oliver Cromwell's cannon had left traces still 
 unobliterated even by the equalizing hand of 
 time. 
 
 The external appearance of the place was 
 not at all deceptive. The march of improve- 
 ment was not a quick march in Barhampton. 
 In fact, in the space of fifty years, but one im- 
 provement had been made in the town, and the 
 audacious and refoiming mayor, who had sanc- 
 tioned, recommended, and successfully cai-ried 
 out this act of innovation, had been held in 
 execration ever since by a very considerable 
 portion of his fellow-townsmen. The deed I 
 speak of was the enlargement of the High- 
 street, and the giving it as near as possible a 
 straight-forward direction. It would now admit 
 two carriages, or even wagons, abreast in every 
 part ; fonnerly only one could pass, except at 
 particular places, where a greater expansion 
 had been purposely given to the road, in order 
 to prevent the comers up and goers down from 
 jamming each other together immovably. In 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 THE CONVICT. 
 
 previous times, also, this street had pursued a 
 sort of zigzag direction, which nearly doubled 
 its length, and this had evidently been done, 
 not for the pui-pose of avoiding the acclivities, 
 but rather for that of finding them out; for 
 even in going down the hill, carriages had to 
 mount as often, though not so far at any one 
 time, as they had to descend; and in coming 
 up, one rise seemed only to be overcome in 
 order to go down and seek for another. 
 
 The same innovating magistrate who had 
 committed the heinous act of straightening and 
 widening the street, had expressed an antipathy 
 to the old town gates, and their heavy oaken 
 doors, with portcullis and draw-bridge ; but the 
 whole town rose as one man to resist his rash 
 and honible proceedings. In vain he showed 
 that more than one horse had taken fright in 
 going over the clattering, rickety, old bridge ; 
 in vain he pointed out that a very respectable 
 old lady had broken her neck at the same spot 
 by a fall into the ditch. The people said that
 
 THE CONVICT. 211 
 
 the horses were mad and the lady drunk, to do 
 such things, and the mayor died, like all great 
 patriots, before he saw his schemes for the im- 
 provement of his native place carried into full 
 accomphshment. 
 
 Thirty years had passed since the reign of 
 this potentate, and a change had come over the 
 spirit of the people of Barhampton. There 
 were many great reformers in the place — men 
 who sighed for a complete change in all things 
 — who stood up for the rights and liberties of 
 the people — who would have all men permitted 
 to sell gin and cordial compounds from any 
 hour at which they chose to begin, to any hour 
 at which they chose to end — who corrected 
 municipal abuses, and castigated corrupt parish- 
 officers — who worried the mayor, tormented the 
 aldermen, bored the county magistrates and 
 members of parliament, abused the overseers, 
 and set even the beadle at nought. But in the 
 mending of their ways, they still forgot to mend 
 the ways of the city: that did not come imder 
 p2
 
 212 THE CONVICT. 
 
 their notions of reform. They refused a church- 
 rate, and therefore coukl not be expected to 
 vote a paving and lighting rate. They objected 
 to all taxes of all kinds, and most of all they 
 objected to tax themselves. They evaded im- 
 posts wherever they could ; paid grumblingly 
 those they were compelled to pay; cheated the 
 customs by prescrij^tion, and the excise by 
 cunning; and thought themselves pure and im- 
 maculate if they only defrauded the state and 
 escaped the law. How often is it with men, 
 that punishment rather than crime is considered 
 disgraceful ! 
 
 But I must not moralize upon the little com- 
 munity of Barhampton. Things went on in- 
 creasing and prospering with the reformers. 
 At first they were moved apparently by nothing 
 but the pure spirit of innovation ; but there 
 were some men of more mind amongst them 
 than the rest ; and having all agreed upon the 
 necessity of gi-eat and sweeping changes in 
 church, state, and municipality, they proceeded
 
 THE CONVICT. 213 
 
 to inqiiire what sort of changes were desirable. 
 They instructed themselves in what other 
 people demanded, and thus the reforming part 
 of the population divided itself into three dis- 
 tinct portions, consisting of Whigs, Radicals, 
 and Chartists. Amongst the former were some 
 of the most respectable and dullest men of the 
 town : the Radicals comprised the gi-eat body of 
 the mob-ocracy. The Chartists were men of 
 enthusiastic temperaments, sincere and eager 
 characters, and in many instances, of consider- 
 able powers of mind. They saw great social 
 evils, magnified their extent by the force of 
 imagination, and, unaccustomed to any of the 
 details of public business, perceived but one 
 remedy for the sickness of the state, and ima- 
 gined that remedy to be a panacea for all ills. 
 Moral force was a good thing in their eyes, but 
 physical force they thought a better. They 
 believed themselves prepared for all contin- 
 gencies ; they imagined themselves ready to 
 shed their blood in support of that which they
 
 214 THE CONVICT. 
 
 never doubted to be good ; they dreamed of 
 the crown of martyrdom in their country's 
 service ; and, in short, they were political 
 fanatics, though not a small portion of true 
 patriotism lay at the bottom of their yearnings 
 for revolution. On most occasions, the Radicals 
 would join with them, and therefore the 
 Chartists looked upon them for the time as 
 brothers ; but the union was not solid, and in 
 more important matters still, the Radicals were 
 disposed to support the Whigs. This fact began 
 to be felt a little before the period at which my 
 tale opens. The Chartists imagined that they 
 perceived a greater sympathy in many points 
 between themselves and the Tories, than be- 
 tween themselves and the Whigs; that there was 
 more real philanthropy, a greater wish to see 
 the condition of the lower classes materially 
 improved, amongst persons of Tory principle, 
 than in any other class. But there were also 
 fundamental differences, w^hich rendered perfect 
 assimilation with them impossible, and though
 
 THE CONVICT. 215 
 
 they regarded the Tories with a kindly feeling, 
 they could not unite with them for any great 
 object. 
 
 Such was briefly the state of the town, 
 physical and moral, when the carriage of Sir 
 Arthur Adelon rolled through the gates, which 
 had notbeen closed for half a century; and a drag 
 having been put on, it began to descend slowly 
 the principal street of the place. In that prin- 
 cipal street was situated the small inn called 
 the Rose, which, though there were numerous 
 public-houses, was the only place which kept 
 post-horses, and honoured itself by the name of 
 Hotel. The streets were miserably dark, and 
 nearly deserted, and Sir Arthur Adelon felt a 
 little nervous and uneasy at the thought of what 
 was before him. 
 
 In the heat of blood and party strife, men 
 will go boldly and straight-forwardly towards 
 objects pointed out by principles in their own 
 mind, and will seek those objects and assert 
 those principles at the risk of life and fortune,
 
 210 THE CONVICT. 
 
 and all that makes life and fortune desirable. 
 But they proceed upon the same course with very 
 different feelings when, in calmness and tran- 
 quillity, after a long cessation of turmoil and 
 contest, they return to the same paths, even 
 though their general views rnay remain un- 
 changed, and they may think their purposes as 
 laudable as ever. 
 
 Such was the case with Sir Arthur Adelon. 
 Perhaps, if one looked closely into his heart, 
 and could see, not only what was in it at the 
 present moment, but what I may call the his- 
 tory of his sensations, we should find that his 
 having embraced the extreme views which he 
 entertained had originated in mortified vanity 
 and an embittered spirit. An early disappoint- 
 ment, acting upon a haughty and somewhat 
 vindictive temper, had soured his feelings 
 towards society in general ; and when, shortly 
 afterwards, he had met a check, by the refusal 
 of a peerage which he thought he had well 
 merited, a bitter disgust succeeded towards in- 
 stitutions in which he was excluded from the
 
 THE CONVICT. 217 
 
 high position he had coveted, and he became 
 anxious to throw down other men from a position 
 which he could not attain. It was by no regular 
 process of reasoning from these premises that he 
 arrived at the extremely democratical opinions 
 which he often loudly proclaimed; but the 
 events of his early life gave a general bias to 
 his thoughts, which led him step by step to the 
 violent views which he announced in two con- 
 tested elections in Yorkshire ; and at the pre- 
 sent time, though he had sunk into temporary 
 apathy, his notions were not at all moderated 
 even by years and experience. He was not 
 inclined, indeed, to risk so much, or to engage 
 in such rash enterprises, as he might have done 
 in the hasty days of youth; but the long- 
 buried seeds were still in his mind, and it only 
 required warmth and cultivation to make them 
 spring up as green and fresh as ever. Never- 
 theless, he approached discussions in which he 
 felt he might be carried beyond the point 
 where prudence counselled him to stop, with a 
 great degree of nervous anxiety ; and he almost
 
 218 THE CONVICT. 
 
 hoped, as his carriage stopped at the inn door, 
 and no signs of waking life appeared but the 
 solitary lamp over the little portico, that some 
 accident might have prevented the meeting. The 
 next instant, however, a light shone through the 
 glass door, and a waiter appearing, approached 
 the step of the carriage, saying, " The gentle- 
 man told me to tell you. Sir Arthur, that he 
 would be back in a few minutes." 
 
 The baronet bit his lip — there was now no 
 escaping ; and following the waiter to a sitting- 
 room, he ordered some sherry, and took two or 
 three glasses, but they did not raise his spirits. 
 All was silent in the town ; not a sound was 
 heard but the sighing of the breeze from the 
 bay, and a faint sort of roar, which might be 
 the wind in the chimney, or the breaking of 
 the sea upon the shore. Solemn and slow, 
 vibrating in the air long after each stroke, the 
 great clock of the old church struck twelve; 
 and Sir Arthur Adelon muttered to himself, 
 " I will not wait, at all events — they cannot
 
 THE CONVICT. 219 
 
 expect me to wait." One, two, three minutes 
 passed by, and the baronet rose, and was ap- 
 proaching the bell, when the foot of the waiter 
 was heard running up the stairs, and the door 
 was opened. 
 
 " The gentleman, sir," said the waiter ; and 
 entering more slowly, a stout, hard-featured, 
 red-haired man appeared, well dressed, and, 
 though clumsily made, not of an ungentlemanly 
 appearance. Sir Arthur had never seen his 
 face before, and gazed on him with some sur- 
 prise; but the stranger waited till the door 
 was closed again, and then advancing, with a 
 slight bow, he said, " Sir Arthur Adelon, I 
 believe ?" 
 
 " The same, sir," replied the baronet. " I 
 expected to find another gentleman here. 
 May I ask whom I have the honour of ad- 
 dressing ? " 
 
 " My name, sir, is Mac Dermot," replied 
 the stranger ; " and my friend, Mr. Norries, 
 who is probably the person you allude to.
 
 220 THE CONVICT. 
 
 would have been here to receive you, but being 
 detained with some preliminary business, he 
 requested me to come hither, and be your guide 
 a little farther in the town." 
 
 The name given was information sufficient 
 to Sir Arthur Adelon regarding the person 
 before him. He saw one of the chief leaders 
 of the great, though somewhat wild and ill- 
 directed movement in which he himself had 
 taken, as yet, a very inconsiderable part. He 
 felt that his very communication with such a 
 man compromised him in a high degree ; 
 and he was anxious to ascertain how much 
 Mac Dermot really knew of his affairs before 
 he proceeded farther. He therefore slowly 
 drew on his gloves, and took up his hat, 
 saying, " I am very happy to see you, Mr. 
 Mac Dermot. I suppose my old acquaintance, 
 Mr. Nonies, has made you acquainted with the 
 various circumstances in which he has been 
 connected with me ?" 
 
 " Not particularly," replied his companion.
 
 THE CONVICT. 221 
 
 " He has informed us that he acted for some 
 time as yom* solicitor, when you were residing 
 in Yorkshire; and he has laid before us the 
 report of several speeches which you made at 
 that time, with which, I may add, I was myself 
 well acquainted before; but which has given 
 great satisfaction to every one present, from the 
 prospect of seeing a gentleman of such rank 
 and influence, and one who can so eloquently 
 express our own exact sentiments, likely to be 
 united with us once more in advocating the 
 cause of the people against those who op- 
 press them. — Will you permit me to lead the 
 way r" 
 
 Sir Arthur Adelon had marked every word 
 that was spoken with peculiar attention, and 
 Mac Dermot's reply w^as a gi'eat relief to him. 
 Norries had not mentioned the power he had 
 over him, and moreover the words ' advocating 
 the cause of the people' seemed to him to imply 
 that nothing of a violent or physical nature 
 was intended ; and that all the leaders of the
 
 222 THE CONVICT. 
 
 movement had in view was, to endeavour to 
 strengthen themselves in public opinion by 
 argument ^nd by moral force. 
 
 He therefore followed with a lighter step, 
 and was conducted through several narrow and 
 tortuous streets and back lanes, to a house 
 which presented no very imposing appearance, 
 as far as it could be discovered in the darkness 
 of the night. The door was low and narrow, 
 and stood ajar ; and when Mac Dermot pushed 
 it open, and Sir Arthur saw the passage by a 
 light which was at the other end, he said to 
 himself, " There can be no very formidable 
 meeting here, for there does not seem to be 
 room for a dozen men in the whole house." He 
 was conducted through the passage to a stair- 
 case as narrow, which led to a long sort of 
 gallery, running round what seemed a stable- 
 yard, at the end of which was a door, which 
 Mac Dermot held open for his companion to 
 pass. When Sir Arthur had gone through, 
 his guide closed the door and locked it, and
 
 THE CONVICT. 223 
 
 then saying, " This way, sir," led him to 
 another door, at which a man was standing 
 immovable, with a lamp in his hand. There 
 Mac Dermot knocked, and the door was un- 
 locked and opened from within. 
 
 The next moment Sir Arthur Adelon found 
 himself in a very large, low-ceilinged, ill- shaped 
 room, with a long table in the midst. There were 
 several tallow candles round about, emitting a 
 most disagreeable odour, and casting a red, 
 glaring, unsatisfactory light upon the faces of be- 
 tween thirt}' and forty men, seated at the board 
 in various attitudes. At the head of the table, in 
 an arm-chair, appeared Norries, such as I have 
 described him before ; but any attempt to paint 
 the other gi'oups in the room would be vain, 
 for every sort of face, form, and dress which 
 England can display was there assembled, 
 from the sharp, shi'ewd face of long-expe- 
 rienced age, to the delicate features of the 
 beardless lad ; from the stout and stalwart form 
 of the hardy yeoman, to the sickly and feeble
 
 ^24 THE CONVICT. 
 
 frame of the over-tasked artizan of the city. 
 Here appeared one in the black coat and white 
 neck-cloth usually worn by the ministers of 
 religion ; there, a man in the garb of a me- 
 chanic : in one place, a very spruce blue satin 
 handkerchiefed gentleman, with yellow gloves, 
 and close by him another, who was apparently 
 a labouring blacksmith, with his hands brown 
 and sooty from the forge. An elderly man, in 
 a well-worn flaxen wig, and large eyes like 
 black cherries, might have passed, by his dress, 
 for a very small country attorney, and oppo- 
 site to him sat a broad-shouldered man of six 
 foot two, in a blue coat, leather breeches, and 
 top-boots — probably some large farmer in the 
 neighbourhood of the town. 
 
 Two seats were reserved on each side of the 
 chairman ; and while Mac Dermot locked the 
 <loor again, and every person present rose. Sir 
 Arthur Adelon — with his stately step and aris- 
 tocratic air, but, if the truth must be told, with 
 it good deal of disgust and some anxiety at
 
 THE CONVICT. 225 
 
 heart — walked up to the head of the table, shook 
 hands with Nonies, and took one of the vacant 
 chairs. The other was immediately occupied 
 by Mac Dermot, and then rising, the chairman 
 said, " Gentlemen, I have the honour of intro- 
 ducing to you Sir Arthur Adelon, whose station 
 and fortune afford the lowest title to your 
 esteem. Far higher in mind than in rank — far 
 richer in generous qualities and in mental en- 
 dowments than in wealth, he has ever shown 
 himself the friend of that great and majestic 
 body — the people of this countr}-; he has always 
 professed and undauntedly maintained the same 
 opinions which we conscientiously entertain; 
 and he is ready, I am sure, to go heart and 
 hand with us in all just and reasonable mea- 
 sures for the defence of our rights and 
 liberties." 
 
 The whole party assembled gave the baronet 
 a cheer, and the sensations with which Sir 
 Arthur had entered began already to wane, even 
 in the first excitement of the moment. Here, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 THE CONVICT. 
 
 however, I must drop the curtain over a scene 
 of which the reader has probably had enough, 
 and proceed to other events of no less import- 
 ance in this tale.
 
 THE CONVICT. 227 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 It is the most difficult thing in the world to 
 convey to the mind of a reader the idea of 
 extended space by a rapid sketch. You may 
 say days passed, and weeks; but the reader 
 does not believe a word of it. He takes up 
 the narrative where it left off; an absti'act pro- 
 position is put before him, and he does not 
 pursue it to any of its consequences. He does 
 not consider for one moment, unless it be 
 clearly explained to him, how those days and 
 those weeks, with all the events which they 
 brought to pass, had wrought upon the cha- 
 racters, the circumstances, and the relative 
 Q-2
 
 *i28^ THE CONVICT. 
 
 positions of the personages before him. In a 
 mere sketch with the pencil you can do better : 
 by lighter lines and finer touches, you make 
 distant objects recede ; by bolder strokes and 
 stronger delineations, you bring forward the 
 near and the distinct. Nevertheless, I must 
 endeavour to pass over several days rapidly, 
 curtailing every unnecessary description, reject- 
 ing every needless detail, and yet dwelling so 
 far upon the several events as to mark to the 
 reader's mind that time was passing, and bear- 
 ing on its rapid and buoyant flood a multitude 
 of small objects, marking to each individual the 
 progress of time towards eternity. 
 
 Day after day was spent at Brandon House 
 in the usual occupations of a country mansion. 
 There were walks, and rides, and drives, and 
 shooting parties ; and the fact most important 
 for Charles Dudley was, that he was frequently 
 alone for more than an hour together with Eda 
 Brandon. All was explained, all was promised, 
 all was understood. In less than two months
 
 THE CONVICT. 229 
 
 she would be of age, her hand and her pro- 
 perty at her own disposal ; and Dudley felt angry 
 at himself from a sensation of regret which he 
 experienced, that he did not still possess the 
 ancient estates of his house, that he might unite 
 himself to her for ever — as pride termed it — 
 upon equal terms. 
 
 Those were very, very happy interviews 
 — sometimes over the green lawns or shady 
 groves of the park, sometimes alone in the 
 library or the drawing-room, sometimes sit- 
 ting side by side near the river, or in the 
 deep wood, and talking with a melancholy 
 pleasure over the past, or looking forward with 
 a cheerfiil hope unto the futme. They won- 
 dered sometimes that these communications 
 were so little interrupted, and that nobody ob- 
 served or attempted to interfere ; but Sir Arthur 
 Adelon was frequently absent on business, as 
 he said ; Lord Hadley was seized with a pas- 
 sion for roaming about the country, which he 
 had never displayed before j and a sort of
 
 230 THE CONVICT. 
 
 irritable gloom had fallen upon Edgar Adelon, 
 the cause of which he explained to no one, but 
 which was easily seen by the eyes of his cousin. 
 He often sought solitude, shut himself up in 
 his own room, walked, when he went forth, in 
 a different direction from the rest of the party, 
 and seemed involved in thought, even when Eda, 
 and himself, and Dudley, were together with- 
 out witnesses. 
 
 Nevertheless, he was the person who most 
 frequently cut short the interviews of the two 
 lovers, or deprived them of opportunity when 
 the golden fruit was at their lips. He seemed 
 to have conceived a peculiar and extraordi- 
 nary affection for Lord Hadley's tutor; and 
 there was that confident reliance and un- 
 reserved frankness in the friendship he dis- 
 played, with which Dudley could not help feel- 
 ing gratified, and which he could not make up 
 his mind to check, even for the sake of a few 
 more happy moments with Eda Brandon. By 
 fits and starts, the young man would come and
 
 THE CONVICT. 231 
 
 ask him to join him in his walks ; would seek 
 his society and his conversation; and would 
 sometimes express his regard — nay, even his 
 admiration — with a waimth and a candour 
 which seemed to Dudley, ignorant of all cause 
 for such sensations in his heart, as savoui'ing 
 too much of chikUsh simplicity for one who was 
 standing at the verge of manhood. His con- 
 versation, however, was veiy interesting — full 
 of wild flights of fancy, rich and imaginative in 
 terms, and overflowing with the deep stream of 
 the heart. He insisted upon it that his com- 
 panion should call him Edgar, and said that 
 he would always use the name of Dudley ; and 
 many a counsel would he ask of him, and listen 
 to his advice with that profound and deep at- 
 tention which showed that, from some cause or 
 other, reverence had been joined with affection. 
 This extraordinary interest sometimes puzzled 
 Dudley. He would ask himself, could Edgar 
 Jiave perceived the mutual affection of Eda and 
 himself, and could his regard for his fair cousin
 
 232 THE CONVICT, 
 
 have taught him to love whomsoever she loved? 
 But there was no appearance of such perception 
 when they were together : not by a word, not 
 by a smile, not by a quiet jest, did he ever show 
 a knowledge of their affection ; and Dudley at 
 length concluded that it was one of those boyish 
 friendships which, suddenly conceived, and 
 nourished by long after-intercourse, often form 
 the basis of lasting regard, which only teimi- 
 nates with life. 
 
 Another person, who seemed to have been 
 much struck with Dudley, and who also occupied 
 a good deal of his time, was Mr. Filmer ; but, to 
 say the truth, Dudley himself was less pleased 
 with his society than with that of Edgar 
 Adelon. It was always smooth, easy, agree- 
 able. There was not the slightest appearance 
 of effort in his conversation, nothing strained, 
 nothing at all peculiar in his demeanour. He 
 was learned, witty, imaginative ; mingling quiet 
 cheerfulness and unobtrusive gaiety with occa- 
 sional strains of thought so deep and so in-
 
 THE CONVICT. 233 
 
 tense, yet so pellucid and bright, that the 
 hearer was carried away with wonder and 
 delight. He was fond of talking of religious 
 subjects, and with all the many, associated 
 with them by his church. He had a love for, 
 and an intimate acquaintance with, ancient 
 architecture in all its branches ; and he com- 
 bined there\N'ith fancies, hypotheses, or theo- 
 ries, as the reader would have it, which gave a 
 sort of mystical signification to every part and 
 portion of an old building, and spread, as it 
 were, a religious feeling through the conception 
 and the execution of the whole. Every church, 
 or abbey, or cathedral, w^hich had been raised 
 in pure catholic times, was, in his eyes, but a 
 symbol of the spiritual church — a hierarchy, as 
 it were, in stone. He loved sacred music, 
 too. There was not a chant, a canon, an 
 anthem, a mass, or a dirge, that he did not 
 know, and could descant upon eloquently, or 
 sit down and play it with exquisite taste, if no 
 great execution, joining occasionally a power-
 
 231 THE CONVICT. 
 
 fill and melodious voice in snatches of rich 
 song, without the slightest appearance of vanity 
 or display, but merely as if to give the hearer 
 an idea of the composition which he had men- 
 tioned. 
 
 All this was veiy charming, but still there 
 was something which made Charles Dudley 
 prefer the fi'ank, free, fearless conversation of 
 Edgar Adelon. He knew not well what that 
 something was ; he could not term it a studied- 
 ness, but it was all too definite, too circum- 
 scribed by rules, too much tied down to pur- 
 poses and views which allowed no expansion 
 but in peculiar directions. Although there was 
 no affectation, there seemed to be an object in 
 everything he said. There was, in short, a 
 predominant idea to which everything was 
 referable, and which deprived his conversation 
 of that wide and natural range, that free and 
 liberal course, which is one of the greatest 
 charms of friendly intercourse. One felt that — 
 in a very different sense from that in wliich the
 
 THE CONVICT. 235 
 
 beautiful words were originally used — " he 
 was in the world, but not of the world." 
 
 A time came rapidly when much was ex- 
 plained that was at first dark ; but we must 
 turn to another of our characters, whose fate 
 was intimately interwoven with that of Charles 
 Dudley. Lord Hadley, as I have said, was fre- 
 quently absent from Brandon House ; and when 
 he was present, there was something in his 
 manner which showed a change of thought or 
 feeling. He attempted to fliit with Eda 
 Brandon — a difficult matter at any time, but 
 more difficult still in the circumstances which 
 existed, and especially when it was done with 
 an effort. His manner towards Dudley, too, 
 was very different. He sought his society but 
 little ; was captious in his conversation with 
 him, and somewhat petulant in his replies. 
 He seemed not well pleased when that gentle- 
 man was with Eda ; and marked his feeUngs so 
 plainly, that Dudley was sometimes inclined to 
 fear that his pupil had conceived an attach-
 
 ^3() THE CONVICT. 
 
 ment to the object of his own affection. But then, 
 again, twice when they were sauntering in the 
 park before the house. Lord Hadley made an 
 excuse to leave him and Miss Brandon together, 
 and walked away in the direction of the Grange, 
 remaining absent for two or three hours. 
 
 In the meantime, rumours spread, and the 
 newspapers announced that there were threat- 
 ening signs in the manufacturing districts ; 
 that great meetings of artizans were taking 
 place in public and in private ; that the 
 people had determined to have w^hat they 
 called " a holiday ;" and that some great 
 attempt at popular insurrection was contem- 
 plated by those immense masses, which, con- 
 gregated within a very narrow space, have the 
 means of rapid communication ever open, 
 and whose amount of intelligence is sufficient 
 to make them feel the ills they suffer, and the 
 wrongs they are subject to, without showing 
 them the best means of relieving the one or 
 casting off the other. The prompt and decided
 
 THE CONVICT. 237 
 
 measures of government, too, were detailed in 
 the public prints ; the march of different regi- 
 ments was mentioned ; and some portions were 
 displayed of the general plan for suppressing 
 any outbreak which had been formed by the 
 great master of strateg}-, sufficient to prove to 
 any person, not infatuated by false hopes, that 
 the movements of the people would be effec- 
 tually checked as soon as ever they transgressed 
 the bounds of law. 
 
 To most of the little party assembled at 
 Brandon, these reports came like the roar of 
 the stormy ocean to persons calmly seated by 
 the domestic hearth. They were far removed 
 from the scene of probable stiife ; they had ftdl 
 confidence in the power and the wisdom of 
 government. There were no manufactories 
 for many miles around ; and the nearest point 
 at which there was any great congregation of 
 artizans lay at some twenty or thirtj' miles 
 distance, where there were both mine^ and 
 potteries. Nevertheless, Eda observed that
 
 238 THE CONVICT. 
 
 lier uncle read with the deepest attention 
 everything that refen-ed to the discontent of 
 the manufacturing population. She saw, too, 
 that he was uneasy ; that there was a restless- 
 ness and an impatience about him which she 
 could not account for ; and she pointed it out to 
 Dudley, who remarked it also. " I have not 
 seen him in this state for years," she said; " and 
 I cannot help thinking that something of great 
 importance must be weighing upon his mind." 
 " I have heard," rephed Dudley, " that at 
 one time he took a very warm, I might almost 
 say vehement, interest in political matters, and 
 went through a contested election in the north, 
 as the advocate of the most extreme preten- 
 sions of the people. I have cause to remember 
 that period, dearest Eda, for with that election 
 commenced the ruin of my poor father. He 
 had represented the town for many years in 
 parliament, when your uncle started against 
 him upon, principles almost republican. As 
 they had been friends from boyhood, although
 
 THE CONVICT. 239 
 
 the contest was carried on very fiercely by 
 their several supporters, it was conducted with 
 courtesy and kindness by themselves — as much 
 courtesy and kindness, indeed, as could exist 
 under such circumstances betw^een men of the 
 most opposite political principles. My father 
 was returned, but some of the electors thought 
 fit to petition against him, accusing his agents 
 of the most extensive bribery and corruption. 
 As the population was very large and very 
 equally divided in opinion, the expenses of the 
 election itself had been enormous. Innume- 
 rable witnesses were brought before the com- 
 mittee on both sides ; the investigation lasted 
 for months ; the most eminent hamsters were 
 retained by enormous fees ; and though it 
 ended in my father retaining his seat, an out- 
 lay of nearly thirty thousand pounds was in- 
 curred by the contest and the petition. To 
 meet this expense, he proposed to mortgage 
 the estates ; when your worthy uncle, feeling, 
 perhaps, that his supporters had not treated
 
 240 THE CONVICT. 
 
 my father very well, offered to take the pro- 
 posed mortgage at a low rate of interest. It 
 was necessary, however, that the title deeds 
 should be closely examined, and they were 
 submitted to the inspection of his lawyer, a 
 scoundrel of the name of Sherborne. This man, 
 who was as keen and acute as he was unprin- 
 cipled, discovered a flaw in the title ; and in- 
 stead of merely advising your uncle not to take 
 the mortgage, he communicated the fact to 
 another party, and a long law-suit was the 
 consequence, which ended in our being stripped 
 of the property which my gi-andfather had pur- 
 chased and paid for. My father was now 
 loaded with a very large debt besides, which 
 he had no means of paying, and his spiiits and 
 his health sunk and gave way at once. In 
 these circumstances, Sir Arthur Adelon acted 
 with a degree of kindness which I can never 
 forget. He purchased a very small property, 
 which had descended to me from my mother, 
 at more than its real value, and did not even
 
 THE CONVICT. 241 
 
 wait till I was of age to make the ti'ansfer be- 
 fore he paid the money. I had thus the means 
 of comforting and soothing my father during 
 an enforced absence from England and the 
 long period of sickness which preceded his 
 death ; and the moment I was of age, I assigned 
 the property to your uncle. Though I had 
 never seen him myself, I wrote to thank him, 
 at my father's death ; but he did not answer my 
 letter, and, what is somewhat strange, he has 
 never adverted to the subject since I have been 
 here — perhaps thinking rightly, that it must be 
 a very painful one to me. I have been led 
 into a long story," he continued, " when I only 
 >\ished to explain to you, that Sir Arthur is 
 known to feel very intensely upon the subject 
 of the people's rights and claims. That he 
 sympathizes deeply with these poor men in 
 the manufacturing districts, there can be no 
 doubt; and I rather think you will find that 
 the anxiety and uneasiness he displays are to 
 be attributed to the interest he feels in them." 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 THE CONVICT. 
 
 Eda mused, but did not reply. She was 
 deeply attached to her uncle, who for many 
 years had acted as a father towai'ds her ; but 
 yet she might know his character better than 
 Dudley, and might entertain reasonable doubts 
 as to his being moved by the feelings which 
 that gentleman ascribed to him. She did not 
 express those doubts, however, and the con- 
 versation took another turn. 
 
 The fifth day of Dudley's stay at Brandon 
 was a Sunday, and it commenced with a tre- 
 mendous storm of wind and rain. The nearest 
 village church was, as I have shown, at some 
 distance ; and Sir Arthur Adelon, though he 
 courteously proposed to order the carriage to 
 carry any of the party who might desire it to 
 the morning's service, added some remarks 
 upon the state of the weather and the likeli- 
 hood of the servants getting very wet, which 
 prevented any one fi'om accepting his offer. 
 A room had been fitted up at Brandon, and 
 decorated as a chapel ; and at the usual hour,
 
 THE CONVICT. 243 
 
 Mr. Filmer appeared, to officiate in the celebra- 
 tion of mass. 
 
 Eda Brandon Tvas not present; for, as 
 she informed Dudley, she had promised her 
 mother before her death never to be present 
 at the services of the Roman-catholic chui'ch. 
 Lord Hadley and his tutor, however, with less 
 rigid notions, accompanied Sir Arthur and a 
 number of his servants to the chapel; and, 
 somewhat to Dudley's surprise, Mr. Clive and 
 his daughter also appeared soon after, not- 
 withstanding the tempest that was raging 
 without. 
 
 Dudley felt a reverence for religion in all its 
 forms ; the worship of God was to him always 
 the worship of God; and though he did not 
 affect to adore in a wafer the real presence of his 
 Saviour, he behaved with gravity and decoiiim 
 through the whole ceremony. Lord Hadley, 
 on the contrary, treated the whole matter 
 somewhat lightly ; paid little attention to the 
 r2
 
 1>44 THE CONVICT. 
 
 offices of the church ; and kept his eyes fixed, 
 during a great part of the service, upon Helen 
 Clive, with a look which was not altogether 
 pleasing to his tutor. Nor did it seem so to 
 Edgar Adelon either; for, when he glanced 
 towards Lord Hadley for a moment, his colour 
 became suddenly heightened, and his eyes 
 flashed fire, giving to Dudley, for the first 
 time, a key to what was passing in his 
 bosom. 
 
 After mass was concluded, Sir Arthur took 
 Clive familiarly by the arm, and walking with 
 him into the library, begged him not to think 
 of returning to the Grange with Helen till the 
 storm had passed. Mr. Clive declined to stay, 
 however, saying that he did not feel the weather 
 himself, and that, as he had come up in his 
 own little sociable, Helen would be under 
 cover as she went back. The day passed as 
 other days had done ; but during the after- 
 noon, Mr. Filmer paid particular attention to 
 Dudley, and was altogether more cheerful and
 
 THE CONVICT. 245: 
 
 entertaining than he had been for some time, 
 as if the services of his religion formed a real 
 pleasure to him, the effect of which remained 
 for several hours after they were over.
 
 246 THE CONVICT. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The morning of the second day of the week 
 once more broke calm and clear, and Dudley 
 Avas musing in his room on much that had 
 lately passed. From all that he had observed 
 the day before, he feared that the conduct of 
 Lord Hadley towards Helen Clive was not 
 that which he could approve ; and although 
 he might have regretted much to leave the 
 society of Eda at that moment, he would not 
 have suffered any personal feeling to prevent 
 him from urging an immediate removal from 
 what he conceived a dangerous position, if he 
 had not recollected that the young nobleman
 
 THE CONVICT. 247 
 
 was so nearly of age as to be very likely to 
 resist any interference. He was considering, 
 therefore, how he should act, when he was 
 again visited in his room by Mr. Filmer, for 
 the purpose of engaging him to take a stroll 
 in the fresh morning air. 
 
 With many men, the effect of intense thought 
 and mental anxiety is ver}- great upon the 
 mere body ; and Dudley felt heated and almost 
 feverish. He believed, too, that in the course 
 of their ramble he might, perhaps, obtain some 
 farther information regarding his pupil's con- 
 duct from the priest ; for he well knew that the 
 clergy of the Romish church look upon it 
 almost as a matter of duty to ascertain the 
 facts of every transaction in which any of their 
 flock are concerned. He therefore agreed to 
 the proposal at once ; and after they had 
 issued forth into the park, pondered, even 
 while they were conversing, upon the best 
 means of introducing the topic of which he was 
 desirous of speaking.
 
 248 THE CONVICT. 
 
 As they walked on, detached masses of cloud, 
 left by the storm of the preceding day, floated 
 heavily over head ; and the shadows and the 
 gleams crossed the landscape rapidly, bringing 
 out many points of beauty, which were not 
 observable either under the broad sunshine 
 of summer, or the cold, grey expanse of the 
 wintry sky. 
 
 " The scenery here is certainly very lovely," 
 said Dudley ; " and I think that of the park 
 peculiarly so. It is more varied, as well as 
 more extensive, than any park that I have seen 
 in England." 
 
 " Yes, it is very beautifid," replied the 
 priest, in a somewhat common-place tone; 
 " and, indeed, the whole property is a very 
 fine one. There are few heiresses in England 
 who can boast of such an estate as Miss 
 Brandon." 
 
 " Miss Brandon !" said Dudley, in a tone of 
 some surprise. " Do you mean to say thai
 
 THE CONVICT. 249 
 
 she is the owner of this beautiful place ? I 
 thought it was the property of her uncle." 
 
 The priest turned a short, quick glance to 
 his face, and then replied, in a very marked 
 manner, but yet with a well-satisfied smile, 
 " I am glad to hear you thought so, my young 
 friend ; but, in answer to your question, this 
 property is Miss Brandon's. Sir Arthur is 
 only here as her guardian. It was much her 
 mother's wish that she should live with him 
 till her marriage, but, at the same time, she 
 expressed a strong desire that her principal 
 residence should be at Brandon. Sir Arthur 
 is a very conscientious man, and he conse- 
 quently, having undertaken the task, carries 
 out his sister's views more fully than most men 
 would be inclined to do. The bulk of his own 
 property is in Yorkshire, as I believe you 
 know ; but he is not there more than a month 
 in the year. The rest of his time is spent at 
 Brandon or in London."
 
 250 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " May I ask," said Dudley, " what there 
 <;ould be pleasing to you in my believing this 
 property to be Sir Arthur Adelon's ?" 
 
 Mr. Filmer smiled. " Perhaps," he said, 
 " it might be more courteous to leave your 
 question unanswered than to answer it; but 
 nevertheless I will not aifect reserve. I look 
 upon it, in ordinary cases, to be rather a misfor- 
 tune than otherwise for a young lady to inherit 
 a large fortune. There are three results, each 
 very common. Sometimes her relations and 
 friends arrange and bring about a marriage for 
 her with a man perhaps the least suited to her 
 on the face of the earth — some coarse and 
 wealthy brute — some dissolute peer. At other 
 times, she becomes the prey of a designing 
 sharper; a man probably without honour, 
 honesty, or principle ; low in birth and mind 
 as in fortunes. Or if she escapes these perils, 
 and reaches the age of discretion unmarried, 
 from a knowledge of the risks she has escaped, 
 she is filled with suspicions of every gentle-
 
 THE CONVICT. 251 
 
 man who approaches her ; doubts the motives 
 of all who profess to love her, and fancies that 
 her wealth, and not her heart, is the object 
 sought. I know not which of these results is 
 most to be deprecated." He made a pause, 
 and then continued, with a smile, " That you 
 did not know the property to belong to her, 
 shows that you can be influenced by no mo- 
 tives but such as must be gratifying to her- 
 self." 
 
 Dudley cast down his eyes and mused for 
 several moments. He was not at all aware 
 that his conduct towards Eda had been 
 such as to display the secret of their hearts 
 to even the keenest eye ; and he was sur- 
 prised, and not well pleased, to find that it 
 had been penetrated at once by the shrewd 
 priest. As he did not answer, Mr. Filmer 
 went on, with a frank and even friendly 
 tone. " I need not tell you, Mr. Dudley, 
 after what has fallen from me," he said, " that 
 I wish you success, not with any of the rash
 
 252 THE CONVICT. 
 
 enthusiasm of a young man in favour of a 
 friend, but upon calm and due deliberation. 
 You are a gentleman by birth and education ; 
 a man of high honour and feeling I sincerely 
 believe you to be, and this Lord Hadley is in 
 no degree fitted for her. Light and volatile as 
 a withered leaf; with no fixed principles, and 
 no strong religious feelings ; full of unbridled 
 passions, and appetites that have been pam- 
 pered from his boyhood ; the effect of wealth 
 and high station, those two great touchstones 
 of the human character, will be disastrous to 
 him. He is in the high road now to become a 
 confirmed libertine, and even at the present 
 moment is labouring to destroy the peace of a 
 happy family far more ancient and respectable 
 than his own, and to introduce discord into a 
 peaceful neighbourhood, where, happily, we 
 have few such as himself to stir up the angry 
 feelings of our nature." 
 
 " You have touched upon a subject, my dear 
 sir," replied Dudley, who could not help feel-
 
 THE CONVICT. 253 
 
 ing gratified by many of the expressions he 
 had used, " in regard to which I much wished 
 to speak with you; and I was meditating upon 
 the very point when you came into my room. 
 I have remarked for some days past that Lord 
 Hadley has been much absent from the house 
 at which he is visiting, so much so as almost 
 to be discoiurteous ; and yesterday, in the 
 chapel, I could not help observing indications 
 of feelings which I regi'etted much to see, and 
 in regard to which you have confirmed my 
 suspicions." 
 
 " His conduct there was very reprehensible," 
 said Mr. Filmer, in a gi-ave tone. " He spends 
 the time during his long absences from Bran- 
 don either in visiting at Mr. Clive's house, 
 or in lying in wait for poor Helen in her 
 walks. His object is not to be mistaken by 
 any one of ordinary sagacity and knowledge 
 of the world ; but yet Clive, though a very sen- 
 sible man, does not perceive it. You must 
 have remarked how blind parents usually are
 
 254 THE CONVICT. 
 
 under such circumstances. He looks upon 
 Lord Hadley as a mere boy, and a frank and 
 agreeable one. He thinks that his visits are 
 to himself; and the young gentleman, with 
 more art than one would have supposed him 
 capable of, takes care to go down to the 
 Grange when he knows that the master is out, 
 and has some excuse ready for waiting till he 
 returns." 
 
 " From what you tell me," replied Dudley, 
 " it seems absolutely necessary that one of 
 two courses should be pursued : either I must 
 immediately endeavom' to induce Lord Hadley 
 to remove from Brandon — in which case I am 
 afraid he would resist, as in a few weeks he 
 will be of age ; or else Mr. Clive must be 
 warned, and take such measures as may put a 
 stop to this young man's visits." 
 
 " I do not know that either is necessary," 
 answered Mr. Filmer ; " nor would either have 
 the effect that you anticipate. Lord Hadley 
 would not go, or would return to pursue the
 
 THE CONVICT. 255^ 
 
 same course when he is his own master ; and 
 in regard to warning Clive, I should have 
 done it before, had I not known and felt that it 
 might be dangerous to do so. He is a man of 
 a very strong and hasty spmt — resolute, bold, 
 determined, and easily moved by anything 
 that looks like indignity, to bursts of passion 
 of which you can form no idea, never having 
 seen him roused. Neither have I any fear 
 whatsoever for Helen. She is guarded not 
 only by high principle, and a piu'e and noble 
 heart, but by other feelings, which are often a 
 woman's greatest safeguard. Lord Hadley 
 will then find his designs in vain ; and I do 
 not think he would venture to insidt her in 
 any way." 
 
 Dudley mused for a moment, having learned 
 more of his pupil during their journey on the 
 Continent than he had known when he under- 
 took the task of guiding him. " I do not 
 know," he said, in a doubtful tone — ^' I do not 
 know."
 
 256 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " He had better not," said Mr. Filmer, 
 sternly ; " but be sure, my dear young friend, 
 that there shall be an eye, not easily blinded, 
 on all his actions. The interest you take in 
 this matter raises you more highly in my 
 esteem than ever; and I will own, that I 
 could not help drawing a comparison, very 
 unfavourable to this young lord, between yoiu* 
 conduct and his in the chapel yesterday. 
 Reverence to the ceremonies of religion is 
 due even to decency, if not to principle ; but 
 there was something more in your demeanour, 
 which gave me good hope that if you would 
 sometimes attend to the various services of 
 our church, receive even but slight instruction 
 in its doctrines, cast from your mind the pre- 
 judices of education, and meditate unbiassed 
 over the principal differences between our 
 church and yours — of course, not without full 
 explanation of all our views upon those 
 dogmas which are so erroneously stated by 
 most protestant writers — your conduct gave
 
 THE CONVICT. 257 
 
 me good hope, I say, that under these circum- 
 stances you might be regained to that true 
 faith of which many of yoiu: ancestors were 
 the greatest ornaments." 
 
 Dudley smiled. The secret was now before 
 him. The priest had really conceived the design 
 of converting him ; and his full and strong at- 
 tachment to the Protestant religion, his unhe- 
 sitating condemnation in his own heart of the 
 errors of the Romish church, made the very 
 idea ridiculous in his eyes. " I fear, my dear 
 sir," he replied, as the slight smile passed 
 away, " that your expectation is altogether 
 vain. There is no chance whatever, let me 
 assure you, of my ever abandoning the religion 
 in which I have been brought up." 
 
 " Do not be too sure, my fi'iend," replied 
 JVIr. Filmer, smiling also ; " I have seen more 
 obstinate heretics than yourself brought to a 
 knowledge of the truth. I do not despair of 
 you at all. You have a mind free from many 
 prejudices which affect others of your religion. 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 THE CONVICT. 
 
 You are not at all bigoted or intolerant; and 
 you view these matters so calmly, and yet 
 devoutly, that with my firm convictions, after 
 much study and thought, I cannot help think- 
 ing, if you will but look into the matter fully, 
 you will arrive at a just conclusion." 
 
 " I trust, undoubtedly, that such will be the 
 case," was Dudley's answer ; " but I believe, 
 my dear sir, that I have arrived at a just con- 
 clusion already. It has not been without study 
 either, nor from the showing of Protestant 
 divines, but rather from the works of your own 
 church, many of which I have examined with 
 great care and attention, and which have only 
 strengthened me in my convictions. The more 
 impartial a man is in forming his opinions, 
 and the less vehement and passionate he is in 
 their assertion, the more fiim he is likely to be 
 when they are formed, and the more steady in 
 their maintenance." 
 
 They had by this time reached the other
 
 THE CONVICT. 259 
 
 side of the park, and passing through a little 
 wicket-gate, were entering the road beyond 
 the walls. Mr. Filmer's lips were compressed 
 as he listened, and he seemed to struggle 
 against some strong emotion ; but just at that 
 moment the tramp of numerous feet was heard, 
 and looking up the road, they saw a multitude 
 of people, in the dress of country labourers 
 and working men, advancing at a quick pace, 
 two and two, in an orderly and decorous 
 manner. Mr. Filmer and his companion 
 paused to let them pass ; and as they went by, 
 talking together, Filmer could not help re- 
 marking, that in the countenances of many 
 there was a stern and thoughtful, and in others 
 an enthusiastic and excited expression, which 
 seemed to indicate that they were engaged in 
 no ordinary occupation. They passed on with- 
 out taking any notice of the two gentlemen, 
 although two or three times Dudley heard the 
 name of Sir Arthur Adelon mentioned amongst 
 s 2
 
 260 THE CONVICT. 
 
 them ; and when the last had gone by, he in- 
 quired, not unwilling to change the matter of 
 their conversation, " Who can these men be, 
 and what can be their object in this curious 
 sort of array ?" 
 
 " I really do not know," answered Mr. Fil- 
 mer ; " but it would not surj3rise me if they 
 W'Cre Chartists." 
 
 *' Have you many of them here ?" asked 
 Dudley. 
 
 *' Oh, yes ; they are very numerous," replied 
 the priest, " both amongst the peasantry and 
 the town's-people, and these may very likely 
 be going to some of their meetings on the 
 downs. They are all very orderly and quiet 
 in our county, however, and, indeed, form the 
 best behaved and most respectable part of our 
 population. A great enthusiasm is very often 
 extremely useful. The men who feel it are 
 often restrained thereby from anything low or 
 base, or degrading to the great principle which
 
 THE CONVICT. 261 
 
 moves them. Such, my young friend, ought 
 to be the power of religion upon the heart ; and 
 such it is, as you must have yourself seen, with 
 a great many of the ecclesiastics of the church 
 to which I belong. Base and bad men may 
 be found in every country, and will disgrace 
 every creed ; but I cannot help thinking you 
 will find, if you will really read and study some 
 works which I will lend you, that the natural 
 tendency of every doctrine of the Catholic re- 
 ligion is to elevate and purify the hearts of 
 men, and to mortify and subdue every corrupt 
 affection. I know," he continued, " that the 
 exact reverse has been stated by Protestant 
 writers, but they have been mistaken — I will 
 not use a harsher term, and will only add, 
 study, and you will see." 
 
 " I will certainly read the books with great 
 pleasure," replied Dudley ; " but, at the same 
 time, I must not lead you to expect, for One 
 moment, that they will make any change in my 
 opinions."
 
 262 THE CONVICT. 
 
 He spoke iii the most decided tone ; and Mr. 
 Filmer replied, with a slight contraction of the 
 brows, and a very grave and serious manner, 
 " Then I fear your dearest hopes will be dis- 
 appointed." 
 
 Dudley felt somewhat indignant at the im- 
 plied threat; but he was prevented fi*om answer- 
 ing by the appearance of Lord Hadley, who 
 came towards them — not from the side of 
 Brandon — and who, instantly joining them, re- 
 turned in their company towards the house, 
 affecting an exuberant degree of gaiety, and 
 laughing and jesting in a manner which har- 
 monized ill with the more serious thoughts of 
 his two companions. The subject of the mass, 
 at which they had been present the day before, 
 was accidentally introduced in the coui'se of 
 their conversation, which thence deviated to the 
 ceremonies of the Roman-catholic religion in 
 other countries ; and the young peer said, 
 laughing, *' If it were not for its mummeries,
 
 THE CONVICT. 263 
 
 Mr. Filmer, I should think it a very good reli- 
 gion too, a capital religion. It is so pleasant to 
 think that one can shuffle off all one's peccadil- 
 loes on the shoulders of another man, that I 
 wonder who would not be a Roman catholic, if 
 he could." 
 
 A scowl, momentary, but fiend-like, crossed 
 the countenance of the priest; and Dudley, who 
 had observed it, Avas surprised to hear him say, 
 the next moment, with a bland smile, " You 
 are a little mistaken in your A^iews, my lord ; 
 and I think, if you woidd examine the subject 
 well, under a competent instructor, you would 
 not find it so difficult a thing to be a Roman 
 catholic as you imagine." 
 
 " I should prefer an instructress," answered 
 Lord Hadley, with a laugh; but Mr. Filmer 
 did not reply, finding it, perhaps, somewhat 
 difficult to guide his arguments between two 
 men of such totally different characters and 
 ^dews as the young lord and his tutor. The
 
 264 THE CONVICT. 
 
 rest of their walk back through the park passed 
 almost in silence ; but from various indications 
 Dudley judged that the previous gaiety of Lord 
 Hadley had been more affected than real.
 
 THE CONVICT. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 To a person inexperienced in the ways of life 
 and in human character, it might seem strange 
 that a man should pursue one woman with 
 every appearance of passion, and should yet, 
 at the same time, not only seek the love of 
 another, but also entertain some feeling of 
 jealousy at any sign of favour for a rival. But 
 yet this is the case every day, and it was so 
 with Lord Hadley. Had he been asked whether 
 he admired Helen Clive or Eda Brandon most, 
 lie would have replied, if he answered sin- 
 cerely, " Helen Clive ;" but she was in his eyes
 
 266 THE CONVICT. 
 
 merely a plaything, to be possessed, to sport 
 with, and to east away; while Eda was looked 
 upon in a very different light — to add wealth to 
 his wealth; to flatter his vanity by the display 
 of her beauty and her grace as his wife; to 
 gratify his pride by uniting the blood of the 
 Brandons, one of the oldest families in the 
 land, to that of the Hadleys, who, to say the 
 truth, required not a little to graft their young 
 plant upon a more ancient stock. Whatever 
 feelings he entertained for her certainly did not 
 reach the height of passion; but yet, when he 
 was beside her, he evidently sought to win 
 regard, and it was plain that he by no 
 means liked the preference she showed for 
 Dudley. 
 
 Sir Arthur Adelon saw that something had 
 gone amiss with his young and noble guest; 
 and while they were sitting at luncheon, with 
 not the most placable of feelings existing on 
 the part of Lord Hadley towards his tutor,
 
 THE CONVICT. 267 
 
 Sir Arthur was considering what could be the 
 cause of the coldness and haughtiness of tone 
 which he remarked, when a servant entering, 
 announced to IVIr. Dudley that a gentleman of 
 the name of Norries wished to speak with him 
 for a few moments in the library. 
 
 Su- Arthur instantly turned deadly pale ; but 
 recovering himself in a moment, he started up 
 before his guest could reply, saying, '-I beg 
 you ten thousand pardons, JNIr. Dudley ; but I 
 have something of much importance to say to 
 JVIr. Norries, and if you will permit me, I v^*ill 
 take up his time for a moment or two while 
 you finish your luncheon, as I have got busi- 
 ness which will call me out immediately, and 
 perhaps your conversation with liim may be 
 somewhat long." 
 
 Dudley was replying that he really did not 
 know what business Mr. Norries could have 
 with him, as he knew no such person, when, 
 with a familiar nod, Sir Anhui' said, ^"'I will
 
 268 THE CONVICT. 
 
 not detain him three minutes," and hurried out 
 of the room, followed by the keen, cold eye of 
 the priest. 
 
 " Who is Mr. Norries, father r" inquired 
 Eda Brandon. " I never heard of him be- 
 fore." 
 
 " An old acquaintance of Sir Arthur's," re- 
 plied Mr. Filmer, in a common-place tone. 
 " He was once a lawyer, I believe, and too 
 honest a man for a profession from which he 
 retired some time ago." 
 
 Not two minutes elapsed before Sir Arthur 
 Adelon was in the room again. His conference 
 with Mr. Norries had been short indeed ; but 
 it seemed to have been satisfactory, for when 
 he returned, his lip wore a smile, although his 
 face was now a good deal flushed, as if from 
 some recent and great excitement. 
 
 " You will find Norries in the library, Mr. 
 Dudley," said the baronet, as soon as he en- 
 tered ; and while Dudley rose and walked to
 
 THE CONVICT. 269 
 
 the door, Sir Arthur seated himself at the 
 table, and fell into deep thought. 
 
 In the meantime, Dudley proceeded to the 
 room to -which he had been directed, and 
 found there, waiting his anival, the same pow- 
 erful, hard-featiued man whom I have before 
 described. 
 
 The keen grey eyes of Nomes were fixed 
 upon the door, and when Dudley entered, a 
 slight flush passed over his cheek. " Mr. 
 Dudley," he said ; " there is no mistaking you. 
 You are very like your father." 
 
 " I believe I am, Mr. Norries," replied Dud- 
 ley — " pray be seated. You were well ac- 
 quainted with my poor father, I presume." 
 
 " No, I had not that honour, su*," answered 
 Norries ; " I have seen him more than once, 
 however, as the partner of Mr. Sherborne, the 
 Yorkshire solicitor of Sir Arthur Adelon." 
 
 Dudley's face grew stem, and he made a 
 movement as if to rise, but refrained, merely
 
 270 THE CONVICT. 
 
 saying, " Mr. Sherborne's name, sir, is an un- 
 pleasant one to me. I should not like to speak 
 my opinion of him to his partner ; but were he 
 still living, I should undoubtedly let him hear 
 it in person." 
 
 " I was his partner, sir, in business, but not 
 in rascality," replied Norries, " the full extent 
 of which I did not know till he was dead. Na- 
 ture did not make me for a lawyer, Mr. Dudley ; 
 and the result of my study of the profession 
 has been to show me that, either by errors in 
 their original formation, or by perversions 
 which have crept in through the misinterpreta- 
 tions of judges, the laws of this land do not 
 afford security against injustice, redress for 
 wrongs committed, protection to the innocent, 
 punishment to the guilty, or equity in any of 
 the relations between man and man. With this 
 view of the case, I could not remain in a pro- 
 fession which aided to carry out, in an iniqui- 
 tous manner, iniquitous laws, and I therefore 
 quitted it. Before I did so, however, it became
 
 THE CONVICT. 271 
 
 my task to examine all the papers in the office 
 of my deceased partner and myself, many of 
 which I had never seen or heard of before. In 
 so doing, su", I found some which affected your 
 father ; and amongst others, several letters of 
 his, apparently of importance. The latter yon 
 shall have ; the other papers, relating to a con- 
 tested election in which he took part, are at 
 present necessary to myself." 
 
 " I feel much obliged to you, Mr. Nomes," 
 replied Dudley. " Of course I shall feel glad 
 to have my poor father's letters. In regard to 
 the other papers relative to the election, as that 
 has been a business long settled, they can be 
 of no service to me, and I do by no means wish 
 to recal old grievances. I am now in the house 
 of my father's opponent on that occasion, and 
 I am well aware that he then acted honourably, 
 and afterwards most liberally and kindly to my 
 poor father." 
 
 Norries knit his brows, and shut his teeth 
 tight, but he suffered no observation to escape
 
 272 THE CONVICT. 
 
 liiin ; and Dudley continued, saying, " I do not, 
 therefore, wish for one moment to revive any 
 unpleasant memories connected with that con- 
 test, and think the papers referring to it just as 
 well in your hands as in mine. AVas this the 
 only matter you wished to speak to me upon ?" 
 
 " I have nothing farther to say, Mr. Dudley," 
 replied Norries, rising, " but that I will in a few 
 days send your father's letters to you at any 
 place you please to mention." And after 
 having received Mr. Dudley's address at St. 
 John's College, Cambridge, he took his leave. 
 Once he stopped for a moment as he was going 
 out — thought, muttered something to himself, 
 but without adding anything more, departed. 
 
 On quitting Brandon House, Norries made 
 his way straight to the avenue which I have 
 mentioned once or twice before ; and walking 
 hurriedly down under the shade of the trees, 
 he turned into a path which led through the 
 copse on the right to a stile over the wall. His 
 direction was towards the Grange, but he did
 
 THE CONVICT. 273 
 
 not follow exactly the same road wliicli had 
 been pursued by Edgar Adelon. About a hun- 
 dred yards up the lane, there lay the entrance 
 of another narrow footway, which was sunk 
 deep between two banks, with a hedge at the 
 top, forming an exceedingly unpleasant and 
 dangerous cut in the way of any horseman fol- 
 lowing the fox-hounds ; and indeed there was 
 a tradition of two gentlemen having broken 
 their necks there some fifty years ago, in con- 
 sequence of having come suddenly upon this 
 unseen hollow way, in leaping the hedge above. 
 Along it, however, Mr. Xonies now sped with 
 a quick step, till it opened out upon a little 
 green, where stood two cottages in a complete 
 state of ruin, to arrive at which more easily 
 from the high road, the path had probably been 
 cut in former years. On the other side of the 
 green, mounting over the bank and passing 
 through the fields, was a more open footway, 
 with a stile at the bottom of the descent, upon 
 which was sitting, when Xorries came up, a 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 THE CONVICT. 
 
 short, slightly-made man, with a sharp face, 
 and keen, eager, black eyes. " Well, Nichols," 
 said Norries, approaching, " I have not kept 
 you long." 
 
 " No, no," answered the other man, quickly ; 
 " but what news — w^hat news, Mr. Norries ? 
 What does he say ?" 
 
 " Why, he will come, Nichols, whenever 
 we give the word," answered Norries, " without 
 hesitation or delay." 
 
 " Indeed !" exclaimed the other — " better 
 news than I thought. I feared he was shirking, 
 from what he said last time, or else that he 
 would take so long to consider, that we should 
 lose our opportunity." 
 
 " I took means to quicken his decision," said 
 Norries. " But let us get on, Nichols, for I 
 expect Conway and Mac Dermot to join me at 
 Clive's, for a consultation ; and we must then 
 separate till to-morrow night." 
 
 " Is Clive's a safe place ?" asked Nichols, 
 following, as the other strode on rapidly. " He 
 is dead against us, you know, Norries."
 
 THE CONVICT. 275 
 
 " But he Tvoiild not betray any man," re- 
 plied the other; ^-and besides, he is out at 
 the town, and will not be back for two or three 
 hoiu's." 
 
 Nothing farther was said till they reached 
 the Grange, where, going in without ceremony. 
 Nomes put his head into Helen's di'a\ving- 
 room, saying, " I can go into the up-stairs 
 room which I had before, Helen dear, I sup- 
 pose ?" 
 
 " Oh, certainly !" answered Helen. '- Every- 
 thing is there just as you left it ; but my father 
 is not at home, and will not return for some 
 hours." 
 
 " That does not matter," answered Norries ; 
 and calling one of the maids, he told her, 
 if any gentlemen came to inquire for him, 
 to show them up stairs to him ; and mounting 
 the steps, he led the person called Nichols into 
 the room where his conference had been held 
 with Sir Arthur Adelon. Helen in the mean- 
 time remained below, unoccupied, apparently, 
 T 2
 
 276 THE CONVICT. 
 
 with anything but thought, for though there was 
 a book open before her, she seldom looked at 
 it. She was seated with her face to the 
 window, which commanded a view of the 
 garden, and through the trees across the river 
 to the opposite side of the little dell in which 
 it flowed. With one arm in a sling, and 
 the other resting across the book upon the 
 table, she gazed forth from the window, watch- 
 ing that opposite bank with an anxious, almost 
 apprehensive expression of countenance, and 
 if she dropped her eyes to the page for a mo- 
 ment, she raised them again instantly. Hardly 
 three minutes had passed after Norries' arrival, 
 when a figure was indistinctly seen coming 
 over the slope, and Helen, starting up, ex- 
 claimed, " There he is again ! This is really 
 too bad. I am glad my uncle is here !" But 
 before the words were well uttered, the figure 
 came more fully in sight, and Helen saw that 
 it was that of a perfect stranger. Another, 
 equally unknown to her, followed close behind
 
 THE CONVICT. 277 
 
 the first; and she sat down again, muiTQuiing, 
 with a slight smile, " I fiighten myself need- 
 lessly. — But it is really veiy hard to be so 
 treated — I do not know what to do. If I were 
 to tell my father what he had said, and how he 
 had treated me, he would kill him on the spot ; 
 and if I told Edgar all, they woidd fight, I am 
 sure. Poor, dear, generous Edgar ! I can see 
 he is very uneasy, and yet I dare not speak. 
 It is very strange that Father Peter shoidd 
 treat the matter with such indiiFerence — I be- 
 lieve my best way would be to tell my uncle." 
 
 As she thus went on mmrmuring broken 
 sentences, the two men whom she had seen 
 approached the house, rang the bell, and 
 Helen could hear their heavj' footsteps mount 
 the stairs. 
 
 She had turned her head towards the door 
 when they came into the house ; but the 
 moment that her eyes were directed towards 
 the window again, she saw the figure of 
 Lord Hadley, coming down the path with a
 
 278 THE CONVICT. 
 
 proud, light, self-confident step, and instantly 
 starting up once more, she closed the book, and 
 ran out of the room. A maid was in the 
 passage, and, in an eager and fiightened tone, 
 the beautiful girl exclaimed, " Tell him exactly 
 what I said, Margaret. If he asks for me, say 
 I will not see him. Make no excuses, but tell 
 him plainly and at once, I will not." 
 
 " That I will. Miss Helen," answered the 
 woman, heartily. "Shall I ask Ben the plough- 
 man to thrash him if he wont go away .?" 
 
 If Helen had uttered the reply that first 
 rose in her mind, her words would have been, 
 " I wish to heaven you would ;" but she refrained, 
 and saying, " No — no violence, Margaret," she 
 ran up stairs to her own room, and seated her- 
 self near a little table, after locking the door. 
 
 What passed below she could not hear ; but 
 between that chamber and the next was a par- 
 tition of old dark oak, not cai'ved into panels, 
 as in the rooms below, but running in long 
 polished planks from the ceiling to the floor.
 
 THE CONVICT. 279 
 
 with the edges rounded into mouldings, for the 
 sake of some slight degree of ornament. They 
 were tightly joined together, but still the words 
 of any one speaking in a loud tone in the one 
 room, could be heard in the other; and it 
 seemed to Helen, from the pitch to which two 
 or three of the voices were elevated, that one 
 of the party at least in her uncle's chamber 
 was somewhat hard of hearing. Her thoughts,^ 
 for a moment or two after she entered, were 
 too much agitated for her to pay any particular 
 attention; but all remained still below, and 
 she said to herself, ^* He has gone in to wait 
 for my father — or to sit down and rest himself, 
 as he pretends, I dare say. I wonder how a 
 gentleman can have recourse to such false ex- 
 cuses — and here I must be kept a prisoner till 
 he chooses to go." 
 
 As she thus thought, some words from the 
 neighbouring room caught her ear, and instantly 
 fixed her attention. It was without design she 
 listened — by an impulse that was irresistible.
 
 280 THE CONVICT. 
 
 Her cheek turned paler than it was before ; her 
 lips parted with eagerness and apparent anxiety; 
 and she put her hand to her brow, murmuring, 
 " Good Heaven ! I hope my father has no 
 share in all this! I will go down upon my 
 knees to him, and beg him not to meddle with 
 it." But the next moment other words were 
 sj^oken, and the look of terror passed away 
 from her beautiful face like a dark cloud from 
 a summer sky. Then again the name of Sir 
 Arthur Adelon was mentioned frequently, and 
 again the cloud came over Helen's fair brow ; 
 but now there was surprise mingled with fear, 
 for it was marvellous to her, that a man of 
 great wealth, station, and respectability, should 
 be implicated so deeply in the schemes which 
 she heard. 
 
 About half an hour passed in this manner, 
 and then the maid came up and tapped at her 
 door, saying, " He is gone. Miss Helen ;" and 
 the fair prisoner, glad to be released, opened 
 her door and descended to the room below.
 
 THE CONVICT. 281 
 
 " What shall I do ? How shall I act :'' ^yas 
 Helen's first thought. ^' To betray them to jus- 
 tice I cannot, I must not ; but yet it is very 
 horrible. There will be terrible bloodshed ! — 
 And Sir Arthur Adelon, too — who could ever 
 have suspected that he would join them ? Oh ! 
 I wish he could be warned — I will tell Eda. 
 She has more power over him than any one, 
 and he may be persuaded to refrain, — My uncle 
 will have his course — nothing will turn him, I 
 am sure, and he wiU ruin himself utterly in the 
 end; but I do hope and trust he will have no in- 
 fluence over my father. — Oh, no ! the men said 
 he would have nought to do with it. — But hark !" 
 
 There were steps heard descending. Two or 
 three people quitted the house, and after a 
 lapse of a few minutes, Norries entered the room 
 with a calm, even cheerful countenance, and 
 seated himself beside Helen. 
 
 '^ ^Miat is the matter, little pet?" he said. 
 " You look sad and anxious. Is your arm 
 paining you, my dear r"
 
 282 THE CONVICT. 
 
 "Oh, no!" replied Helen; "it has never 
 pained me at all since it was set. I think it is 
 quite well now." 
 
 " Who was that came in about half an hour 
 ago ?" asked Norries, somewhat abruptly. " I 
 heard the bell ring, and a man's foot in the 
 passage." 
 
 " It was Lord Hadley," answered Helen, 
 colouring a little at the very mention of his 
 name. " He came in to wait for my father, I 
 suppose, or upon some such excuse." 
 
 " My dear Helen," said Norries, laying his 
 hand quietly upon hers, " have nought to do 
 Avith him — see him as little as possible; for 
 though to suspect you, my dear child, of any- 
 thing that is wrong, is quite out of the question 
 for those who know you, yet the frequent visits 
 of men who, in our bad state of society, hold a 
 rank far superior to your own, and especially 
 of such a dissolute, thoughtless youth as this, 
 may injiu*e your fair fame with those who do 
 not know you."
 
 THE CONVICT. 283 
 
 The kindly tone in which he spoke encou- 
 raged Helen ; and looking up in his face, she 
 said, "This is a subject on which I much 
 wish to speak to you, for I dai^e not tell my 
 father. I did not see Lord Hadley, my dear 
 uncle, for I went to my own room the moment 
 I saw him coming, and ordered the maid to 
 tell him, if he asked for me, that I icould not 
 see him — in those plain terms." 
 
 " Indeed 1" exclaimed Xorries, now much 
 interested; "then he must have done some- 
 thing very wrong, Helen." 
 
 " He has said things to me which I cannot 
 repeat, my dear imcle," she replied, with a glow- 
 ing face. '• He wanted to persuade me to leave 
 my father's house, and go away to London with 
 him, and — and — lie has behaved very ill to 
 me, in shon." 
 
 " Did he dare r" exclaimed her uncle, with 
 his eyes flashing, and his cheek turning red. 
 " Your father must know this, Helen." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no !" cried Helen Clive ; "' I dare
 
 284 THE CONVICT. 
 
 not tell him, indeed. I am sure if he knew all 
 he would kill him on the spot. You know how 
 very violent he is when he is made angry, and 
 how angry he would be if he knew I had been 
 insulted as I have been." 
 
 " I do know it well, Helen," replied Norries, 
 thoughtfully, " and I will acknowledge yours is 
 a difficult position. Your are no coquette, my 
 dear child, to give this man any encouragement, 
 even at the first, before he had shown himself 
 in his true colours; and I feel sure you have 
 done your best to keep him from the house." 
 
 " Indeed I have," replied Helen Clive ; " I 
 have never liked him from the first, though I 
 felt gi'atitude for the kindness which I received 
 from him and his friend Mr. Dudley, and ex- 
 pressed it. But, oh ! how different has Mr. 
 Dudley's conduct ever been. It was to him, 
 indeed, I owed my safety, though the other was 
 kind also at the time ; but the very night when 
 they had brought me here, he looked at me in
 
 THE CONVICT. 285 
 
 a way — I cannot describe it — but it made me 
 feel very uncomfortable." 
 
 " And Mr. Dudley has been always kind ?" 
 asked her uncle. 
 
 " I cannot tell you how kind," answered 
 Helen. " His manner was so gentle, so like a 
 gentleman ; and he seemed to feel so much for 
 me in every way, both when he was extricating 
 me fi'om the heap of stones and earth, and 
 afterwards when I was anxious to let my father 
 know what had happened, that I can never for- 
 get it ; and then, when I saw him the day after, 
 there was such a difference between his con- 
 duct and Lord Hadley's, that in any moment 
 of danger I would have clung to him like a 
 brother, while I shrunk from the other's very 
 look. — I did not know why then ; but I know 
 now." 
 
 " It is like the race of Dudley," replied Nor- 
 ries, and leaning his head upon his hand, he 
 fell into deep and seemingly bitter thought.
 
 286 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " How men may be led into great errors !" he 
 exclaimed at length. "Helen, your father must 
 know of all this ; but I will tell him, and tell 
 him why you dared not. That in itself will 
 act as a check upon him ; for with high hearts 
 like his, to see the consequences of their pas- 
 sions is to regret them. But fear not, little 
 pet, I will take care to tell him, when he will 
 have time for calm thought before he can act. — 
 Helen, it must be ! A daughter must not show 
 a want of confidence in her father." 
 
 " I would not for the world," replied Helen 
 Clive ; " but oh ! take care, my dear uncle ; for 
 I tremble to think of the consequences." 
 
 " I will take care, poor thing," said Norries ; 
 " although, dear Helen, we must never think of 
 consequences where a matter of right and duty 
 is concerned ; and now farewell." Thus saying, 
 he took his departure, and left her, with an 
 anxious mind and agitated heart, to await the 
 coming events.
 
 THE CONVICT. 287 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 The aftei'Doon had been clear, and even 
 ■warm. Every cloud had passed away from 
 the sky; and when, about a quarter to six, Eda 
 Brandon retii'ed to her own room to dress for 
 dinner, the sun — set about a quarter of an horn- 
 before — had left the sky all studded with stars. 
 She was fond of seeing the heavens, and the 
 curtains of her windows -were not di'awm ; so 
 that while she sat at her toilette table, with the 
 maid dressing her beautiful hair, she could 
 gaze out at the orbs of light in the fiimament, 
 ■which was spread like a scroll written with 
 characters of fire before her eyes.
 
 Q88 THE CONVICT. 
 
 It was very dark, however, for — as the 
 reader learned in moons will comprehend 
 from what was said at the beginning of this 
 work — the fair planet of the night had not 
 yet risen; and as Eda continued to gaze, 
 there suddenly shot up through the obscurity 
 what seemed a bright, rushing ball of fire ; 
 then pausing, suspended as it were in the air 
 for a moment, it burst into a thousand glittering 
 sparks, which descended slowly towards the 
 earth again. 
 
 " What can that be ?" exclaimed Eda. 
 
 " La ! ma'am, it's a rocket," said the maid. 
 *' I shouldn't wonder, if it was some of those 
 Chartist people's signals. They are making a 
 great stir about here just now, I can tell you. 
 Miss Eda ; and I am getting horribly afraid for 
 what will happen next." 
 
 " Do you mean to say that such things are 
 taking place in this neighbourhood ?" inquired 
 Eda, in some surprise. " I think you must be
 
 THE CONVICT. 289 
 
 confounding the reports from the manufac- 
 turing districts." 
 
 " Oh dear, no, ma'am !" replied the maid. 
 " My brother, who is servant ^vith Mr. Gaspey, 
 told me yesterday, that he had seen full fifty 
 of them marching across, two and two, to some 
 of their meetings ; and he and his master both 
 think we shall have a row — La ! there goes 
 another rocket — it's their doings, depen d upon 
 it." 
 
 " That cannot be," answered Eda. " Those 
 rockets are thrown up from the sea. I should 
 not wonder if it was some ship in distress. 
 Open the window, and listen if there are 
 guns." 
 
 The maid obeyed, but all was silent, though 
 the wind blew dead upon the coast ; and Eda, 
 finishing her toilette, descended to the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 A number of the neighbouring gentry had 
 been invited to dine at Brandon on that day ; 
 VOL. I. u
 
 290 THE CONVICT. 
 
 and the table was well-nigh full. As soon as 
 that pause, in devouring took place which 
 usually succeeds when people have eaten 
 fully sufficient to satisfy the hungry man, and 
 have nothing left but to pamper the epicure, 
 conversation, which was very slack before, 
 became animated upon the subject of the 
 movements which were taking place in different 
 parts of the country, of the designs of the 
 Chartists, and of the danger of " the people's 
 holiday" terminating in anarchy and bloodshed. 
 Eda watched her uncle, for she knew well 
 that he entertained opinions upon political 
 subjects very different from those of the gen- 
 tlemen by whom he was surrounded. Sir 
 Arthur changed colour several times while the 
 subject was under discussion ; but at length a 
 young military man, with somewhat rash im- 
 petuosity, exclaimed, " Depend upon it, this is 
 a disease that wants blood-letting. A few 
 inches of cold iron, applied on the first 
 attack, will soon cut it short."
 
 THE CONVICT. 291 
 
 Sir Arthur fired at the speech, and replied, 
 warmly, " My opinion is totally different, sir. 
 If it be a disease at all, it is one of those that 
 are salutary in the end, and likely to clear off 
 a mass of evils which have accumulated in 
 the pursy and pampered onstitutionc of this 
 country'. — But," he continued, in a more mode- 
 rate tone, " as the opinions at the table are very 
 wide apart, it may be wise to avoid politics." 
 
 " Perhaps so," replied the young officer, with 
 a courteous inclination of the head ; and the 
 subject dropped, much to Eda's relief 
 
 She was destined, however, in the course of 
 that evening to meet with a new subject of 
 anxiety and annoyance. Lord Hadley, without 
 actually getting at all tipsy, took enough wine 
 after dinner to render him overbearing and 
 irritable; and when Dudley seated himself 
 beside her for a moment in the drawing-room, 
 and said a few words to her in a low tone, the 
 young peer instantly cut across their conver- 
 sation, and, in a haughty and domineering 
 u 2
 
 292 THE CONVICT. 
 
 manner, gave a flat contiadiction to something 
 which his tutor had asserted. 
 
 Although of an amiable, and usually of a 
 placable disposition, Dudley instantly retorted 
 in severe terms — his growing contempt for 
 the young peer overcoming his ordinary com- 
 mand over himself. Lord Hadley's words 
 grew high, and tones loud; Edgar Adelon and 
 the young officer, who had been one at the 
 dinner-table, drew near; and the former lis- 
 tened with evident satisfaction to the severe 
 castigation which the peer received at the 
 hands of Mr. Dudley. It was given without 
 loss of temper, but yet with an unsparing and 
 a powerful hand ; and the young man, almost 
 furious, exposed himself every moment more 
 and more, while the contemptuous smile of 
 Edgar Adelon rendered his punishment still 
 more bitter. The presence of Miss Brandon 
 acted as a certain restraint ; and as the eyes of 
 several ladies in the room tunied upon them,
 
 THE CONVICT. 293 
 
 Lord Hadley, with a burning heart and a flushed 
 cheek, turned a^vay and left the room, while 
 Edgar, with a laugh, muttered, " It will do him 
 good ;" and Dudley calmly resumed his con- 
 versation with Eda. 
 
 Miss Brandon, however, was herself much 
 agitated and alarmed ; and in the course of the 
 evening, as the company from time to time 
 broke into different groups, she took the op- 
 portunity of saying, at a moment when they 
 were unobserved, " For pity's sake, Edward, 
 do not let the dispute go any farther with that 
 foolish young man. Remember, he is but a 
 boy, in mind at all events, and really unworthy 
 of your notice." 
 
 " Oh ! fear not, dear Eda," replied Dudley ; 
 " for your sake, if for nothing else, I would not 
 suffer such an idle dispute to deviate into a 
 direct quarrel. But the relations between him 
 and me must be immediately altered. As long 
 as he thought fit to demean himself as a gen-
 
 294 THE CONVICT. 
 
 tleman and a man of honour, there seemed 
 to be nothing degrading in the position that I 
 held. Now, however, the case is different." 
 
 Other persons coming uj), prevented their 
 farther conversation, and when the guests had 
 taken their leave, Eda retired, not to rest, but 
 to think over events which were the cause of 
 no slight anxiety. Slowly undressing, she 
 dismissed her maid, and sitting down before 
 the table, wrapped in her dressing-gown, medi- 
 tated painfully over the probable result. The 
 moments often fly fast in thought as well as in 
 activity ; and Eda, in surprise, heard a clock 
 which stood near her door strike one, while 
 she was still sitting at the table. She rose to 
 go to bed, but at that moment a curious sound 
 caught her ear. It seemed to proceed from 
 the park, and was that of a dull, heavy tramp, 
 sometimes sounding louder, sometimes softer, 
 sometimes distinctly measured, sometimes va- 
 ried into a mere rustle. It struck her as very 
 curious ; and although she tried to persuade
 
 THE CONVICT. 295 
 
 herself that it was a herd of deer passing over 
 the gravel in the avenue, yet she was not satis- 
 fied, and proceeding to a window, drew back 
 the curtains, and gazed out. 
 
 The moon was not yet to be seen in the sky, 
 but still her approaching light shed a certain 
 degree of lustre before her. The night was 
 certainly clearer than it had appeared shortly 
 after sunset, and the stars were more faint and 
 ■pale. From the left-hand side of the park, 
 moving rapidly across the wide open space in 
 front of the house, at a distance of not more 
 than a hundred yards, a stream of dark human 
 figm'es was seen, tending towards the opposite 
 side, where the stile led down into the little 
 vaUey with the stream and the old priory. 
 There seemed to be between two and three 
 hundred men, principally walking two and 
 two ; but every here and there in the hne, 
 they were gathered into a little knot, and appa- 
 rently carrying some heavy mass upon their 
 shoulders. At one spot within sight they
 
 296 THE CONVICT. 
 
 halted, and one of the burdens which they 
 carried was shifted to the shoulders of fresh 
 bearers, displaying to the eyes of Eda, as the 
 change was effected, an object which, to ima- 
 gination, looked much like the form of a man. 
 It seemed very heavy, however, and took at 
 least eight or ten persons to carry it. It re- 
 quired some time, too, to move it from one set 
 of shoulders to another ; and when the party 
 marched on again, Eda said to herself, " This 
 must be a train of those misguided men, the 
 Chartists. How bold of them to come across 
 the park ! I trust my uncle has nothing to do 
 with them — but I almost fear it." 
 
 Even as the thought passed through her 
 mind, a single figure came forth from the ter- 
 race just below her, and followed upon the 
 track of the others. The form, however, was 
 too slight and graceful for that of Sir Arthur 
 Adelon. It was that of a young and lightly 
 made man ; and Eda at once recognised her 
 cousin Edgar.
 
 THE CONVICT, 297 
 
 The moment she did so, she threw open the 
 window, and leaning out, spoke to him in a 
 low voice. " What is all this, Edgar ?" she 
 said. " "Who are those men, and what are 
 they about?" 
 
 *• I do not know, pretty cousin," he an- 
 swered ; " but I am going to see." 
 
 " Oh ! for Heaven s sake, take care," cried 
 Eda. " You had better take no notice of 
 them. There were two or three hundred men, 
 and they may murder you." 
 
 " Pooh ! pooh !" answered Edgar. " Go 
 to bed, Eda, dear ; you will catch cold, and 
 then somebody will scold me to-morrow ;" and 
 away he walked after the party of men, which 
 he also had seen fiom his room as he sat 
 meditating near the window. The intruders 
 seemed to know the park tolerably well ; but 
 Edgar Adelon knew it better; and, cutting off 
 an angle here, and taking a short turn there — 
 by a hawthorn bush — round a clump of chest- 
 nuts — through a copse — over a rise, he contrived
 
 298 THE CONVICT. 
 
 to come in sight of them continually, without 
 being seen himself, till at length they reached 
 the stone stile, and paused around it in an 
 irregulai* mass. The young gentleman was at 
 that moment standing with his back against a 
 large horse-chestnut tree, and he could not at 
 all make out the manoeuvres that followed. 
 Some of the men stood upon the top of the 
 stile, and seemed, with great labour and diffi- 
 culty, to lift a large and very weighty object 
 over the wall. Then came another effort of 
 the same kind, and then the men began to 
 pass rapidly into the road beyond the park. 
 
 As soon as the last had disaj^peared, young 
 Edgar Adelon darted out of his place of con- 
 cealment, and followed ; but by the time he 
 reached the lane, although the moon had now 
 risen, not a trace of the mob could be dis- 
 covered J and he was turning away to the left, 
 when suddenly a murmur of voices from the 
 copse and valley below showed him the direc- 
 tion which those he sought had taken. There
 
 THE CONVICT. 299 
 
 were ways through that copse only known to 
 himself and the gamekeepers — unless, indeed, 
 some of the neighbouring poachers were as 
 learned in its recesses ; — but following one of 
 these paths, he soon came within sight of the 
 open space before the old priory, and a strange 
 scene presented itself to his eyes. Full two 
 hundred men were there assembled, some sit- 
 ting on fragments of the old ruin, some 
 sauntering idly about the little green, some 
 bathing their hands in the stream, which 
 sparkled not only in the light, pure and pale> 
 of the newly-risen moon, but in that of two or 
 three torches, which had by this time been 
 lighted. In the centre, however, there was a 
 group of some thirty persons, more busily em- 
 ployed, in the midst of whom shone the 
 torches 1 have mentioned ; and by their glare, 
 Edgar now perceived, for the first time clearly, 
 the heavy objects which the men had carried, 
 and saw what they were now doing with them. 
 Two small field-pieces, apparently of brass.
 
 300 THE CONVICT. 
 
 lay upon the ground, detached from their car- 
 riages, which had been taken to pieces, and 
 which the mob were putting busily together. 
 A good deal of skill was shown in the task, 
 and no slight eagerness appeared in the rough, 
 bronzed countenances of the men around, as 
 they looked on or assisted from time to time. 
 The fixing the carriages together was soon 
 complete, and then came the more laborious 
 work of slinging the cannon, and adjusting them 
 in their proper position. This was not ac- 
 complished without difficulty, but it was at 
 length complete; and Edgar Adelon felt in- 
 clined to turn away and go back to the house, 
 when suddenly a loud voice exclaimed, " Now 
 run them back into those dark nooks, and 
 gather round and hear a word or two." 
 
 Eight or ten men instantly applied them- 
 selves to drag the field-pieces into the recesses 
 of the building, and then came forth again, 
 gathering round the person who had spoken. 
 He then placed himself upon a large mass
 
 THE CONVICT. 301 
 
 of fallen masoniy, and in a loud, clear tone, 
 and with powerful and energetic language, pro- 
 nounced an harangue, which gave to Edgar 
 Adelon the astounding information that his 
 father was looked upon as the leader of the 
 rash men he saw before him, and their future 
 guide and support in schemes which seemed to 
 his fresh young mind nothing but mere mad- 
 ness. A part, at least, of their plans and pm*- 
 poses was displayed ; and with a heart filled 
 with terror and anxiet}* for his father, Edgar 
 Adelon made his way out of the copse, to re- 
 turn to Brandon House, asking himself how 
 he should act, and resolving to consult the 
 priest as soon as he could see him on the fol- 
 lowing morning.
 
 302 THE CONVICT. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 What a whimsical thing is that strange com- 
 position — man. The very elements of his 
 nature war against each other, though bound 
 together by hoops of steel. The spirit and the 
 body are continually at variance, and the 
 activity of the one often renders the other inert. 
 Eda Brandon could not sleep after E dgar Adelon 
 left her ; her imagination, ever busy, presented 
 to her continually scenes the most fearful and 
 the most terrible, where the gibbet, and the axe, 
 and the deadly shot were seen and heard ; and 
 her uncle's form appeared as a criminal, 
 freed for an hour or two from dark imprison-
 
 THE CONVICT. 303 
 
 ment, to endure the torture of a public trial. 
 She judged of all she knew as a woman judges — 
 with keen foresight and penetration, but with- 
 out sufficient experience to make that penetra- 
 tion available. But still her fancy was busy, 
 and it kept her waking. For more than one 
 hour she did not sleep ; but still she tried hard 
 to do so, for she proposed to rise early on the 
 following morning, when she knew that those 
 whom she had determined to consult as to 
 all the questions before her would be up. 
 But such resolutions are vain. Fatigue and 
 exhaustion imperatively counselled repose ; 
 and at length, when her eyes closed, notwith- 
 standing all her determinations to watch, she 
 went on in a profound slumber for more than 
 one hour after her usual time of rising. 
 
 A morning of hurry and anxiety succeeded. 
 Dudley had already gone out with the game- 
 keepers and Edgar to shoot; Lord Hadley was 
 still in bed ; Mr. Filmer had been summoned 
 to a dying man at daybreak.
 
 304 THE CONVICT. 
 
 Sir Arthur ate his breakfast absorbed in jour- 
 nals and papers ; and Eda, though she loved 
 hini, had still doubts and hesitations, which 
 prevented her from speaking to her uncle on 
 the subject predominant in her thoughts. At 
 length he looked at his watch, and rose sud- 
 denly, saying, " I must leave you, dear Eda. 
 It is strange that Mr. Nonies has not arrived, 
 as I expected him on business. 
 
 No mention was made of the j^eculiar in- 
 fluence that the one party possessed over the 
 other ; and the tone, too, was so common-place, 
 that Eda began to imagine she had been over- 
 penetrating, and had discovered things that did 
 not exist; so that she saw her uncle depart 
 with comparative tranquillity, and remained 
 alone for near an hour, trying to occui5y her- 
 self with the ordinary amusements of the morn- 
 ing. At the end of that time, however, her 
 maid opened the door of her own little sitting- 
 room, saying, " Miss Clive, ma'am," and Helen 
 was soon seated by Eda Brandon.
 
 THE CONVICT. 305 
 
 " What is the matter, Helen dear," said 
 Eda, as the other, at her invitation, sat down 
 on the sofa beside her. " You look pale ; and 
 agitated I am sure you are ; for however we 
 may hide it, dear Helen, and however difficult 
 it may be to detect in line or feature, the anxiety 
 of the heart writes itself upon the face in 
 characters faint but very distinct. — You are 
 anxious about something, Helen. Something 
 has gone amiss. Tell me, dear Helen ; for I 
 think I need not say that if I can console or 
 help, you have only to tell the how, to Eda 
 Brandon." 
 
 " You are ever kind to your own little Helen, 
 as you used to call me in my childhood, Eda," 
 replied her beautiiul companion. '' You were 
 then but a child yourself, but from that day to 
 this there has been no change, and it is time 
 that I should try to retuni the kindness. 
 Dearest Eda, it is you I am anxious for — 
 at least yours ; and I cannot refrain from tell- 
 ing you what I know, in the hope that you may 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 THE CONVICT. 
 
 be able to avert the danger ; but you must 
 promise me first not to mention one word to 
 any one of that which I am about to say." 
 
 " But, my dear Helen, how can I avert 
 danger if I may not mention to any one the 
 circumstances ?" inquired Eda. '* I am a 
 very weak, powerless creature, Helen; and as 
 you say the danger menaces mine more than 
 myself, if I must speak of it to no one, how can 
 I warn them?" 
 
 " Listen, listen, Eda," was the answer. " You 
 must not indeed tell what I relate, except as I 
 point out; but still you shall have room enough 
 to warn those you love of the danger their own 
 acts are bringing upon them. Do you promise, 
 Eda?" 
 
 " Certainly, Helen," replied Eda Brandon ; 
 " it is for you to speak or be silent ; and I must 
 take your intelligence on your own conditions. 
 Yet I think you might trust me entirely to act 
 for the best, Helen." 
 
 " I must not," said Helen Clive. " What I
 
 THE CONVICT. 307 
 
 have to say might involve the lives of others. 
 Listen, then, Helen. Your uncle Sir Arthur is 
 involved in schemes which will, I am sure, lead 
 to his destniction. He is going this very 
 evening to a place whence he will not come 
 back without great guilt upon his head, and 
 great danger hanging over him — perhaps he 
 may never come back at all ; but be sure that 
 if he do go, peace and security are banished 
 from him for ever. Persuade him not to go, 
 Eda. That is the only thing which can save 
 him." 
 
 She spoke with eager interest, and it was 
 impossible, from her look, her tone, her whole 
 manner, to doubt for one moment that she was 
 fully impressed with the tiTith of what she said. 
 Nor was Eda -without her anxiety ; all that she 
 had seen the night before, all that she had 
 remarked of her uncle's behaviour for several 
 days, not only showed her that there was 
 foundation for Helen Clive's assertion, but 
 directed her suspicions aright; and, though 
 X 2
 
 308 THE CONVICT. 
 
 she paused, it was not in any doubt, but rather 
 to consider liovv, without deceit, she could 
 obtain further information from one who was 
 not disposed to give it. 
 
 " I cannot persuade him, Helen," she said at 
 length, in a sad tone, " without much more in- 
 telligence than you have given; he would 
 only laugh at me. — Nay, perhaps with all that 
 you could give, such would be the same result. 
 Men are often sadly obstinate, and ridicule the 
 prophetic fears of woman, who sees the events 
 in which they are called to mingle, but from 
 which she is excluded, not unft-equently more 
 justly than themselves, because she is but a 
 spectator. You have neither told me the place to 
 which he is going, nor the hour, nor the object, 
 no, nor the inducement.— Inducement ?" she 
 continued, in a thoughtful tone, as if speaking 
 to herself—" what can be a sufficient induce- 
 ment for my uncle, with everything to lose and 
 nothing to gain by such commotions, to take 
 part in any of these rash schemes ?"
 
 THE CONVICT. 309 
 
 " I see that you have yourself had fears," 
 answered Helen, " and that those fears have 
 not led you far from the truth. Then as to 
 the inducement, Eda " 
 
 " Oh, yes ! speak of that," replied Miss 
 Brandon ; " if I knew what it was, perhaps I 
 might remove it." 
 
 " Perhaps so," said Helen, thoughtfully, and 
 then paused for an instant to consider. " I think 
 you can, Eda," she continued. "If I know 
 looks, and can understand tones, you certainly 
 will be able. But there are several inducements, 
 as I suppose there are in all things. There is 
 the vanity, I believe, of adhering steadily to 
 opinions once professed, how much soever the 
 man, the circumstances, or the times may be 
 changed; but that would have been nothing, had 
 they not led him on fi*om act to act, and when- 
 ever he wavered — whenever he thought of how 
 much he risked upon an almost hopeless under- 
 taking — still forced him forward by fears." 
 " By fears !" exclaimed Eda. « Of what ? Of
 
 310 THE CONVICT. 
 
 ^hom ? Who has Sir Arthur Adelon to fear ? 
 What can he apprehend ?" 
 
 She spoke somewhat proudly, and Helen 
 gazed at her with a sad, but tender look, while 
 she replied, in a few brief words, " He whom he 
 fears, is one whom, if generously treated, there 
 is no cause to fear. His name is Dudley, 
 Eda ! W^hat he fears, is the discovery by Mr. 
 Dudley of some dark transactions in the past 
 — I know not what, for they did not mention it 
 — the proofs of which these men have in their 
 possession." 
 
 Eda sat before her, silent with amazement, 
 for several moments; but then she put her 
 hand to her brow, and the next moment a smile 
 full of hope came up into her face. " If that 
 be the inducement," she said, " I think it will 
 be easily removed, dear Helen. But you spoke 
 of others ; may they not be sufficiently strong 
 to carry him on in the same course still ?" 
 
 " Oh, no," replied Helen, " that is the great 
 motive. Take that away, and he will be safe.
 
 THE CONVICT. 311 
 
 Speak to Mr. Dudley first, Eda, and get him 
 to say to Sir Arthur these words, or some that 
 are like them : ^ I have heai'd of some papers 
 to be returned to me in a few days, Sir Arthur 
 Adelon, affecting questions long past; but I 
 think it right to say at once, that I wish all 
 those gone-by affairs to be buried in obHvion; 
 and I pledge you my word, if those papers are 
 given to me, I will destroy them without look- 
 ing at them.' " 
 
 " That is much to ask, Helen," exclaimed 
 Eda, with a look of hesitation : " how can I 
 tell that those papers do not affect his veiy 
 dearest interests r I remember well that his 
 father lost a fine property some years ago, by 
 a suit at law. May not these very papers 
 affect that transaction — may they not afford 
 the means of recovering it?" 
 
 "They do not — they do not," answered 
 Helen, eagerly ; '' and if they did, would he 
 not promise you^ Eda r" 
 
 The emphasis was so strong upon the word
 
 312 THE CONVICT. 
 
 ^' you," that it brought the colour into Eda 
 Brandon's cheek ; for she found that woman's 
 eyes had seen at once into woman's heart. 
 Still she shrunk from owning the love that was 
 between Dudley and herself; and she replied, 
 ^' I had better ask my cousin Edgar to speak 
 to Mr. Dudley about it." 
 
 " Speak to him yourself, Eda," replied Helen, 
 with a faint smile ; " your voice will be more 
 powerful. But let me proceed, for I must be 
 home without delay. Wlien you have Mr. 
 Dudley's promise to speak as I have said, then 
 beg Sir Arthur yourself, not to go this night 
 where he is going. Mind not, Eda, whether 
 he laughs or is angry, but do you detain him 
 by every persuasion in your power." 
 
 " But if he should not come home ?" said 
 Eda; "such a thing is not impossible. He 
 has been out very much lately, both by day 
 and by night, and we are all ignorant of 
 whither he goes on such occasions." 
 
 Helen once more paused before she replied,
 
 THE CONVICT. 313 
 
 and then said, with evident hesitation and fear, 
 " You must send some persons down to seek 
 him, then, dear Eda. Let them go down to a 
 place called Mead's Farm, half-way between 
 this and Barhampton, about eight o'clock to- 
 night. There is a large empty bam there ; and 
 at it, or near it, they will find two or three men 
 standing, who will not let them pass along the 
 path unless they give the word, ' Justice.' 
 Then, if they go along the road before them, 
 towards Barhampton, they will find the person 
 they are seeking. But, oh ! I trust, Eda, he 
 will be found before that, for then it will be 
 almost too late." 
 
 " Who can I send?" said Eda, in a low tone, 
 as if speaking to herself; but Helen caught 
 the words, and replied, in an imploring tone, 
 " Not Mr. Adelon, Eda — not your cousin. He 
 might be led on with his father, and ruin over- 
 take him too." 
 
 Eda smiled sweetly, and laid her hand upon 
 Helen Clive's, with a gentle and aflfectionate
 
 314 THE CONVICT. 
 
 pressure ; but, as she did so, some painful antici- 
 pations regarding the fate of her beautiful and 
 highly-gifted companion crossed her mind, and 
 she said, with a sigh, "Do you know I am 
 almost a Chartist too, Helen ?" 
 
 Helen started, saying, " Indeed ! I do not 
 understand what you mean, Eda." 
 
 " What I mean is, dear Helen," replied Miss 
 Brandon, "that I wish there were no distinc- 
 tions upon earth, but virtue, and excellence, 
 and high qualities." 
 
 Helen now understood her, and cast down 
 her eyes with a blush and a sigh ; and Eda put 
 her arm round her neck, adding, " In time of 
 need, my Helen, come to me. Tell me all and 
 everything, and above all, how I can serve you ; 
 and you shall not find Eda Brandon wanting. 
 But hark! There is Lord Hadley's voice in 
 the hall below." 
 
 Helen Clive turned pale and trembled. 
 " He will not come here," she said, eagerly.
 
 THE CONVICT. 315 
 
 ** Do not let him come here. — Oh ! how shall 
 I get away r" 
 
 »* Why, what is the matter?" asked Eda, 
 in surprise ; but before Helen could answer, 
 another voice, rich and harmonious, but 
 speaking in grave and almost stem tones, was 
 heard. " My lord, I beg your pardon, but 
 this is a matter which admits of no delay. 
 I must repeat my request for a few minutes' 
 conversation with you immediately." 
 
 Lord Hadley was then heard answering 
 sharply; and the next moment the voices 
 ceased, as if the speakers had retired into one 
 of the rooms below. 
 
 "You do not seem to like Lord Hadley, 
 Helen," said Eda, in a thoughtful tone. 
 
 " I abhor him," answered Helen Clive, " and 
 I have cause. But now I must retvum to the 
 Grange, and I ynll ask you as a favour, dear 
 Eda, to send some one with me by the way. 
 It is very strange to feel afraid at going out
 
 316 THE CONVICT. 
 
 alone, for one who has been accustomed, as I 
 have been, to roam about like a free bh-d, with- 
 out one thought of danger or annoyance ; but 
 now I tremble at every step I take, and watch 
 every coming figure with aj^prehension." 
 
 " And has this young man done this ?" asked 
 Eda Brandon. " It is sad, very sad ; but you 
 shall have protection, Helen." 
 
 Helen Clive did not reply, and Eda rang the 
 bell, and gave orders that one of the old ser- 
 vants, who had been attached for twenty years 
 to her father's house, should accompany Helen 
 back to the Grange. 
 
 They then parted, aftei some more brief ex- 
 planations ; but just as Helen reached the foot 
 of the stairs, where the servant was waiting for 
 her, the door of the library was thrown violently 
 open, and Lord Hadley appeared with a flushed 
 and angiy countenance. Mr. Dudley was stand- 
 ing two or three steps behind him, and his 
 cheek too was hot, and his brow frowning. 
 
 Without seeing Helen, and, indeed, in the
 
 THE CONVICT. 317 
 
 blind fury of passion, without noticing any one 
 else, the young nobleman turned before he left 
 the library, and with a menacing gesture, said to 
 Mr. Dudley, " Yom* insolence, sir, shall not go 
 without notice. Don't suppose your rash and 
 mercenary pretensions have escaped my eyes. 
 Be you sure they will be treated^with the con- 
 tempt they merit; but I will take care that 
 they shall be pursued no farther ; for they shall 
 be exposed to Sir Arthur Adelon this very day." 
 Dudley took a step forward, and replied, 
 with a stern look, " Your lordship had better 
 take care what use you make of my name in 
 your discourse, for depend upon it, if you treat 
 it disrespectfully, T shall know how to punish 
 you for so doing." 
 
 It is probable that more angry words would 
 have followed, but at that moment two other 
 persons were added to the group, by the ad- 
 vance of Mr. Filmer from the outer hall, and 
 by the appearance of the butler from the side 
 of the offices, caiTying a tray with letters.
 
 318 THE CONVICT. 
 
 " Two letters for your lordship," said the 
 servant, advancing in a common-place manner, 
 as if he observed nothing of the angry discus- 
 sion which was going on. " A letter for you, 
 sir," he continued, addressing Dudley, as soon 
 as Lord Hadley had taken what he offered. 
 
 The young nobleman gave a hurried glance 
 around ; and the slight pause which had been 
 afforded was sufficient to allow reflection to 
 come to his aid. By this time Mr. Filmer was 
 speaking to Helen Clive, and both she and the 
 priest were moving fast towards the great doors 
 of the house ; but the presence of the two 
 servants was noAv enough to restrain Lord 
 Hadley's impetuous temper; and without 
 opening the letters, he hurried away towards 
 his bed-room, leaving Dudley alone in the 
 library. The butler shut the door, and retired 
 to tell the housekeeper and some of his fellow- 
 servants all that which he had seen and heard, 
 but which he had affected not to observe.
 
 THE CONVICT. 319 
 
 Dudley, in the meantime, laid down the 
 letter on the table, and stood in bitter thought. 
 Although a man of strong command over liim- 
 self — command gained during a long period of 
 adversity — he was naturally of a quick and 
 eager disposition, and a severe struggle was 
 taking place in his bosom at that moment 
 to maintain the ascendancy of principle over 
 passion. 
 
 " No I" he said, at length—" No. I will make 
 one more effort to reclaim him. I will not 
 dwell upon his insulting conduct towards me ; 
 but I will point out the wickedness and the 
 folly of the course he is pursuing, and endeavour 
 to call him back to honour and to right." The 
 very determination served to calm him; and 
 looking down upon the letter on the table, he 
 took it up, saying, " I wonder who this can be 
 from ? I do not know the hand. I must see, 
 for the seal is black." And opening it, he found 
 the following words : —
 
 320 the convict. 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " ^^^e have the melancholy task of in- 
 forming you of the sudden decease, last night, 
 at half-past nine o'clock, of our much respected 
 friend and client, the Rev. Dr. Dudley, which 
 took place at St. John's, just as he was about 
 to retire to rest. Although we know that you 
 will be greatly grieved at this sad event, we are 
 forced to intrude some business upon your 
 attention, under the following circumstances. 
 About a fortnight ago, our late respected client, 
 having felt some apoplectic symptoms, judged 
 it right to send for Mr. Emerson, of our firm, 
 in order to make his will, which was in due 
 form signed, sealed, and delivered. He therein 
 appointed you his sole executor, having be- 
 queathed all his property, real and personal, to 
 yourself, with the exception of a few small 
 legacies. He has also requested j-ou to make 
 all the arrangements for his funeral as you 
 may think proper, merely directing that it 
 should be conducted in a plain and unostcn-
 
 THE CONVICT. 321 
 
 tatious manner. It is therefore very necessary 
 that you should return to Cambridge as soon as 
 possible, or that you should send your direc- 
 tions by letter. In the meantime, we will take 
 all proper steps in the matter, and trust to be 
 honoured with vour confidence, as we have 
 been with that of your lamented relative for 
 many years." 
 
 The letter was signed by a well-known law 
 firm in Cambridge. 
 
 The first emotion in the mind of Edward 
 Dudley was that of deep grief — grief, simple 
 and unalloyed, for the loss of one whom he 
 had truly loved ; but the next was a feeling of 
 bereavement. His staff was broken, his sup- 
 port gone. The only one in all the world who 
 had acted a kindly, almost a parental part to 
 him, for long, long years, was no more. He 
 felt, as I have said, bereaved; for although 
 the love of Eda Brandon — that love which 
 had been cherished in secret by both, was 
 a great consolation and a comfort, yet it 
 
 VOL. I. Y
 
 32*2 THE CONVICT. 
 
 was so different, both in kind and in degree, 
 from the affection entertained for him by his 
 own relation, that they could not be brought 
 at all into comparison the one with the other. 
 New attachments never wholly compensate 
 for old ties. They fill a different, perhaps 
 a larger place, but they leave the others 
 vacant. He mourned sincerely then; and it 
 was some time before the thought — which would 
 have presented itself much earlier to a worldly 
 mind — came even to his memory — the thought 
 that the riches of the earth, which can never 
 compete, in a generous heart, with those affec- 
 tions which arc above the earth, but which in- 
 fluence so much the course of human life and 
 mortal happiness, were now his. That he was no 
 more the impoverished student, seeking by hard 
 labour to recover the position which his family 
 had once maintained. That he was not only in- 
 dependent, but wealthy ; and though perhaps not 
 exactly upon a par in point of fortune with the 
 heiress of large hereditary possessions, still no 
 unportioned adventurer, seeking to mend his
 
 THE CONVICT. 3*23 
 
 condition with her gold. He knew that his 
 father's first cousin had himself inherited a 
 very fair estate. He knew that he had held rich 
 benefices and lucrative oflGices; and he also 
 knew that, though a liberal and a kindly man, 
 he had been also a very prudent one, and had 
 certainly lived far within his income. Thus he 
 was certain of more than a moderate fortune ; 
 but although it would be folly to deny that such 
 a conviction was a relief to his mind, still 
 sincere grief was predominant, and he felt that 
 the wealth he had acquired by the loss of a 
 friend could in no degree compensate for the 
 bereavement. 
 
 While he thus meditated, he heard a quick 
 but heavy step upon the stairs, the glass doors 
 between the hall and the vestibule bang with a 
 force which might almost have shaken the 
 panes from the fi'ame, and the moment after, 
 he saw the figure of Lord Hadley pass the 
 windows of the library. Dudley instantly 
 took up his hat, darted out and looked around ; 
 but the young nobleman had disappeared, and
 
 324 THE CONVICT. 
 
 seeing one of the gamekeepers who had been 
 out with him and Edgar in the morning, walk- 
 ing slo^Yly away from the house, he stopped him, 
 and asked which way the young nobleman had 
 taken. His manner was quick and eager, and 
 the cloud of grief was still upon his brow, so 
 that the man looked at him for a moment with 
 some surprise before he answered. He then 
 pointed out the way, and Dudley was turning 
 at once to follow it, when the butler came out 
 upon the terrace, saying, with a low bow, 
 " Miss Brandon wishes to speak with you for 
 a few moments, sir, if you are not otherwise 
 engaged." 
 
 " If the business is not of great importance," 
 said Dudley, " I will be back in ten minutes." 
 
 " It is nothing particular, I believe, sir," 
 answered the man ; " she has just had a note 
 from Sir Arthur to say he wont be back to 
 dinner. ' I fancy that is all." 
 
 " Then say I will wait upon her in ten 
 minutes," replied Dudley ; " I wish to catch
 
 THE CONVICT. 325- 
 
 Lord Hadley for a moment before he proceeds 
 farther. We have something to speak about 
 which must be settled at once." And he sped 
 upon the way, as the gamekeeper had directed. 
 It was in the direction of the Grange. 
 
 Ten minutes elapsed, and Dudley had not 
 returned. A quarter of an hour, half an hour, an 
 hour ; and when he came back he was evidently 
 a good deal excited. He calmed himself down, 
 however, as much as possible, and immediately 
 requested an interview with Miss Brandon, 
 who came down and joined him in the li- 
 braiy, remaining with him neai'ly till dinner- 
 time. They were at last interrupted by the 
 priest, who came in search of a book, and 
 shortly after the dressing-bell rang. At the 
 dinner- table. Lord Hadley, who appeared very 
 late, was gloomy and thoughtful. He never 
 addressed a word to Mr. Dudley, and spoke 
 but little to Eda or the priest, who took 
 one end of the table. Edgar Adelon did 
 not at all seek to converse with him ; and when
 
 326 THE CONVICT. 
 
 any words passed between them, they were as 
 sharp as the customs of society Avould permit. 
 Dudley was very grave, and if he still took 
 any interest in Lord Hadley's conduct, he 
 might not be altogether satisfied to see him 
 drink so much wine. As soon as Eda had 
 quitted the room, however, Dudley rose, say- 
 ing that, with Mr. Filmer's permission, he 
 would retire, as he was obliged to go out for a 
 short time ; and after emptying two more 
 glasses. Lord Hadley also left the table, and 
 the party broke up. 
 
 The young peer took his hat in the vesti- 
 bule, and walked out upon the terrace, asking 
 one of the men who were in the hall if he had 
 seen which way Mr. Dudley took. The man 
 replied, " Up the avenue, my lord;" and Lord 
 Hadley pursued the same path. It was never 
 to return. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 T. C. Savill, Printer, 4, Chandos-street, Co vent- garden.
 
 THE 
 
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