L I5RAHY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVLRSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 H 165 
 
 V. I 
 
 o 
 
 3
 
 2>°\ 
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 VOL. I. 

 
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 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE HALSE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'WEEPING FERRY,' ETC 
 
 Lie scattered at the feet of men like flowers.' 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1889. 
 
 All rights reserved.
 
 *E3 
 v.l 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 CHAl'TtK 
 
 
 
 FACE 
 
 I. 
 
 Tapioca Terrace 1 
 
 II. 
 
 Graham Aspen . 
 
 
 
 24 
 
 III. 
 
 The Consultation . 
 
 
 
 46 
 
 IV. 
 
 Lena 
 
 
 
 63 
 
 V. 
 
 The Intruder . 
 
 
 
 84 
 
 VI. 
 
 Flinders' Farm 
 
 
 
 104 
 
 VII 
 
 Two Students . 
 
 
 
 131 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Twister Redivivus . 
 
 
 
 158 
 
 IX. 
 
 A New Ally . 
 
 
 
 179 
 
 X. 
 
 The ' Queen of the Glen ' 
 
 
 
 205 
 
 XI. 
 
 Misgivings 
 
 
 
 234 
 
 XII. 
 
 Run to Earth . 
 
 
 
 252 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Danger Ahead 
 
 
 
 277
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 
 
 1 It was a very unfortunate circumstance, very I' 
 This speech, sufficiently commonplace and 
 apparently destitute of obscure intention, was 
 made almost simultaneously by two persons in 
 the innermost seclusion of their respective cham- 
 bers, and the privacy with which the individual 
 souls were thus unburdened proved that the 
 sentiment expressed was not quite the one which 
 would have been proclaimed from the house-top 
 by either speaker, more especially as it was 
 accompanied, in each case, by a pursing of the 
 brow and a biting of the nether lip, significant 
 of vexation. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 The fact, however, that two or even twenty 
 persons should make an identical remark regard- 
 ing one and the same event is, after all, not very 
 singular ; but it certainly was strange that a third 
 individual should, in the recesses of his home, 
 break out in a monologue at about the same 
 time in the exactly opposite sense, saying, * It 
 was indeed a lucky circumstance !' 
 
 Still, on reflection, it must be admitted that a 
 diversity of opinion as to the same matter is in 
 the natural order of things, and is only another 
 proof that, in contemplating any object, the 
 point of view makes all the difference. Man 
 being by nature a contentious animal takes the 
 side which happens to be antagonistic to yours, 
 and will, for the mere sake of controversy, argue 
 with all the vigour of a life-long conviction, 
 whether conviction exists or not. And, indeed, 
 without debate and disputation, existence 
 here would lose half its zest ; with absolute un- 
 animity on all points, what a dull world this 
 would be ! 
 
 But, in the case before us, polemics had 
 nothing whatever to do ; in fact, it did not seem 
 to admit of two opinions, consequently it was,
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 3 
 
 to say the least, strange that people could differ 
 respecting the really providential escape of an 
 elderly lady from being run over ; and it was 
 still more remarkable that the elderly lady 
 should ascribe all her subsequent troubles to 
 that event ; and that everybody else should, in 
 like manner, trace their misfortunes to the same 
 catastrophe. 
 
 Surely if the adjective ' fortunate ' could be 
 fittingly and indisputably applied to any cir- 
 cumstance, it would be the timely rescue of a 
 harmless old woman from beneath the wheels of 
 one of Pickford's vans ! How, then, could it be 
 viewed as unfortunate ! Perhaps the epithet 
 was intended to apply to the accident ? Well, 
 unquestionably the accident was very unfortu- 
 nate. Very. But the threatened disaster was so 
 obviously and completely eclipsed by the for- 
 tunate deliverance which intervened that the 
 dolorous ejaculation quoted at the beginning of 
 this chapter seems a good deal out of place, even 
 with this interpretation ; and one is, on reflection, 
 driven to the conclusion that the phrase could 
 hardly have been intended for the accident, and 
 still less for the escape. Unless, indeed, we 
 
 B 2
 
 4 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 adopt the monstrous hypothesis that tbemoraliser 
 regretted the escape, and that Pickford's van 
 had not in this instance proved a fateful Jugger- 
 naut to the venerable lady, to the immediate 
 advantage of her heirs, administrators and 
 assigns ; but this assumption is too horrible to 
 be entertained for a moment, more especially 
 since one of the individuals taking the pessimist 
 view of the event was the good lady's spiritual 
 shepherdess, and the other her financial adviser. 
 Mrs. Sparragus had survived two husbands, 
 and had piously laid their remains in the same 
 grave ; and, when the days of mourning in each 
 instance were duly accomplished, she found 
 solace in the fact that each partner had recog- 
 nised her conjugal devotion, and had very 
 properly rewarded it with a substantial pro- 
 vision. Mr. Flinders, her first spouse, was in 
 the drug trade, and had, in a moment of happy 
 inspiration, invented and patented a pill, the 
 Flinders' Pill, of miraculous properties, which a 
 grateful public took up — or rather took down — 
 with such avidity that he speedily found himself 
 in circumstances of enviable comfort ; so much 
 so that he was able to gratify the one wish of
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 5 
 
 Mrs. Flinders' heart, which was to have a dear 
 little place in the country and to keep a cow. 
 He thereupon purchased a small farm which 
 happened to be in the market, and was within 
 easy reach of his shop in Clapham. An amateur 
 bailiff, Mr. Sparragus, was engaged and placed 
 in charge of the property, which was hence- 
 forward known as Flinders' Farm, but which 
 the neighbours said might, as a commercial 
 speculation, have been more appropriately 
 called Flinders' Folly ; for, whether attribut- 
 able to the inaptitude of the bailiff, or the 
 impracticability of the soil, or the perversity 
 of the elements, it proved altogether unremun- 
 erative, however pleasant and healthful as a 
 resort from Saturday night to Monday morn- 
 ing; for Flinders found, when he came to 
 balance his farm accounts, that his crops cost 
 fifty per cent, more than they realised: that 
 his strawberries averaged three and sixpence a 
 dozen, his cherries a penny a-piece, and his 
 eggs — when he got any, which was at rare 
 intervals — tenpence three-farthings, allowing 
 himself the usual trade discount. But there 
 was, on the other hand, an unlimited supply of
 
 6 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 groundsel and chickweed for the canary, and 
 Mr. Flinders had the satisfaction of knowing 
 that he could have supplied Covent Garden 
 with any quantity of that particular crop, had 
 there been a demand for it. 
 
 But Mr. Flinders, who had invented the pill 
 for the public health, invented the farm for his 
 own. If it had not paid as a speculation, it- 
 should be a success as a sanatorium for himself; 
 it should recoup him his outlay in a handsome 
 percentage of health. True, the drainage was 
 abominable and the rooms stuffy, owing to its 
 small windows — the house having been built at 
 the period when light and air were measured 
 with a foot-rule and taxed with a vengeance. 
 But all that could be remedied, — the pill would 
 pay for it ; and Flinders, with characteristic 
 energy, set to work and enlarged the windows, 
 reconstructed the drains, and sanitated the place 
 generally with the happiest results ; and he and 
 his wife might have continued to this day to 
 pay their hebdomadal visit per omnibus, and 
 proudly sit under their own cherry-tree, had he 
 not been called upon to pay his debt to Nature,
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 7 
 
 having caught a fever whilst investigating a 
 cesspool. 
 
 He lay desperately ill, and his case seemed 
 to offer an excellent opportunity for the powers 
 of the miraculous pill to be called into play ; 
 but the great inventor persistently refused his 
 own panacea, the natural consequence being 
 that he was a dead man in four-and- twenty 
 hours, thus ceding his place by Mrs. Flinders' 
 side much earlier than he need have done — 
 supposing the testimonials appended to his 
 advertisements were authentic, and the cures 
 based on fact. 
 
 Mrs. Flinders was one of those dependent, 
 clinging creatures who need the strong and 
 robust support of man, otherwise they droop 
 and fade away, and hard must be the heart 
 that could view such helplessness without 
 hastening to the rescue. Mr. Sparragus, the 
 bailiff, was not the man to observe her grief 
 unmoved, more especially as the farm was a 
 nice little property and capable of expansion ; 
 he therefore lost no time in offering the solitary 
 mourner the consolation of his manly sympathy.
 
 8 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Fate or Fortune, moreover, seemed to urge 
 him onward, for, at this juncture, his revered 
 sire, a grocer, died in the fulness of years and 
 plenitude of prosperity, leaving him the 
 business and a block of houses which he had 
 built and named Tapioca Terrace, as a tribute 
 of respect to his trade in general and to that 
 nutritious article in particular. Mr. Sparragus 
 thus found himself in a position of social 
 equality with his well-to-do mistress, who, in 
 her lonely walks in the pastoral environments 
 of the farm, frequently chanced to encounter the 
 well-to-do bailiff. It will, therefore, surprise no 
 one but the most bigoted and uncompromising 
 misogynist that the frail vine leant towards 
 and clung to the robustious sympathiser more 
 and more, day by day, and that in due course 
 the Flinders' and Sparragus' fortunes were 
 amalgamated and became one. But the happy 
 union was all too brief. The new firm was 
 fated to speedy dissolution. Mr. Sparragus, 
 being now master of the pill, indulged in it to 
 excess, the result being precisely the same as 
 his predecessor's obstinate renunciation of it, 
 for he departed hence prematurely, leaving Mrs.
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 9 
 
 Sparragus doubly bereft and in greater need 
 than ever of a strong arm and virile heart to 
 sustain her. 
 
 Tapioca Terrace consisted of three houses, 
 with bay windows and a neat balcony running 
 along the drawing-rooms, and Mrs. Sparragus 
 was so fortunate as to find a tenant for one of 
 them in a gentleman of great business capa- 
 bilities, who paid his rent the day it was due, 
 and, moreover, gave her the benefit of his expe- 
 rience and knowledge of commercial affairs. 
 Mr. Stephen Honey dew was a city man, and 
 that title ac once secured the widow's respect 
 and confidence, and he very soon proved his 
 capacity by forming a little syndicate to rent 
 the farm, and, enlarging on the original happy 
 idea of the defunct Flinders, he started it as a 
 sanatorium for the benefit of humanity at large; 
 the accruing rent being at the same time laid 
 out by him with such excellent judgment that 
 it produced a most remunerative rate of interest. 
 Mr. Honey dew resided at No. 3, Mrs. Sparragus 
 occupied No. 2, while No. 1 was let to the relict 
 of the Reverend Ebenezer Lipperty, formerly 
 minister of the chapel hard by, and her step-
 
 10 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 daughter, Lena, or to speak more strictly, 
 Leonora Jane. 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus was thus very advantageously 
 placed in respect of neighbours, who vied with 
 each other in the little amenities which go to 
 lighten the burden of sorrows that weigh on 
 even well-to-do widows. Mr. Honeydew on 
 the right giving her, as I have stated, the bene- 
 fit of his masterly knowledge of finance, and 
 Mrs. Lipperty on the left ministering to her in 
 the manner becoming the relict of a Rev. 
 Ebenezer. 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus had passed the meridian of 
 life, and was, in fact, in the advanced evening;, 
 and as, in the natural world, the closing-in is 
 often foreshadowed by gentle gradations of 
 colour, serene tranquillity, and a universal pre- 
 paredness for rest, so, in the worthy relict of 
 Flinders and Sparragus in succession, were ob- 
 servable a simplicity and trustfulness which 
 could not fail to awaken a sincere interest. 
 
 Competition in social matters has a tendency 
 very similar to that in the commercial world — 
 namely, it does not always tend to fraternity. 
 No. 1 and No. 3 were so emulous of priority in
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 11 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus's good opinion that they grew to 
 be suspicious of one another, and, like chess- 
 players, studied each other's moves with a view 
 to counteraction. If Mr. Honeydew handed the 
 lonely widow a dish of scarlet-runners or a cu- 
 cumber over the garden wall, Mrs. Lipperty 
 immediately conveyed a pot of home-made jam 
 or a tea-cake in at the front door. If Mr. Honey- 
 dew on the right raised his hat to his client 
 while she was attending to her flower-beds, 
 Mrs. Lipperty on the left kissed her hand to her 
 and complimented her upon her good looks. So 
 it came about that No. 1 and No. 3 viewed each 
 other as poachers on the No. 2 preserve, and 
 hated one another accordingly ; but, when the 
 news got about that Mrs. Sparragus had nar- 
 rowly escaped death through the intervention 
 of a young man, who not only brought her 
 home but was actually addressed as a friend 
 and assured of her lasting gratitude, No. 1 and 
 No. 3 for once took the same view, and, as stated 
 in the commencement of this chapter, ejaculated 
 to the effect that it was a very unfortunate 
 circumstance, for who knows what the conse- 
 quences may be !
 
 12 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 The misadventure in question occurred thus : 
 Mrs. Sparragus was in the habit of going to the 
 Bank of England half-yearly to receive her 
 dividends, and, on the occasion in question, the 
 usual brougham was requisitioned and the good 
 lady started on the expedition with becoming 
 solemnity, her departure being witnessed with 
 peculiar interest by her watchful and affec- 
 tionate neighbours. 
 
 The flyman conducted her safely to the Bank, 
 and, having deposited her at the entrance, 
 moved away according to regulations, and 
 awaited her some little distance off. Having 
 duly received her money, Mrs. Sparragus 
 emerged from the building, and, not discover- 
 ing her cab, she stepped into the middle of the 
 road anxiously searching for the vehicle right 
 and left. At that instant a Pickford's van came 
 galloping along in her direction, the horses 
 beyond control. The shouts of the passers-by, 
 the din of the traffic, the wild gestures of the 
 horrified throngs as they realised her great peril, 
 utterly paralysed the poor woman, who, giving 
 herself up for lost, simply covered her face with 
 her hands and helplessly awaited her fate.
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 1& 
 
 The horses were close "upon her, and in 
 another moment she must have been clashed 
 down and crushed, when a young man sprang 
 forward and, seizing her by the shoulders, swung 
 her with extraordinary dexterity clear of the 
 wheels which grazed his own shoulder. A shout 
 of applause greeted the young man as he sup- 
 ported the fainting lady to the pavement. The 
 flyman, recognising his employer, drove up and 
 she was assisted into the carriage. As the poor 
 woman was excessively agitated, and, in fact, 
 hardly conscious, the young man felt it incum- 
 bent on him to see her home, finding from the 
 driver that she was unattended. He therefore 
 took his seat by her side. 
 
 The ubiquitous newspaper reporter witnessed 
 the accident, and in the journals there appeared 
 the following paragraph next morning : — 
 
 Narrow Escape — Yesterday at about twelve- 
 o'clock an elderly lady was crossing the road near the 
 Bank of England when one of Pickford's vans, heavily 
 laden, bore down upon her in spite of the strenuous 
 efforts of the driver to restrain his young and spirited 
 horses. To the horror of the by-standers the lady 
 seemed unconscious of her peril, and had it not been
 
 14 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTEK. 
 
 for the extraordinary presence of mind of a young man 
 who was passing, and who literally snatched her from 
 "beneath the horses' heads, she must inevitably have been 
 killed. A cab coming up, the lady and her rescuer 
 drove away and their names did not transpire. It was 
 noticed that the young man only just escaped the van 
 himself, for his coat was torn from his shoulder by the 
 wheels. After their departure, the police picked up a 
 sketch-book which doubtless belonged to the lady or 
 the gentleman. It was found^ to contain some admir- 
 able sketches in pencil and ink. As there was no 
 name in it, the police are unable to restore it, and it 
 remains in charge of the authorities at the Mansion 
 House awaiting a claimant. 
 
 The fly arrived in clue course at Tapioca Ter- 
 race, and, as Mrs. Sparragus was still much un- 
 nerved, the young man offered his arm, which 
 was gratefully accepted, and No. 1 and No. 3, 
 knowing as yet nothing of the circumstances 
 narrated above, were more than surprised — they 
 were scandalised on beholding so unwonted a 
 spectacle as the widow leaning on the arm of a 
 stranger. 
 
 Mr. Honeydew instantly saw in the attentive 
 young man a rival financier, and Mrs. Lipperty, 
 with equal alacrity, suspected him to be a wolf 
 in sheep's clothing invading her fold and cor-
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE, 15 
 
 rupting the most cherished member of her flock. 
 The consequence was they emerged simultan- 
 eously from their respective abodes with the 
 intention of defeating the machinations of the 
 strange bad man by their presence, where they 
 were only in time, as the door of No. 2 closed 
 behind Mrs. Sparragus and her visitor, to hear 
 her say, 
 
 ' I can never, never repay you ! I can never, 
 never sufficiently show my gratitude !' 
 
 Whereupon Mrs. Lipperty and Mr. Honeydew, 
 baffled and abashed, were under the necessity of 
 retreating to their respective quarters outman- 
 oeuvred by the most innocent of tacticians, for 
 Mrs. Sparragus had not the faintest idea that in 
 closing the door behind her she had performed 
 the masterly stroke of filling her virtuous cen- 
 sor at No. 1 with indignation, and sending away 
 her confidential adviser at No. 3 confused and 
 alarmed. 
 
 Mr. Honey dew's reflections on the apparently 
 trivial event were decidedly morbid. * Nothing 
 could be more unsatisfactory to me just now,' 
 he meditated, * than for the old lady to enlarge 
 her acquaintance. In fact, up to this time her
 
 16 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 circle of acquaintance has been confined to my- 
 self", — the people at No. 1 are not worthy of 
 her consideration ; her list of friends — reliable, 
 trusted friends — has hitherto begun and ended 
 with me. I was first, middle, and last. Con- 
 sequently, it lias been my happy privilege to 
 manage her affairs with extraordinary advan- 
 tage to her. But, when a simple soul like her 
 gets hold of a new acquaintance, that new 
 acquaintance invariably meddles and muddles 
 and messes everything. That fellow had a 
 keen and hungry look, and no doubt he scented 
 coin, and, as she told him she could never 
 repay him, it's a cool hundred to one that he'll 
 repay himself, and all my care of her will be 
 simply so much of my valuable time wasted. 
 Certainly, nothing could be more unsatisfactory.' 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty was not, like her rival at 
 No. 3, reduced to the narrow range of soli- 
 loquy, for her step-daughter Lena was present 
 to receive the full force of her vexation and 
 consequent flow of vituperation. 
 
 8 Oh, the world, the world !' she screamed, as 
 she entered the room where Lena was reading 
 — ■ the wicked, wicked world !'
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 17 
 
 Lena was naturally much disturbed, and anxi- 
 ously inquired what the wicked world had been 
 doing. 
 
 < That old thing next door, whom I have 
 cared for as the apple of my eye, has gone 
 astray 1' 
 
 Lena was pained at the announcement, and 
 offered to go in search of her and bring her 
 home again. 
 
 ' Morally, Leonora Jane, morally.' Mrs. Lip- 
 perty always gave Lena her full complement of 
 baptismal names when she rebuked her. ' She 
 has been and picked up some one and brought 
 him home.' 
 
 Lena thought it a virtue rather than a vice 
 to pick up anyone who needed such assist- 
 ance. 
 
 i Oh, the depravity of human nature ! To 
 bring home a young man !' 
 
 Lena still failed to see the enormity of the 
 offence : 
 
 1 1 suppose he's a friend of hers.' 
 
 1 Don't talk to me of friends, Leonora Jane. 
 Why, she has no friend but myself! There's 
 that worldly man at No. 3 — you won't pretend 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 that he's to be mentioned in the same breath 
 as me V I tell you, she hasn't a friend outside 
 me.' 
 
 * An acquaintance.' 
 
 'People at her age oughtn't to make ac- 
 quaintances, Leonora Jane, and I'm surprised 
 that you do not condemn such goings-on.' 
 
 Lena with perfect simplicity said she thought 
 it rather nice to make acquaintances, for she 
 was conscious of her own poverty in that par- 
 ticular, any interchange of civilities outside the 
 chapel walls being sternly interdicted. 
 
 ' Then, Leonora Jane, all I can say is, you 
 haven't profited much by all my teaching and 
 example, and I'm truly thankful your poor dear 
 father was removed before his daughter had 
 such ideas. Oh, the awful times, when one's 
 foes are they of one's own household !' 
 
 Lena was singularly natural and ingenuous, 
 notwithstanding a course of discipline which 
 ought to have made her subtle, suspicious, ran- 
 corous, and selfish. She was far from desti- 
 tute of romance, though it had never as yet 
 been in evidence. She possessed great intelli- 
 gence and faculties which, however cramped
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 19 
 
 and tethered, could not be crushed altogether ; 
 and, beyond all and above all, she was graced 
 with that most beautiful of woman's attributes, 
 a tender, true, and sympathetic heart. 
 
 Her step-mother's concluding observation, 
 intended to crush her like a catapult, only pro- 
 voked her curiosity : 
 
 * Mamma dear ' 
 
 * Don't call me " mamma " — I'm only your 
 step-mother, and I get reminded of it often 
 enough, Leonora Jane !' 
 
 ' Mamma dear,' repeated Lena, calmly and 
 gently, ' is it so Avrong to make friends !' 
 ' Friends ! Bah ! I don't believe in them.' 
 ' But you are a friend to Mrs. Sparragus V 
 ' That's very true,' promptly responded Mrs. 
 Lipperty — ' very true.' 
 
 « Then why should we doubt that she may 
 have other friends equally sincere V 
 
 'It isn't altogether desirable,' replied Mrs. 
 Lipperty, testily. 
 
 < Not desirable, mamma ! — why not?' 
 ' I suppose I must speak more plainly, Leo- 
 nora Jane, as you are now old enough to under- 
 stand these things. Mrs. Sparragus has con- 
 
 c2
 
 20 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 fessed to me more than once that I am her best, 
 her only friend.' 
 
 ' How sad !' meditated Lena aloud. 
 
 c Not so sad when you understand that it may 
 make all the difference to us/ 
 
 Lena was at a loss to comprehend her 
 step-mother's meaning ; it appeared to her 
 that it must make all the difference to Mrs. 
 Sparragus. 
 
 'Mrs. Sparragus is a woman of some pro- 
 perty,' continued Mrs. Lipperty, confidentially. 
 
 ' I suppose she is.' 
 
 * And people who have no family or relatives 
 usually bequeath their possessions to a valued 
 friend.' 
 
 ' I dare say that is so.' 
 
 ' And, as I am that valued friend, Mrs. Spar- 
 ragus has made a Will in my favour — a proof of 
 her appreciation of the little good it has been 
 my happy destiny to be to her in this world of 
 falsehood and insincerity.' 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty awaited a burst of rapturous 
 approval from Lena, who, however, received 
 the information with great placidity, if not with 
 cool indifference.
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 21 
 
 * Therefore, Leonora Jane, you can perhaps 
 ■understand that I can scarcely view with satis- 
 faction the intervention of a new acquaintance 
 next door.' 
 
 * Why not, mamma ?' 
 
 This inquiry, proving that the confidential 
 communication she had made was entirely 
 thrown away, so exasperated Mrs. Lipperty 
 that, muttering « Stupid little fool !' she dashed 
 out of the room, slamming the door behind 
 her. 
 
 Lena's perplexity was extreme. Why should 
 so ordinary an event as a friendly visit next 
 door provoke such vehement displeasure 1 Why 
 such suspicion ? Why such condemnation % Was 
 the young man so palpably evil-disposed ? Was 
 the brand of vice stamped upon him? Surely 
 it must be so, otherwise her mamma would 
 never be moved to such righteous indignation. 
 She would judge for herself, and catch a glimpse 
 of the dreadful man as he quitted No. 2. 
 
 Lena had hardly taken a commanding posi- 
 tion at her window when the door of No. 2 
 opened, and the vicious worldling, the arch- 
 intruder, courteously raising his hat as he turned
 
 22 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 away, strode quietly and with unconscious dig- 
 nity down the gravel-path into the road, and, 
 without turning his eyes to the right or to the 
 left, walked along Tapioca Terrace, and van- 
 ished from the view of all the eyes which followed 
 his movements. 
 
 * That fellow knows what he's about/ mut- 
 tered Mr. Honey dew, savagely. * Ten to one, 
 — nay, a hundred pounds to a shilling, he'll 
 circumvent that old woman next door. I think 
 I'll follow him, and find out who he is.' 
 
 Whereupon, Mr. Honeydew slipped out at the 
 side-door, and took the road which the young 
 man had taken. 
 
 'He's a sneak, if ever there was one,' said 
 good Mrs. Lipperty between her teeth. * He 
 hasn't been long in finding out that old thing's 
 weak point. I dare say he has gone away with 
 her instructions for a fresh Will in his pocket. 
 Drat him P 
 
 'Oh, dear! oh, dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Spar- 
 rag-us, hurrying to the window, * I wish he'd 
 come back a moment. I can't let him go like 
 that ! It seems so ungrateful of me !' and the 
 good woman beckoned with all her energy to
 
 TAPIOCA TERRACE. 23 
 
 the departing stranger, who, however, strode 
 away wholly unconscious of the mental distress 
 and wild gestures of the staid and respectable 
 lady he had just quitted. 
 
 1 1 can't imagine,' thought Lena, * why mamma 
 grudges Mrs. Sparragus her new acquaintance. 
 He appears so nice — a perfect gentleman. For 
 my part, I — I wish mamma had such a friend.' 
 And Lena was very thoughtful the rest of the 
 day. She felt the first faint stir of romance in 
 her young bosom, and the new sensation almost 
 alarmed her — but it was very, very sweet.
 
 24 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN, 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus, still agitated, led the way to 
 her sitting-room, the young man following with 
 some hesitation, and as he reached the door he 
 paused and said, 
 
 ' Now, madam, that I have had the pleasure 
 of seeing you home, I will, with your permission, 
 take my leave/ 
 
 1 Oh ! no, pray don't go yet, sir. Rest a 
 moment/ pleaded the lady, almost pathetically ; 
 and, indicating a chair, she motioned to him to 
 be seated, and the young man complied with 
 courtesy and deliberation. 
 
 He was a youth of three-and-twenty, of well- 
 proportioned but spare frame, fine features, and 
 a countenance * sicklied o'er ' with suffering as
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 25 
 
 well as the * pale cast of thought/ His attire, 
 moreover, bespoke the hard lines within which 
 his lot was placed, but he bore himself with an 
 easy dignity which was natural to him, and 
 bespoke a sterling character that poverty could 
 not affect. 
 
 ' Oh, dear me !' exclaimed Mrs. Sparragus, 
 fanning herself with her handkerchief and 
 wiping her moistened eyes, ' what a wonderful 
 escape I have had !' 
 
 1 1 think, madam, you were in some little 
 danger ; but these escapes are constantly oc- 
 curring in the city, and are thought nothing of/ 
 
 ' Ah ! but / think a very great deal of it, sir, 
 and shall never, never forget that, if it hadn't 
 been for you, and you alone, I ' 
 
 ' Anyone else would have done exactly the 
 same ; I happened to be nearest to you, that 
 was all,' interrupted the young man. 
 
 'Nay, sir, nobody else advanced a step to 
 help me.' 
 
 ' It so happened that I was crossing the road 
 at the same moment.' 
 
 'But your wonderful courage and strength, 
 too!'
 
 26 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 The young man smiled. As regards ' courage/ 
 he felt it would have been cowardice to have 
 acted otherwise, and, as to ' strength,' he still 
 trembled and felt faint with the physical effort 
 involved in the performance. 
 
 ' 1 assure you, madam, it was the commonest 
 act possible, which anyone else would have 
 done — and done less roughly/ 
 
 * Nothing could have heen gentler !' remon- 
 strated Mrs. Sparragus, bursting into tears. ' Oh, 
 I — I can never thank you enough !' and the 
 good soul buried her face in her muff. 
 
 * I need no thanks — I deserve none for doing 
 what I was bound to do, believe me / and the 
 young man rose to leave. 
 
 ' If you will not remain longer — and I have 
 no right to ask you — I hope you will at any rate 
 let me know the name of my preserver, sir !' and 
 Mrs. Sparragus looked almost imploringly at the 
 young man, who, after a moment's hesitation, 
 drew his card-case from his breast-pocket. 
 
 ' That I may take an opportunity of making 
 you some return/ she continued, with signifi- 
 cance. 
 
 The young man replaced the card-case in his
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 27 
 
 pocket as a flush of offended pride swept across 
 his pale features. 
 
 'If you will permit me, madam, 1 would 
 rather remain — unknown,' he replied. 
 
 'Oh, why?' 
 
 'Because the pleasure — sincere pleasure — I 
 felt in having rendered a trifling service would 
 be wholly destroyed if there was the smallest 
 possibility of any "return " being made.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus could hardly understand such 
 disinterestedness, for she had never met with 
 any objections on the part of anyone to accept 
 substantial recognition for services rendered, 
 and she rubbed her eyes in astonishment as the 
 young man rose and offered his hand, saying, 
 
 ' It has afforded me more pleasure than I can 
 express to have done anything deserving such 
 grateful feelings, and now I must bid you 
 farewell.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus took the extended hand. 
 
 ' But your card, please !' she urged. 
 
 ' Oh, no !' replied the young man, laughing r 
 'it really isn't worth while!' and, waving a 
 respectful adieu to the disappointed widow, he 
 left the room.
 
 28 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Only when the street-door closed did Mrs. 
 Sparragus feel the full extent of her vexation, 
 and she rushed to the window to catch a last 
 glimpse of her unknown preserver, who rapidly 
 traversed the gravel-path wholly unconscious of 
 the scrutiny with which he was being observed 
 by numbers one, two, and three. 
 
 As he strode homeward he reviewed the 
 whole event of the morning, and shuddered as he 
 contemplated the imminent danger in which the 
 good lady had been. 
 
 * By Jove!' he muttered, drawing a deep 
 breath, ' I was afraid to tell the good lady the 
 full extent of the danger for fear of horrifying 
 her, but another instant, and the poor soul must 
 have been crushed to death ! I thank God that 
 I was there ! my life, after all, has not been 
 wholly useless !' and he went his way with a con- 
 tentedness which was a new sensation to him. 
 
 Suddenly he paused, and, plunging his hands 
 anxiously into either pocket, exclaimed, with 
 extreme vexation, 
 
 1 Gone ! my sketch-book gone ! I have dropped 
 it somewhere. How careless of me! for I'm 
 sure I had it with me when I left home ;
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 29' 
 
 and unfortunately my sketches of the " Queen 
 of the Glen " and " The Sisters " were in it 
 — ideas for pictures, and I doubt whether I 
 can possibly remember the lovely effect of light 
 and shade as I saw the trees in the forest. Oh, 
 it is worse than vexatious — it is a grievous loss ! 
 But such is my luck. Time and toil wasted, 
 and my little bit of strength cast to the winds ! 
 Had I remained at home this misfortune would 
 not have occurred to me — but, stay, had I re- 
 mained at home a dire calamity had happened 
 to that poor lady. How trivial my mischance is, 
 after all, compared with that which might have 
 befallen another ! If that is the price to pay 
 for the privilege of saving a human life, who 
 would grudge it?' and the young man pursued 
 his way with a relaxed step but a more resigned 
 spirit. 
 
 Graham Aspen (such was his name) was an 
 art-student, having finished his novitiate in the 
 schools with honour, and lived in Thistle Grove, 
 Brompton, where his modest possessions were 
 contained in a single room, which consequently 
 served as atelier and bed-chamber, the latter 
 portion of it being concealed by a curtain drawn
 
 30 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 across it, and which formed an appropriate 
 background for his easel, on which rested a can- 
 vas covered with a silk scarf. Models, studies, 
 draperies, books, and the materials and para- 
 phernalia of his craft lay about in ' most admired 
 disorder,' and were evidence that the occupier 
 gave scant attention to personal comfort and 
 appearances as usually understood ; but a keen 
 observer would have accounted for the neglect 
 as his glance rested on sundry bottles of medi- 
 cines standing on the mantelpiece. 
 
 Not until he reached his chamber did he 
 realise the extent to which he had taxed his 
 strength in the adventure of the morning, and 
 not till then was the extent of his morning's loss 
 made evident, when with a repetition of the ex- 
 clamation, * Lost !' he threw himself into a chair 
 and yielded to the depression which had of late 
 become habitual with him. 
 
 * Stay !' he ejaculated, rising after a long in- 
 terval of rest from his seat and taking a draught 
 of cordial, ' I see the whole effect in my mind's 
 eye ! yes, just as it was. Oh, if I could but fix 
 it !' and taking up a new canvas he dashed in 
 with a masterly pencil the scene which had in-
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 31 
 
 spired the lost sketch of the * Queen of the Glen.' 
 1 Ah !' he cried as he laid down his palette, ' it is 
 not lost I" and wiping his moistened forehead he 
 sank back exhausted with the effort. 
 
 In Graham Aspen were united genius and 
 bodily frailty, as is too often the case, the vital 
 force failing to keep pace with the winged 
 imagination. The creative faculty in the young 
 artist made havoc with the mechanism with 
 which it was allied, and it was no unusual thing 
 for the revulsion of energy to occur [after its 
 abnormal exercise. It was so on the present 
 occasion. For the remainder of the day he 
 scarcely moved hand or foot, but surrendered 
 himself to enforced repose and reverie. Once he 
 rose and removed the handkerchief which con- 
 cealed the picture on the easel, and a face of 
 singular beauty and sweet expression was re- 
 vealed. Graham sat before it, and his eyes were 
 rivetted to it. It was purely an ideal study. He 
 had never seen the original of such a head, but 
 like another Pygmalion he seemed entranced by 
 the creation of his own hands. It might be an 
 abstract passion, a passion of the rapt soul, a 
 passion causing no heart-throb and no delirium, if
 
 32 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 such be possible in a young man of twenty-three 
 summers ; but assuredly the creation of his own 
 hand had a fascination for him which was almost 
 idolatry. And the potent spell which had 
 evoked this singular work and guided his pencil 
 was no beautiful reality met in the flesh, no 
 siren of social life, no artless, sweet girl-graduate 
 who had crossed his path, but simply a voice, a 
 human voice, and nothing more. 
 
 Graham Aspen, subject to moods of melan- 
 choly and fits of depression, which left him un- 
 able to study, was wont, when under these 
 visitations, to seek distraction in sylvan haunts, 
 or by the broad ocean, where Nature usually 
 won him back to patient endurance. In one 
 of these dolorous attacks, he hurried away to 
 the New Forest, and there courted tranquillity 
 and a return of energy. But on that occasion 
 he sought alleviation in vain. The beauty of 
 the scene, the balmy air, the perfect harmony 
 surrounding him had no power to solace. In 
 vain he wandered hither and thither ; in vain 
 he sought forgetfulness in exploring the beauty 
 so profusely spread before him. The spirit of 
 revolt and discontent mocked him, and held him
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 33 
 
 in thrall. The effort was useless, and he re- 
 turned to his hotel; and there again the foul 
 fiend taunted him. Why cling to vain and 
 irksome existence 1 "Why struggle against in- 
 creasing failure of body and mind ? Why en- 
 dure these ever-recurring attacks, when eternal 
 repose is so easy of acquisition? Why cling 
 to a life of unrest, a life of joyless labour with a 
 stricken body, when a mere prick in the arm 
 would ensure forgetfulness and peace? There 
 was fascination in the hateful suggestion ; 
 witchery in the mad thought. Yes, yes, better 
 snatch the rest Nature denies. Why live % Why 
 suffer, without kindred to love or friends to 
 sympathise? Existence such as this has neither 
 joy, nor hope, nor purpose. Let it end! A 
 burdened, useless life had better cease to be ! 
 The dire resolution was made with the phlegm 
 characteristic of Graham in his saner mood. 
 He was calm in that moment of mental distrac- 
 tion. One farewell look at Nature, and then — 
 
 and then Through the open window there 
 
 was borne a clear, sweet voice, singing, with 
 surpassing melody, the simple air of ■ Auld Robin 
 Gray.' 
 
 VOL. I. I)
 
 34 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Aspen started; he awoke; he threw off the 
 terrible incubus that had unmanned him, for 
 that song recalled his mother. She used to sing 
 it, and the voice was as hers! — soft, pure, cul- 
 tured. He peered through the window, but 
 nobody was visible. He listened entranced, for 
 the song still rippled on the breeze. It pro- 
 ceeded from an adjoining room, and was fol- 
 lowed by admiring comments on the lovely 
 sunset, and long after it had ceased the young 
 man hung over the sill, lost in a reverie of preci- 
 ous memories. All the night through, Graham 
 heard, in imagination, the tones which, coming, 
 as it seemed to his active mind, from one who 
 had passed away, were little less than angelic. 
 Nor had he the least vulgar curiosity as to the 
 singer. He took no measures on the morrow, 
 as most men would have done, to satisfy him- 
 self as to the possessor of the voice. Had he 
 inquired, he would have learnt that a lady and 
 her daughter were sojourning there with a view 
 to sketch, and Aspen might, with the assist- 
 ance of the landlord, have obtained a casual 
 interview with the mother, or a glimpse of the 
 maiden. Easily might he have compassed a
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 35 
 
 rencontre with one or both in the walks and 
 woods ; easily might he have submitted his 
 sketches to them with the freedom and good- 
 fellowship which are common between brothers 
 and sisters of the brush ; but no ! he had sur- 
 rendered himself to a happy illusion, which had 
 dispelled a noxious delirium. At a moment of 
 dire temptation a voice had intervened, and 
 thus was conjured up before his imagination 
 a vision of perfect womanhood. He saw his 
 dead mother, and he was content. The breath- 
 ing reality might equal, or even surpass the 
 fair face of his conception — but it might de- 
 stroy the charm ! He dared not risk disen- 
 chantment. 
 
 Unfavourable weather setting in, the company 
 at the inn dispersed, and, within a few days, 
 Aspen too had turned his back regretfully upon 
 the spot which, notwithstanding that terrible 
 half-hour of aberration, was invested with a 
 strange charm, for the voice was with him 
 still 
 
 Nor, on reaching home, could he rest until, 
 putting a new canvas on his easel, he touched 
 in reverently and tenderly the features of the 
 
 d2
 
 36 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ideal as conjured up m a moment of keen sensi- 
 bility by the strains he had heard. 
 
 Unconsciously he traced the features of his 
 mother spiritualised, for it was her face that the 
 well-remembered song called up fr'om the far- 
 off past. Beauty of form and colour were 
 there, but they were the beauty pud the colour 
 of one who had passed the poioils of the grave 
 and had been translated to the higher life. With 
 all the fervour of religious feeling, with the 
 unwearied enthusiasm of a zealot, Graham 
 devoted day and night to the perfecting of his 
 conception. And so jealous of it did he be- 
 come as the work proceeded that no eye but 
 his own was allowed to rest on it, and it was 
 kept veiled, as we have seen. 
 
 Twilight had closed in, and as Aspen gazed 
 upon the face, which he had grown almost to 
 adore, it grew more and more indistinct, when 
 suddenly he was startled by the appearance of 
 a female form with identical features standing 
 in front of the picture with her eyes fixed upon 
 his. The last faint rays of light barely sufficed 
 to adumbrate the dainty outline which, without 
 a rustle or a footfall, drew nearer and nearer.
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 37 
 
 Graham, his heart in a tumult, his eyes flashing 
 with amazement and terror, waited for the 
 voice which he was so sure belonged to the 
 form that he would, without a moment's hesita- 
 tion, have staked his existence upon it, but it 
 was denied him ; and, in his growing impatience, 
 he tried to challenge his visitor, but he was 
 speechless. Stirred to a state of excitement 
 bordering on frenzy, the young artist attempted 
 to stretch forth his hand and grasp the arm of 
 the fair creature who stood within his reach ; 
 but the effort was in vain — he was powerless. 
 And so intense had in a few moments grown his 
 agitation that its prolongation must end in 
 very madness. With a wild cry he sprang 
 from his seat, and, as he burst through the spell, 
 the mirage vanished, the phantom of his over- 
 wrought brain faded into the painted head on 
 the easel, and he found himself alone. 
 
 The agitation of a few moments' duration 
 was followed by a reaction of many hours' 
 prostration, and then supervened a long attack 
 of the cough which had become almost chronic ; 
 but rest and patient resignation soon brought 
 relief and strength and interest in his studies.
 
 38 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 And, in resuming his pencil, he could for 
 the moment forget the oppressive secret of 
 which he could not divest himself. Graham 
 Aspen was too sagacious, too brave, too honest 
 to ignore the fact which was so patent when- 
 ever he beheld his features in the glass ; and 
 when, with all his philosophy and composure, 
 he realised the sad truth, he was ready to con- 
 fess to himself that ambition, which was folly 
 in other men, was madness in him, the pursuit 
 of common pleasures worse than vanity, and 
 love almost a crime. For him length of 
 days was an unmeaning phrase, — no vista 
 of life's road to be traversed could he pre- 
 sent to his mind's eye as he glanced at his 
 hollow cheeks and wrestled with the cough 
 which convulsed him. Why toil for more than 
 the daily bread ? The world's honour and its 
 praise were for the robust and the hopeful; 
 but he, from the serene vantage-ground of one 
 who was already far on the journey hence, 
 could view it all with indifference, if not with 
 contempt. If he laboured, as indeed he did at 
 times with extraordinary assiduity, it was to
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 39 
 
 satisfy a sense of duty — he was bound to 
 exercise the faculties with which he was en- 
 dowed; and if, in that employment, he had 
 conjured up on his canvas a beautiful creation, 
 and had gazed upon it till he grew to love it, it 
 was in response to the yearnings of nature, it 
 was to gratify a passion which had been purged 
 and etherealised. 
 
 His landscape grew apace, for his interest in 
 his work increased as his conception took con- 
 crete form, and in a few days the * Queen of the 
 Glen,' a graceful and fairy-like silver birch, 
 received the last touch. But the customary 
 penalty of unwonted exertion had to be paid, 
 and Graham had again to lament the burden of 
 the flesh. Was it needful — was it his duty to 
 still combat his infirmities % he would ask him- 
 self. Yes, he replied. He was bound by every 
 law of nature to employ every known means to 
 eke out his store of strength and prolong his 
 days. With this righteous and wholesome con- 
 viction came the resolution to seek advice, to 
 consult a physician, and here a difficulty started 
 up — his insufficient means. But the impediment
 
 40 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 was recognised only to be thrust aside. His 
 poetic mind and busy band had created the 
 wherewithal. There stood the ' Queen of the 
 Glen,' and its sale would furnish the necessary 
 funds. 
 
 Without hesitation or compunction he carried 
 the work, which he had intended to grace his 
 studio withal, to the well-known dealers, Glare 
 and Gooley, to whom he modestly and anxiously 
 submitted it. 
 
 4 Landscape !' meditated Mr. Glare aloud, 
 shrugging his shoulders, * a drug in the market. 
 When will you artists take a hint from the 
 French and paint figures 1 Undines, for instance, 
 and Phrynes, Andromedas, Auroras, and such 
 like I The market's never glutted with them ; 
 they sell, sir, in any quantity. As for this sort 
 of thing, trees— birch, isn't it I — why, we may 
 have it on our hands for ' — the dealer began to 
 scrutinise the painting more closely — ' for 
 months.' He put on his glasses and examined 
 it afresh. ' Humph ! it's not by any means bad ; 
 but these landscapes are so — ' and he took the 
 picture into a stronger light. ' I've seen trees 
 worse painted, I must confess. Look here,
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 41 
 
 Gooley,' calling to his colleague. ' This young 
 man wants to dispose of this.' 
 
 'Landscape ! No use. Can't buy any more. 
 No demand,' announced Gooley, scarcely glanc- 
 ing at the work. However, he did glance at it 
 over his partner's shoulder a second and even a 
 third time, whispering in his ear. 
 
 4 It's natural, young man,' he said, turning to 
 Graham, who stood bashful and dejected ; 4 1 
 may even call it pretty. The treatment is new, 
 the style original ; but, unfortunately, our class 
 of customers prefer something more ' — and the 
 connoisseur studied the painting keenly — * some- 
 thing more — you know ' 
 
 1 Yes,' quietly and meekly responded Graham, 
 6 thank you. I'm sorry I have troubled you ;' 
 and he advanced to relieve them of the 
 picture. 
 
 * It is just possible we might be able to do 
 with it,' said Glare, indifferently, without offer- 
 ing to relinquish the work, though Aspen's 
 hand was already upon it. ' What are you 
 willing to take for it V 
 
 6 1 thought of asking fifteen or twenty 
 pounds,' returned the artist, with hesitation.
 
 42 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Glare and Gooley stepped aside, and, still 
 examining the picture, conferred together. 
 
 * How much did you say V demanded Glare, 
 sharply, almost severely, which had its effect on 
 Aspen. 
 
 < Ten.' 
 
 * Well, I suppose we must take it,' replied the 
 dealer, placing it on an easel ; ■ but 1 must ask 
 you to sign it; we make that a condition 
 always.' 
 
 ' If that is the case, I will, of course, do so, 
 and will take it away for the purpose,' answered 
 Graham. 
 
 ' Oh ! you need not have that trouble ; we 
 keep tubes of colours in case of need,' promptly 
 responded Glare, at the same moment producing 
 the pigments. ' You can make yourself at 
 home, sir, and mix any tint in keeping with the 
 foreground. In the meantime I will draw the 
 cheque.' 
 
 Graham signed the picture as desired, and, 
 receiving payment, rose to take leave. 
 
 'If you have anything more to dispose of, 
 we should be glad to see it,' said Glare, 
 patronisingly.
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 43- 
 
 * I have nothing.' 
 
 'Perhaps you will paint us something V 
 put in Gooley, rattling the coin in his pocket. 
 
 <I don't paint Andromedas and Phrynes, 7 
 quietly replied Graham, without any intention in 
 the way of retort. 
 
 ' We do not ask you for figure subjects,' 
 promptly responded Gooley. 
 
 ' No,' followed Glare, ' we think you are more 
 in your element with this style of art,' pointing 
 to the work they had just purchased ; ' we 
 should be glad if you would paiut us a pendant 
 to it.' 
 
 < Thank you.' 
 
 ' And, as we are always glad to encourage 
 rising talent, we should not refuse say, fifteen 
 pounds — if up to the mark.' 
 
 ' Thank you !' and Graham rose, and, saluting 
 his patrons with cold respect, took his leave y 
 casting a last regretful glance at the ' Queen of 
 the Glen.' 
 
 'All gone now!' he muttered to himself, as he 
 turned homeward with measured step. ' The 
 sketch lost and the painting gone.' 
 
 As soon as he was clear of the shop, Messieurs
 
 44 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Glare and Gooley bent over the picture in eager 
 contemplation. 
 
 8 1 don't know when I've seen a tree touched 
 in with such grace and tenderness/ said Glare, 
 adjusting his glasses. 
 
 * And true to nature !' continued Gooley, with 
 enthusiasm, ' why, it's a gem !' 
 
 * Graham Aspen,' read Glare, as he deciphered 
 the signature : ' the name's new to me.' 
 
 1 And to me.' 
 
 1 But, if he goes on painting like this, it'll soon 
 be in everybody's mouth. What shall we price 
 itatr 
 
 * Fifty guineas.' 
 
 < Yes !' and Glare put their private mark upon 
 it accordingly. 
 
 4 Pity you didn't get his address,' observed 
 Glare, reproachfully : ' I should have liked to 
 have kept him to ourselves.' 
 
 * A thousand pities, but really I was so taken 
 with the picture that I never thought — but 
 wait — who's the frame-maker?' and he turned 
 the picture round and read ' P. Toddy, Carver 
 and Gilder, Fulham Road ;' and beneath it was 
 inscribed, ' G. Aspen, Esq., 9, Thistle Grove.'
 
 GRAHAM ASPEN. 45- 
 
 4 Well that is a bit of luck !' ejaculated Glare 
 and Gooley simultaneously ; ' we'll drop in upon 
 him one of these days. It won't do to let him 
 slip through our fingers. But he evidently 
 requires to be managed — we mustn't be in a 
 hurry, for these artists are sometimes so con- 
 foundedly touchy, and, although this young fel- 
 low appears weakly and half-starved, he's not 
 wanting in pride.' 
 
 And Messieurs Glare and Gooley, after placing 
 their new acquisition in every situation in their 
 gallery experimentally, assigned to it the most 
 select position in their cabinet of choice works.
 
 46 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 
 
 Graham Aspen was now in a position to give 
 effect to a long-standing resolve to learn from an 
 expert the actual state of his disorder, and to 
 obtain from him, if possible, some forecast of 
 his fate. With that sad and solemn intention 
 he went, a few days after his transaction with 
 Glare and Gooley, to Saville Row, and knocked 
 at the door of the famous specialist, Dr. Eustace. 
 Shown into the dining-room, he there found 
 several ladies and gentlemen awaiting their 
 turn to be summoned to the physician's presence, 
 some conferring together in whispers, some 
 staring at the pictures on the walls, some turn- 
 ing over the periodicals spread on the table, 
 and some, silent and moody, looking vacantly
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 47 
 
 into space. To an artist, the materials for a 
 picture furnished in a physician's waiting-room 
 are deeply impressive. The spectacle cannot 
 but be mournful, for it tells of suffering and 
 mortality, and presents sometimes fortitude, 
 sometimes resignation, but more often stolid 
 resistance to the inevitable. Its ominous walls 
 are, however, not unfrequently illumined by 
 unselfish devotion which is hardly less than 
 heroic, and a cheerful patience which seems 
 scarcely of earth. Opposite to Graham sat a 
 father fondling a slight, fair, pale child on his 
 knee, using every device to appear cheerful, 
 while now and again he surreptitiously brushed 
 away the tears which welled in his eyes. Pre- 
 sently they were invited into the consulting- 
 room, and, as they passed Graham, he heard a 
 suppressed groan as the father whispered to the 
 child, 
 
 ' Now, my precious one, we're going to see 
 what pretty things the kind gentleman has got 
 to'show us ;' and the frail child clapped her hands 
 for joy. 
 
 The next to be called was a man of middle 
 age, but who had already outlived the fair
 
 48 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 illusions of life, and only sought the physician's 
 aid to lighten its heavy burdens. Contrasted 
 with him was a young man still enamoured of 
 the pleasures which had sapped his once 
 vigorous powers, and who hoped to deceive the 
 lynx-eyed expert as to the origin of his malady, 
 even as he deceived himself, 
 
 At the far end of the room in comparative ob- 
 scurity was a group, composed, evidently, of an 
 invalid mother and her daughter. The mother 
 was a delicate lady, and the daughter a fine 
 handsome girl, abounding in health and strength, 
 and though Graham could not distinguish their 
 features, and made no attempt to overhear their 
 conversation, he could not fail to observe that 
 the daughter was lavishing the utmost care and 
 tenderness on the parent. Watching the vary- 
 ing expressions of her countenance, her anxiety 
 exaggerated the symptoms, and conjured up all 
 manner of evil foreboclements, and she would 
 now moisten her temples with eau-de-Cologne, 
 and now hold a vinaigrette to her nostrils, 
 smoothing her hair, kissing her, and cheering 
 her with the sweet words of parental endear- 
 ment, which in her early childhood her mother
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 49 
 
 doubtless addressed to her, thus reversing their 
 respective positions in a manner which was at 
 once touching and mirth-provoking. 
 
 * Darling pet ! Poor little invalid ! I think it 
 looks better. Its eyes are so bright, and 
 there's a wee bit of colour on its dear cheeks ! 
 You do feel stronger, my precious one, do you 
 not?' 
 
 ' Yes, dear child, I'm stronger to-day.' 
 
 ' And do you know what I'm going to do V 
 
 enquired the daughter, gazing passionately into 
 
 her mothers eyes, and kissing them. 
 
 * I can't imagine.' 
 
 'I'm going to take it out of town, if Dr. 
 Eustace will let me ; and as he thinks so highly 
 of Flinders' Farm, for its air, water and drainage, 
 I intend to take it there, and bring the colour 
 again to its cheeks, and strength to its limbs. 
 There !' 
 
 1 That will be kind of you,' replied the lady, 
 with assumed submission, humouring her 
 daughter's loving conceit. 
 
 Whether it was that Graham was of a sym- 
 pathetic nature, or that his physical strength, 
 which had never wholly recovered from the 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 exploit in Cheapside, suddenly failed him, or 
 that the room in which the patients assembled 
 had become oppressive, or that he had walked 
 too far or too rapidly — whatever the cause, the 
 young lady had scarcely ceased speaking when 
 there was a singing in his ears, a cold sweat 
 burst out from head to foot, the room spun 
 round, his heart failed him, and he fell back in 
 a swoon upon the sofa. 
 
 It was the work of an instant for the young 
 girl to rush to his assistance, support his head, 
 dash eau-de-Cologne in his face, and ring the 
 bell. Servants were instantly in attendance, 
 Dr. Eustace appeared, and the young artist, still 
 unconscious, was carried to an adjoining room 
 and laid on a couch. 
 
 The untoward incident greatly agitated the 
 invalid lady, and her daughter was hardly less 
 distressed, but Dr. Eustace was able in the 
 course of a few minutes to reassure them, stating 
 that the attack was not at all serious, and arose, 
 in fact, from his having fasted too long ; but the 
 patient was already recovered, and desired him 
 to express his deep concern for having caused 
 the ladies a moment's disturbance.
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 51 
 
 * But, Dr. Eustace,' urged the young lady with 
 sadness, * he looked so exceedingly ill.' 
 
 ' Yes, my dear Miss Tierney, he is undoubted- 
 ly in a bad state ;' and he tapped his own chest 
 with his finger. 
 
 The young lady seemed much distressed. 
 
 'Can nothing be done for him V she enquired, 
 earnestly. 
 
 k We shall see. We shall see.' 
 
 'You'll let us know, won't you?' asked the 
 invalid mother, turning to the physician, ' for 
 we both feel so sincerely for him.' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, please let us know,' echoed the 
 young lady, pitifully. 
 
 1 I will, madam.' 
 
 By the time the ladies' interview with Dr. 
 Eustace had ceased, Graham, who had been 
 kindly furnished with refreshment, had rallied, 
 and was shown into the consulting-room, where 
 Dr. Eustace received him with great kindness. 
 
 ' Pray be seated, sir,' he said, encouragingly ; 
 ' and, before we go into your case, let me urge 
 you never to take these long walks on an empty 
 stomach. Few men are strong enough to do 
 it. Your little attack was not induced by any 
 
 E 2
 
 52 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 organic derangement, but purely for want of 
 food.' 
 
 This authoritative statement was comforting 
 to the young man, who had viewed it as symp- 
 tomatic of his malady. The physician placed 
 him in a chair with his face in a strong light, 
 scanning his features with a penetrating eye 
 and peculiar interest. 
 
 * You have a cough, I dare say, though I have 
 not heard it.' 
 
 ' Yes, I have always had a cough.' 
 
 I Everybody coughs more or less in this cli- 
 mate,' replied the expert, carelessly. ' May I 
 ask your name V 
 
 * Graham,' replied the young man ; and the 
 physician made entries in his journal under the 
 heading * Mr. Graham.' 
 
 You look about twenty-three.' 
 ' That is my age.' 
 ' Have you been weighed lately V 
 
 I I was weighed six months ago.' 
 'What did you scale then I' 
 
 ' Ten stone twelve.' 
 
 ' Would you mind sitting on this machine of 
 mine ? Thank you ;' and Graham sat on the
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 53 
 
 scale accordingly. The dial behind him indi- 
 cated barely ten stone. 
 
 ' That will do ;' and the patient resumed his 
 former seat without having noticed the indica- 
 tion shown by the machine. 
 
 6 1 think I must ask you to strip, Mr. 
 Graham/ said the physician, still busily mak- 
 ing notes. 
 
 Graham stripped to the waist, and the phy- 
 sician applied all the tests with stethoscope to 
 chest and back, rapping and manipulating with 
 infinite patience and care, ascertaining his tem- 
 perature and pulse, and ultimately desiring him 
 to resume his clothing, which, he did not fail to 
 observe, was scanty and worn. He also noted 
 the scar on his shoulder where he had been 
 grazed by the wheel of the van. 
 
 ' Do you know, Mr. Graham, that I am dread- 
 fully inquisitive, for I like to learn all about my 
 patients ; so you will excuse my inquiring your 
 profession or vocation V 
 
 6 1 am an artist.' 
 
 'Well, I thought so,' replied the doctor, cheer- 
 ily ; ' and that circumstance interests me, for I 
 must tell you I dabble in art a little, and my
 
 51 
 
 friends say it ought to have been my profession 
 instead of my recreation.' 
 
 Graham expressed his gratification at the 
 information, and, glancing round the room, he 
 noticed some fine etchings of landscapes, and 
 ventured to inquire whether they were his per- 
 formances. 
 
 * Yes ; I never travel without some plates in 
 the carnage, with the ground ready prepared, 
 and if I am detained anywhere, as occasionally 
 happens, I stroll about, and, if I discover a bit I 
 like, I just etch it then and there, and when I 
 get home I bite it in.' 
 
 Aspen expressed his admiration. 
 
 ' Of course, the things are vile to your cul- 
 tured eye, Mr. Graham,' continued the expert, 
 still ' taking stock ' of the young man, and en- 
 tering every fact as it came under observation 
 in his journal ; ' but I never like to be idle, and 
 I dare say you are equally industrious V 
 
 It was a point-blank question, put with a 
 purpose evidently. 
 
 ' Ah,' replied Graham, abashed, * I must con- 
 fess that I waste time sadly.' 
 
 ' You sit and ruminate, perhaps V
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 55 
 
 ' Sometimes for days, sir.' 
 
 « Well/ replied Dr. Eustace, jotting down his 
 notes, ' some people lie fallow, as it were, then 
 work furiously.' 
 
 1 1 do so.' 
 
 1 Enthusiastically — almost passionately ? 
 
 « Yes.' 
 
 ' And you become prostrated by the intense 
 mental and bodily effort V 
 
 < That is the case.' 
 
 1 This is precisely what I surmised when you 
 entered the room.' 
 
 Graham was struck with astonishment and 
 admiration at the physician's penetration. 
 
 'Now tell me, Mr. Graham, about your — 
 parents ;' he hesitated at the last word, as one 
 does who is touching a sore wound. 
 
 Graham made no reply, though he endeav- 
 oured to do so. A spasm shot through his heart 
 and flushed his cheek. 
 
 'I see, I see,' said the expert, soothingly; 
 1 my own dear father and mother died young ! 
 Our wonderful organs are so soon thrown out 
 of gear. You probably have — brothers and 
 sisters?'
 
 56 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Graham again paused. 
 
 ' Ah, it does so happen, too often ! Half the 
 population succumb before they reach maturity:' 
 and he recorded the facts elicited by the patient's 
 silence. 
 
 * I had a brother and a sister,' answered Gra- 
 ham, sorrowfully, ' but they, like my father, died, 
 I believe, of — consumption. But I never knew 
 the particulars, as they died while I was at 
 college in Germany.' 
 
 ' Consumption, the scourge of these islands !' 
 reflected Dr. Eustace aloud, making a final 
 entry and closing the journal. 
 
 He then drew his chair close to the artist and 
 took his hand. 
 
 1 My young friend,' he said, with the utmost 
 gentleness, 'you come to me with great mis- 
 givings as to your state, and, if I am not de- 
 ceived, you wish to hear what I have to say, be 
 it good news or bad V 
 
 6 1 do so, most distinctly.' 
 
 1 Your own view of your condition is, I think, 
 an unfavourable one V 
 
 i I confess it is not very hopeful.' 
 
 ' And, bearing in mind the decease of your
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 57 
 
 brother and sister, you imagine the taint to be 
 hereditary V 
 
 6 Such has been my conviction V 
 
 6 Conviction, exactly ; and let me tell you 
 that, so intimately and wonderfully do the mind 
 and body act and re-act, a rooted conviction 
 will often call into existence and renewed vi- 
 tality a disease which had, otherwise, exhausted 
 itself and died out.' 
 
 Graham had no rejoinder to offer either in 
 support or in contradiction of this statement. 
 
 * Consequently, as you have admitted, you 
 brood over it, you surrender yourself to a sum- 
 mary and unwarranted conclusion. This, my 
 friend, emasculates the mental faculties, so to 
 speak, and the body pays for it. Hence the 
 inability at times to pursue the art you love. 
 Hence the prostration, the consequent lowering 
 of the power of resistance, and the possibly fatal 
 issue !' 
 
 The physician enunciated his views with de- 
 cision and gravity, which startled Graham, but 
 they were so evidently dictated by a kindly and 
 sympathetic feeling that the young artist was 
 deeply touched.
 
 58 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Continued the expert : 
 
 'You are apt, Mr. Graham, to neglect your- 
 self and think wholly of your art. That is 
 wrong — grievously wrong ; the body needs cul- 
 tivation as much as the mind. You close your 
 eyes to human fellowship. That is sinful — 
 positively. You renounce the recreations and 
 simple pleasures pursued by other men. That 
 is the height of folly.' 
 
 Graham inclined his head in admission of the 
 charges. 
 
 ' You see, I am taking most unusual interest 
 in your case. Some day I will tell you the 
 reason ;' and the physician seemed to be lost in 
 an abstraction for a few moments. He then 
 continued : ' All I will permit myself to impart is 
 that which you desire to hear — the actual con- 
 dition of your vital organs.' 
 
 'Yes,' eagerly responded the young man, 
 ' yes, it is that, and only that.' 
 
 ' I may be in error, my friend — I hope I am. 
 We doctors, you know, are only mortals, and as 
 fallible as other men. But, if I am not mistaken, 
 there arc complications in your case. There
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 59 
 
 are indications of incipient tubercles in the left 
 lung. The right is at present sound, but may 
 be affected any day if you take cold — and then 
 — and then — no human aid can save you unless 
 we can get up your strength. But understand, 
 dear sir, I'm hopeful, for you have youth, and 
 youth will often falsify our unfavourable con- 
 clusions and reverse the conditions upon which 
 they were based. Moreover, you are wise 
 enough, I think, to avoid excesses and excite- 
 ments, and this is as good for you as any pre- 
 scription I can give.' 
 
 Graham weighed every word which fell 
 from the physician, and, though his utterance 
 seemed to flatter hope, he divined his thoughts 
 while he heard his speech, and Graham felt 
 sure that on the whole his opinion was un- 
 favourable. 
 
 ' If I may ask you to speak without reserva- 
 tion,' said the young artist, after an uneasy in- 
 terval of silence, during which the physician 
 looked at his clock which was an involuntary 
 intimation to his patient that he bad nothing 
 more to say, * I would beg you to tell me how
 
 •60 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 long you think a person in my state might be 
 expected to live V 
 
 The question was put so calmly, so directly, 
 and with such manifest faith in the physician's 
 candour that Dr. Eustace was taken aback, and 
 he gazed on the young man's placid face with 
 surprise and admiration. 
 
 ' 1 will be perfectly frank with you, Mr. 
 Graham, for, with a man of your temperament, 
 anything in the shape of a quibble would be un- 
 justifiable. If you survive three years, there is 
 no reason why you should not live ten, thirty, or 
 fifty years. At the present moment you are at 
 low- water mark. You have lost materially in 
 weight within the last six months, consequently 
 your recuperative powers are less than they 
 should be. But I say again, you have the in- 
 valuable, inestimable fund of youth, and Nature 
 is generous to youth, as a rule. Moreover,' con- 
 tinued the kindly gentleman, rising and laying a 
 friendly hand on Graham's shoulder, ' your pro- 
 fession favours us. Follow it without blind 
 enthusiasm. Live much in the open air. Take 
 plenty of exercise and plain food. Cease to be 
 -a recluse. Get cheerful companionship. Don't
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 61 
 
 watch the phases of your disease ; forget it, 
 and, above all, — be hopeful. The last word 
 I have to say is the best. Hope !' and the 
 good doctor held out his hand to take leave of 
 his patient. 
 
 Graham rose, and, gratefully thanking him, 
 modestly laid the fee on the table. 
 
 ' My dear friend,' said Dr. Eustace, intercept- 
 ing him in the act, ' it is a rule with me never to 
 accept a fee from a brother artist — if I may be 
 allowed to arrogate so much ! therefore, pray 
 gratify me by not making me break my rule !' 
 
 Graham recognised the physician's delicacy 
 and generosity. 
 
 ' But if you will permit me,' continued the 
 physician, ' I should so like to visit your studio ! 
 Would you mind favouring me with your 
 address V 
 
 * I have only a single room,' said Graham, with- 
 out hesitation, ' and really I have nothing to 
 show you.' 
 
 Dr. Eustace rightly understood this as an 
 objection on the part of the young man to re- 
 ceive a visit, and with the utmost delicacy he 
 forebore to repeat the enquiry.
 
 62 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ' Let me see you again in a month/ he 
 said. 
 
 4 Yes, I will come again in a month.' 
 
 The young artist thereupon took his leave and 
 retraced his steps to Thistle Grove with a sense 
 of relief. He had challenged the oracle and it 
 had not answered enigmatically. 
 
 ' Three years,' he muttered, * he gives me 
 three years ! That's more than I expected. 
 Why, 'tis a life-time ! Anything may be accom- 
 plished in three years !' 
 
 Dr. Eustace re-opened his journal, and, having 
 completed his diagnosis of Graham's complaint, 
 he at once fulfilled his promise to the lady who 
 had preceded Aspen in his consulting-room, and 
 wrote as follows : 
 
 1 The young gentleman who fainted here this 
 morning, and in whom you evinced so kind an 
 interest, is, I regret to say, in a condition which 
 gives cause for some anxiety. There is a sus- 
 picion of phthisis in the family history which he 
 gives me, and there are complications. The 
 disease is hereditary, which is a bad feature. 
 His mind, moreover, is somewhat morbid on
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 63 
 
 the subject. There is a tendency to melancholia, 
 but I cannot say that he may not throw it oft', 
 though I do not find much ground for believing 
 that he will. Therefore my opinion is, on the 
 whole, decidedly unfavourable, though I admit 
 the case is obscure. I only hope 1 may be 
 wrong, for he is a young man of no common 
 order of mind, in whom I feel a keen interest. 
 He is an artist, and that again evokes my 
 sympathies;' &c, &c. 
 
 Graham Aspen regained his modest home, and, 
 as was his habit, he cast a jealous and hurried 
 glance in the direction of his easel which sup- 
 ported the pictured head. The silken scarf was 
 over it as usual, but he did not notice that it 
 had been disturbed. 
 
 As he pondered on the interview of the 
 morning, the extreme kindness of the physi- 
 cian's manner recurred again and again, and 
 he felt that he had made but a shabby return 
 in withholding his full name. A morbid shy- 
 ness and lack of self-confidence caused him 
 to lead the life of a recluse, as Dr. Eustace 
 had discovered; and it seemed like ingrati-
 
 64 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 tude after that good man's frank and friendly 
 treatment of him to misinform him on so trivial 
 a point. 
 
 1 The consequence of my stupidity is, that I 
 can never call upon him again, however much 
 I may need his valuable advice.' 
 
 Such was the result of Graham's medi- 
 tations. 
 
 'Strange/ meditated Dr. Eustace, as he 
 rested in the evening by the fireside vainly 
 endeavouring to fix his attention on his book ; 
 1 'tis strange how that young man, Graham, 
 recalled my poor Mildred ! the same voice, 
 the same cast of features, the same slight 
 frame. Ah,' he continued, sighing, ' I wonder 
 what the poor girl's fate is! Since she ran 
 away from school with that vagabond Sin- 
 clair, and married him, she has been lost to us. 
 Lost as effectually as though the grave itself 
 had closed over her on that fatal day. 'Tis 
 strange, indeed, how instantly and vividly the 
 mind brings back the almost forgotten past 
 at the sound of a voice, at the sight of a 
 face ! Poor Mildred, so fair, so good, so frail 
 in health, I think I see you now!' and Dr.
 
 THE CONSULTATION. 65 
 
 Eustace gave himself up to reverie into which 
 the personality of Graham forced itself again 
 and again. 
 
 The kindly physician felt, moreover, a dis- 
 satisfaction with himself which was purely pro- 
 fessional. Contrary to his habit of reticence, 
 he had, in an unguarded moment, been betrayed 
 into forecasting the young man's fate, basing 
 his opinion on the family history he had drawn 
 from him, and the familiar law of heredity in 
 these diseases. He felt it was ill-advised in him 
 thus to commit himself, especially with a patient 
 of the peculiar temperament of this interesting 
 young man ; and Dr. Eustace was more than 
 vexed, he was pained. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 66 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 LENA. 
 
 Graham Aspen had barely got clear of Tapioca 
 Terrace, when Mrs. Lipperty, eager to make 
 herself acquainted with the equivocal circum- 
 stances occurring next door, donned her most 
 monastic attire, and, with a book in her hand 
 and a homily on her lips, sallied forth, and gave 
 a lugubrious knock at No. 2. 
 
 If Susan did not immediately respond to the 
 summons, it was not in consequence of any 
 defect in her auditory faculties, for the knock 
 was only too well heard and too well known, 
 and the damsel was, in fact, intercepted by her 
 mistress as she was on her way to the door. 
 Susan had judiciously solved the perplexing 
 problem of her mistress's return, in a state of
 
 LENA. 67 
 
 agitatioD, with a stranger, by listening at the 
 keyhole, and she was therefore not surprised 
 when Mrs. Sparragus, calling her, said, in an 
 undertone, ' Susan, I can't see her,' at the same 
 time retreating to her bed-room. 
 
 Susan put up the chain, and, opening the 
 door a few inches, said, in reply to Mrs. 
 Lipperty, 
 
 ' Missus ain't very well;, she's been dreadfully 
 upset.' 
 
 'Ah! by that man V 
 
 1 No, mem, by one of them Pickford's vans as 
 nearly runned over her.' 
 
 ' Nearly ran over her !' 
 
 * Yes, mem, and it was all along o' that young 
 man.' 
 
 * That she was nearly run over f ' 
 
 4 No, no, that she escaped.' And Susan re- 
 cited the adventure in the most graphic manner, 
 adding touches of her own to make it dramatic. 
 4 He's the 'andsomest and nicest young gent as 
 ever I see !' 
 
 * But who is he V demanded Mrs. Lipperty, 
 sharply, disgusted to find the intruder had 
 already an ally in Susan. 
 
 f2
 
 68 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ' That's just the thing as puts my poor missus 
 out so.' 
 
 'How is that?' 
 
 ' Why, she'd give anything to find out who he 
 is, and he refused to tell her.' 
 
 <I can't imagine why she should be so 
 anxious to know,' urged Mrs. Lipperty, in- 
 quiringly. 
 
 « Can't you % I can/ 
 
 ' Tell me the reason, Susan. You are such 
 an intelligent girl.' 
 
 ' Wouldn't you or anyone else want to reward 
 a 'andsome young man for saving you from one 
 of them Pickford's vans V 
 
 6 Does she wish to reward him V 
 
 ' Course she do. Ain't it nateral she should V 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty saw it all at a glance. The 
 foolish old woman desired to prove her grati- 
 tude in the only manner a person of her age, 
 possessing a nice little property and money in 
 the Funds, could. She evidently meant to 
 make him her heir. 
 
 ' This must never be !' meditated the relict of 
 the Rev. Ebenezer ; * I must warn her against 
 committing this atrocious folly. She shall not
 
 LENA. 69 
 
 be the victim of this person's cupidity, if I can 
 prevent it !' 
 
 Turning to Susan, she continued, 
 
 * My good girl, it is necessary that I see your 
 poor mistress to administer comfort in this dis- 
 tressing matter.' 
 
 ' That's exactly what she don't want,' prompt- 
 ly responded Susan, closing the door another 
 inch as if apprehensive that the spare figure in 
 black might squeeze through the narrow 
 aperture. 
 
 ' You don't understand me, my good girl.' 
 
 ' But it seem my missus do, for she said jest 
 now, " Susan, if that Mrs. Lipperty comes here 
 a-bothering and a-preaching, tell her I'm laying 
 down and ain't to be disturbed, for I'm that 
 upset I can't stand her goings-on, which is bad 
 enough when I'm well, goodness knows, which 
 I ain't." ' 
 
 ' Did the poor dear say all this V sighed Mrs. 
 Lipperty, with upcast eyes, at the same time 
 biting a piece out of the finger of her black 
 glove. < Really V 
 
 ' Lor', yes, and ever so much more. She says, 
 says she, "That there woman at No. 1 is a
 
 70 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 perfec' nuisance with her long face and her 
 solemn talk — I can't a-bear it, and I've half a 
 mind to go right away to Flinders' for the sake 
 of peace." Them's her very words, and 1 tell 
 you plump and plain, mem, because I know you 
 likes to hear the truth.' 
 
 1 Yes, Susan, I love the truth,' piously re- 
 sponded Mrs. Lipperty, clasping her hands and 
 gnawing her tongue at the same time. . ' Give 
 my dearest love to your mistress. I wouldn't 
 on any account disturb her. Good afternoon ;' 
 and the amiable ministrant, apprehending further 
 confidences from the too veracious Susan, turned 
 from the door, which was punctually and effec- 
 tually closed. 
 
 Denied the satisfaction of delivering her 
 bosom of its stored-up invective on the head 
 of Mrs. Sparragus or the bad young man with 
 mercenary designs, Mrs. Lipperty was reduced 
 to the alternative of directing it towards an 
 offender nearer home, whose shortcomings and 
 general perversity exhausted her vocabulary of 
 censure, compendious though the volume was, 
 — that offender was Lena. 
 
 When the spiritual legatee and relict of the
 
 LENA. 71 
 
 Rev. Ebenezer entered her step-daughter's room, 
 she found her by the open window, apparently 
 absorbed in thought, a closed book lying by her 
 side. 
 
 ' Leonora Jane I' 
 
 1 Yes, mamma,' replied Lena, roused from her 
 reverie and starting at the abrupt intrusion ; * I 
 am here.' 
 
 ' So I perceive ; and may I ask what you are 
 occupied with V 
 
 ' 1 am doing nothing.' 
 
 ' Doing nothing ! Then let me recommend 
 you not to do it, but, on the contrary, to use 
 the faculties which the Almighty has given 
 you, and do something,' retorted Mrs. Lipperty, 
 with scathing severity. 'Remember, Leonora 
 Jane, "doing nothing" is an invitation to 
 Satan; it is opening the door to the enemy, 
 who enters in and very soon makes you busy 
 enough !' 
 
 'Nothing would delight me more, mamma, 
 than to have employment.' 
 
 ' Hem ! This is the first time I have heard 
 you say as much. And you haven't given any 
 particular evidence of a passion for work.'
 
 72 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 * I have not had the opportunity, mamma/ 
 calmly responded Lena. 
 
 ' Not had the opportunity ! Where there's 
 the will there is always the opportunity ! It 
 hasn't occurred to you that Maria would be glad 
 of a little assistance on washing-days in hang- 
 ing-out and ironing? And I don't remember 
 your ever offering to make a pudding or peel 
 the potatoes.' 
 
 ' I didn't know, mamma, that you wished me 
 to do those things.' 
 
 * I wish you to be of use in the world, and not 
 to eat the bread of idleness.' 
 
 ' That is exactly what I desire to be, mamma, 
 if you will allow me to do that for which I feel 
 fitted.' 
 
 1 Girls of your age, Leonora Jane, can't possi- 
 bly know what they are fitted for. They usually 
 allow their elders to direct them.' 
 
 ' I should only be too thankful to be directed,' 
 replied Lena, sorrowfully, 'if I had a friend 
 to do so ;' and she burst into tears. 
 
 'Well, that's about as insulting and un- 
 grateful a remark as you could have made! 
 Friend, indeed ! and, pray, who has been your
 
 LENA. 73 
 
 friend all these years ? Who has clothed and 
 fed yon, and shown you how full to overflow- 
 ing you are of evil, and how depraved the 
 natural man within you is ? Who has never 
 wearied in this thankless task? Answer rne, 
 Leonora Jane ! who V 
 
 * Yes, mamma'; you have done all this.' 
 ' Then it seems that you have yet to learn 
 that they are our truest friends who tell us 
 our faults. Oh, fie, fie! Never let me again 
 hear you talk such hollow cant about desiring 
 to be directed how to employ yourself. To 
 think that such pharisaical stuff should be 
 spoken by a child of my beloved Ebenezer! 
 The best thing you can do, Leonora Jane, is 
 to scourge your own refractory nature and try 
 to tread in my footsteps and dispense a little 
 happiness amongst those with whom it has 
 pleased the Almighty to place you !' and, with 
 this parthian shot, the excellent and beneficent 
 lady retreated to her own chamber. 
 
 What was the effect of this tirade upon 
 Lena? Just what might have been foreseen 
 with a pure-minded and intelligent girl. 
 Until lately the four walls of their abode had
 
 74 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 contained all she cared for or dreamt of. 
 Her home was her world. Habit had centred 
 everything there, and a natural contentedness 
 and obedience to authority had rendered her to 
 all appearances characterless. But her step- 
 mother's ever-ready strictures and railing 
 accusations had rent the veil that shut every- 
 thing from her mental view, and had gradually 
 let in light until she saw how truly barren the 
 place was. Hitherto a rigid monasticism had 
 excluded fr,om her all but matters personal and 
 domestic ; a spurious moral regimen had so 
 restricted her horizon that up to this time real 
 human interests and fellowships found no place 
 in it, and she might have lapsed and wasted 
 down into the degenerate and emasculate 
 creature of which the ascetic is made. But 
 her step-mother's excessive and coarse aus- 
 terity saved her, for it called into activity a 
 vital power which had been hitherto dormant. 
 She awoke to the consciousness that her 
 existence was mechanical, little more than 
 animal : that the area of her mental functions 
 was a narrow circle of prejudice which ad- 
 mitted neither light nor warmth, and that the
 
 LENA. 75> 
 
 better part of her was numb and useless, like a 
 paralysed right arm, and denied its natural 
 exercise. 
 
 The knowledge once gained was bound to 
 increase and to broaden out into the vast field 
 of human concerns. Lena, after much mental 
 conflict, awoke and felt she must be free or else 
 die. The spirit that asserted itself unbidden 
 was not that of revolt, but of firm, calm protest. 
 Dutiful by nature, discipline had made her 
 dependent ; but, in an hour of trial, Will declared 
 itself, and Lena the child became transformed 
 into the woman animated with the power to 
 comprehend the actualities of life, and to take 
 her share in its work. She seemed to chafe like 
 a cagecl bird pleading to spread its unused 
 pinions and beating against the iron bars. And, 
 as this sense burst into conviction with electric 
 suddenness, the careless gaiety of her young- 
 heart mellowed down into a settled gravity, for 
 she felt that she had responsibilities. And r 
 beyond this, she foresaw the uncompromising- 
 animosity of her step-mother in the new depar- 
 ture to which she must now be committed, and 
 ^he issues seemed portentous. But the sense of
 
 76 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 independence of action proper to adolescence 
 seemed to gain strength the more she contem- 
 plated her position, and, though she tossed on 
 her bed in unrest the whole night through, the 
 hours were employed in that fit mental debate 
 from which sound results are evolved. 
 
 When she descended to the breakfast-table in 
 the morning her resolution was formed. She 
 met her step-mother with her wonted dutiful 
 greeting. 
 
 8 Lena,' said Mrs. Lipperty, who also had 
 passed an unquiet night, reviewing the events 
 of the day, her dissatisfaction being equally 
 divided between Mrs. Sparragus and her step- 
 daughter ; ' Lena, I wish you to pay a visit at 
 No. 2 to-day, and see if the old lady is disposed 
 to be at all communicative about that affair of 
 yesterday. I wish particularly to know; and, 
 as she refused to receive me yesterday, which 
 surprised me greatly, seeing that my only object 
 in calling was to offer her comfort and con- 
 solation, I prefer that you go and gather all you 
 can.' 
 
 * I hope you will spare me an errand which is 
 not to my taste, mamma,' quietly responded
 
 LENA. 77 
 
 Lena ; ' I have great respect for Mrs. Sparragus, 
 and, when I call to see her, I do so without any 
 motive.' 
 
 * I thought as much ! This is you who so 
 desire to be directed ! The very first thing I 
 wish you to do you decline.' 
 
 ' I ask you not to send me on an errand which 
 does not seem to me quite creditable.' 
 
 'Now you are taking upon yourself to censure 
 me!' 
 
 ' I think, mamma, you will grant that it is 
 time I had opinions of my own.' 
 
 1 Certainly not, if they are contrary to mine,, 
 as, of course, in a giddy, simple girl they must 
 be.' 
 
 ' Then I'm afraid I must claim the right to 
 think for myself,' answered Lena, in a tone of 
 firmness which startled her step-mother. 
 
 * Matters are come to a pretty state ! This 
 looks very much like open revolt !' ejaculated 
 Mrs. Lipperty, gazing fiercely at the rebel 
 across the table. But the rebel remained calm 
 and unabashed. 
 
 ' I speak as I do, mamma, because I see the 
 time has come for me to do so, and I am sure
 
 78 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 you would wish me to be frank and plain in a 
 matter which is serious — at least, to me.' 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty had no rejoinder sufficiently 
 crushing ready. She could only make a gesture 
 of impatience and contempt. 
 
 Lena drew a deep breath, and continued : 
 
 « I should have thought you would have 
 remembered that young people are not always 
 children, but grow up, and have, soon or late, 
 to take their places in a world of action and 
 labour, and, the longer they close their eyes to 
 the duty of fitting themselves for their future, the 
 more unready will they be when that future 
 •comes upon them !' 
 
 ' Hem ! All this is out of a book, I suppose !' 
 interrupted Mrs/ Lipperty, with bitterness ; ' I've 
 certainly read it somewhere.' 
 
 ' I may have gathered it from a book, mamma, 
 and it may yet be true,' replied Lena, with un- 
 conscious sarcasm ; ' and I feel more and more 
 that it is true. And, being true, I must claim to 
 l>e allowed to employ such faculties as I have 
 as best I can ; for I agree with you that it is a 
 sin to eat the bread of idleness.' 
 
 Lena had never before given utterance to so
 
 LENA. 79 
 
 serious and philosophic a speech, and for a 
 moment she felt awed at her own temerity ; but, 
 meeting her step-mother's hard, un sympathising 
 gaze, she was confirmed in her resolve to speak 
 definitely, and, therefore, continued : 
 
 * I have thought very seriously during the 
 night upon what you said yesterday, and I have 
 formed a resolution to work.' 
 
 ' Work won't harm you, I suppose,' replied 
 Mrs. Lipperty, with a sneer. 
 
 ' No, mamma ; and I mean to work very, very 
 hard.' 
 
 ' 1 can't object to that, Leonora Jane ;' and 
 Mrs. Lipperty wondered whether Lena intended 
 to undertake the washing, the cooking, or the 
 window-cleaning. 
 
 ' 1 have made up my mind to take up a pro- 
 fession, and to try my chance of success.' 
 
 1 A profession. Hem ! and, pray, what pro- 
 fession have you selected ? The stage V in- 
 quired the good lady, with withering contempt. 
 ' I think I might cultivate my taste for music 
 with advantage.' 
 
 ' And may I ask what instrument you propose 
 to take up V
 
 80 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 1 The violin.' 
 
 ' Exactly ! I expected as much. A man's 
 instrument, of course. Why not the cornet, or, 
 better still, the trombone, a still more manly 
 one ? Is this the kind of " work " which it be- 
 comes a young girl to do f Oh, I'm shocked ! 
 I'm ashamed of you, Leonora Jane !' 
 
 ' I believe ladies play the violin now-a-days,' 
 argued Lena, with gentle remonstrance. 
 
 1 Oh, dear yes ! " Ladies " do queer things 
 now-a-days — things that I blush to think of, 
 and fiddling is one of them, and the very last 
 thing they study is modesty, and no doubt you'll 
 soon be as forward as any of them ! But mind, 
 Leonora Jane, I wash my hands of it. I know 
 your obstinate disposition, and I see you are 
 bent on going headlong to destruction. Oh, 
 I'm truly thankful your poor, dear father isn't 
 here to see this day ! To think that a daughter 
 of his should come to this, to fiddle ! To per- 
 form, I suppose, in those sinks of iniquity, the 
 theatres ! Don't ask my consent, for you won't 
 get it! The sin shan't lie at my door. Re- 
 member that !' 
 
 ' I hope nothing but good will come of it,
 
 LENA. 81 
 
 mamma ; and, with God's blessing, no harm 
 can.' 
 
 'Don't, don't! I can't stay and hear you 
 talk so, Leonora Jane. It's profane ! But, of 
 course, where people give themselves up to the 
 vanities and follies of this wicked world, they 
 cast reverence to the winds !' 
 
 Lena made no attempt to justify herself; she 
 had announced her resolution, and her step- 
 mother's vituperation seemed the natural 
 consequence. 
 
 1 1 suppose,' continued Mrs. Lipperty, taunt- 
 ingly, ' that, as you have money of your own, 
 you intend to exercise this " freedom " else- 
 where than under my roof?' 
 
 * I had no such idea, mamma.' 
 
 6 Then you actually expect to be allowed to 
 follow your unhappy bent here, in spite of my 
 disapproval V 
 
 ' All I ask is to be permitted to work out my 
 own future and strive to be a credit to you, 
 mamma.' 
 
 ' If you wish to work and be a credit, you 
 can help Maria ; but I'll have no fiddling 
 here !' 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ' Very well, mamma. I can obey you in this,' 
 replied Lena, without bitterness or vexation ; 
 and Mrs. Lipperty, satisfied in having scourged 
 her step-daughter to the best of her ability, rose 
 from the table and quitted the room. 
 
 Left alone, and the necessity for firmness and 
 self-control removed, Lena's fortitude gave way, 
 and, burying her face in her hands, she burst 
 into tears. 
 
 ' No sympathy, no encouragement, no friend !' 
 she murmured amid her sobs ; ' it is very, very 
 hard. Not in the whole world is there one to 
 whom I can turn for counsel. Mrs. Sparragus 
 is kind and good ; but, if I told her my trouble, 
 she might blame mamma, and I do not wish 
 that. No, I must bear my trials like others. It 
 rests with myself to overcome them. Twenty 
 friends could only cheer me to be brave, and 1 
 must be brave without them.' 
 
 Lena's tears had dried, and her fair face was 
 illumined by the enthusiasm which stirred her 
 heart. Sweeping back her rich, auburn tresses, 
 and drawing a deep breath, as though a burden 
 had been cast off, and the armour of a clear 
 conscience put on, she looked the beau ideal of
 
 LENA. 83 
 
 an English girl, for character, independence, 
 and natural grace were visible in e very- 
 gesture. She was transformed. The apathy, 
 born of dull surroundings and perpetual preach- 
 ings-at, had given place to animation, and 
 even gaiety, at the bare idea of the difficult 
 task she had resolved upon. A future seemed 
 to open out as she dwelt upon it, and, with the 
 fervour of simple faith, she offered up a prayer 
 for strength and guidance in the arduous study 
 she had determined to pursue. 
 
 When she rose from her knees she wore a 
 smile of contentedness which was evidence that 
 a life-long burden had been laid aside. 
 
 g2
 
 84 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE INTRUDER. 
 
 In spite of Dr. Eustace's encouraging advice, 
 his own momentary good resolution, and the 
 tempting offer of patronage made by Glare and 
 Gooley, Graham Aspen, unaware of the diverse 
 interests in himself which he had unwittingly 
 created, allowed day after day to pass without 
 profitable employment. A physical and mental 
 reaction had set in, and vacuity of thought and 
 nervous inactivity held him in thrall, which he 
 had no energy to throw off. The pictured face 
 of his idea was the one object of contemplation, 
 and, as we have seen, whenever his eyes were 
 satiated with the worship of it, he piously covered 
 it over, and, locking his door behind him, strolled 
 abroad.
 
 THE INTRUDER. 85 
 
 On more than one occasion he had, on return- 
 ing to his room, been startled by the ruffled 
 appearance of the scarf which enveloped the 
 painting. Surely it had been disturbed ? And 
 a spasm of jealous anger would thrill him. But, 
 on reflection, he admitted the possibility of his 
 having brushed past it as he hurried ; or it may 
 have been the draught from the closing door 
 that disturbed it. And the suspicion was dis- 
 missed again and again. Feeling more languid 
 than usual, Graham one day returned almost im- 
 mediately after quitting his room, and, mechanic- 
 ally locking his door and removing the key, he 
 flung himself upon his bed, and drew the cur- 
 tain, composing himself for sleep. He had not 
 remained long in that condition, when he 
 thought he heard the sound of a foot without, 
 and presently it seemed that a key grated in 
 the lock. 
 
 Surely he must be dreaming ! But no, be- 
 yond a doubt, the handle is turned, and the 
 door opens, and is gently closed behind a figure. 
 Through the narrow opening of the curtains, 
 Graham gazes spell-bound, and sees a rough 
 and ungainly youth advance into the room.
 
 86 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 The artist is too astonished to move, or chal- 
 lenge the intruder, who looks more like a phan- 
 tom than a marauder ; and all he can do is to 
 watch and wait. The youth had a small pack- 
 age in his hand, which he laid aside, and at 
 once seated himself on the chair Graham oc- 
 cupied opposite the easel on which stood his 
 ideal portrait, and carefully removed the scarf. 
 Ho remained for some moments rapt in con- 
 templation of the work which Graham, hardly 
 able to contain his indignation, expected to see 
 him take possession of, and then decamp. In- 
 stead, however, of doing so, he made himself 
 quite at home on Graham's chair, and, unfold- 
 ing the package which he had brought with 
 him, exposed to view a copy of Graham's ideal 
 head, which he placed beside the original, and 
 glanced from one to the other with the air of an 
 art-critic. Presently he opened his colour-box, 
 and proceeded to advance his work, when Gra- 
 ham, no longer able to remain a passive observer 
 of the sacrilegious act, sprang from his bed, and, 
 bursting through the curtains, threw himself 
 upon the awe-stricken intruder, shrieking, 
 « Wretch ! Villain ! What are you doing V
 
 THE INTRUDER. 87 
 
 The petrified youth dropped his colour-box, 
 sank on to his knees, and burst into tears. 
 
 * Speak, rascal, or I'll choke you !' and Graham 
 seized him by the throat. 
 
 ' I — 1 — was only trying to copy your beauti- 
 ful picture, sir,' replied the boy, in broken 
 accents. 
 
 1 Imp ! where did you get the key from V 
 demanded the enraged artist, holding a fist 
 against the lad's nose. 
 
 ' It's mother's, sir, please.' 
 
 ' Mother ! who is your mother V 
 
 1 Mrs. Starkie, sir, downstairs,' answered the 
 terrified youth, still on his knees. 
 
 'Mrs. Starkie, the landlady?' 
 
 ' Yes, please, sir.' 
 
 Graham Aspen relaxed his hold of the lad's 
 throat and ran to the bell, which he rang 
 violently. 
 
 Mrs. Starkie hurried up in alarm and entered 
 the room gasping for breath. Graham pointed 
 with out-stretched arm and menacing finger to 
 the shivering culprit in the chair. 
 
 1 Do you know this boy, Mrs. Starkie?' he 
 demanded, in tragic tones.
 
 88 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 < Why, sir, if it ain't our Jem !' answered 
 the landlady, hardly able to articulate intel- 
 ligibly. 
 
 'Did you know he was in the habit of entering 
 my studio in my absence V 
 
 * Lor' bless you, sir, I never dremp of such a 
 thing !' responded Mrs. Starkie with evident 
 veracity. 
 
 * But you knew there was a duplicate key to 
 my door?' 
 
 ' Well, it's this way. You see, sir, lodgers is 
 always a-losing their keys, and so I has two 
 keys to all the doors in case of haccidents.' 
 
 ' And to all the drawers and tea-caddies too, 
 I suppose, Mrs. Starkie,' retorted Graham, severe- 
 ly caustic. 
 
 ' Good gracious, no ! sir. I shouldn't go and 
 do no such thing !' answered the landlady, her 
 susceptible feelings deeply harrowed by the 
 imputation. 
 
 ' Jem, you evil, bad boy, how dare you do sich 
 a thing V she continued, wiping her eyes with 
 her apron. 
 
 Jem, caught red-handed, could offer nothing 
 in explanation or extenuation.
 
 THE INTRUDER. 89 
 
 Turning to Aspen, Mrs. Starkie proceeded to 
 explain : 
 
 'To tell you the truth, sir, I can't make 
 nothing of 'im. He's that stoopid, I've no 
 patience !' 
 
 * In what respect is he stupid f ' enquired 
 Graham, gradually mollified by the bearing of 
 the hardened criminal. 
 
 * He's that dull, sir, that he can't hardly clean 
 knives decently, let alone boots, and as for 
 winders, why, he makes em dirtier than they was 
 before V 
 
 1 Is there nothing else he can do V asked the 
 artist, relaxing more and more. 
 
 1 I sends him of errands sometimes, but lor', sir, 
 it's a thousand to one but he goes to the wrong 
 shop, and brings home a mutton-chop instead of 
 a pound of candles. He can't be relied on for 
 nothink, his head's so choke full of they everlast- 
 ing picters !' 
 
 'Pictures?' 
 
 * Oh yes, sir, morning, noon, and night, draw- 
 ing, drawing, drawing, till I'm downright sick! 
 Why, there's never a bit o' clean paper lying 
 about but Jem goes and spiles it 'mediately.'
 
 90 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 'HowT 
 
 ' Why, by drawing picters on it ! And the worst 
 of it was, his uncle went and give him a sove- 
 reign, and I told him to go and buy hisself a 
 jacket for Sunday.' 
 
 'And didn't he do so?' 
 
 ' Not a bit of it, sir. Away he went and 
 bought a box of nasty paints,' replied Mrs. Starkie, 
 pathetically. 
 
 The culprit sat overwhelmed at the too true 
 recital of his misdeeds and timorously raised his 
 large bright eyes to Graham, who at the 
 moment seemed to him justice personified ; and 
 if the artist had pronounced judgment there and 
 then, and condemned him in the extremest of 
 penalties, it would have been submitted to with- 
 out the faintest protest, so veracious was the 
 long catalogue of his offences -as set forth by his 
 mother. Graham's eye caught his, and there 
 passed from one to the other a magnetic current 
 of human sympathy which was to last through 
 life. 
 
 Graham took up the copy of his ideal work 
 which Jem had in his abashment secreted under
 
 THE INTRUDER. 91 
 
 a chair, and he was astonished at the original 
 talent displayed in it. 
 
 ' Did you do the whole of this, my boy V he 
 enquired, in a reassuring tone. 
 
 4 Yes, sir,' answered Jem, wondering whether 
 that was an aggravation of his crime. 
 
 4 Has he ever had instruction V asked the 
 artist, turning to Mrs. Starkie. 
 
 * Lor, no ! the mischief is, he teaches hisself, 
 and I'm downright tired of boxing 'is ears, that 
 lam!' 
 
 Graham took the lad's hand. 
 
 1 Jem, I was more than angry with you for 
 coming in here as you did ; but, now that I 
 understand your object, I not only forgive you,, 
 but I am really pleased. In future you are free 
 to come and work here whenever you wish, and 
 if I can help you, as I think 1 can, I will — if 
 you will let me !' 
 
 Jem burst into tears. 
 
 'Ah, you may well be ashamed of yerself, 
 Jem!' exclaimed Mrs. Starkie, admonishingly, 
 ' for I quite expected Mr. Aspen was a-going to 
 give you in charge. To think that a child of
 
 $2 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 mine should dare to go into lodgers' rooms 
 unbeknown !' 
 
 1 My dear Mrs. Starkie,' remonstrated Graham, 
 ' I think we have both said enough about his 
 misdeeds. He didn't touch either my tea-caddy 
 or my purse. The only thing he has robbed me 
 of has been — my conceit. Leave me to punish 
 him for that in my own way, will you V 
 
 ' With all my 'art, sir, and I hope the flogging 
 you give him will do him more good than mine 
 does, for I'm downright sick and tired of wal- 
 lopping 'im !' And Mrs. Starkie, relieved of a 
 hopeless burden and the bane of her existence 
 as a struggling landlady, left her incorrigible 
 son at her lodger's mercy, and descended to her 
 room below. 
 
 Graham turned to Jem, and, seeing tears still 
 trickling down his face, spoke to him sympa- 
 thetically : 
 
 4 Are you unhappy, my boy V 
 
 Jem made no reply, but sobbed afresh. 
 Graham repeated the inquiry, 'Are you un- 
 happy r 
 
 4 Oh ! no, sir. I am happy, very happy.' 
 
 * Is that a reason for your tears, Jem f '
 
 THE INTRUDER. 93 
 
 1 Yes, sir.' 
 
 Jem, in truth, was in tears of joy and an 
 overflowing heart. The artist comprehended it 
 at its true value, and he felt happy too. 
 
 As a pretext for being alone, Graham desired 
 the youth to fetch his drawings for his inspec- 
 tion, for he needed solitude to reflect upon a 
 new and unexpected vista which seemed to- 
 open out in his life. 
 
 * Three years !' he meditated, pressing his- 
 hand to his throbbing temples ; * Eustace gives 
 me three years — and three years seemed a life- 
 time when I had scarcely looked or cared for as 
 many months ; but, now that an interest in life 
 has suddenly sprung into existence, how far too 
 short a time it is for me to do what I would for 
 this gifted boy ! Only three short years to 
 assist the throes of genius ! As for myself, all 
 the power that was ever in me is spent in this 
 one device ;' and Graham turned to the face of 
 his ideal ; ' all is gone from me now ! But I can 
 be a foster-father, if not the father of something 
 that may be fit to live. This boy's natural bent 
 may be a power in art — why not ? and it shall 
 be mine to watch its growth !'
 
 $4 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Jem presently re-entered laden with a heap 
 of miscellaneous scraps of all shapes and sizes, 
 which he bashfully placed on the table beside 
 Graham, who at once glanced over them. They 
 consisted of drawings in pen and ink, pencil and 
 water-colours. Sunsets, clouds, flowers, and 
 even efforts in landscape, various objects of 
 furniture, his mother in all views, and even a 
 sketch of Graham himself — the one object of 
 Jem's secret veneration. 
 
 The young artist was prepared to find indi- 
 cations of latent ability, but he was astonished 
 at the promise shown in the sketches before him. 
 He could discern no special inclination in favour 
 of any one subject — the youthful essayist seemed 
 equally attracted by figure subjects, landscape, 
 or cloudscape. That the performances were 
 immature, crude, and tentative was evident and 
 unavoidable ; but Graham was astonished at 
 their near approach to accuracy, their decision 
 of touch, and that pardonable exaggeration 
 which gives evidence of boldness and breadth 
 of view. 
 
 Without betraying the impressions made 
 upon him, or injudiciously applauding Jem's
 
 THE INTRUDER. 95 
 
 performances, Graham laid a gentle hand on 
 his shoulder and drew him to his side. 
 ' How old are you, my lad V he asked. 
 
 * Seventeen, sir.' 
 
 ' And how long have you tried to draw V 
 i I can't remember, sir. Always, 1 think.' 
 ' How old were you when you drew this?' 
 
 pointing to a sketch of a cat. 
 
 ' It's further back than I can tell you ; the cat 
 
 has been dead ever so many years.' 
 
 * And these sunsets and clouds?' 
 
 * Last year, sir/ 
 
 1 And which do you like doing best, cats or 
 sunsets V 
 
 ' Oh, sunsets!' responded Jem, promptly. 
 
 ' Here are drawings of men and women ; 
 which do you prefer, — figures or sunsets V 
 
 Jem reflected and was at a loss for an answer. 
 
 ' I like both, sir.' 
 
 The reply pleased Graham greatly, it indicat- 
 ed largeness of capacity. Taking up a drawing 
 of a chair, he asked the youth why he made the 
 back legs so much shorter and slighter than the 
 front. 
 
 1 Because they look shorter and thinner.'
 
 96 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 * Why is that V 
 
 Jem could not explain. 
 
 ■ Shall I show you how to find whether the 
 legs of this chair are right or wrong V 
 
 * Oh, yes, sir, please/ answered Jem, with 
 enthusiasm ; whereupon Graham drew on the 
 paper the simple lines of perspective, explaining 
 the meaning of the terms and their application, 
 which Jem imbibed with avidity. 
 
 ' You see now that the legs of your chair are 
 not quite right,' demonstrated Graham. 
 
 ' No, sir, the back legs are not short enough, 
 after all !' exclaimed Jem, laughing at the dis- 
 covery. 
 
 ' Exactly. And you will in all your drawings 
 remember my first lesson, and make your dis- 
 tances and proportions correct by the aid of such 
 lines as I have drawn V 
 
 1 Yes, sir.' 
 
 ' And shall 1 teach you all I know, Jem V en- 
 quired Graham, in tones which bespoke more 
 than kindness ; and the question sent such a 
 thrill through Jem that he was mute so far as 
 making an articulate reply. He seemed bewil- 
 dered between surprise and joy.
 
 THE INTRUDER. 97 
 
 * Perhaps it would be better if I got you 
 placed in a school under masters V 
 
 I Oh no, sir, with you ! — with you !' replied 
 Jem, spasmodically. 
 
 ' But why with me V enquired Graham. 
 Jem turned to the face on the easel. 
 
 I I only want to be taught to paint like that, 
 sir ! But I never, never shall !' 
 
 1 Poor boy !' meditated Graham, ' how little he 
 knows of the power that is in him !' 
 
 Taking up a sunset he asked how he obtained 
 a certain tint. Jem replied that he did not know. 
 
 1 But you didn't find this grey in your colour- 
 box V 
 
 ' No, sir ; I mixed all sorts together till I got 
 what 1 wanted V 
 
 6 My boy, the best painter can do no more. 
 The only difference is that they know how 
 to mix and do it ; while you do it without 
 knowing.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' answered Jem, not quite grasping 
 the antithetical explanation Graham had pro- 
 pounded, and which was a sincere compliment 
 to the lad, who, in fact, accepted it as a rebuke 
 in all meekness. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 The colloquy at that moment was interrupted 
 by a knock at the door. 
 
 * Come in !' 
 
 And Mrs. Starkie entered. 
 
 'If you've quite done chastising of that 
 naughty boy, Mr. Aspen, — and I'm truly ob- 
 leeged to you, sir, and I 'ope you've give it 'im 
 well ! — I want him to clean the knives and peel 
 the pertaters !' 
 
 ' Mrs. Starkie,' said Graham, placing himself 
 between his landlady and her son, ' don't you 
 think it is quite time he earned his own living V 
 
 6 Earn his living, Mr. Aspen ! Lor' a mercy 
 me ! Why, he'll never earn the salt he eats !' 
 
 ' Well, do you know, Mrs. Starkie, I think of 
 giving him a trial.' 
 
 'You, Mr. Aspen 1 ?' exclaimed the landlady, 
 incredulous, and doubtful of her lodger's sanity. 
 
 'Yes. I find I want assistance, and Jem, 
 you know, is rather fond of mixing colours.' 
 
 ' Oh, drat him, yes, those nasty paints, he's 
 for ever messing hisself with 'em ! and wipes 
 them brushes on towels or anythink !' 
 
 ' Well, Mrs. Starkie, if you see no objection 
 to his making these messes in here instead of
 
 THE INTRUDER. 99 
 
 downstairs, I propose to engage him on the spot 
 to help me at a pound a month.' 
 
 Mrs. Starkie threw up both her hands in 
 wonderment, and looked from Jem to Graham, 
 and from Graham to Jem in complete confusion 
 of brains. 
 
 ' That, you know, will be at the rate of twelve 
 pounds a year, Mrs. Starkie, and I daresay you 
 will be able to get a girl to clean knives and 
 peel potatoes far better than Jem, at half that 
 sum,' continued Graham ; ' and you'll have no 
 more of this horrible litter down below,' indi- 
 cating the pile of drawings on the table and 
 floor, 'and that will be worth something con- 
 siderable, eh?' 
 
 'But, Mr. Aspen, you're a -joking, surely? 
 You can't be serious ?' 
 
 ' I never felt more serious in my life !' and 
 Graham spoke the literal truth. 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Aspen,' replied the landlady, wip- 
 ing her face with the back of her hand, and 
 planting her feet firmly in evidence of un- 
 bounded resolution, 'I can only say I've too 
 much respec' for you to consent to your a- 
 saddling yourself with such a bargain as Jem 
 
 h2
 
 100 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 to save me, which it is my 'ard lot to bear, and 
 I'm very thankful, sir, jest the same ; but, no, 
 I've got a conscience, 1 'ave, and I couldn't 
 take advantage of anybody, let alone a lodger 
 as I respecks like my own flesh and blood !' and 
 Mrs. Starkie mopped her face, as if it had been 
 a kitchen utensil. 
 
 This view of the proposition disconcerted 
 Graham considerably, and he felt rather non- 
 plussed. However, he continued : 
 
 ' But if I wish it, Mrs. Starkie, I can't possibly 
 blame you, whatever happens. ' 
 
 6 'Course you wouldn't, Mr. Aspen. Why, 
 you're the last man to do sich a thing as blame 
 me ! You've not been in my house for over a 
 year without my finding out that you're the 
 kindheartedest young gentleman as ever was ! 
 and I'm not a-going to let my Jem upset your 
 peace o' mind if I know it. There !' 
 
 ' You don't quite understand me, Mrs. Starkie. 
 I really must have assistance, you know/ 
 
 * As for that, Mr. Aspen, I won't say, and if 
 you like I'll look about for a good handy boy or 
 girl from the Orphin School. There's Mrs. 
 Soper's Betsy, a willin', 'ard- working gall as'Il 

 
 THE INTRUDER. 101 
 
 keep the place tidy, and she washes beautiful ! 
 and I know she'd rub your paints well, for I've 
 seen her hearthstone the door-step, and it's a 
 sight to see her do it, it is !' 
 
 Graham was getting desperate : he was at a 
 loss for arguments : 
 
 4 It is truly kind of you, Mrs. Starkie, to have 
 such consideration for me, but my mind is made 
 up. I engage Jem P 
 
 ' Then, Mr. Aspeu, for your own good I must 
 say no, 1 wouldn't for the world !' 
 
 * You refuse to consent?' demanded Graham, 
 fiercely, while Jem could be heard sobbing in 
 the corner of the room. 
 
 6 'Course I do, Mr. Aspen, or I shouldn't be no 
 friend !' retorted the landlady, decisively. 
 
 Graham was baffled. However, he had one 
 more card to play : 
 
 ' Very well, Mrs. Starkie, I see I have been 
 with you too long. I give you notice to vacate 
 this room this day week.' 
 
 It was Graham's trump card, and it won the 
 trick. 
 
 Mrs. Starkie clasped her hands together, and 
 gave evidence of great internal commotion by
 
 102 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 dropping intc a chair. Graham followed up 
 his advantage : 
 
 ' This day week I leave you. I see by a bill 
 in the window opposite there's a room to let 
 there !' 
 
 1 Oh, Mr. Aspen, would you be so cruel to a 
 poor widow V pitifully pleaded the landlady, 
 ' to go and leave her jest because she wanted to 
 act fair by you and not let you go and do your- 
 self no wrong 1 And then to lodge opposite !' 
 
 ' Tt rests with you, Mrs. Starkie. Let me 
 engage Jem, and I'll remain here — as long as I 
 live — (Graham muttered to himself, < 'twill be 
 but three years !') but, if you refuse to let Jem be 
 with me, you can look out for another lodger in 
 my place.' 
 
 ' Oh, sir,' sobbed the landlady, surrendering, 
 4 1 won't say another word ! Take the boy and 
 keep him as long as you like for nothink ! I 
 know you'll be glad to be rid of 'im before 
 you're a week older. And please remember, 
 Mr. Aspen, that I'm not to blame. It ain't my 
 doing, the Lord knows it ain't V Turning to 
 her shivering son she apostrophised him, * Jem, 
 you idle, good-for-nothing boy, this kind, good
 
 THE INTRUDER. 103 
 
 gentleman is a-going to be your master ; and, 
 when he sends you of herrands, I hope you won't 
 make them ridiklous blunders which you does 
 whenever I sends you ; and, when he tells you 
 to buy a bundle of firewood, don't go and bring 
 home a lead-pencil instead, as you did once ; and 
 pray, for goodness sake, don't get and mess 
 every bit of writing-paper which Mr. Aspen 
 leaves about with them nasty paints you bought 
 with your uncle's sovereign. Now don't ; and 
 do try and be a credit to your mother's bringing- 
 up. Will you, Jem V 
 
 < Yes, mother,' responded Jem, with a burst- 
 ing heart, ' I'll try my best.' 
 
 Thereupon the landlady descended to her 
 quarters, and left Graham and Jem friends — 
 for life.
 
 104 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 FLINDERS' farm. 
 
 Mrs. SPARRAGUS, true to the intention she had 
 expressed, migrated to Flinders as soon as she 
 felt equal to the journey, in the hope of regaining, 
 in that salubrious i locality, the composure which 
 her recent escape had so cruelly disturbed, and 
 which the' too-neighbourly attentions of Mrs. 
 Lipperty tended to dissipate rather than 
 restore. 
 
 Flinders had been let, as we know, to a 
 syndicate through the agency of Mr. Honey- 
 dew. The syndicate was rather limited; it 
 consisted of Mr. Honeydew. The farm was 
 placed in charge of a manager, named Blowers, 
 a man of enterprise and muscle, who had been 
 a handy-man at an infimary and had married
 
 flinders' farm. 105 
 
 an equally energetic young person who had 
 graduated as a hospital-nurse. This worthy 
 couple were quite at home as custodians of 
 Flinders' Farm, which was judiciously adver- 
 tised by the syndicate (through the agency of 
 Mr. Honeydew) as the most salubrious, snuggest, 
 and best-conducted retreat for convalescents in 
 the kingdom, in virtue of its excellent system of 
 drainage, its quietude, its pastoral environment, 
 fine air direct from the Downs, and a pump of 
 pure water on the premises. Added to these 
 hygienic advantages, there were the delights of 
 milk from the cow, eggs fresh from the nest, a 
 billiard-table, a racket-court, and a quiet pony 
 to ride or drive. 
 
 Situated on a gentle slope facing the south, 
 you had only to stand for a moment on the 
 terrace in front of the house, to burst into 
 rapturous panegyrics on the beauties of its site. 
 Eight away to the Surrey hills the country un- 
 dulated in broad waves, on the crests of which 
 woods and plantations rested like mossy crowns ; 
 and, here and there, mansions and homesteads 
 nestled among their fine timber and well-culti- 
 vated land, while cattle and sheep, dotted about
 
 106 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 in all directions, were proof sufficient that the 
 inhabitants thereof throve comfortably under 
 its benignant skies. The late lamented Mat- 
 thew Flinders, the owner who had given his 
 name to the farm, possessed, beyond his genius 
 for the invention of pills, very pronounced views 
 on matters of hygiene, and made the farm the 
 arena of incessant efforts to secure perfection in 
 that respect, being convinced that length of 
 days was attainable if due care be taken in 
 respect of drainage, ventilation, and warm socks. 
 Unhappily, just as he achieved the object of his 
 ambition, he caught a fever there while disin- 
 fecting a cess-pool, and passed away from the 
 scene of his labours, — hence the sobriquet of 
 Flinders' Folly applied to the farm by his less 
 enlightened neighbours. 
 
 But the syndicate, assisted by Tom Blowers, 
 saw that great possibilities lay dormant in the 
 place, needing only judicious development. It 
 was known far and wide that the defunct 
 Flinders had nearly ruined himself, in spite of 
 the pill, in elaborating the system of drainage 
 (which meant sanitation) which was to prolong 
 his days indefinitely; and the syndicate con-
 
 flinders' farm. 107 
 
 ceivecl the brilliant idea of challenging inspec- 
 tion by the whole medical profession, inviting 
 editors to see for themselves the advantages of 
 the establishment, and intimating that they 
 were prepared to receive a limited number of 
 boarders. 
 
 It was a decided hit. Medical men made 
 special expeditions to Flinders. Medical jour- 
 nals sent experts to view, sniff, and report. 
 The medical men and the medical experts 
 sniffed at the drains accordingly ; tasted the 
 water ; tested the milk ; felt the walls ; viewed 
 the panorama from the terrace ; partook of 
 luncheon ; and declared in leading articles that 
 the place supplied a want. The natural results 
 followed. Flinders' Farm, as well as the Flin- 
 ders' Pill, was soon in everybody's mouth, and 
 the syndicate had to increase the accommoda- 
 tion by adding wings and annexes for the 
 numerous clients in search of three-score years 
 and ten, and not a few beyond. 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus having, in the lease which 
 her financial adviser, Mr. Honeydew, read to 
 her, secured for herself certain accommoda- 
 tion at all reasonable times, she had only to
 
 108 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 notify her intention of coming down, when the 
 necessary preparations for her reception were 
 made. 
 
 When Mrs. Sparragus reached Flinders, she 
 found that rooms in the Hermitage, a cottage 
 in the grounds adjacent to hers, were reserved 
 for a patient of Dr. Eustace, who stood in need 
 of a change; and, in fact, the lady, whose 
 name was Tierney, accompanied by her daugh- 
 ter, arrived at the farm within a few hours of 
 Mrs. Sparragus herself. Two or three other 
 sojourners were in the larger house, which 
 almost partook of the character of an hotel — 
 or rather of one of those ' stations ' which 
 afford accommodation to travellers in Norway, 
 and which are, in fact, farms ; — farms cultivat- 
 ing crops of humanity. Mrs. Sparragus in her 
 daily walks among the pretty lanes and by- 
 ways, which were hedged in by wild rose and 
 honeysuckle, necessarily encountered Mrs. Tier- 
 ney and her daughter, who occasionally sketched, 
 and a recognition would take place, then a 
 friendly salute, and finally a more familiar 
 greeting and an inquiry as to health. These 
 interchanges of kindness ripened into sympathy.
 
 flinders' farm. 109 
 
 4 1 fear,' said Mrs. Sparragus, one morning, 
 addressing the elder lady, * that you do not gain 
 strength very rapidly.' 
 
 ' No,' replied the daughter, who was knitting 
 a shawl for her mother, 'dear mamma is so 
 delicate. I have to take such care of her — 1 
 can't allow her out of my sight.' 
 
 * It is so,' said Mrs. Tierney, laughing. * Hester 
 treats me just as her child ; she watches me like 
 a little mother. I sometimes tell her our 
 natural positions in respect of one another are 
 reversed.' 
 
 ' So they are, darling !' exclaimed Hester, as 
 if the idea could admit of no question ; * you've 
 taken care of me long enough ; and isn't it 
 right that I should give back in my poor way 
 some of your love, my precious one !' and Hes- 
 ter tenderly kissed her mother, who looked 
 intensely happy in her child's arms. 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus watched the little drama with 
 deep interest, and her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 * Have you been blessed with children V asked 
 Mrs. Tierney, observing her emotion. 
 
 ' Ah, no ; a child is the one blessing I desired, 
 and heaven has denied me ; and now that I am
 
 110 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 old I feel the want so much !' replied Mrs. 
 Sparragus, sadly. 
 
 < 1 can fully enter into your feelings,' said Mrs. 
 Tierney, sympathetically ; * but we have to be 
 thankful for the good that falls to us, and put it 
 to the best use/ 
 
 ' That is exactly what I feel and what I wish. 
 The years are fast running out, and it may soon 
 be beyond my power to make good use of my 
 means. It seems so strange, but it is true, Mrs. 
 Tierney, I have not a friend this side the grave !' 
 and Mrs. Sparragus fairly wept. 
 
 The two ladies looked incredulous. 
 
 ' Not a friend !' they echoed. ' Impossible !' 
 
 ' I suppose it is my own fault, but it is true. 
 I have everything I can need — except a loving 
 friend, and not having that I have nothing/ ex- 
 claimed Mrs. Sparragus, in broken accents. ' I 
 thought lately that Providence had indeed sent 
 me the faithful friend I pined for, for he seemed 
 to spring out of the ground suddenly; but, ah, 
 be vanished as he came !' 
 
 The two ladies looked more and more incredu- 
 lous; whereupon Mrs. Sparragus narrated her
 
 flinders' farm. Ill 
 
 peril in Cheapside and her rescue by an un- 
 known man, and Mrs. Tierney and Hester were 
 deeply interested, and expressed their sympathy 
 in cordial terms. 
 
 ' But wasn't it unkind of him to refuse to tell 
 me his name?' asked Mrs. Span-ague, feeling 
 sure of an affirmative response. 
 
 ' It may have seemed to you unkind,' replied 
 Mrs. Tierney; 'but to my mind the act was 
 rendered still more noble by his determination 
 to remain unknown.' 
 
 ' But he seemed needy, and so modest, too. 
 He was just such a person as one would be 
 proud to benefit !' argued Mrs. Sparragus. 
 
 ' That makes the service more and more 
 unique,' rejoined the other lady. 
 
 'And for my part,' interposed Hester, with 
 unusual enthusiasm, ' I think the action you 
 have related would have lost half its beauty if 
 the young man had given you the opportunity 
 of rewarding him. I go even further, and say 
 that even to know the man in the ordinary 
 sense of common acquaintanceship, and to talk 
 to him about that deed in ordinary conversation
 
 112 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 would be to rob it of its grace. Had I been in 
 his place, I should most certainly have preferred 
 not to be known.' 
 
 Mrs. Tierney was surprised at this unwonted 
 outburst on the part of her daughter, who, with 
 all her endowments of head and heart, had 
 never evinced an excess of philosophy and 
 much less of romance. 
 
 ' But, my dear child,' she replied, in tones of 
 amused remonstrance, ' I suppose, if such a thing- 
 were to happen to you, you would be grievously 
 disappointed if the hero fled without the reward 
 of your grateful acknowledgments?' 
 
 'His own heart would tell him how deep 
 those thanks were far better than anything I 
 could express in words !' 
 
 * Yet, surely, to give utterance to them would 
 be a satisfaction to yourself, if not to him, 
 Hester V urged Mrs. Tierney, more and more 
 amused. 
 
 * To say " I thank you " is to pay the debt in 
 the common way, and so it passes from remem- 
 brance, and there an end. I almost feel it 
 would in such a case be sweeter to bear the 
 burden of the debt all through life, and for ever
 
 FLINDERS' farm. 113 
 
 dwell on the service in secret, and have the 
 actor ever before your mind's eye. It seems to 
 me that the deed and the doer of it would thus 
 rise high above common things and become in 
 a manner sacred, while the interchange of 
 thankfulness and courtesies would soon vulgar- 
 ise both.' 
 
 Hester delivered this rhapsodical speech with 
 an earnestness which gave it quite a solemn 
 character, and indicated that it was inspired by 
 feelings far from shallow. 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus laughed, for she failed to 
 grasp anything so transcendental. Mrs. Tierney 
 looked grave, for a new feature in her daughter's 
 character seemed to be budding out. 
 
 'It's all very beautiful, Miss Hester,' said 
 Mrs. Sparragus, mirthfully ; * but I've lived in 
 the world a good many years, and I never met 
 anyone before that young man who objected to 
 be thanked for what they did for me. On the 
 contrary, people have allowed me to thank and 
 reward them for what they have done badly or 
 even not at all. Your ideas are what I call 
 poetry, and very pretty indeed as such ; but 
 you know, my dear young lady, neither poetry 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 1 14 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 nor promises butter parsnips in this world. 
 People can't live long on them !' and Mrs. 
 Sparragus laughed immoderately at her own 
 illustration, till Hester laughed too. 
 
 ' Now, my dear child,' said Mrs. Tierney, fol- 
 lowing Mrs. Sparragus's ironical onslaught, ' I'll 
 put a case to you which is in some respects a 
 parallel one. You remember when we were 
 consulting Dr. Eustace a few weeks ago a young 
 man fainted in the waiting-room V 
 
 * Oh, yes, mamma,' responded Hester, with 
 animation. 
 
 ' Well, when he sank on the couch a dear girl 
 of my acquaintance sprang to his assistance, 
 raised him, and rested his head for a moment on 
 her bosom till assistance arrived.' 
 
 Hester's eyes were fixed on the ground. She 
 made no reply. The knitting-needles moved 
 about idly and ineffectually. 
 
 ' How deadly pale he looked ! and what 
 singularly fine features he had,' meditated Mrs. 
 Tierney, wandering a moment from her 
 argument. 
 
 Hester remained silent. 
 
 ' Well, he never breathed a word of thanks ;
 
 flinders' farm. 115 
 
 we never heard his voice. But I well remem- 
 ber when, later on, Dr. Eustace told you he had 
 been commissioned by the young gentleman to 
 tender to you his grateful thanks for your timely 
 aid, you were not at all displeased ; but, on the 
 contrary, you seemed touched, for your eyes 
 filled with tears.' 
 
 Hester could not deny it. The knitting- 
 needles played about more and more ineffectu- 
 ally. 
 
 'And when we reached home you talked 
 about nothing else, and thought it so graceful 
 and becoming in the poor invalid to send a 
 message of thanks through the doctor. " Such 
 deep thanks for so trifling a service," you said, 
 with evident pleasure. Now, would you have 
 been quite so content, Hester, if no such message 
 had reached you? would you have been better 
 pleased to have him mute V 
 
 ' Dear mamma, I can't argue about it. You 
 are so dreadfully practical,' replied Hester, 
 worsted. 
 
 6 My darling child, we have to be practical in 
 this world of give and take, and, though thanks 
 are not very solid things, they are the small 
 
 i2
 
 116 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 change that help us along and make the way- 
 smooth ; they must be offered and received for 
 what they are worth.' 
 
 * I do not question that, dear mamma, and 
 never did. I know it is so. I was thinking of 
 the noble services we sometimes hear of, and 
 which seem to me high above payment, and are 
 their own reward without the giving and taking 
 of thanks, which reduce the action to a lower 
 level. But let us say no more about it, darling. 
 I dare say I am quite in the wrong.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus desired to know the circum- 
 stances referred to by Mrs. Tierney, and the 
 latter lady related them. 
 
 'It seems to me an exceedingly bad symptom 
 when fainting occurs so suddenly,' opined Mrs. 
 Sparragus. 
 
 < It was awfully sudden,' replied Hester, with 
 undisguised pain. 'I was talking to dear 
 mamma when he reeled and sank on to the sofa. 
 I fear he is in a bad state.' 
 
 * Dr. Eustace almost implied that the case was 
 hopeless,' added Mrs. Tierney. 
 
 ' An artist, too !' meditated Hester, aloud ; 
 ' full of a noble ambition, probably. His heart,
 
 flinders' farm. 117 
 
 no doubt, so set on fame that he does not feel 
 the hand of death nearing him.' 
 
 ' The strange thing was,' continued Mrs. Tier- 
 ney, turning to Mrs. Sparragus, * that, though 
 he gave his name ' 
 
 1 Graham,' interrupted Hester. 
 
 ' Yes, Graham ; he withheld his address from 
 Dr. Eustace, — a most unusual scruple in a 
 patient.' 
 
 1 Why, he was almost as peculiar as my young 
 gentleman !' exclaimed Mrs. Sparragus. 
 
 < How so V 
 
 ' He not only refused his address but even his 
 name, for fear I should make him some return — 
 which, between you and me, I intended doing.' 
 
 'The young gentleman to whom you refer 
 evidently divined your purpose, but that does 
 not explain Mr. Graham's reticence as regards 
 the doctor. What do you think, Hester V 
 
 6 1 think his natural delicacy and modesty 
 would incline him to act so,' said Hester, in reply 
 to her challenge ; ' but no one can explain the 
 feelings of others ; and 1 can no more account 
 for his silence as to his abode than for his 
 swoon !'
 
 118 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Mrs. Tierney quitting the room at the moment, 
 Hester and Mrs. Sparragus were alone, the 
 latter continuing the topic : 
 
 ' Of course you cannot ; but I must say I ivas 
 puzzled when my young man — I call him mine, 
 you know, to distinguish him from yours, — re- 
 fused his name for fear of being recompensed, 
 and when he was gone I said to myself, " Well, 
 1 don't believe there's another young man in all 
 London like him." But, you see, my dear Miss 
 Tierney, I was wrong — there are two equally 
 shy of being known.' 
 
 'Did you say your young man was very 
 needy V inquired Hester, after a pause. 
 
 4 He appeared very needy indeed, — just such 
 a person as one would be proud to do a kind- 
 ness to.' 
 
 'Delicate, too, did you say?' 
 
 ' Yes, he looked pale and pinched.' 
 
 'His age?' 
 
 ' Probably two or three-and-twenty. Poor 
 youth, he had all the manners of a gentleman. 
 With all his courage and strength, he was so 
 gentle !' 
 
 Hester turned her face to Mrs. Sparragus at- 

 
 FLINDERS' FARM. 119 
 
 tentively, as though awaiting a still fuller de- 
 scription, and Mrs. Sparragus was only too 
 ready to respond, for it was a gratification to her 
 to relate the misadventure and glorify the hero : 
 
 1 And I don't know when I have seen such a 
 face as he had. It was like wax — so colourless, 
 but the features were so fine — straight nose, 
 firm chin, thick eyebrows — that it would be 
 almost impossible to forget it ; in fact, it posi- 
 tively haunts me.' 
 
 < Did you say his hair was black V inquired 
 Hester, much interested. 
 
 1 I don't remember saying so, my dear ; but it 
 certainly was quite black, and soft and silky as 
 a woman's. Ah, he must have suspected what 
 my feelings were and what my heart was bent 
 upon, when I asked his name, and his pride got 
 the better of him ;' and Mrs. Sparragus relapsed 
 into a serious vein. 
 
 Hester remained mute and pensive. 
 
 1 Miss Tierney,' resumed Mrs. Sparragus, con- 
 fidentially, ' give me your opinion ; if I had told 
 him that I desired to treat him — as — as — a son, 
 you know, would he still have refused to give 
 me his name V
 
 120 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Hester could not reply off-hand ; the question 
 was novel, and the springs of human action are 
 obscure. She needed introspection ; she placed 
 herself in the young man's position, and endea- 
 voured to comprehend and share the feelings 
 which seemed to have animated him, and at 
 length she replied, 
 
 ' I believe he would still have refused.' 
 
 'But why?' demanded Mrs. Sparragus, in 
 surprise, and not without vexation ; ' pray why, 
 Miss Hester V 
 
 6 Because I believe the young man, for some 
 reason we can never know, is indifferent to those 
 things which most of us seek, and, if you had 
 proposed to treat him as a son, he would have 
 understood it as an offer of riches, which he 
 probably despises, therefore his answer would 
 have been " No." ' 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted by the 
 return of Mrs. Tierney, and Hester, profiting by 
 the opportunity, took up her neglected knitting 
 and retired to her room, thoughtful and per- 
 turbed. Why perturbed ? 
 
 Because she felt as though, unawares, she had 
 lighted upon a discovery which ought to be
 
 FLINDERS' farm. 121 
 
 respected as a secret belonging to another, and 
 the belief had grown into conviction as Mrs. 
 Sparragus had painted in lucid words the com- 
 plexion, features, and form of her rescuer, and 
 the conviction had penetrated her bosom as a 
 precious thing which it would have been almost 
 base and sacrilegious to divulge, and therefore 
 it was something to be tenderly borne about, 
 till circumstances should either confirm or 
 confute the hypothesis which she had con- 
 ceived. 
 
 Flinders, with its invalids, real and imaginary, 
 was under the necessity of engaging the services 
 of a medical attendant, not only for those resi- 
 dents who actually needed his care, but more 
 especially for those who did not. To the vale- 
 tudinarian, there is no one so precious as the 
 doctor. The days and the hours intervening 
 between his visits are counted, and the event 
 itself is the red-letter day in the patient's calen- 
 dar. There was Major Twister, as hale a man 
 of sixty-five as you would desire to see, who 
 became dangerously indignant if you hinted 
 the faintest doubt that he was the most dis- 
 tressing living example of a dyspeptic, and
 
 122 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 whose insulted feelings could only be assuaged 
 by your blood in mortal combat, if you sug- 
 gested that there was a reasonable probability 
 that he would live a fortnight. The major was 
 Dr. Dimbledon's model patient, because he de- 
 clared he took the most nauseous physic with 
 infinite relish, received him at all hours with 
 the cordial welcome of a brother, and hung 
 with rapt and reverent attention upon every 
 word which fell from his inspired lips. 
 
 The weather was fine, and the vigorous major 
 was playing at rackets with the muscular 
 Blowers at the back of the building, when the 
 familiar sound of the doctor's cob cantering up 
 the gravel-drive reached his ear. To drop the 
 ball, dart into the house, rush to his room, slip 
 on his night-cap, and fling himself full length on 
 to the sofa, was the work of a moment ; for he 
 had grown expert in the manoeuvre from prac- 
 tice — as he always received the doctor in that 
 doleful plight. 
 
 ' Ah ! D.,' he gasped (he always abbreviated 
 the name of his most cherished friend to the 
 initial letter, as though the miserable remnant of 
 his life was too short to admit of his giving it in
 
 flinders' farm. 123 
 
 full), * thankful to see you ! Here I am, just 
 where you left me.' 
 
 ' My dear major, how are we to-day?' in- 
 quired Dr. Dimbledon, surveying his patient 
 curiously. 
 
 ' Just alive, but frightfully weak.' 
 
 6 Tut, tut ! dear me !' reflected the doctor, 
 feeling his pulse, which beat like a navvy's. 
 
 'Can hardly stand; I'm so shaky.' 
 
 ' And the appetite V 
 
 6 Don't mention it, D. It's cruel. Why, this 
 liver of mine — or rather, what's left of it — must 
 be as rotten as a medlar !' gasped the prostrate 
 man. 
 
 ' Sleep V inquired the doctor. 
 
 ' Not a wink, D. Not a wink ! In fact, I'm 
 played out.' 
 
 Dr. Dimbledon put on an air of deep compas- 
 sion, which was a recognised part of the pro- 
 gramme, and requested the major to allow him 
 to inspect his tongue, when he muttered to 
 himself, ' Tut, tut !' which, being a sound of 
 evil omen, gave the major extreme satisfaction. 
 
 ' I'm afraid you didn't take that draught last 
 night V he said, chidingly.
 
 124 
 
 The major groaned : ' Then my case is hope- 
 less. Yes, sir, I have taken it with the punctu- 
 ality and resolution of the Iron Duke himself, as 
 the clock struck ten each night ;' and he groaned 
 again. 
 
 The doctor pursed his brows. (It was all in 
 the programme.) 
 
 1 Not so satisfactory as I could have wished,' 
 he said, with a view to gratify his patient. 
 
 8 Could hardly be worse, D. ; in fact, you may 
 almost consider me dead and buried. Now, my 
 dear doctor, what is to be done ? Hadn't you 
 better give me up f 
 
 ' Oh, no, not just yet. Suppose you try a 
 glass or two of port after dinner/ 
 
 < And nuts?' 
 
 4 Yes ; in moderation.' 
 
 (Port and nuts had, in fact, been the invari- 
 able adjuncts to the major's dinner for years, as 
 the doctor very well knew.) 
 
 * Well, D., I can only say I shall obey your 
 orders with slavish devotion, even if it costs me 
 my life. By the way, doctor, who is this Mrs. 
 Sparragus, who has lately arrived here I ' 
 
 'She was the freeholder of the place, and
 
 flinders' farm. 125 
 
 turned it into money ; a grocer's widow, uncom- 
 monly well off.' 
 
 ' But she has presented me with a box of pills 
 with her compliments,' urged the major, with an 
 air of droll perplexity. 
 
 * That's explained by her being a druggist's 
 widow, too.' 
 
 * Dash it ! Did the druggist leave her well 
 off also V 
 
 1 He left her the Flinders' Pill and Flinders' 
 Farm, both good properties, and the grocer left 
 her Tapioca Terrace.' 
 
 I Hem !' and the major relapsed into silence, 
 and Dr. Dimbledon's quick ear caught a phrase 
 or two as the patient soliloquised : * A widow — 
 uncommonly well off. By Jove ! I'll — I'll ' 
 
 I I must now pay my respects to Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus,' said the doctor, without appearing to have 
 overheard the words which escaped the major. 
 ' Can I be the bearer of any message from you V 
 
 The major instantly forgot his role of mori- 
 bund patient, and springing off the couch took 
 a Venetian flower-holder which he had recently 
 purchased, and placing in it a Gloire-de-Dijon 
 rose requested the astonished doctor to present
 
 12G 
 
 it to Mrs. Sparragus as a humble offering in 
 grateful acknowledgment of her extreme kind- 
 ness in sending him a box of the invaluable 
 pill. 
 
 In the hall the doctor found Mrs. Blowers. 
 ' Well, doctor, how do you find our poor major?' 
 she enquired ; and Mrs. Blowers smiled. She 
 had not been a hospital nurse without learning 
 a thing or two. 
 
 ' Very bad case/ replied the doctor, with a 
 closure of the left eyelid. 'He's got a com- 
 plaint neither you nor I suspected, Mrs. Blowers.' 
 
 ' Indeed !' exclaimed the ex-hospital nurse, 
 with unfeigned surprise. ' There's nothing in 
 the world the matter with the liver V she en- 
 quired, with confidence. 
 
 ' The soundest liver I ever came across.' 
 
 ' Digestive organs V 
 
 8 He's got the digestion of an ostrich.' 
 
 < Head r 
 
 1 Ah ! a little queer there, perhaps. But it's 
 worse than that, Mrs. Blowers.' 
 
 'Heart?' 
 
 ' There you have it ! But it must be a secret, 
 Mrs. Blowers, between you and me.'
 
 flinders' farm. 127 
 
 ' Oh yes, doctor, of course. But I really 
 never should have thought the heart was 
 affected. Not aneurism, eh?' 
 
 Dr. Dimbledon whispered into the ear of the 
 ex-hospital nurse : 
 
 * It's an incipient attack of Sparragus fever. 
 It will be violent while it lasts, as the 
 patient is so amazingly robust for his age, 
 but it won't kill him. He'll get over it, and 
 stick to his port-wine and nuts !' and the doctor, 
 laughing till he was purple in the face with the 
 effort of suppression, proceeded to Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus's room, leaving Mrs. Blowers in fits. He 
 found the widow alone. 
 
 ' I come in two capacities,' he said, gaily, 
 ' first to offer my respects and congratulations on 
 that wonderful escape in Cheapsicle, and, se- 
 condly, as an ambassador.' 
 
 'An ambassador, Dr. Dimbledon,' she re- 
 peated, with a puzzled air ; ' an ambassador V 
 
 ' Yes, from Major Twister ;' and Dr. Dimble- 
 don presented the vase and the flower and the 
 message, adding to the latter what appropriate 
 supplementary periphrasis he could invent by 
 way of garnish.
 
 128 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 1 Really I don't think I ought to accept such 
 a beautiful flower-glass,' she commented, en- 
 quiringly. 
 
 ' I assure you he considers it a wretched re- 
 turn for the pill, from which I sincerely hope 
 he will derive benefit.' 
 
 * Well, do you know, I should never have sent 
 it to him had I not heard him say that nothing 
 you gave him did him the least good,' exclaimed 
 Mrs. Sparragus, with perfect simplicity ; and 
 observing the doctor's chagrin she hastened to 
 add — ' but it's no fault of yours, Dr. Dimbledon, 
 it's his own doing entirely, for I'm told by Mrs. 
 Blowers that he puts away your physic in the 
 cupboard as fast as it arrives, and there it is in 
 rows by the dozen and not a cork drawn !' 
 
 This information was still less flattering to 
 Dr. Dimbledon, who may, however, have seen in 
 it an explanation of the major's robust state 
 of health. 
 
 1 Ah, Mrs. Sparragus, he's a capital fellow ; 
 but a leetle — just a leetle — self-willed.' 
 
 ^Peculiar, — eh, doctor V 
 
 ' A trifle, perhaps.' 
 
 < Crazed V
 
 flinders' farm. 129 
 
 1 Nay, I won't say that ! Let us say infatu- 
 ated,' urged the doctor, quaintly. 
 
 * Infatuated,' echoed the widow, glancing 
 at the flower which seemed eloquent testimony 
 in support of Dr. Dimbledons diagnosis of the 
 major's complaint. 'Whoever is he infatuated 
 withf 
 
 ' Oh, not with any person. It's the pill.' 
 
 The widow appeared to be relieved, for she 
 wiped her eyes. 
 
 'Poor dear man, if they give him comfort, I'll 
 send him a supply.' 
 
 ' I feel quite sure he will not treat your pills 
 as it seems he treats my draughts, Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus,' he rejoined, good-humouredly, whereupon 
 they both laughed ; but it would be difficult to 
 explain why they were hilarious, for the doctor, 
 in spite of his natural amiability, felt less vexed 
 at his professional failure than at his ambassa- 
 dorial success. ' Is it possible,' he reflected, as 
 he bestrode his hack after taking leave of Mrs. 
 Sparragus, ' that I have incautiously established 
 some kind of reciprocity between the major and 
 the pill — the gilded pill ! Can I, by conveying 
 to her the major's impassioned acknowledgments, 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 have awakened in her simple mind an interest 
 which may have results no sincere friend of 
 either of them could desire ? It was certainly 
 thoughtless of me to fling the rich widow at the 
 major's head ! She seemed quite pliant and 
 even grateful for his civilities. It was certainly 
 very indiscreet of me ;' and Dr. Dimbledon 
 wended homeward with vexation in his breast. 
 
 And Mrs. Sparragus had gloomy reflections 
 too: 
 
 ' Would he have sent me all that flummery 
 along with the flower if I hadn't been well-to- 
 do ? and would everybody be so attentive if I 
 were only a poor old woman ? Ah, where shall 
 I find anyone so truly a friend, so disinterested 
 as that young man whom I would fain treat as 
 a son — for no son could have done more for 
 me than he did! — but who was too noble to 
 consent to be thanked, much less rewarded! 
 Oh, money, money, money ! — I begin to think it 
 drives away real friends and attracts the false ;' 
 and Mrs. Sparragus felt more alone in the world 
 than ever.
 
 131 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 
 
 Two aspirants in diverse walks of art were pur- 
 suing their several studies with an ardour which 
 bespoke enthusiasm and the possession more or 
 less of natural gifts, and the result in each case 
 was the rapid acquisition of skill. Zeal, which 
 is the concentration of the mental faculties 
 upon an object congenial to the sympathies, 
 will shorten the dull and dreary road trodden by 
 the novice, for his feet are winged with the 
 energy of a passion. Lena and Jem were the 
 students. Jem possessed the inborn feeling for 
 art, which, like some subtle force in nature, lies 
 dormant and unsuspected till fortuitous contact 
 with its correlative releases the imprisoned 
 energy and gives a new power to the world. 
 
 k2
 
 132 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Lena with a more modest ambition, and lacking 
 the swift acquisitiveness and adaptability which 
 we call genius, had yet the indefatigable 
 industry and resolution to succeed which are 
 faculties hardly inferior to the former, and, if 
 anything, more to be desired, for the reason that 
 they are less erratic. Happily for Lena, she 
 enjoyed a certain income secured to her under 
 her father's Will ; she was, therefore, to that 
 extent, free from the domination of her step- 
 mother, whose authority over her actions she 
 had never till now for a moment questioned. 
 Mrs. Lipperty's recent arbitrary conduct towards 
 her had, however, precipitated a step which, 
 soon or late, she must have taken in the assertion 
 of personal freedom and liberty of thought, which 
 she seemed suddenly to have discovered to be 
 her natural right. 
 
 Having put her hand to the plough, she was 
 not of a character to look back. She sought 
 at once for a professional instructor of the 
 violin, and Herr Stomper, to whom she was 
 introduced by the chief of the musical establish- 
 ment to which she repaired, at once received 
 her as a pupil, and placed her under the care
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 133 
 
 of his wife, who was peculiarly apt in teaching 
 the rudiments of the art, owing to her sympa- 
 thetic nature no less than to her skill with the 
 violin. Lena soon discovered that she had taken 
 up an instrument of extreme difficulty, and for 
 a moment she was a prey to despair. But her 
 brave heart rallied to the occasion after a few 
 tears, and she was braced in nerve and resolution 
 to succeed. By nature deft, and possessing a 
 fine ear for harmony, the ordinary drudgery of 
 ' practice ' partook more of the character of 
 those exercises indulged in by experts in the 
 intervals of serious work — it was not laborious 
 plodding, but rather recreation, and it was not 
 long before she reached the limit of the Frau's 
 domain as instructress, and was promoted to 
 the tutelage of the Herr. 
 
 Herr Stomper was a maestro in the full sense 
 of the term — he schooled his pupils thoroughly ; 
 but he had an amiable weakness — he grew 
 enthusiastic over them, and would insist that 
 their abilities were phenomenal. He never 
 admitted that he could turn out mediocrity 
 even if he tried ; the consequence was that 
 everyone was a star, and therefore no one shone
 
 134 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 in particular. But the dull level of excellence 
 among his pupils received an eruptive im- 
 pulse when, after a few months' close study 
 and incessant fingering, Lena was prevailed 
 upon to compete with her fellow-students in 
 the presence of friends and amateurs gathered 
 together at one of the Herr's periodical reunions. 
 It was evident that the extreme diffidence 
 with which she took her place on the dais pre- 
 pared the audience for disastrous failure, and a 
 tolerant indifference was accorded to the trem- 
 bling essayist. But, as soon as the bow began 
 thrilling the strings of her violin, her embarrass- 
 ment was dissipated and became lost in the 
 growing interest with which she rendered the 
 score, and, as her interest increased, her energy 
 grew, aod, with her energy, her skill. The 
 audience, no longer inattentive, watched the 
 young girl with keen sympathy. They noted 
 how, after the many blunders she made, she 
 courageously repeated the bar again and again 
 until the fault was triumphantly purged ; and, 
 although the piece performed was simple and 
 elementary, Lena played it with infinite feel- 
 ing, and at its termination she became conscious
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 135 
 
 of the ordeal she had undergone, and with fal- 
 tering step and beating heart she resumed her 
 seat with the applause of the audience ringing 
 in her ears. Herr Stomper gracefully received 
 the compliments which reached him from all 
 sides on the marvellous results of his system of 
 instruction, — compliments which Lena, who 
 withdrew from observation, was only too thank- 
 ful to be spared. 
 
 He replied : ' Yah ; if ze Fraulein doos not blay 
 vare well zumday zoon, it shall not be ze fault 
 of Herr Stomper ;' and, by the gesture of his 
 head, hands and shoulders, he seemed to add, 
 4 You see 1 am producing another phenomenon.' 
 
 But the sympathy with which Lena was 
 greeted by strangers was not by any means 
 reflected at No. 1, Tapioca Terrace, and the 
 young girl had to live down the daily discour- 
 agement of her step-mother's homilies. 
 
 • Leonora, I can't think how a girl brought 
 up as you have been can all of a sudden go 
 about the streets with that frightful fiddle-case, 
 which looks for all the world like a baby's 
 coffin, in your hand ! I declare it doesn't look 
 modest ! indeed, I'm not sure it is decent ! And
 
 13ti GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 then to go fiddling before a room full of people ! 
 It's hardly respectable, Leonora Jane ! and it's 
 a mercy your poor, dear father didn't live to 
 see the day when his only child, who used to 
 know how to conduct herself, does such things. 
 But, remember, I wash my hands of the conse- 
 quences, as I said before.' 
 
 Lena would reply, if at all, in a few words : 
 ' Whatever happens, mamma, I can never re- 
 proach you ;' and she would go her way sorrow- 
 fully yet unfalteringly ; but the way was all the 
 more hard to traverse since her only relative 
 strewed it with thorns. 
 
 Among her fellow-pupils was Ethel Clive, 
 who made advances towards Lena, whom she 
 had long recognised as a girl of a disposition 
 congenial to her own; but Lena, not yet free 
 of the insularity and indifference generated by 
 her solitary life and narrow training, received 
 her kindly approaches with discouraging for- 
 mality, which gave Ethel pain she was generous 
 enough to conceal. Again and again she 
 offered her the little courtesies which are the 
 instincts of a cultivated mind ; and Lena, 
 notwithstanding her ready appreciation, re-
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 137 
 
 spondee! gracefully and sweetly enough, but in 
 a manner which did not invite nearer famili- 
 arity. 
 
 Ethel, the daughter of Mr. Clive, a city mag- 
 nate, was a girl of singularly frank and genuine 
 character, and the more difficult of approach 
 Lena seemed to be the more desirous she felt 
 to secure her friendship, until at length in 
 desperation she one day fairly clasped the 
 astonished Lena in her arms, and, kissing her, 
 said, 'I love you, Lena; why may we not be 
 friends V 
 
 Lena was at a loss for words to reply, for she 
 was overcome, and could only kiss Ethel in 
 return. 
 
 1 Why do you always avoid me V asked Miss 
 Clive, looking into her eyes, which were filling 
 with tears. 
 
 * I never thought of avoiding you, dear Miss 
 Clive.' 
 
 < Don't call me " Miss Clive ;" call me Ethel, if 
 you care for me.' 
 
 * I never thought of avoiding you, Ethel 
 dear ; it is only my foolish way.' 
 
 ' I thought you had, perhaps, so many
 
 138 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 friends you did not care to add me to the 
 number.' 
 
 Lena sighed : 
 
 ' I have not many friends.' 
 
 'Then all I can say is, you ought to have. 
 How is it ? Don't you go out much V 
 
 * I never go anywhere excepting to tea- 
 meetings at chapel with mamma,' replied Lena, 
 with perfect simplicity. 
 
 Ethel's first impulse was to burst into laughter, 
 but the grave and earnest face of her friend re- 
 pressed the inclination in a moment, and she 
 became quite subdued. Her habit of mixing in 
 society had quickened her intelligence and 
 savoir-faire, and she understood at once that 
 Lena must be dealt with tenderly as a child, 
 and the narrow range of her experience be 
 treated with respect. 
 
 Notwithstanding the wide difference between 
 the two girls, speaking in a worldly sense, there 
 was sufficient in common to make their diver- 
 gence a foil to each ; in fact, each seemed the 
 complement of the other. Ethel's vivacity and 
 her acquisition of ton in society were charm-
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 139> 
 
 ingly contrasted with Lena's unobtrusive de- 
 meanour and her almost ascetic simplicity of 
 attire, while they possessed in an equal degree 
 that freshness and purity of heart which are the 
 brightest jewel in the zone of our English 
 maidens. 
 
 Lena and Ethel were not long in learning the 
 story of each other's lives. Lena's was un- 
 eventful enough; she had chiefly to listen to 
 Ethel's recital of her travels, friendships, ad- 
 ventures, and so forth. She described her 
 father, the kindest and most indulgent of 
 fathers (she had never known her mother), and 
 she should not rest till she had introduced her 
 friend to him ; in fact, he was impatient to 
 make her acquaintance. 
 
 After much coaxing, Lena consented to 
 accompany her companion to Regent's Park, 
 where she resided, and one day after their 
 studies she returned in the brougham with 
 Ethel to luncheon. The sumptuousness of her 
 friend's home dazed the simple girl ; the luxury 
 of the surroundings and the profusion of the 
 table almost distressed her, and she was half-
 
 140 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 disposed to accept her step-mother's denuncia- 
 tion of the rich as well-grounded, and to 
 admit with her that in taking up the fiddle she 
 was plunging into the vortex of dissipation, — 
 for were not, she asked herself, costliness of 
 decoration, richness and elegance of furniture, 
 variety of viands, wasteful excess? and was 
 not excess dissipation? But when Ethel, in 
 describing her father's character, told her how 
 largely and widely and secretly he gave, how 
 he built cottages, established soup-kitchens, 
 endowed almshouses, and visited the sick, she 
 admitted to herself that he was a prince among 
 men, and that he deserved to live like a prince. 
 She found Mr. Clive as plain in manner as he 
 was magnificent in deed ; as destitute of as- 
 sumption as he was abundant in sympathy. 
 He took great interest in his modest visitor, 
 and, while studying Lena's character, drew 
 from her all sorts of little confidences about 
 her home and neighbours. He had never 
 heard of Tapioca Terrace, or of Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus, or even Mr. Honeydew, a fellow-citizen — 
 excellent man, no doubt — but the Flinders' Pill 
 and Flinders' Farm, oh, yes, he knew them both
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 141 
 
 by repute, — admirable institution that farm — 
 excellent specific that pill, for all he knew to 
 the contrary. 
 
 But it interested him greatly to hear that 
 Miss Lipperty knew the owner of the famous 
 farm and still more famous pill, and that terribly 
 narrow escape which Miss Lipperty had de- 
 scribed, how distressing ! Why, he remembered 
 the circumstance quite well, owing to an incident 
 connected with it. Had Miss Lipperty ever 
 heard of the sketch-book? No? Did not Mrs. 
 Sparragus complain of having lost a sketch- 
 book? No? Then it must have belonged to 
 the young hero, for it was picked up exactly 
 where the lady was rescued, and he was 
 evidently an artist, and one of no mean ability. 
 But it seemed he was unconscious of the value 
 of his sketches, or indifferent as to their recovery, 
 for he had never taken any steps whatever with 
 that view. 
 
 It was now Lena's turn to be interested in 
 the artist, — or, rather, to experience a great 
 revival of the interest she had felt from the 
 day she had caught a glimpse of his pale, hand- 
 some face and slight but well-proportioned
 
 142 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 figure as he withdrew from No 2, and when 
 Mrs. Sparragus recited his heroic action her 
 interest ripened into admiration ; and now her 
 curiosity was rewarded by a discovery : he was 
 an artist — a painter ! and painting had peculiar 
 charms for her. 
 
 ' Oh,' she meditated, ' what a pleasure it 
 would be, were it possible to discover the young 
 man and make — Mrs. Sparragus happy ! To 
 learn all about him, his home, his habits, his 
 family, to tell — Mrs. Sparragus ! Oh what joy 
 to accomplish all this for — Mrs. Sparragus's 
 sake !' Such thoughts as these flitted unbidden 
 through Lena's mind, and stirred her heart 
 strangely as Mr. Clive, offering his arm, con- 
 ducted her down the richly-carpeted stairs, and 
 handed her, with Ethel, into the carriage which 
 was to take her to Tapioca Terrace. 
 
 ' Remember, Miss Lena,' he said, as he bade 
 her adieu, ' you are Ethel's cherished friend, and 
 therefore you will always be welcome here. 
 Promise that you will come often/ 
 
 Lena faltered her thanks. 
 
 * Papa says " often." Please answer him,
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 143 
 
 dear,' said Ethel, imploringly; 'say you will 
 come often.' 
 
 1 1 will come sometimes ; I cannot leave dear 
 mamma often/ she added, gravely. 
 
 1 No, no, we must not be selfish, Ethel ; Mrs. 
 Lipperty finds it hard to spare her, I am sure. 
 We shall be grateful whenever she allows us to 
 have her daughter.' 
 
 And, the signal being given, the carriage* 
 drove off. 
 
 < Lena,' said Ethel, as they sped along, ' I 
 should so like to see your mamma. May I step 
 in with you?' 
 
 Lena found herself in a difficulty ; she had 
 had such painful evidence of her step-mother's 
 hostility to the pursuit she had taken up, and 
 which she denounced as odious frivolity, that 
 she was very doubtful of the reception which 
 any musical friend, or indeed any acquaintance 
 of hers, might receive ; but then, again, it was 
 more than probable that, when Mrs. Lipperty 
 saw how refined and sweet a companion she 
 had found, all her objections and evil vaticina- 
 tions would take flight like vapours before the
 
 144 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 rising sun, with the happy result that hence- 
 forward she would encourage witli her approval 
 the efforts she was making to accomplish her- 
 self in a difficult art. 
 
 * Yes, dear, I shall be glad for you to know 
 mamma ; she will be pleased to see you.' 
 
 When the brougham reached Tapioca Terrace 
 Mrs. Lipperty, who was at the window, con- 
 cluded that it stopped at the wrong gate, and 
 that it was a visitor for Mrs. Sparragus, who 
 had just returned from Flinders'. This assump- 
 tion opened up a wild field for conjecture. 
 Who could it be ? Somebody after her money, 
 no doubt, or perhaps a lawyer come to confer 
 about a fresh Will, or possibly — but all specula- 
 tion was suddenly arrested by the appearance 
 of Lena and a lady emerging from the carriage 
 and entering the gate. Mrs. Lipperty was 
 stupefied. 
 
 ' What is the meaning of this? Isn't it bad 
 enough for her to go and pick up with all 
 manner of characters, but she must have the 
 audacity to bring her people here ! I'm not 
 going to countenance such behaviour by seeing 
 the person. No, indeed !' and Mrs. Lipperty
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 145 
 
 ascended the stairs, and reached her bed-room 
 as Lena knocked at the door. Admitted by the 
 servant before Mrs. Lipperty could forbid it, 
 Lena was in the act of conducting her friend 
 to the sitting-room, when her step-mother, lean- 
 ing over the banisters, called out, in an acrid 
 voice : 
 
 ' Leonora Jane, what person are you bringing 
 into my house V 
 
 6 It is Miss Clive, mamma, a friend of mine.' 
 
 ' A friend of yours ! and pray what right have 
 you to go and pick up what you call friends 
 without my sanction V 
 
 6 But surely, mamma,' remonstrated Lena, in 
 agony, ' you will approve when I tell you ' 
 
 ' 1 don't wish for any explanations, Leonora 
 Jane. You have begun by acting in direct 
 defiance of my wishes, and this is the first 
 result.' 
 
 Ethel could not remain silent. Her affection 
 for her friend compelled her to speak. 
 
 ' May I have the pleasure of a few words with 
 you, Mrs. Lipperty?' she said, with all the 
 urbanity she could command. 
 
 ' Certainly not, madam.' 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 * But is it right to reproach Lena before you 
 know V expostulated Ethel, in astonishment. 
 
 ' I know quite enough, madam. Mind, I don't 
 say there's anything wrong about you. No, I'm 
 too charitable to even suppose such a thing. 
 You may be an angel of purity and piety ; but, 
 all the same, I don't choose to have Leonora 
 Jane bringing people here I know nothing 
 about.' 
 
 * Then, of course, I will leave at once/ 
 
 ' Thank you ;' and Mrs. Lipperty slammed 
 her bed-room door by way of intimating that 
 the interview was concluded. When Ethel 
 turned to Lena she found her sobbing, her face 
 buried in her hands. 
 
 'Poor child!' she said, tenderly embracing her, 
 * I now understand what was in your thoughts 
 when you said you had not many friends ; and I 
 see why you hesitated to bring me home. 
 Borne /' and Ethel burst into tears. ' Lena,' she 
 said, holding her in her arms, 'you will continue 
 to be submissive and you will not suffer in vain. 
 These are the trials which bring out the good that 
 is in us. 1 see its effect already in you. So 
 cheer up, dear, and remember what papa said.'
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 147 
 
 Lena found it hard to speak. 
 
 * You are both too kind to me,' she replied, in 
 broken accents. 
 
 ' Papa told you I was much attached to you ; 
 but now that 1 have seen your home, Lena, I 
 think I love you more than ever. Remember, 
 dear, that you have sincere friends at Regent's 
 Park ;' and, with another tender embrace, the 
 girls parted and the brougham drove away. 
 
 When Ethel and her father met in the even- 
 ing, she related the circumstances attending her 
 visit to Tapioca Terrace, and Mr. Clive was no 
 less pained than herself. 
 
 'I wish,' he said, after reflecting, 'that you 
 could prevail upon Lena to pay you a long 
 visit ; you seem so happy together. Nature has 
 denied you that which you would have prized 
 so much — a sister ; but Providence seems to 
 have thrown one in your way. Do you think 
 she would consent to come V 
 
 'Mrs. Lipperty would never consent, papa, 
 and therefore Lena would not.' 
 
 1 1 fear it is so,' replied Mr. Clive, sorrowfully ; 
 ' submission is second nature in her, and, as it is 
 evident her step-mother is entirely averse to her 
 
 l2
 
 148 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 musical studies, nothing but a powerful instinct 
 in that direction, and, indeed, a passion for the 
 art, has induced her to go counter to Mrs. Lip- 
 perty's wishes. Would it avail at all, Ethel, if I 
 called on that lady V 
 
 'I think, papa, if you were to make the ac- 
 quaintance of the lady living next door to her, 
 Mrs. Sparragus, and interest her in Lena's musical 
 talent, much good might come of it, for the poor 
 girl tells me they are very intimate with their 
 neighbour, who is as kind and generous as Mrs. 
 Lipperty is evidently harsh, and who is, more- 
 over, attached to Lena, as indeed everyone must 
 be who knows her.' 
 
 1 But I don't quite see how I can call upon a 
 lady to whom I am a perfect stranger,' argued 
 Mr. Clive. ' Stay,' he exclaimed, after a few 
 moments' cogitation, ' isn't she the owner of 
 Flinders'?' 
 
 'Yes, papa, she is or was. I believe it is 
 sold.' 
 
 ' Then I can with perfect propriety call to 
 confer with her on the salubrity of that famous 
 resort, and, indeed, we may some day visit the 
 place.'
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 149 
 
 'I should be delighted to do so,' rejoined 
 Ethel, with enthusiasm. 
 
 'I'll drive over there to-morrow; it will be 
 quite interesting to talk to the old lady about 
 her narrow escape, and tell her about the sketch- 
 book which is waiting to be claimed.' 
 
 Had No. 1 and No. 3, Tapioca Terrace, had 
 the faintest idea of the energy of the gentleman 
 who purposed to pay a visit to No. 2, and who 
 never failed in any beneficent action which he 
 had once resolved upon, they would have de- 
 plored more than ever the unfortunate circum- 
 stance which had brought it all about. 
 
 Another aspirant in another branch of art was 
 meanwhile strenuously ploughing his way along 
 the rough and difficult path of rudimentary 
 study. Jem Starkie, under the guiding hand 
 of Graham Aspen, advanced with extraordinary 
 rapidity in the acquisition of the technicalities 
 and principles of his art. He evinced the utmost 
 aptitude to grasp every essential element as it 
 was explained. The laws of proportion, per- 
 spective, and chromatic harmony were under- 
 stood almost as soon as expounded, and discussed 
 with an intelligence which shamed Graham
 
 150 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 himself; and, in fact, that expert limner and 
 skilled cole-mist confessed to himself that in 
 teaching Jem he learnt a great deal from his 
 humble pupil. And this similarity of taste and 
 predilection attached the young man and the 
 youth more and more to one another, till from 
 friends they grew to be brothers in the noblest 
 sense of the word. 
 
 Graham thought nothing of the days and 
 weeks devoted to fertilising the rare natural 
 gifts Jem possessed, and which already gave 
 promise of rich results. Graham's life, hitherto 
 dulled and weighted by the burden of suffering, 
 seemed to be reanimated by labours which under 
 ordinary circumstances would have prostrated 
 him. The cough which used to shatter him so 
 cruelly came and passed unnoticed ; the hours 
 of wakefulness, hitherto so regular in their re- 
 currence, grew fewer and more rare ; appetite, 
 which he could hardly say existed at all, revived 
 so palpably that Mrs. Starkie persisted in charg- 
 ing Jem with surreptitiously devouring her 
 lodger's viands, which, since his admission to 
 the artist's sanctum, had disappeared with 
 alarming regularity and rapidity, — results all
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 151 
 
 really traceable to the happy influence of the 
 stimulus given to his earnest nature by the 
 youug and zealous neophyte. The face of 
 Graham's ideal, hitherto kept jealously screened 
 from view, was always exposed to Jem, and 
 he, who formerly feasted upon it surrepti- 
 tiously and burglariously, now gazed upon it 
 with all the freedom and enjoyment of actual 
 possession. 
 
 < Whose portrait is it V he one day inquired, 
 his curiosity on the point being for the first time 
 aroused. * I don't remember any lady coming 
 here to sit while you were painting it.' 
 
 'No one ever sat for it; it was spiritually 
 discerned,' replied Graham, with solemnity. 
 
 1 Spiritually ! I don't quite understand,' said 
 the puzzled student. 
 
 • I heard a voice, and immediately saw the 
 face.' 
 
 'Where?' 
 
 4 In my mind's eye, Horatio.' 
 
 Jem was more puzzled than ever. 
 
 1 Is it like the lady whose voice you heard V 
 
 * That I shall never know. Nor do 1 think I 
 care to know.'
 
 152 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Jem stared in incredulity. 
 
 1 Had you been in my place, Jem, I dare say 
 you would have desired to see the girl whose 
 voice alone thrilled every fibre of your nature V 
 
 ' Certainly I should.' 
 
 ' I have no such wish.' 
 
 Jem found it difficult to suppress an ejacula- 
 tion of amazement. 
 
 ' 'Tis strange !' he meditated. 
 
 ' No, my dear Jem, it is not strange. You 
 will some day admit that the ideal in art is 
 fraught with purer joy than the actual, just as 
 imagination is a higher faculty than sense.' 
 
 * You told me the other day never to paint 
 without Nature.' 
 
 * And 1 repeat it again and again. But an 
 artist must do more than copy ; he must create. 
 Study beauty, Jem, till it becomes photographed, 
 so to speak, on your mind. Your mind will 
 intensify the beauties, and add others of its 
 own. Transfer the picture, then, from your 
 mind to your canvas, and you produce a work 
 which will be remembered.' 
 
 Graham propounded his dogma with all the 
 gravity of a professor. Since Jem had sat at
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 153 
 
 his feet, lie found the dictatorial habit grow upon 
 him, and, as the youth received all he said with 
 the reverence accorded to gospel, he evidently 
 tried to live up to his new dignity and re- 
 sponsibility. 
 
 Moreover, Graham felt his importance grow- 
 ing in other quarters. He had received a letter 
 from Messieurs Glare and Gooley, who had dis- 
 covered his address on the back of the picture 
 they had purchased of him, anxiously inquiring 
 whether he had finished the pendant to it 
 which they had commissioned him to paint ; 
 and, as Graham's funds were pretty well ex- 
 hausted, he had been industriously painting 
 from the remembrance of a lost sketch of three 
 graceful birch-trees, which he had made down 
 in Surrey, and which he called 'The Sisters,' 
 and to which he had just put the finishing 
 touches — touches so inexpressibly sweet, and 
 even sad, to the artist, who is loth to turn 
 away from the labour which has been to him 
 a joy. He called Jem to view it in its com- 
 pletion. 
 
 The youth stood before the picture a long 
 time in silence.
 
 154 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 6 Well, Jem, will it do V demanded the artist, 
 impatiently. 
 
 'It is a beautiful idea,' he replied, in tones 
 which indicated a mental reservation of some 
 kind, which Graham detected. 
 
 * But is there anything the matter with it?' 
 
 * I've no doubt it's all right. It isn't likely 
 you would paint anything that isn't,' replied the 
 youth, with an effort. 
 
 ' My dear Jem, out with it, if anything strikes 
 you,' urged Graham, anxiously scanning the 
 youth's face. 
 
 ' I daresay I'm wrong — of course I am — but 
 — but — is the light on the trees quite right V 
 
 ' Go on.' 
 
 * And, with the sun where it is, is the shadow 
 cast by them as it would be V 
 
 < Go on.' 
 
 ' Oh, that's all. I'm sure I'm too stupid to 
 understand, — and would the background be as 
 distinct as this in the evening?' added Jem, 
 trembling at his temerity. 
 
 Graham threw himself back in his chair, and, 
 with the severity of a critic and the impartiality
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 155 
 
 of a judge, considered all the points indicated 
 by Jem. Yes, the light was false. Yes, the 
 shadows were impossible. Yes, the distance 
 was falsely rendered. 
 
 6 Jem,' he said, turning to the youth, who was 
 reproaching himself for his audacity, ' what an 
 eye you've got ! You have put your finger on 
 three fatal defects. Of course the picture is 
 wrong. It's false, because it's painted from 
 memory, and without Nature. You have given 
 me a lesson, Jem ; and I will give you one in 
 return. Do as I do, Jem, and never let a picture 
 go out of your hands which is not true.' And 
 without compunction, and with a shout of 
 triumph, Graham drew a keen penknife through 
 and through the canvas, cutting it into rib- 
 bons before the amazed and horrified Jem y 
 who endeavoured ineffectually to arrest hm 
 hand. 
 
 Thus in a moment was destroyed the where- 
 withal to pay his way, but thus was inculcated 
 and established the fundamental principle so 
 dear to Graham Aspen — that truth is the first 
 essential in art, and that to achieve truth you
 
 156 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 must repair to the fountain of all truth, which 
 is Nature. 
 
 A day or two after this untoward end of the 
 young artist's labours, a second letter arrived 
 from Glare and Gooley, enclosing a cheque for 
 twenty pounds, and informing him that a client 
 had just purchased the ' Queen of the Glen,' 
 and, having paid a handsome price for it, they 
 had pleasure in supplementing the amount he 
 had received for it by the enclosed, etc. 
 
 This communication embarrassed Graham 
 exceedingly. His pride revolted against accept- 
 ing a honorarium from any quarter, least of all 
 from dealers who disparaged his painting like 
 common hucksters, and who, it was evident, 
 only now did him justice with an object, 
 and his first impulse was proudly to re- 
 turn the cheque ; but on second thoughts 
 he remembered that the price he had named 
 for the * Queen of the Glen ' was twenty 
 guineas ; he determined, therefore, to retain ten 
 guineas in full payment of that amount, and 
 return the balance, thus preserving his inde- 
 pendence, and at the same time adequately re- 
 munerating himself.
 
 TWO STUDENTS. 157 
 
 4 Jem,' he said, with unaffected warmth, ' this 
 cash comes most opportunely. We will go to- 
 gether and paint from Nature the group of trees 
 I endeavoured to paint from memory, and we 
 shall see how truly you were right, and how 
 miserably I was wrong.' 
 
 Weather favouring inclination, and timely 
 funds being in hand, the friends proceeded to 
 give effect to their resolution, and they went 
 down into Surrey at once and made for one of 
 the charming woodlands of the county where 
 1 The Sisters ' were enshrined in all the beauty of 
 their spring livery ; and Graham, stimulated by 
 the presence of his critical pupil, drew, with all 
 his ancient vigour and delicacy of colour, the 
 graceful group of trees which Jem viewed with 
 the rapture of a true artist, and which his 
 companion and master rendered with perfect 
 justice.
 
 153 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 TWISTER REDIVIVUS. 
 
 The return of Mrs. Sparragus to Tapioca Ter- 
 race was the signal for a renewal of the healthy 
 competition between No. 1 and No. 3, each 
 occupant of the houses right and left being 
 intent upon outshining the other in those little 
 neighbourly amenities which often have a value 
 and result out of proportion to their dimensions. 
 Mr. Honeydew and Mrs. Lipperty in succession 
 offered her a welcome which was unquestion- 
 ably genuine in each case, for the reason that 
 neither of them liked to lose sight of her. No- 
 thing could be less satisfactory to her attached 
 neighbours than for Mrs. Sparragus to make 
 acquaintances, and they had both observed 
 with concern that ever since that unfortunate
 
 TWISTER REDIVIVUS. 159 
 
 circumstance in Cheapside the good soul had 
 been unsettled, and so decidedly less cordial 
 in her reception of them that it amounted to 
 ingratitude. She had, moreover, gone off to 
 Flinders avowedly to compose her shattered 
 nerves, enjoy a change, and see new faces, — 
 ideas which had never entered the outermost 
 precincts of her brain before the untoward event 
 referred to. Her sudden return to town would 
 have afforded No. 1 and No. 3 unqualified satis- 
 faction if, in answer to confidential inquiries 
 from Mr. Honey dew and Mrs. Lipperty, Mrs. 
 Blowers had not assured them that she had 
 made friends of all the visitors at the farm, and 
 that a major had almost lived on the Flinders' 
 Pill on purpose to prove his attachment to the 
 proprietress of that infallible specific for the 
 prolongation of life. 
 
 This information spread dismay within the 
 two bosoms : Mrs. Sparragus had not only found 
 a friend, but an actual admirer ! But this, how- 
 ever, hardly accounted for her unpremeditated 
 flight from the groves of Flinders, redolent of 
 honeysuckle, roses, mignonette, and admirers. 
 Had Dr. Dimbledon been interrogated on oath
 
 160 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 as to the cause, he would have had to express 
 his suspicion that Mrs. Sparragus had been put 
 to flight by an excess of the article she had 
 always craved for — namely, a friend — -judging 
 from a few remarks which had escaped Major 
 Twister during a recent visit. He found the 
 major even more prostrate than usual, with his 
 white night-cap drawn over his eyes like a man 
 about to be hanged. He was almost too feeble 
 to speak, though, singularly enough, in driving 
 up to the door, Dr. Dimbledon happened to 
 glance through the billiard-room window where 
 he distinctly saw the major, in his shirt-sleeves, 
 stretching over the table, with the cue in his 
 hand and his right leg in the air, making a 
 stroke, whereupon a rattling cannon followed. 
 He could, moreover, have sworn that he heard 
 his patient exclaim, ' By gad, here's the doctor !' 
 succeeded by a stampede and a death-like 
 silence. 
 
 'Ah, D.,' he gasped, as the doctor entered, 
 ' here I am exactly where you left me ; thankful 
 that you haven't thrown my case up in despair. 
 You're just in time to see about the last of me.' 
 
 'So bad as that? dear me, dear me,' replied
 
 TWISTER RED1VIVUS. 161 
 
 Dr. Dimbledon, gnawing his tongue to preserve 
 his gravity, at the same time feeling his patient's 
 pulse, which as usual beat like a steam-engine. 
 4 1 mustn't allow you to get low. I fear there is 
 something on your mind.' 
 
 This latter observation was intended to offer 
 the major an opportunity to make any confession 
 he pleased with respect to Mrs. Sparragus. The 
 major evaded it. 
 
 ■ Yes, Fm awfully low/ 
 
 4 Do you persevere with the port-wine V 
 
 6 And nuts — yes, I do my best/ 
 
 < 1 think a lamb chop for luncheon might do 
 no harm/ 
 
 * Oh, horror ! Spare, me, D., if you have the 
 smallest mercy ! Give me physic as much as 
 you please, but oh ! spare me lamb chops ;' (rump 
 steak and mushrooms or veal cutlets and tomato 
 sauce or truffles was the major's ordinary 
 luncheon). 
 
 * Well, well, we wont be hard upon you. A 
 tea-spoonful of beef-tea, every two hours — can 
 you manage that V 
 
 6 I'll try,' sighed the major, sinking on to his 
 pillow. 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ' Ah, I see you have faith in the Flinders' Pill,' 
 said Dr. Dimbledon, gaily pointing to a half- 
 emptied box. 
 
 This speech, like the former one, was intended 
 to draw a confession from the major. He forgot 
 to evade it. 
 
 1 Yes, the old lady was good enough to send 
 me a fresh supply. 'Pon my soul, she's a 
 clipper !' 
 
 ' Clipper or no clipper, she evidently takes a 
 great interest in your case/ 
 
 * Do you really think so V demanded the mori- 
 bund major, with extraordinary earnestness and 
 vitality. 
 
 ' Undoubtedly ; I never knew her give away 
 a pill before/ 
 
 Twister manifested remarkable interest in the 
 statement, considering the extremity to which 
 he was reduced. 
 
 < D., is that a fact V 
 
 1 Ask anybody/ 
 
 ' Well, I suppose, as a gentleman, I ought to 
 make some little acknowledgment, eh V 
 
 6 Of course you thanked her?' 
 
 1 9a va.'
 
 TWISTER RED1VIVUS. 163 
 
 1 You might present her with another flower,' 
 suggested the doctor, who had been informed 
 by Mrs. Blowers that the gallant major had been 
 sending carnations to Mrs. Sparragus every 
 morning. 
 
 ' Could I V replied the guilty major, interro- 
 gatively. 
 
 'Why not? When young people do such 
 things, it means something — but, my dear sir, at 
 your age, you know ' 
 
 ' At my age !' echoed the major, adjusting his 
 peruke which had got askew in his excitement ; 
 1 what do you mean to imply V 
 
 4 Oh, I had no intention of implying anything; 
 I merely reflected that, at our age, you know, 
 most people have ceased to be romantic. But 
 you're a remarkable man, Twister, and I've no 
 doubt Mrs. Sparragus would be of the same 
 opinion if she were to express her real feelings.' 
 
 The major bolted the bait. 
 
 ' Well, do you know, from her demeanour, I 
 believe you're right, D. She says, " How d'ye 
 do, major?" when we meet, in tones so con- 
 foundedly tender that I'm dashed if they don't 
 almost bring my heart into my mouth !' 
 
 M2
 
 164 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ' Why, my dear Twister, I shall begin to 
 think you're spoons on the widow !' retorted the 
 doctor, with affected cordiality, whereupon the 
 major laughed and slapped his knee with a 
 vigour altogether incompatible with his physical 
 helplessness. 
 
 * Egad ! D., if I were a marrying man ' 
 
 1 Yes, it's fortunate you are not.' 
 
 1 And if I were not the miserable wreck I am,' 
 continued the major, suddenly recollecting his 
 desperate condition, and pulling his night-cap 
 over his eyes, * by Jove ! I'd — I'd — have a shot 
 at her !' 
 
 * And no one could blame you, Twister ; but, 
 under existing circumstances, it would of course 
 be ' 
 
 < Madness/ 
 
 ' Well, let us say imprudence.' 
 
 'No, no, D., madness and nothing less!' voci- 
 ferated the patient, as Dr. Dimbledon, enjoining 
 absolute rest and a spoonful of beef-tea every 
 two hours, took his leave. 
 
 As soon as he had mounted the gig and driven 
 off, the miserable wreck sprang from his couch, 
 flung his night-cap across the room, skipped to
 
 TWISTER REDIVIVCJS. 165 
 
 his writing-table, and gleefully took his seat 
 before it. 
 
 ' I've humbugged old D. again/ he ejaculated, 
 rubbing his hands. ' He thinks I'm played out 
 and haven't a week to live. He'll be rather 
 astonished when he hears Mrs. Sparragus is 
 about to become Mrs. Twister ! For, of course, 
 I've only got to offer her the chance !' and the 
 major sat down to indite a love-letter. 
 
 As Dr. Dimbledon drove away he, too, busied 
 himself with reflections : 
 
 1 Old Twister would certainly be the most 
 consummate actor I ever met, if he didn't o'erstep 
 the modesty of nature. If he had told me in so 
 many words that he meant to propose to the 
 widow, I should not have understood it better 
 than I did. I can't object to his making a fool 
 of himself by playing at illness — many people 
 do that more or less cleverly, and it doesn't 
 hurt me. But I don't intend to allow him to 
 marry the rich widow. No, no, Twister, I can't 
 stand that. I've had my bit of fun at your 
 expense, but this joke mustn't go any farther.' 
 
 The following letter was handed with two 
 carnations — red and white — to the astonished
 
 166 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus the following day by the boy in 
 buttons, who was almost as much amazed as 
 Mrs. Sparragus on receiving from the amorous 
 major half-a-crown to ensure its punctual 
 delivery : — 
 
 ' Feeling wholly unable to give verbal utter- 
 ance to the subject upon which existence itself 
 hangs, I approach you, through the dull medium 
 of pen, ink, and paper, to express, however 
 feebly, the intensity of my gratitude for a boun- 
 teous supply of the miraculous pill. But, potent 
 as is that infallible specific in its influence on 
 my unworthy body, it is as nothing compared 
 with the vitality conveyed to my better nature 
 by a gift which brings the gentle and gracious 
 giver before me whenever I drop one of those 
 precious globular particles behind my vile 
 tongue. And why ? Because that superb pill 
 at once opened my eyes and acted upon my 
 dull and languid imagination. I felt for the 
 first time the existence of a deep-seated obstacle 
 to happiness which not even the pill could 
 remove, but which the Giver could by a single 
 word abolish for ever ! Love is wont to express 
 itself in symbols ; therefore, dear madam, I send
 
 TWISTER RED1VIVUS. 167 
 
 you two carnations — a red and a white one. 
 You will readily interpret their significance. 
 You will not fail to observe that they are bound 
 together in one odorous bouquet, while, dis- 
 united and apart, the sweetness of each is 
 wasted on the desert air, and each flower droops 
 and prematurely fades for lack of support. Need 
 I tell you whom the white flower represents, 
 and whom the red % No — the heart of a true 
 woman promptly seizes and assimilates the 
 faintest utterances of a loyal man, and there- 
 fore the words of a Twister, however feeble, 
 will not be wasted on a generous and sympa- 
 thetic Sparragus.' 
 
 1 By Jove, Cornelius !' ejaculated the major, 
 addressing himself in tones of profound admira- 
 tion, ' you're a genius ! I never should have 
 expected such masterly tactics in one who 
 always blundered in the field. Why, this bril- 
 liant move adds a good thousand a year to 
 your income ! And why shouldn't you double 
 that amount? Why not invent another pill? 
 There's any amount of material in the cupboard 
 yonder. Piles upon piles of old Dimbledon's 
 boluses. Why not make a hotch-potch of the
 
 168 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 lot and turn them out afresh, spick and span 
 new ; patent the pill, call it The Twister ? That'll 
 fetch 'em, I reckon ! It sounds ever so much 
 more taking than The Flinders, and will pay 
 twice as well, no doubt. Dear, dull old D., 
 who evidently thinks I haven't a week to live, 
 will be rather astonished when I invite him to 
 the wedding. Egad, I'll ask him to give 
 Lucinda away !' 
 
 The boy in buttons handed the bouquet and 
 the letter to Mrs. Sparragus, who was getting 
 rather tired of the daily sacrifice of flowers 
 offered by the grateful major, but the letter 
 gave a novelty to the stale proceeding. 
 
 'Poor man!' she meditated, hesitating to 
 burst the seal, and scrutinising the address, * his 
 handwriting is very tremulous ; but no wonder, 
 considering that he has one foot in the grave. 
 It's a pity he takes the trouble to write to 
 thank me, but I daresay it amuses the unfor- 
 tunate creature ;' and the widow spread open 
 the epistle and adjusted her spectacles. 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus spelt her way through the 
 letter from beginning to end without in the 
 least grasping its purport. Her first moment-
 
 TWISTER REDIVIVUS. 169 
 
 ary impression was that the major was writing 
 a story, and had sent her the first chapter for 
 perusal. 
 
 'Very pretty, but rather flighty. I prefer 
 more easy reading; I'm not clever with long 
 words, for I haven't had so much schooling as 
 the major. But, stay, it's rather queer to begin 
 a story-book in this way, and then he goes on 
 about the pill. That's an odd thing to begin a 
 tale with ! And then to go and put names into 
 print — he didn't ought to do that in a story- 
 book ; and then, farther on, he says, " Dear 
 madam/' just like a letter — but, but — is it a 
 letter ? I do believe it is ; and, now I read it 
 through again, there's not a doubt about it. It's 
 for all the world like a love-letter ! Why, it is 
 a love-letter! Good gracious! He can't — no, 
 he can't mean it for me. Yet it's addressed to 
 me, along with the carnations he's been sending 
 me every day for a week. Oh, dear, oh, dear ! 
 the poor thing must be going off his head. I 
 don't feel quite safe. He may get dangerous, 
 and break out at any moment ; who knows 1 
 Anyhow, I won't stay here to run any risks ; I'll 
 go back to Tapioca Terrace this very afternoon.
 
 170 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 I shall feel more comfortable to have about 
 twenty miles between us.' 
 
 To reply to the epistle never entered Mrs. 
 Sparragus's head for a moment. The only ques- 
 tion in her mind was, whether she ought to call 
 in Dr. Dimbleclon or the police, for the poor 
 man's own security. But then, he might be 
 quite harmless, and it would be the ruin of 
 Flinders to have a fuss made. No, she would 
 slip away quietly. 
 
 And Mrs. Sparragus accordingly packed up 
 her belongings ; gave out that she had received 
 a letter which necessitated her return to town 
 sooner than she had intended ; and so took leave. 
 Mrs. Tierney and her daughter had already left, 
 or she might have consulted them on the actual 
 facts, for she held them both in great esteem. 
 To confide in any of the hypochondriac resi- 
 dents was out of the question, — the major's 
 madness might be infectious, and cheerful and 
 salubrious Flinders might become another Colney 
 Hatch. 
 
 But the kindly creature could not sever her 
 acquaintance with poor Major Twister without 
 a parting token of sympathy. She sent him
 
 TWISTER REDIVIVUS. 171 
 
 another box of the wonder-working pill by the 
 boy in buttons, hoping it might cool him. 
 
 'Any message, ma'am?' inquired that mer- 
 curial youth, on receiving orders to hand the 
 package to the major. 
 
 'No.' 
 
 6 Then I'm not to say anything, ma'am V 
 
 1 Say whatever you please, only give the 
 package to Major Twister,' answered Mrs. 
 Sparragus, as she turned away. 
 
 The boy in buttons possessed quite as much 
 shrewdness and love of mischief as the average 
 of boys in buttons, and his daily commission to 
 convey a flower from the majcr to Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus had not been thrown away upon him, how- 
 ever it may have been wasted on the widow. 
 He, moreover, realised the fact that half-crowns 
 were not usually dispensed for nothing, and, as 
 he had received carte blanche to * say what he 
 pleased,' he determined to reward the major for 
 his bounty. He therefore repaired at once to 
 his room, and gleefully placed the box of pills 
 in his hands. 
 
 ' Aha !' ejaculated the major, springing from 
 his seat, ' from that excellent creature V
 
 172 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ' Yes, sir, with her love.' 
 
 ' Is that a fact V demanded Twister, almost 
 breathless with delight. 
 
 The boy in buttons satisfied his conscience by 
 a liberal allowance of mental reservation. He 
 nodded his head, at the same time saying to 
 himself, ' Over the left,' which is understood to 
 qualify and render nugatory and harmless any 
 assertion previously made. 
 
 The major chinked the silver coins in his 
 pocket, which stimulated the boy in buttons to 
 further confidences. 
 
 * She looked quite 'andsome and smiled like a 
 hangel, sir.' 
 
 The major whipped out another half-crown, 
 and gave it to the intelligent youth, who was 
 quite prepared to continue to do business on the 
 same remunerative terms as long as the major 
 pleased. 
 
 < Of course she looked handsome,' retorted 
 the major, as though the adjective was not suf- 
 ficiently flattering for the occasion; whereupon 
 the boy in buttons made a tremendous plunge, 
 which he valued at about half-a-sovereign. 
 
 1 She'd like a lock of your hair, sir !' and he
 
 TWISTER REDIVIVUS. 173 
 
 glanced at the major's very palpable peruke 
 which was all awry. 
 
 * No ! you don't mean it V 
 
 ' Yes/ replied the mendacious youth, with the 
 mental reservation, ' Over the left.' 
 
 If the major hesitated to lay a lock of his 
 ambrosial hair on the altar of affection, it was 
 for the reason that it would not grow again ; 
 and, if he delayed to reward the boy in 
 buttons for this superb contribution to his 
 egoism, it was because he felt that the coins 
 in his pocket were wholly inadequate to the 
 occasion. 
 
 How marvellously well the young ambassa- 
 dor must have executed his commission to effect 
 such results! What might not such a bright 
 intermediary bring about % As a coadjutor, he 
 was simply invaluable. 
 
 ' My boy !' he said, turning to him, ' what's your 
 name V 
 
 4 Paul, sir.' 
 
 'Paul, it's my intention to give you pro- 
 motion. Double pay, board wages, and beer 
 money.' 
 
 < When, sirf
 
 174 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 i As soon as I come into possession of Flin- 
 ders — that is to say, of Mrs. Sparragus.' 
 
 The boy in buttons was grievously dis- 
 appointed. He would have preferred five shil- 
 lings on the spot. 
 
 * We shall want a butler, Paul ; I'll make you 
 my major-domo as a reward for — for ' 
 
 The major glanced at the boy in buttons and 
 saw that his face was purple with suppressed 
 laughter which, in fact, he could no longer con- 
 trol, and he exploded in spite of his hands forced 
 against his jaws. The major was not so in- 
 fatuated as to take leave of his reasoning facul- 
 ties; on the contrary, they had become unusual- 
 ly acute, and he saw at once that he was being 
 hoaxed. He sprang to his feet, and before the 
 boy in buttons realised the turn of events he 
 seized him by his cravat, exclaiming between 
 his grinding teeth : 
 
 * Hound ! you're humbugging me !' 
 
 The boy in buttons, terrified to death, could 
 only gasp : 
 
 1 Please, sir, it was only in fun !' 
 
 ' Fun ! you miserable puppy ! I'll teach you 
 to make fan with me !' and opening the door he
 
 TWISTER REDIVIVUS. 175 
 
 administered to the boy with his foot sufficient 
 momentum to cause him to clear a whole flight 
 of stairs without the customary gradation of 
 steps and risers, displaying an amount of phy- 
 sical power truly phenomenal in a person so 
 destitute of stamina as to be unequal to the 
 effort of eating a lamb chop. 
 
 The feat accomplished, the major strode up 
 and down his room like a caged lion at feeding- 
 time, his quart-dlieure with the boy in buttons 
 having stirred in his manly bosom a desire for 
 fresh encounters. But the sight of the Flinders' 
 Pill soothed the bellicose spirit within him and 
 operated upon his better nature. 
 
 1 At all events,' he meditated, grasping the 
 box of boluses, ' there's no humbug here. There's 
 no doubt about this substantial token. What 
 does it symbolise ? Ah ! I can interpret it. 
 Instead of sending me an unmeaning flower, she 
 presents to me — herself ! for is not the pill her- 
 self, and, indeed, the best part of herself 1 and 
 this is her delicate way of confiding to me that 
 precious commodity, and thus consenting to 
 amalgamate the fortunes of The Twister and 
 The Flinders-cum-Sparragus! Egad, Cornelius,
 
 176 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 you've manoeuvred well. Your tactics have 
 been masterly. It only now remains for you 
 to bivouac on the field of your triumphant 
 exploit.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus had taken her departure an 
 hour before the little episode of the boy in 
 buttons, and at the station she met Dr. Dimble- 
 don who had just alighted from a train. Saluta- 
 tions exchanged, the conversation turned quite 
 naturally in the direction of Major Twister. 
 - ' Doctor,' said Mrs. Sparragus, gravely, at the 
 same time tapping her forehead with a finger 
 significantly, ' is he all right here V 
 
 ' Hem ! between you and me, hardly. He's 
 subject to cerebral excitement at times.' 
 
 * At all dangerous ?' 
 
 ' A mental twist is always unpleasant.' 
 
 * Is his likely to be so V urged the widow, with 
 bated breath. 
 
 8 That depends upon the phase of the dis- 
 order. I should hope the major's won't take an 
 amorous turn.' 
 
 * Would that be serious?' 
 
 ' Decidedly,' replied Dr. Dimbledon, with 
 emphasis, for he had intercepted the widow at
 
 TWISTER REDIVIVUS. 177 
 
 the station with the intention of putting her on 
 her guard as to the gallant major. 
 
 « I'm afraid it is rather amorous,' said Mrs. 
 Sparragus, with a bashful hesitancy, for she 
 saw the absurdity of the admission she felt 
 it right to make ; ' for, do you know, he has 
 sent me a — a — what I can only call a love- 
 letter.' 
 
 The doctor feigned astonishment and the 
 utmost amusement. 
 
 « No, really V 
 
 1 Yes, and here's the document :' and the 
 widow felt relieved in her mind the moment 
 she had got rid of the letter, which Dr. Dimble- 
 don perused. 
 
 'Morbid,' he muttered, as he folded up the 
 epistle and slid it into his pocket. 
 
 6 Dangerous, doctor V 
 
 6 No, it will pass off if you take no notice and 
 send him no more pills. Ill get Blowers to 
 administer a double dose of tennis twice a day, 
 which will produce a healthy reaction. But 
 here's your train, dear madam ;' and the doctor 
 handed the grateful widow into her carriage. 
 
 ' There'll be no more pills from me, you may 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 be sure !' she said, exultingly, as the train 
 moved off. 
 
 'In that case, there will be no more love- 
 letters from him/ rejoined the doctor, raising 
 his hat ; and he at once drove to the farm, and 
 sent for Blowers. 
 
 < Blowers,' he said, with gravity, ' if you wish 
 to maintain the character of Flinders, you and 
 your wife must study the individualities of your 
 boarders, and act accordingly.' 
 
 1 So we do,' retorted Blowers, aggrieved. 
 
 ' There's the major, for instance.' 
 
 ' Yes; he's always upsetting himself, I know ; 
 but no wonder, to see him eat.' 
 
 ' He'll have a fit, Blowers, unless you give 
 him adequate exercise.' 
 
 * How am I to exercise him V He isn't a 
 horse !' 
 
 ' Work him with billiards, tennis, rackets, — 
 anything. Give him no time to write love- 
 letters. Work him, I say, to death, or he'll 
 make such a fool of himself the public will 
 begin to think you take in lunatics.'
 
 179 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A NEW ALLY. 
 
 A FEW days after the return of Mrs. Sparragus 
 to Tapioca Terrace, that highly decorous neigh- 
 bourhood was thrown into a ferment by the 
 arrival of a carnage and pair, with footman 
 and coachman in livery, which pulled up in 
 front of No. 2. The phenomenon was so wholly 
 inexplicable that No. 1 and No. 3 could only 
 surmise that the driver had made an absurd 
 mistake and that the brave equipage would 
 speedily bear away. But, so far from such 
 being the fact, the footman threw open the 
 carriage-door and a portly gentleman emerged 
 from it and walked with measured step up the 
 gravel pathway to the house and knocked, 
 handing his card to the servant. 
 
 n2
 
 180 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus was quite as much perplexed 
 as her neighbours at a visit from a strange 
 gentleman, and when she read the card, l Mr, 
 Alderman Olive,' she felt alarmed, for her idea 
 of an alderman was a magistrate sitting in the 
 judgment-seat at the Mansion House, uttering 
 words of v/isdom and pronouncing doom on 
 malefactors. 
 
 * Good gracious me !' she exclaimed, as Susan 
 handed her the card, ' what have I been guilty 
 of? But p'raps it's a mistake. Did he ask for 
 meV 
 
 c Yes, mem ; and he had your name quite pat. 
 "Is Mistress Sparragus at home?" says he. 
 " Yes," says I, wondering at his impidence. 
 " I should like to see her, if she's not engaged," 
 says he. Oh, mem, I hope there's nothing the 
 matter ! Is all the taxes paid V 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus was too perplexed to satisfy 
 Susan on this point ; she felt something dread- 
 ful was going to happen, and she recollected 
 that a tea-stalk floated in her cup at breakfast 
 that very morning — an infallible sign that a 
 stranger would call during the day, and, as it 
 proved hard when placed between her teeth,
 
 A NEW ALLY. 181 
 
 it was evident that the stranger's visit would 
 be disagreeable. 
 
 1 Yes, mem, I came all over when T see that 
 stranger a-floating in your tea. It always comes 
 true ! Last time you had one, you know, a 
 man got inside this very room and presented 
 you with a tract, and when he had bowed him- 
 self out, lo ! and behold, your bottle of salts 
 with the silver top was gone ! But I was deter- 
 mined you shouldn't be robbed that way again, 
 so I left this party on the door-mat/ 
 
 1 An alderman on the door-mat !' exclaimed 
 the widow in dismay. * Susan, go instantly and 
 show him into the dining-room and beg his 
 pardon ! Do you know, he can send you to 
 prison for contempt of court, as they call it?' 
 
 1 Lor', mem !' and Susan hastened to atone by 
 showing the visitor into the dining-room, hav- 
 ing first locked up the plate-basket ; and Mrs. 
 Sparragus, having satisfied herself before the 
 cheval-glass that her cap was rightly adjusted, 
 her hair smooth, her collar tasty, and her 
 appearance in general sufficiently becoming to 
 appear before the court, descended, making a 
 low curtsey to the awe-inspiring alderman, just
 
 182 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 as female defendants are wont to do to propi- 
 tiate the judge when placed in the dock, with a 
 view to mitigation of penalties. 
 
 Susan felt so anxious and doubtful as to 
 the visitor's object that her ear and eye were 
 alternately jammed against the key-hole. She 
 had grave suspicions as to the stranger, and at 
 once constituted herself her mistress's body- 
 guard. 
 
 'Mrs. Sparragus,' said Mr. Clive, making a 
 respectful inclination of the head, ' I hardly 
 know how to apologise for the liberty I have 
 taken in calling. My only excuse is, that Miss 
 Lipperty, who, I believe, lives next door to you, 
 is a dear friend of my daughter's ; I have con- 
 sequently known you for a long time by name, 
 for she has often told us of your kind feeling 
 towards her, and your interest in her. It is just 
 possible she may have mentioned my daughter's 
 name V 
 
 1 Oh, yes, Lena has often spoken of a Miss 
 Clive,' replied Mrs. Sparragus, greatly relieved 
 at finding that, after all, an alderman was human 
 and could sometimes talk like other people. 
 
 4 And she has also related to us the circum-
 
 A NEW ALLY. 183 
 
 stances of your providential escape in the city 
 some months ago. I well remember the event, 
 for it happened close to the Mansion House, 
 where I happened to be.' 
 
 Without intending it, Mr. Clive touched upon 
 a topic which at once secured her confidence 
 for it went straight to her heart. 
 
 ' Ah !' she responded, wiping her eyes, * that 
 was indeed an escape !' 
 
 4 And I have ventured to call to offer you my 
 sincere congratulations on it.' 
 
 4 And to think that the brave young man who 
 saved me has hardly been thanked !' pursued 
 the widow, with genuine sorrow. 
 
 I Well, that's an omission which I apprehend 
 can easily be rectified/ suggested Mr. Clive, by 
 way of consoling Mrs. Sparragus. 
 
 * How am I to rectify the omission, if I never 
 see the man and never even learn his name!' 
 she demanded, with excellent reason. 
 
 ' 1 assumed that you had made yourself ac- 
 quainted with the name of your rescuer/ replied 
 Mr. Clive. 
 
 I I tried to, but he refused to tell me.' 
 
 1 That proves him to be disinterested — a man
 
 184 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 of the right stamp — a man one would be glad 
 to know.' 
 
 8 Ah, what wo aid I not give to know him !' 
 
 This speech was delivered with such an un- 
 affected earnestness that Mr. Clive was im- 
 pressed by it. A man of active sympathies, 
 which were ever ready to take substantial form 
 in practice, he saw at once that he might make 
 a worthy woman happy, and his resolution was 
 at once formed. 
 
 ' Do you know, Mrs. Sparragus, that I am 
 almost as desirous as yourself to discover this 
 young man V 
 
 1 Indeed, sir?' exclaimed the widow, delighted 
 to find the alderman more and more human. 
 
 6 Yes ; we've got at the Mansion House a 
 sketch-book which was picked up on the spot 
 where your accident occurred, and we have no 
 doubt that it belongs to the young man to whom 
 we wish to restore it, but, as yet, he has not 
 turned up to claim it.' 
 
 'Poor, dear fellow. Not only is he un- 
 rewarded, but he is actually a loser by his good 
 act !' meditated Mrs. Sparragus, again wiping 
 her eyes.
 
 A NEW ALLY. 185 
 
 ' I am thinking,' said Mr. Clive, his face 
 brightening with the pleasure he felt at the 
 thought, ' that I might employ my time worse 
 than in searching for this young man.' 
 
 ' Oh, how will you go about it?' 
 
 4 1 hardly know yet ; but, as I have some 
 influence in the city, and possess, moreover, 
 some little energy when I make up my mind to 
 succeed, I am hopeful that, if he is to be found, 
 I shall find him.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus gazed upon her interlocutor 
 with astonishment and admiration — so far as 
 she could without irreverence admire so august 
 an embodiment of wisdom as an alderman. 
 
 ' And, if you really do succeed, will you let me 
 know all about him V she asked, appealingly. 
 
 * My first action shall be to bring him to you.' 
 Mrs. Sparragus fairly wept, and Susan, hear- 
 ing her sobs, burst open the door, and advanced 
 to her rescue. 
 
 * Do you want me, mem V she enquired, 
 casting fierce glances at Mr. Clive who, instead 
 of quailing before her indignation, laughed 
 merrily. 
 
 ' Susan, leave the room,' replied Mrs. Spar-
 
 186 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ragus, peremptorily ; ' when I want you I will 
 ring the bell. I can't teach that girl manners/ 
 she added, addressing Mr. Clive, 'try all I may.' 
 
 'She's a little rough, but honest, no doubt, 
 and that is a great virtue/ replied Mr. Clive, 
 amiably. 
 
 Susan accordingly withdrew, though with 
 manifest reluctance, leaving the door ajar, as 
 more convenient than the keyhole for observa- 
 tion. At the same moment a brilliant idea 
 occurred to that watchful maiden. Why not 
 summon to her assistance Mrs. Lipperty ? Who 
 so fit as that censorious lady to crush the foe of 
 innocence and the enemy of decorum ? Susan 
 knew their severe neighbour would be taking 
 observations from her window, and that she had 
 but to make a sign with her finger to bring her 
 to the rescue in an instant, and Susan did not 
 hesitate to do what duty and inclination sug- 
 gested. She thereupon opened the street door 
 and at once discerned, as she had anticipated, 
 an eye, bright and penetrating as that of a 
 hawk or a cat or any other beast of prey, rivet ted 
 on No. 2. Mrs. Lipperty at once divined Susan's 
 summons, and, having already assumed her
 
 A NEW ALLY. 187 
 
 black bonnet and blacker gloves, was at her 
 side before she could repeat it. Mrs. Lipperty 
 had not only the keen eye of the panther, but 
 also the noiseless foot, and she reached the 
 dining-room door swiftly, silently, and stealthily. 
 
 ' You are intimate with the lady next door 1' 
 inquired Mr. Clive. 
 
 < Oh, yes.' 
 
 ' And her daughter V 
 
 ' Yes — Lena.' 
 
 ' She seems a very sweet girl,' continued Mr. 
 Clive, ' and it is chiefly on her account I have 
 presumed to call upon you.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus signified by her silence that 
 she was prepared to listen. Mrs. Lipperty was 
 equally attentive. 
 
 ' I fear Miss Lipperty is not so happy in her 
 home as she deserves to be.' 
 
 • Does she say she is unhappy V inquired Mrs. 
 Sparragus, who had never viewed No. 1 as an 
 unclouded Eden. 
 
 ' She is the last person to complain, but, from 
 
 what I gather, her mother ' 
 
 1 Step-mother,' corrected Mrs. Sparragus. 
 
 * I should have said her step-mother (so
 
 188 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 different from what a mother would be !) hardly 
 considers her youth, her feelings, or her tastes.' 
 
 Susan began to think she had not shown a 
 wise discretion in inviting her neighbour to 
 participate in the proceedings when she saw 
 the sable eavesdropper gnawing her nether lip, 
 while her nose grew crimson with congested 
 wrath. 
 
 ' Mrs. Lipperty is — between ourselves — one of 
 the hardest, unmercifullest woman I ever met, 
 and Lena is to be pitied/ replied Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus, in a whisper, as though she feared her 
 voice might penetrate the nine-inch wall which 
 separated her from No. 1. It need scarcely be 
 added that it travelled through the opening in 
 the door. 
 
 * Is it possible V 
 
 * You didn't know her husband, I suppose?' 
 ' No ; I had not that honour.' 
 
 ' Then you ought to thank your stars that you 
 hadn't! Why, sir, he was about as stern a 
 minister as ever told a congregation all about 
 their sins — and she would make six of him !' 
 Mrs. Sparragus made the damnatory communi- 
 cation, whioh fell like hail upon Mrs. Lipperty's
 
 A NEW ALLY. 189 
 
 tympanum, fearfully and tragically, but at the 
 same time with a volubility and eagerness which 
 proved that her estimate of her friend had been 
 long stored up, and that she was not a little 
 thankful to have found somebody to whom she 
 could unburden herself. * Do you know, I 
 attended his chapel, and one day, during his 
 sermon, two or three of his people left, they 
 couldn't stand his attacks, and, as they went 
 out, he said, " There goes Mrs. Perkins, and 
 now Toddleton is off. I suppose the cap fits 
 them ; and now, I declare, Mrs. Manns is packing 
 up to go too. It's a pity they can't bear to 
 hear the plain truth !" Well, Mr. Clive, between 
 ourselves, that woman next door is just like what 
 her husband was — only ever so much worse; 
 he used to be whips, but she is scorpions P 
 Having relieved her mind of a load borne 
 patiently for years, Mrs. Sparragus felt better, 
 and actually laughed at the portrait she had 
 sketched of her attached neighbour. 
 
 * Oh, my !' groaned Susan, implying thereby' 
 that she realised the tactical error she had com- 
 mitted, * goodness gracious P 
 
 But it was too late to moralise in haste ; she
 
 190 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 -could only repent at leisure. She glanced at 
 her companion eavesdropper, whose gloved 
 hands opened and closed spasmodically, as 
 though she were rending a victim, the tips of 
 her cloth gloves representing talons, her nose 
 deepening from crimson to purple. 
 
 Mr. Clive could not refrain from laughing in 
 concert with Mrs. Sparragus at the graphic 
 picture the latter had drawn, but it is more 
 than probable that his hilarity would have been 
 less pronounced had he been conscious of the 
 proximity of the ' scorpion ' in question. 
 
 'I apprehend it is no laughing matter for 
 Miss Lena,' he said, resuming his gravity, 'a 
 young lady of refinement and great natural 
 gifts.' 
 
 ' Ah, poor girl !' 
 
 ' With a laudable ambition to accomplish 
 herself in an elegant art.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus groaned : 
 
 ' If it had pleased the Lord to give me such 
 a child !' 
 
 * I was thinking that, even as it is, you might 
 render her a most valuable service, as you are 
 intimate with Mrs. Lipperty.'
 
 A NEW ALLY. 191 
 
 <0h, How?' 
 
 ' I have no doubt your opinion would have 
 great weight with that lady.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus demurred : * Not a bit.' 
 
 * Nay, your kind and generous heart would 
 reach hers.' 
 
 'I don't believe she's got one!' interposed 
 Mrs. Sparragus, with humour. 
 
 Another storm of hailstones on the listener's 
 tympanum, only the hailstones were now red- 
 hot. 
 
 ' Most of us are vulnerable somewhere,' 
 argued Mr. Clive. ' Mrs. Lipperty has a weak 
 spot.' 
 
 'You wouldn't think so if you heard her 
 exhort me.' 
 
 'May I ask the subject of her exhortations?' 
 
 ' Since my accident in the city, and the desire 
 I have expressed to find the young man who 
 saved me, she has never ceased warning me of 
 the sin of changing my mind.' 
 
 'Changing your mind!' inquired Mr. Clive, 
 with animation, as light seemed to be let in on 
 an interesting question. 'In respect of what, 
 may I ask V
 
 192 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ■ Oh, my Will/ 
 
 Mr. Clive was far too delicate-minded to 
 afford the widow the opportunity of imparting- 
 further confidences, which she seemed so ready 
 to do; her last reply gave him matter for 
 reflection. 
 
 'Now my neighbour at No. 3, who helps me 
 to manage my affairs, is far too gentlemanly to 
 touch upon that subject.' 
 
 'Is that Mr. Honeydew of whom I have 
 heard Miss Lena speak V 
 
 ' Yes. The kindest, amiablest man possible, 
 — I don't know what I should do without his 
 assistance.' 
 
 ' He is a great business-man, I understand V 
 
 'Very great. He found some one to take 
 Flinders off my hands, and arranged it all so 
 nicely.' 
 
 1 That must have been very satisfactory to 
 you.' 
 
 ' And he invested the money — three thousand 
 five hundred pounds — for me so well that I'm 
 getting ten per cent, for it.' 
 
 ' Ten per cent. !' exclaimed Mr. Clive ; ' what- 
 ever can it be placed in V
 
 A NEW ALLY. 193 
 
 1 Oh ! something good, for he brings me the 
 money as regular as quarter-day comes round, 
 and won't accept any remuneration — but, of 
 course, I shall make him a proper return some 
 day. He isn't like that young and brave 
 gentleman we want to discover, and can't.' 
 
 Mr. Clive found in these unexpected confi- 
 dences much matter for cogitation, and some 
 moments passed before he spoke in reply. 
 
 'Mr. Honeydew is evidently a very active, 
 energetic person,' he said at length, as he rose 
 to take leave ; ' but these are matters into which 
 I, a stranger, have no right to enter. I ven- 
 tured to call in the interest of my daughter's 
 friend, Miss Lena ; and if you can induce her 
 step-mother to ' 
 
 ' To be more humane V interposed Mrs. Spar- 
 ragus. 
 
 * Well, yes, it amounts to that, I fear. You 
 will deserve her gratitude — and that, I am con- 
 vinced, you will receive.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus was lost in thought for some 
 moments. At length, taking Mr. Olive's ex- 
 tended hand, she replied, 
 
 'She is a sweet girl, and I shall not forget 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 her. If I find that Mrs. Lipperty continues to 
 treat the girl harshly, I shall make a codicil to 
 my Will, and substitute Lena's name for hers.' 
 
 This delivery, given in the calm, solemn tones 
 which bespeak resolution, fell upon the tympa- 
 num outside the door with galvanising effect, 
 and Susan, with great presence of mind and 
 adroitness, rattled a tray-full of crockery, to 
 drown an ejaculation, which was not altogether 
 benedictory, that escaped the relict of the Rev. 
 Ebenezer, as she staggered from her coign of 
 vantage, and made for the street-door. 
 
 As Mr. Clive crossed the threshold, he almost 
 collided with Susan and the tray of crockery, 
 and he caught sight of a black skirt vanishing 
 through the doorway, in the direction of No. 1. 
 A moment's reflection explained the phenomenon, 
 and, as Susan showed him out, he remarked, 
 carelessly, 
 
 ' If Mrs. Lipperty had waited a little, I could 
 have related my interview with your mistress.' 
 
 ' No need for that ; she heard it well enough,' 
 replied Susan, without circumlocution. 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Clive regained his brougham, 
 and drove away, much exercised in mind at the
 
 A NEW ALLY. 195 
 
 facts forced upon him by Mrs. Sparragus, and 
 the glimpses Mrs. Lipperty had afforded him of 
 her character as well as her skirt. 
 
 Meanwhile, that exemplary lady sought her 
 chamber in a state of irascibility quite remark- 
 able in a person of her well-ordered demeanour. 
 The knit brows, clenched hands, and spasmodic 
 movement of the lips looked like swearing ; but, 
 as nothing audible escaped her, and as her 
 aspect before the world was that of the world's 
 censor — calm, cold, implacable — that supposition 
 must be dismissed, and the peculiar muscular 
 action described must be attributed to grief for 
 the sins of her neighbours in general, and Mrs. 
 Sparragus in particular. 
 
 'To be called " scorpions " by the woman 
 I've treated so well ! To be described as un- 
 merciful by the woman I've feasted with home- 
 made jam and cranberry pies ! To be made 
 out a tyrant, because I've mourned in sackcloth 
 and ashes over Leonora Jane's hateful craze 
 after the fiddle and the gross things of the 
 world to which it leads ; and to hear her 
 threaten to make a codicil to the Will — the Will 
 which, with infinite pains, I assisted her to 
 
 o2
 
 196 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 make — oh, the base, treacherous, false old wo- 
 man ! Shall I burst in upon her, and heap upon 
 her offending head my righteous indignation ? 
 Shall I crush her with the weight of her mis- 
 deeds? — Stay, would it be prudent to have 
 words, and afford her a pretext to quit my 
 fold % To drive her into making that codicil ? 
 To put a barrier between us — a gulf between 
 No. 1 and No. 2, and perhaps throw her into 
 the arms of No. 3 ? To tear up the Will I so 
 carefully drew up, and cast all my expectations 
 to the winds % No ! it wouldn't be consistent 
 with Christian charity. No ; I must forgive I 
 I must remember that the best of us err — that 
 even I myself am fallible. Besides, there are 
 two prowling wolves instead of one ready to 
 rob me of my precious one, if I afford them the 
 smallest chance. No ; I must forgive.' 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty removed her black cloth gloves, 
 whose finger-tips suggested talons, and drew 
 on kid, which she always wore when her inten- 
 tions were pacific ; and, hastily culling a hand- 
 ful of parsley (having observed the delivery of 
 a neck of mutton at No. 2), she tripped gaily 
 from house to house, and gave a cheery rat-tat
 
 A NEW ALLY. 197 
 
 at the door instead of the customary portentous 
 thud, suggestive of impending doom. 
 
 'I've come to see your dear mistress/ she 
 said, in the most gracious tone she could com- 
 mand, to the astonishment of Susan, who antici- 
 pated a ' tremenjous row.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus, on hearing the well-known 
 accents, though in a less acrid key, felt all the 
 pangs of guilt. Only a few minutes ago, she 
 had been ' speaking her mind ' about that re- 
 doubtable person, and her unexpected advent 
 seemed to her conscience to mean nothing less 
 than swift retribution ; and, as the spare, sable, 
 angular figure entered the room, with the votive 
 offering of parsley in her hand, Mrs. Sparragus 
 closed her eyes, abashed. She would receive 
 her chastisement with resignation. 
 
 'My dearest Lucinda,' said Mrs. Lipperty, 
 gushingly, 'you're going to have neck of 
 mutton, — sly thing ! so I've brought you some 
 garnish for it.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus could hardly offer her thanks, 
 so great was her confusion. 
 
 ' I'm rather surprised that your attentive 
 friend at No. 3 hasn't anticipated me, for, no
 
 198 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 doubt, he saw the joint delivered, as he takes 
 such an interest in everything that occurs here, 
 and parsley grows in his garden rank and 
 weedy,' continued the amiable lady, in tones of 
 acerbity which she endeavoured in vain to dis- 
 guise by laughing ; ' but unfortunately Mr. 
 Honeydew is so very — very ' 
 
 At this moment Susan entered the room 
 placing on the table a bottle of capers which 
 Mr. Honeydew had sent, 'with his com- 
 pliments.' 
 
 ' There !' ejaculated Mrs. Lipperty, ' didn't I 
 tell you so 1 Oh, how well I understand that 
 man's motives !' 
 
 6 1 don't deserve the kindness you both offer 
 me,' replied Mrs. Sparragus, sadly, without 
 noticing the remark made by one friend at the 
 expense of another. 'I sometimes wish you 
 were not so good to me, for I feel 1 can never 
 make a proper return !' 
 
 This observation was extremely unsatisfactory 
 to Mrs Lipperty ; it seemed to imply that she 
 did not intend to make the proper return which 
 had been arranged, and this was altogether at 
 variance with her views,— a change of purpose
 
 A NEW ALLY. 199 
 
 manifestly brought about by those designing 
 men's visits, on some pretence or other connect- 
 ed with that unfortunate circumstance in Cheap- 
 side. It would, however, be highly impolitic 
 to betray disappointment, or to appear to wish 
 to divert Mrs. Sparragus from her purpose. 
 Better refrain from pursuing the subject at 
 present. 
 
 'Have you seen that darling child of mine, 
 lately V enquired Mrs Lipperty, with a view to 
 lead up to the object of her visit. 
 
 4 Lena?' 
 
 1 Yes, bless her !' 
 
 ' She hardly ever comes near me,' replied Mrs. 
 Sparragus, regretfully. 
 
 ' For the reason that she has so little leisure 
 since she took up the violin.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus was astonished to hear a 
 cheerful allusion to a subject hitherto severely 
 tabooed ; and terms of endearment employed 
 by Mrs. Lipperty with 'reference to her step- 
 daughter appeared, from their novelty, quite 
 unnatural. 
 
 1 And I'm so delighted at the progress she 
 has made. It is truly wonderful.'
 
 200 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 'Really?' 
 
 * Yes ; and the dearest wish I have, so far as 
 this world is concerned, is that she may achieve 
 the success she deserves/ 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus could hardly believe her 
 ears. 
 
 4 But I thought you had an objection to Lena 
 studying the instrument?' 
 
 ' It was simply politic in me to conceal my 
 satisfaction with a view to regulate her enthusi- 
 asm for her health's sake, you know.' 
 
 * I understand,' replied Mrs. Sparragus, great- 
 ly relieved, for Alderman Clive had given her a 
 commission to bring about this favourable state 
 of feeling in the step-mother which she thought 
 would prove hopeless of accomplishment, ' and 
 I am thankful to hear you say this,' she 
 added. 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty was thankful to hear her say 
 she was thankful. She wished to satisfy her 
 that she had misjudged her, and, if she had suc- 
 ceeded, the threatened codicil would never be 
 thought of again. 
 
 * I'm glad you approve of my method.' 
 'You can't be too indulgent to her; she
 
 A NEW ALLY. 201 
 
 deserves all the kindness you can show her, poor 
 child.' 
 
 ' Yes, she is poor ; and, as I am no better off, 
 poor she will be all her life,' returned Mrs. 
 Lipperty, with pathos. 
 
 ' Let us hope there is better fortune and a 
 bright future in store for her,' said Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus, cheerfully. 
 
 ( Ah, you are so good and generous ! Had it 
 not been for your noble, beneficent intentions, 
 there was literally no hope — I mean, in a world- 
 ly sense, of course — for either of us/ 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus made no reply, which Mrs. 
 Lipperty considered an unfavourable symptom. 
 She continued : 
 
 ' And, however fixed and wise and christianly 
 your resolution may have been, evil influences 
 are always abroad' (this was a shaft sent in the 
 direction of Alderman Clive), ' and bad advisers 
 are often lurking nearer home ;' (this shot was 
 sent to Mr. Honeydew's address). 
 
 ' So far as I have the power, I shall avoid 
 evil influences.' 
 
 'That is a most proper resolution, Lucinda 
 dear.'
 
 202 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 * And I shall endeavour, with God's help, to 
 do what is right by everyone.' 
 
 1 A beautiful and pious wish !' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Lipperty, with gush, though she was not with- 
 out misgivings; for there was a certain obscurity 
 and ambiguity in the speech which might or 
 might not bear a favourable interpretation. 
 
 6 Most beautiful and pious !' she repeated, with 
 rapt admiration, pressing together the black kid 
 gloves which were innocent of talons, hoping 
 that her holy enthusiasm might elicit something 
 more clear and satisfactory, which, in fact, it 
 did. 
 
 * I have always considered that, when my 
 lamented Matthew left me the Pill and the Farm, 
 and my other lamented left me Tapioca Terrace, 
 the little properties were only mine in trust, and 
 that it behoved me to make such a disposition 
 of them that, at a later day, they should fall into 
 worthy and deserving hands.' 
 
 * Most noble and praiseworthy !' and the black 
 kid gloves, destitute of talons, gave renewed 
 demonstration of pious rapture. 
 
 'And whenever anything happens to me —
 
 A NEW ALLY. 203 
 
 and I pray the Almighty that I may not be 
 unprepared ' 
 
 • Beautiful, beautiful !' 
 
 1 My Will will be found in the right-hand top 
 drawer of my wardrobe, underneath the French 
 plum-box containing the grant of the grave 
 where both my lamented lie, and where I wish 
 also to be interred. I think it right to tell you 
 this, just as I have informed my friend, Mr. 
 Honey dew, so that there may be no difficulty 
 when it does happen.' 
 
 1 How intensely touching !' 
 
 ' 1 only mention this because life is very un- 
 certain, and there is no one in the house with 
 me except Susan.' 
 
 4 But, dear Lucinda, I ' 
 
 * Yes, you are next door, and Mr. Honey dew 
 is also near.' 
 
 ' But I, dear Lucinda ' 
 
 ' Oh, I'm sure you would come instantly, if 
 summoned — but there, we won't say any more 
 on the subject. I merely wished to make it 
 known that I have not neglected my duty as 
 regards the disposition of what property I have.
 
 204 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 I will not detain you longer ; it is kind of you 
 to give me so much of your valuable time.' 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty received her conge with admi- 
 rable good-humour, and, kissing Mrs. Sparragus 
 on both cheeks, she bade her adieu and returned 
 to No. 1, far from reassured as regarded the 
 Will and the threatened codicil. 
 
 « I don't half like her making a confidant of 
 that man at No. 3,' she muttered, as she inserted 
 the latch-key and opened her door ; ' and then 
 there's that new prowler who has just forced 
 himself upon her to serve his own ends. And 
 that's not the worst of it, for the old woman is 
 craving to find the fellow who dragged her from 
 under the wheels in Cheapside ! I think it's a 
 pity he didn't leave her alone !' 
 
 But this last thought was not actually em- 
 bodied in words — it was only conceived.
 
 205 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE < QUEEN OF THE GLEN.' 
 
 Mr. Clive, citizen of London and alderman, was 
 nothing if not practical. He was wont to admit 
 that he was as destitute of poetry and imagi- 
 nation as a locomotive, but that, like a loco- 
 motive, he always went straight away to the 
 point and invariably reached it when once his 
 mind was made up to do so. Ample employ- 
 ment though he found both for head and hands 
 during the hours consecrated to business, method 
 and concentration of attention to the subject 
 before him enabled him to bring it to an issue 
 with singular promptitude, and left him suffi- 
 cient leisure to take up any extraneous matter 
 which, in fact, gave zest to his ordinary avoca- 
 tions, and, was, at the same time, a recreation.
 
 206 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 The day following his visit to Mrs. Sparragus 
 he glanced down his notes of agenda, and 
 there found jotted down two words — 'sketch- 
 book.' The reminder was needless, for his 
 interest in Mrs. Sparragns's perilous adventure, 
 in Lena, and in the intangible young man, was so 
 thorough that it was not easy to dismiss it from 
 his mind, even in the presence of business claim- 
 ing attention. 
 
 The purport of the memorandum was, as we 
 know, to trace and find the young hero of Mrs. 
 Sparraguss rescue, and in his official character 
 it was quite within Mr. Clive's province to set 
 in motion the whole machinery of city police 
 in the search, had he so willed. But no such 
 idea crossed his mind. He was not a man to 
 abuse his power for private purposes. Nor did 
 he propose to advertise. Publicity was unde- 
 sirable on every ground ; the enquiry must be 
 quiet and personal. Mr. Clive carefully exam- 
 ined the sketch-book ; it was clearly the work 
 of an accomplished artist. Unversed though 
 he was in art-methods and mysteries, Mr. Clive 
 saw that only a consummate expert could, with 
 a few scratches, produce the effect of a picture,
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 207 
 
 — with a mere wash of colour the suggestion of 
 a landscape. One sketch in particular capti- 
 vated him, — an outline of a solitary birch-tree. 
 Touched with extreme tenderness and grace, it 
 had all the force of a finished drawing, and he 
 at once determined to have it photographed. 
 Surely the individuality of style would be 
 identified by the landscape-painters? Surely 
 the man who could do this had already made 
 his mark? He would circulate it among the 
 profession, informing them by letter that a 
 sketch-book containing this among other studies 
 remained in the hands of the authorities, who 
 desired to restore it to the owner, requesting 
 their advice and assistance in discovering the 
 artist. 
 
 The circular letters, with a photographic 
 copy, were accordingly issued by Mr. Clive to 
 the leading artists in that particular walk ; but, 
 beyond causing visits of inspection from the 
 profession, or notes expressive of admiration of 
 sketches which they could ascribe to no known 
 man, the result was failure, — a term which in 
 Mr. Olive's vocabulary meant success delayed, 
 and nothing more.
 
 208 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 His next argument was, that as artists, like 
 other people, live by their industry, and, to be 
 able to do so, must sell their productions, this 
 man must have business relations with those 
 foster-mothers of art, the publishers and the 
 dealers ; and, as the leading firms were not 
 very numerous, he employed his leisure after- 
 noons in driving to the Agnews, the Colnaghis, 
 the Graveses, and the Vokinses — to all the first 
 houses in that trade, with the same negative 
 result — success was still deferred. But smaller 
 men, he then argued, would probably be 
 addressed by an unknown and needy artist. 
 So Mr. Clive sent his photograph and a letter 
 to the smaller men, requesting to be informed 
 whether they had any work corresponding in 
 character to the sketch inclosed. The smaller 
 men replied by return of post, inviting his 
 inspection of their collections, which contained 
 examples by the first artists in landscape, 
 figure subjects, historical, ideal, and genre, but 
 they could not positively ascribe the sketch 
 which he did them the honour to enclose to 
 anyone in particular, though they could get it
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 209 
 
 carried out in a finished painting, if desired — at 
 a very moderate price. 
 
 The sketch was sent to Glare and Gooley 
 among the rest of the smaller men, and Glare 
 and Gooley did not respond like the others by 
 return of post, for the reason that they recog- 
 nised the artist's hand instantly and took time 
 to consider the object of an inquiry which was 
 altogether so peculiar, and, being addressed 
 from the Mansion House, it suggested criminal 
 proceedings. Had they purchased a stolen 
 picture ? Was it a case analagous with the 
 missing Gainsborough? Was it a piratical 
 reproduction of some well-known artist ? For 
 the sketch was evidently a memorandum, an 
 impression of the ' Queen of the Glen,' which, 
 stood on the easel before them. Glare and 
 Gooley took time to consider before reply- 
 ing to the letter; they might find them- 
 selves landed in a law-suit, if not a criminal 
 trial, for the goods might not have been hon- 
 estly come by. The name of Graham Aspen 
 written upon it proved nothing. Anyone 
 could call himself Graham Aspen. Then, again, 
 vol. i. r
 
 210 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 it might be a bona fide inquiry — everything 
 depended upon the person making it, and Glare 
 and Gooley glanced at the name at the foot of 
 the letter. Richard Olive ! Why, that is the 
 alderman, one of the most respected and most 
 solid men in the city ! and Glare and Gooley 
 exclaimed in chorus, * This means business,' and 
 answered the letter, assuring Mr. Clive that it 
 afforded them the greatest pleasure to be able to 
 reply in the affirmative to his inquiry — that they 
 had, in fact, a painting by a very rising artist 
 corresponding in every particular to the sketch 
 enclosed, and if he would do them the honour 
 to visit their gallery they would be proud to 
 submit it for his inspection. 
 
 When the letter was delivered at Regent's 
 Park, Mr. Clive was sitting in his library listen- 
 ing to a duet which Lena and his daughter were 
 playing, and his eyes being closed, the letter 
 was laid on the table unobserved. Lena had 
 so won a place in the respect and affection of 
 Mr. Clive and Ethel that she was already treated 
 as a daughter and sister, and since practising on 
 the violin alone at Tapioca Terrace was dull 
 work, notwithstanding Mrs. Lipperty's new-born
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 211 
 
 zeal in her behalf, she could not refuse the 
 welcome offered her by Mr. Clive, who had a 
 room fitted up for her adjoining Ethel's, and 
 bade her consider his daughter's home her home 
 whenever she could be spared by Mrs. Lipperty. 
 Ethel was particularly gentle and loving on the 
 present occasion, for it was the eve of Lena's 
 birthday, and, with girls of their age, birthdays 
 are grave events demanding solemn observance. 
 
 ' To-morrow, ah, Lena, to-morrow will be a 
 great day !' said Mr. Clive, gently rallying the 
 young girl, who appeared a little absent. 
 
 Lena had nothing to say, and only blushed. 
 
 4 Ethel, how are you going to celebrate the 
 day?' he enquired, turning to his daughter. 
 
 1 Practising, papa !' replied Ethel, joyously. 
 
 * What ! grinding for the pleasure of the thing V 
 urged Mr. Clive, with amusement. 
 
 4 Yes; we have both made up our minds to 
 grind and grind till we can play that sonata of 
 Beethoven's which you are so fond of, papa, as 
 it ought to be played.' 
 
 4 Is it so, Lena V he asked. 
 
 * Yes, Mr. Clive ; it is the only return 1 can 
 make for all your kindness to me/ 
 
 p2
 
 212 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 'Nay, my child,' answered Mr. Clive, taking 
 Lena's hand, ' the debt of gratitude is with me, 
 for you have made Ethel happier than she ever 
 was before, — and you have made Ethel's father 
 feel that he has two daughters instead of one, r 
 added Mr. Clive, not without emotion. 
 
 Ethel and Lena were not less moved, for Mr. 
 Clive never spoke idly, and Ethel kissed him 
 with tears in her eyes. She then embraced 
 Lena, saying, 
 
 'What are you thinking about, dear, you're a 
 wee bit dull V 
 
 'I was only thinking of what your good 
 father has been doing to make Mrs. Sparragus 
 happy, and all to no purpose. It is so dis- 
 appointing to him.' 
 
 ' When you know papa better, Lena, you will 
 understand that disappointment only seems to 
 stimulate him. He doesn't admit failure until 
 he sees that Providence is distinctly against him 
 — then he bows in submission. He is most 
 anxious to succeed for three reasons. One is, 
 to gratify the laudable curiosity of good Mrs. 
 Sparragus ; the second is, to restore the sketch-
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 213 
 
 Look to the rightful owner. Can you guess the 
 third reason, Lenaf 
 
 Lena could not guess the third reason. 
 
 'It is his desire to gratify — his daughter's 
 beloved friend/ 
 
 Lena neither admitted nor denied that she 
 had such a wish, which was proof sufficient that 
 her friends had divined correctly. Suddenly the 
 two girls were startled by an exclamation from 
 the other end of the room where Mr. Clive was 
 reading a letter which he had found lying before 
 him. 
 
 'On the track at last!' shouted Mr. Clive, 
 starting to his feet. ' Hurrah !' 
 
 The girls could only surmise that some city 
 defaulter — a fraudulent trader, a peculating 
 clerk had been run to earth, and they were half 
 disposed to pity the unhappy wretch. 
 
 4 What has the unfortunate creature been 
 doing, papa T inquired Ethel, almost rebuking 
 her father's merciless exultation. 
 
 * The unfortunate creature who rescued Mrs. 
 Sparragus from certain death is within reach, 
 that's all, Ethel,' replied Mr. Clive, with hilarity,
 
 214 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 at the same time displaying the letter, which 
 the girls sprang forward to read. 
 
 Messieurs Glare and Gooley never permed an 
 epistle which created more breathless anxiety. 
 It was read and re-read in the deepest silence, 
 though Mr. Clive was not so absorbed in it that 
 he failed to notice Lena's face, which was sud- 
 denly overspread with a flush, and to hear a 
 spasmodic inspiration of the breath which be- 
 trayed deep feeling. 
 
 1 Oh, papa, let us go to these people at once ! r 
 implored Ethel, clapping her hands. * May I 
 order the carriage Y 
 
 ' We will go to-morrow,' replied Mr. Clive. 
 
 1 Why to-morrow V Ethel demanded, in tones 
 of disappointment. 
 
 * Did I not tell Lena just now that to-morrow 
 will be a great day? Let me have credit for 
 being a bit of a prophet, and wait to see what 
 it brings forth.' 
 
 The violins were laid aside, reading was 
 neglected, conversation ceased, for the father 
 and the daughter and the daughter's friend were 
 busied with speculations according to their 
 respective bents. Ethel hoped the unknown
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 215 
 
 artist might be found, for Lena seemed to wish 
 it. Lena hoped he might be discovered be- 
 cause it would make Mrs. Sparragus happy. 
 Mr. Clive desired it, because, should he succeed 
 in his endeavour to trace the young man, he 
 would have the satisfaction of restoring to him 
 his own, clearing up a small mystery, assisting 
 Mrs. Sparragus in a laudable wish, and — 
 pleasing Lena. 
 
 When Lena returned to Tapioca Terrace she 
 was surprised to see Mrs. Lipperty emerge from 
 No. 3, the abode of Mr. Honeydew, who bowed 
 her out with every demonstration of esteem. 
 The circumstance as between neighbours would 
 in an ordinary way be not only natural but 
 highly probable, relations more or less friendly 
 usually existing between near residents in 
 suburban districts. But we have seen that No. 
 1 and No. 3 Tapioca Terrace mistrusted one 
 another in respect of the good lady at No. 2 to 
 a degree verging on actual detestation, the con- 
 sequence being that they never exchanged re- 
 cognitions, and never failed to use every oppor- 
 tunity to damage one another in the opinion of 
 the confiding and simple Mrs. Sparragus. The
 
 216 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 feud had often caused Lena both shame and 
 sorrow, so absolutely incapable was she of 
 understanding either prejudice, suspicion, or 
 greed. It was, therefore, with astonishment 
 and not with displeasure that she witnessed the 
 unusual spectacle. 
 
 ' Dear mamma/ she exclaimed, cheerfully, 
 '■ you've been to pay Mr. Honeydew a visit, I'm 
 glad to see.' 
 
 1 Yes ; I had occasion to do so.' 
 
 ' About anything particular V inquired Lena, 
 interested. 
 
 * I don't feel at all bound to explain every- 
 thing to you, Leonora Jane,' curtly replied Mrs. 
 Lipperty, thus terminating the dialogue, at the 
 same time jotting down sundry notes, which she 
 evidently feared might escape her memory. 
 
 ' Where is Thistle Grove V she suddenly in- 
 quired, reading her notes and turning to her 
 step-daughter. 
 
 'Thistle Grove,' repeated Lena, taxing her 
 memory. < I really don't know ; but I suppose 
 it can be easily found.' 
 ' Of course.' 
 Certain information communicated over the
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 217 
 
 garden-wall by the faithful Susan to Mrs. Lip- 
 perty as to the result of the interview between 
 her mistress and the young man, and subse- 
 quently with Mr. Clive, had greatly exercised 
 that censorious lady, for she saw at once that 
 the unfortunate circumstance which brought 
 about Mrs. Sparragus's rescue had impregnated 
 that good lady's mind with new ideas and fresh 
 interests, to the danger of the interests and ideas 
 antecedent to that deplorable event ; and, from 
 all that could be learned, these novel notions 
 were hugged with extraordinary tenacity and 
 threatened to have consequences highly repre- 
 hensible, and therefore unsatisfactory to Mrs. 
 Lipperty, who thus argued the question : 
 
 ' That young man had, somehow or another, 
 so infatuated the old woman that she'll never 
 rest till she has found out who he is, and made 
 him her heir. There wasn't much danger, so 
 long as she only raved about it, but that man 
 Clive declared he meant to discover him, and 
 no doubt he knows how to set about it. I used 
 to think Honeydew a danger — for he is clever 
 and unscrupulous — but the old woman's eyes 
 could easily be opened wide enough to see
 
 218 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 through him ; and I can manage that at any 
 time. Now, I wonder what Honeydew's views 
 are about this business ? Perhaps it would be 
 prudent to bury the hatchet for the moment, 
 and seek his advice in presence of a common 
 enemy, — for I know well enough Honey dew is 
 after her money — that's as clear as noonday. 
 Yes, I'll confer with him, — there's no one else I 
 can consult in so delicate a matter. Lena — 
 wretched, obstinate simpleton — would be worse 
 than useless. I'll go to No. 3.' 
 
 Whereupon, the relict of the Rev. Ebenezer, 
 well aware that her detested rival, Honey- 
 dew, was at home, — for the outgoings and re- 
 turnings of her neighbours were the subject of 
 daily observation — attired herself, and presently 
 rang the bell at No. 3. 
 
 1 Does Mr. Honeydew happen to be at home?' 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am.' 
 
 4 Would you ask him if ' 
 
 4 Pray step in, Mrs. Lipperty ; happy to see 
 you,' said the gentleman himself, appearing at 
 the door. 
 
 * Oh, thank you so much ;' and Mrs. Lipperty
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 2 19* 
 
 entered, Mr. Honeydew showing her into his 
 sanctum. 
 
 1 I've called/ began Mrs. Lipperty, confidenti- 
 ally, ' about our dear friend next door.' 
 
 4 Ah, yes ; about that narrow escape. Won- 
 derful, wasn't it V 
 
 ' Miraculous — and serious.' 
 
 'Very.' 
 
 8 The poor dear has seemed so changed ever 
 since that, knowing the warmth of your regard 
 and your disinterested friendship for her, I 
 thought I might ask your opinion.' 
 
 ' In respect of what, pray?' 
 
 1 The dear soul seems so unsettled about her 
 — her affairs,' stammered Mrs. Lipperty, feeling 
 a little doubtful, after all, as to Mr. Honey dew's 
 cordiality. 
 
 < Her affairs !' 
 
 Mr. Honeydew opened his ears and eyes very 
 wide indeed, because he had been managing 
 her financial matters to Mrs. Sparragus's entire 
 satisfaction for a considerable time. 
 
 ' 1 know it will be best for me to be very 
 plain and straight-forward in anything I have-
 
 220 GRAHAM ASFEN, PAINTER. 
 
 to say about our dear friend. You would wish 
 itf 
 
 ' Most decidedly,' replied Mr. Honeydew, with 
 perfect sincerity. 
 
 ' She is for ever talking about the young man 
 who, so providentially, saved her from certain 
 •death. She is determined to find him.' 
 
 i Let her do so, by all means.' 
 
 6 But he may be one of those worldly-minded, 
 unregenerate people who are always seeking 
 whom they may devour.' 
 
 1 1 hardly think so.' 
 
 ' I'm rejoiced to hear you say that. You 
 have, no doubt, good reasons for so favourable 
 an opinion V 
 
 'I judge by the style of the man and his 
 abode.' 
 
 * Ah, you have seen him V 
 
 * Yes ; I saw him when he brought the old 
 lady home.' 
 
 ' But, as to his abode V 
 
 1 I followed him thither, feeling just a little 
 bit curious — as, probably, you also were — as to 
 who and what he was.' 
 
 ' You actually followed him home ! How 

 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 221 
 
 very judicious ! I really must compliment you. 
 And, pray, where does the man live V 
 
 ' In Thistle Grove.' Mr. Honeydew hesitated 
 a moment before giving the information, but he 
 did not see that it could be of any use to Mrs. 
 Lipperty, and, moreover, it would prove to her 
 that candour was his weak point. * No. 9.' 
 
 1 Indeed ! And his name V 
 
 ' Well, that wasn't so easy to get hold of. I 
 couldn't ask him the question point-blank, so I 
 tried the neighbouring tradespeople. It was 
 no use going to the tailor's, for evidently he 
 was not wastefully extravagant in the article 
 of clothing ; so I tried the beer-shop. They 
 had no such customer. I then purchased a 
 cigar at the tobacconist's, and asked them the 
 name of the young man at No. 9. They didn't 
 know; therefore, I suppose he doesn't smoke. 
 So I dropped in at the baker's. Yes, a young 
 man at No. 9 did casually purchase a loaf there. 
 He was said to be an artist named Aspen.' 
 
 ' How amusing !' exclaimed Mrs. Lipperty, 
 clapping her hands. 
 
 ' Rather a shaky name, eh V inquired Mr. 
 Honeydew, with a laugh; and Mrs. Lipperty
 
 222 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 thought the notion still more amusing. * A very 
 appropriate name for a shaky person.' 
 
 1 Now you know as much as I do about the 
 young man,' added Mr. Honeydew, with his 
 characteristic candour, wondering meanwhile 
 what Mrs. Lipperty would do with the infor- 
 matioD. 
 
 ' Many, many thanks ! I must confess I felt 
 a leetle bit curious — but nothing beyond that, I 
 assure you.' 
 
 * Oh, I'm perfectly satisfied of that,' promptly 
 replied Mr. Honeydew, who said to himself, ' I 
 see what your little game is.' 
 
 'What would not our dear Mrs. Sparragus 
 give for the information !' speculated Mrs. Lip- 
 perty, confidentially. 
 
 ' Then by all means tell her,' rejoined Mr. 
 Honeydew, with airy frankness, his prevailing 
 weakness getting the better of his judgment, as 
 usual. 
 
 1 Tell her ! Why, she'd make a Will to-mor- 
 row in his favour.' 
 
 4 And why should she not 1 If she thinks she 
 can't do better with her money, let her leave it 
 to him, if she fancies him.'
 
 THE QUEEN OP THE GLEN. 223 
 
 1 But there are older friends, nearer and 
 dearer, remember — yourself, for instance,' re- 
 monstrated the astonished Mrs. Lipperty, dwell- 
 ing with tender delicacy upon the latter's words. 
 
 Mr. Honeydew burst out laughing : 
 
 ' Oh, as to that, I know what her intentions 
 at present are.' 
 
 < Really !' 
 
 * All I am to have is the cuckoo-clock and a 
 plated soup-ladle. And I shall be perfectly 
 satisfied.' 
 
 ' And all the rest V 
 
 ' Goes to a dear friend residing not a hundred 
 miles from No. 2 ; but a sense of delicacy for- 
 bids my communicating the name of the fortu- 
 nate lady to Mrs. Lipperty/ 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty gave every evidence of amaze- 
 ment at the facts confided to her by the too 
 candid financier, though, having herself drawn 
 up the Will, the information was not such news 
 as it appeared to be. She wiped her eyes, 
 and Mr. Honeydew thrust his tongue into his 
 cheek. 
 
 ' But, if her curiosity as to the young man 
 should be gratified, she'd go and upset all this
 
 224 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 righteous distribution of property,' argued the 
 reliet of the Rev. Ebenezer. 
 
 « No doubt she will. Nothing else will cure 
 her desire to ferret out this young man. But, 
 that deed accomplished, she'll trouble herself 
 no more about him, and in six months she'll put 
 the Will behind the fire and make a fresh one, 
 and I shall get the cuckoo-clock again, and the 
 dear friend not a hundred miles off will get her 
 lion's share just as before.' 
 
 i Oh, dear, how beautifully you put it!' 
 
 ' Making Wills is the last infirmity of some 
 noble minds, you knoAV, and if you discourage 
 or attempt to thwart them, why — so much the 
 worse for you ;' and Mr. Honeydew laughed so 
 robustly that Mrs. Lipperty thought him the 
 nicest man she had ever seen, but far, far too 
 candid. Thereupon she rose and graciously 
 took leave of Mr. Honeydew, who escorted her 
 to the door, and returned, greatly re-assured, to 
 No. 1, but entirely dissenting from Mr. Honey- 
 dew's views as to the policy of enlightening 
 Mrs. Sparragus at present. 
 
 The following day was Lena's birthday, but 
 the event was not marked by any features to
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 225 
 
 distinguish it. No bouquet, no deliriously mys- 
 terious package, no gratulatory card lay on 
 Lena's cover at breakfast to surprise and de- 
 light her. Mrs. Lipperty was far too sensible 
 to indulge in folly of that kind. The only cir- 
 cumstance to signalise the occasion was a return 
 to her normal habit of animadversion and a 
 homily across the table more mordant, if pos- 
 sible, than usual, as became the relict of the 
 Rev. Ebenezer. 
 
 'Eighteen! Well, I hope, Leonora Jane, 
 that the next eighteen years will be employed 
 more profitably than the last.' 
 
 ' I hope so too, mamma.' 
 
 * For I can assure you that, until the old Adam 
 is thoroughly purged out of us, the best of us 
 are but filthy rags.' 
 
 ' I know it too well, mamma.' 
 
 ' Yes, no doubt you know it — you can't 
 pretend you don't, Leonora Jane, for I have 
 felt it my duty to follow the noble example 
 of your lamented father, and remind you that 
 your inward part is very wickedness ; — it's no 
 use sighing, Leonora Jane, it sounds so like 
 hypocrisy, when one knows that you are all the 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 time imagining mischief in your heart and 
 walking after vanity.' 
 
 Lena had nothing to say in self-defence, she 
 supposed she was only receiving her deserts, so 
 she submitted meekly and almost gratefully to 
 the flagellation appropriate to the momentous 
 event of her anniversary. 
 
 But, alas ! her worldly-mindedness returned 
 when the appointed hour arrived for her appear- 
 ance at Regent's Park, and all the consciousness 
 of a reprobate heart vanished into thin air the 
 moment she found herself in the brougham with 
 Mr. Clive and Ethel, bound for the art-gallery 
 belonging to Glare and Gooley. 
 
 Those gentlemen did not fail to be at their 
 posts, and were, in fact, awaiting the visit of the 
 well-known alderman with more than ordinary 
 interest, for they scented business and arranged 
 their prints and canvases in the most alluring 
 order. All the gems of their collection were 
 placed on view, the only exception being the 
 ' Queen of the Glen.' As they gave the finish- 
 ing touch to their gallery, the carriage drove 
 up, and, almost before it came to a standstill, 
 Mr. Clive and the young ladies sprang out and
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 227 
 
 ■entered the shop. Casting a rapid glance 
 through the contents, the visitors uttered ex- 
 clamations of disappointment, — they had anti- 
 cipated finding a picture corresponding to the 
 sketch, and not one in all the choice examples 
 of old and modern masters arrayed before 
 them held their interested attention for a 
 moment. 
 
 ' Not here,' said Mr. Clive, sorrowfully, ' we 
 might have saved ourselves the pains of 
 coming.' 
 
 1 Permit me, Alderman Clive, to show you 
 something in our cabinet ;' and, so saying, Mr. 
 Glare led the way through a rich portiere into 
 an inner chamber, and the visitors, entering 
 somewhat perfunctorily, stood astonished before 
 an easel supporting the ' Queen of the Glen.' 
 
 Long and in silence they gazed on the lovely 
 painting whose beauty was enhanced by rich 
 draperies, and a soft light which seemed co- 
 existent with the atmosphere in the picture. 
 There indeed was the perfected idea noted with 
 such delicate tenderness in the sketch. The 
 graceful birch-tree stood in its natural beauty 
 apart from its congeners which seemed to keep 
 
 Q2
 
 228 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 at a respectful distance, and yet in attendance, 
 and apparently inclining in the direction of the 
 favoured tree. The visitors felt that a touch of 
 humanity pervaded the work, — the lonely tree 
 seemed to feel the burden of solitude, and Lena 
 was the first to break the silence, saying, in a 
 whisper to Ethel, 
 
 ' It reminds me of one who pines for a com- 
 panion ;' and she pressed Ethel's arm, for the 
 tree symbolised her own great need of other 
 days. 
 
 ' Is it for sale V enquired Mr. Clive, turning to 
 the dealer, who replied in the affirmative. ' I 
 will take it,' said the alderman ; * let me have it 
 to-day/ 
 
 ' I will dispatch it at once, sir.' 
 
 'What have I to pay for it?' asked Mr. 
 Clive, opening his cheque-book, and taking up 
 a pen. 
 
 'Fifty guineas.' 
 
 And Mr. Clive drew a cheque for that amount. 
 
 ' Papa,' exclaimed Ethel, gleefully, ' we have 
 found the artist's name in the corner of the 
 picture.' 
 
 < Ah ! what is it V
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 229 
 
 { Graham Aspen,' interposed Glare, handing a 
 receipt to Mr. Give ; ' a most promising artist, 
 destined, undoubtedly, to take high rank among 
 our landscape-painters.' 
 
 ' What is his address ? I should be glad to 
 pay him a visit.' 
 
 Messieurs Glare and Gooley exchanged 
 glances. It was not at all consistent with the 
 interests of their business to bring patron and 
 artist into personal contact ; they preferred that 
 all transactions should be effected through them. 
 In fact, they viewed Aspen as a discovery, the 
 monopoly of which belonged to them. 
 
 'Unfortunately he didn't leave his address 
 with us; but we commissioned a companion 
 picture, and we expect him to bring it any 
 day.' 
 
 8 Give me the refusal of it ; and above all 
 things let me have his address.' 
 
 So saying, the party re-entered the carnage 
 and drove away. 
 
 * I am disappointed in one respect,' said Mr. 
 Clive, as they journeyed along, exulting in the 
 success of their expedition ; ' I foretold that 
 Lena's birthday was going to be a great day,
 
 230 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 but it would have been a greater day if we 
 could have discovered our hero's address as well 
 as his name.' 
 
 Strangely enough at that moment Mrs. 
 Lipperty's question recurred to Lena's memory : 
 * Where is Thistle Grove V and involuntarily, 
 almost unconsciously, she repeated aloud the 
 words : < Where is Thistle Grove V 
 
 Mr. Clive was considerably surprised at an 
 inquiry which seemed made in response to his 
 allusion to his hero's address. 
 
 4 Ha ! Does he live at Thistle Grove V 
 Lena hastened to explain away the words 
 which had escaped her. 
 
 ' Well, it is singular, but I happen to know 
 that Thistle Grove is a favourite resort of 
 artists ;' and he pulled the check-string, where- 
 upon the carriage was drawn up and the foot- 
 man descended. 'Tell Stevens to drive to 
 Thistle Grove.' 
 
 1 Papa !' exclaimed Ethel, in wonderment, 
 
 ' whatever are you going to Thistle Grove for?' 
 
 ' I am just a bit superstitious, my dear, and 
 
 there may be something in Mrs. Lipperty's 
 
 innocent question. At all events, it will do
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 231 
 
 no harm to extend our drive, even if my char- 
 acter for common-sense should suffer.' 
 
 The carriage drew up at the corner of the 
 street. The footman descended and inquired 
 the number of the house at which his master 
 desired to stop. 
 
 6 This will do ;' and Mr. Olive got out. Re- 
 connoitering the neighbourhood for a likely- 
 place to make inquiries, he pitched upon the 
 one particular house where information could be 
 obtained — namely, the baker's. 
 
 * Can you tell me whether a Mr. Aspen lives 
 in the Grove V 
 
 ' Yes, sir, at No. 9.' 
 
 * An artist, is he not V 
 
 * Yes, an artist, so I am told.' 
 
 ' Thank you ;' and Mr. Clive, making a note 
 of the address, returned to the carriage. 
 
 1 Well, dear papa,' said Ethel, in accents of 
 playful derision, * has your character for common 
 sense suffered or notl' 
 
 * You shall judge for yourself some day.' 
 « What do you mean by that, papa V 
 
 " I mean that this is a far greater day than I 
 promised Lena it should be.'
 
 232 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Mr. Clive thought it prudent not to divulge 
 what he had learnt at the baker's until later, 
 and his daughter interpreted his silence as 
 failure. 
 
 On arriving home he found the picture in the 
 library, delivered with Messieurs Glare and 
 Gooley's respectful thanks. Rejoining his 
 daughter in the saloon, he inquired what 
 birthday gift she had prepared for Lena, and 
 Ethel showed him a diamond ring which she 
 proposed to offer her. 
 
 * She is not a girl that cares for jewellery. 
 That will not do.' 
 
 1 Then what am I to give the dear girl V asked 
 Ethel, disappointed. 
 
 1 Leave it with me to select something.' 
 
 ' But there is so little time to think about it, 
 papa.' 
 
 4 Time enough, my child. Where is Lena !' 
 
 8 In the garden/ 
 
 1 Go and join her.' 
 
 Ethel found her friend busily culling flowers, 
 and she at once co-operated with her in an em- 
 ployment which is always provocative of interest, 
 for the judicious arrangement of colour and form
 
 THE QUEEN OF THE GLEN. 233 
 
 in the composition of a nosegay is no mean test 
 of taste, and women almost invariably succeed 
 in this delicate occupation. 
 
 When the task was accomplished, Ethel en- 
 quired the purpose for which Lena destined the 
 beautiful and fragrant bouquet. 
 
 ' I wish to place it in your father's room,' she 
 replied, in her quiet way. 
 
 * Why?' enquired Ethel, amused. 
 
 1 Because he loves flowers, and, as this is my 
 birthday, I thought I might be allowed the 
 privilege of doing something in token of my 
 grateful attachment to him.' 
 
 When, half-an-hour later, Lena sought her 
 room she was overcome by an object which 
 met her gaze. Hanging against the wall was 
 the ' Queen of [the Glen,' to which was attached 
 a card inscribed thus : 
 
 * To my valued friend Lena, in token of my 
 affection and respect. 
 
 < Ethel Clive.'
 
 234 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 MISGIVINGS. 
 
 Her sojourn at Flinders had effected a great 
 deal for Mrs. Tierney, and its reputation for 
 salubrity appeared justified; for the lady, delicate 
 in frame as in constitution, had returned home 
 in unusual health, and amongst the earliest visits 
 of congratulation paid was one from her friend 
 and medical adviser, Dr. Eustace, who had sent 
 her thither and who was sincerely gratified at 
 the result. 
 
 * Doctor,' said Mrs. Tierney, grasping his 
 hand, ' I am deeply indebted to you for this 
 recovery, for I ascribe it to your judicious 
 treatment.' 
 
 1 Ah, my dear madam,' he replied, gravely, 
 ' when a patient speaks in those terms I feel
 
 MISGIVINGS. 235 
 
 humbled, for I know how little I have really had 
 to do with the return to health.' 
 
 * But you sent me to Flinders,' she rejoined, 
 as if that fact was conclusive and proved her 
 point. 
 
 'Yes; because I knew that mother Nature 
 might there do for you that which the College 
 of Physicians and Apothecaries' Hall combined 
 would not effect here. Besides,' he added, 
 pointing to Hester, who was sitting by her 
 mother and watching every movement with the 
 utmost interest, * next to Nature your burden of 
 debt lies here. We doctors too often get credit 
 which is due to the undemonstrative nurse.' 
 
 ' 1 feel I have done almost nothing,' earnestly 
 disputed Hester ; ' there is so little I can do.' 
 
 4 Dear child,' replied Mrs. Tierney, drawing 
 her daughter closer to her, 'she has indeed been 
 a devoted little nurse.' 
 
 ' Say dutiful, mamma ; I have only done my 
 duty,' remonstrated Hester, burying her face in 
 her mother's bosom. 
 
 ' It is pure devotion,' insisted Mrs Tierney. 
 
 Hester shook her head. 
 
 1 Which is the right word, doctor, duty or
 
 236 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 devotion ? You shall decide between us,' said 
 Mrs. Tierney, with vivacity. 
 
 1 Devotion, as between parent and child, is a 
 natural instinct. Duty is a moral grace. The 
 seat of devotion is the heart. Duty springs 
 from the mind. If I am asked to diagnose 
 the case before me/ continued the physician, 
 humour playing about his benign face, *I 
 should say that duty and devotion go hand in 
 hand, and filial love, the purest of human passions, 
 sanctifies both. Equally happy should the giver 
 and receiver be in such a conjunction !' 
 
 Mrs Tierney pronounced the referee's judg- 
 ment as wise as it was nattering. The doctor 
 continued : 
 
 8 1 know Miss Tierney has nursed you 
 well. I see the result in you and the capacity 
 in her.' 
 
 1 Ah, yes, it is indeed so.' 
 
 4 Allow me to moralise and add that there is 
 not a surer evidence of natural grace and cul- 
 tured mind than that gentle care for the sick 
 which our women manifest, and which is one of 
 the finest features of our time. We doctors see 
 it, and rejoice to see it.'
 
 MISGIVINGS. 237 
 
 ' Everything you say is true,' responded Mrs. 
 Tierney, with enthusiasm ; ' and you seem to be 
 able to read our thoughts. This dear child has 
 so often said she is never so happy as when 
 nursing the sick ; if it be only a bird or a kitten, 
 she seems in her element.' 
 
 ' I quite believe it, for it is just what I should 
 have expected. In Miss Hester's character I see 
 self-sacrifice, self-denial, patience, courage, and, 
 above all, piety. These are qualities which 
 plead for exercise, and where is there such a 
 field for their exercise as in ministering to the 
 sickf 
 
 Hester looked very grave, but her features 
 were irradiated by a fervour which proved the 
 depth of her feelings. 
 
 ' I cannot admit or lay claim to all the kind 
 and generous things you say,' she replied, * but 
 mamma has told you the direction in which my 
 tastes lie, and I feel I should be very happy if I 
 might be allowed to employ myself in some use- 
 ful way among the sick poor.' 
 
 Turning to Mrs. Tierney, Dr. Eustace con- 
 tinued : 
 
 ' You know, dear madam, that Ave physicians-
 
 238 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 train ourselves to study our patients, and to 
 read much that is invisible to other eyes. I 
 have of course seen the affectionate care and 
 anxiety your child has evinced for you in your 
 hour of weakness and pain ; the indefatigable 
 and almost maternal tenderness, the forethought 
 and the firmness shown under trying circum- 
 stances/ 
 
 ' Yes ; and at all hours !' 
 
 ' And, if I understand character at all, I should 
 say that to alleviate human suffering and sor- 
 row, by the pious offices which a true woman 
 views as her highest privilege, would be to 
 your daughter the crowning joy of your life. ' 
 
 Hester was too moved to speak. A deep 
 breath drawn was her only rejoinder, but it 
 implied acquiescence. 
 
 8 Dear doctor,' interposed Mrs. Tierney, as the 
 difficulties of the situation flashed across her 
 mind, * though I admit the truth of all you say, 
 and rejoice to confirm your estimate of this pre- 
 cious child, I hardly think she feels her vocation 
 lies seriously in that direction, though she would 
 do her best when cases came in her way, no 
 doubt. Is it as I suppose, darling V
 
 MISGIVINGS. 239 
 
 6 1 should liks to give myself to it entirely/ 
 replied Hester, softly. 
 
 ' What,— as a profession V 
 
 ' Yes, dear mamma.' 
 
 Mrs. Tierney's eyes rilled with tears as she 
 contemplated her daughter's earnest face, and at 
 the same time conjured up the weightiest objec- 
 tions to the project. 
 
 4 My darling, you don't know^what you are 
 proposing to undertake.' 
 
 * Yes, dear mamma, I have been thinking 
 about it for a long time.' 
 
 1 But the risks !' 
 
 < What risks, dear V 
 
 'Ask Dr. Eustace to enlighten you.' 
 
 The kindly physician turned to Hester. 
 
 ' My dear girl,' he said, taking a seat opposite 
 her, ' I should not be your friend if I did not 
 point out both the pros and the cons in this 
 business, especially when the latter are said to 
 preponderate.' 
 
 'I should wish to know the worst, Dr. 
 Eustace.' 
 
 ' To begin with, there is always the danger of 
 infection.'
 
 240 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ' Yes, but how very rarely do you hear of 
 either doctor or nurse taking infection,' argued 
 Hester. 
 
 * It is true ; but still the danger exists. Then 
 there is the saddening spectacle of human 
 anguish, besides many things from which the 
 tender heart recoils, and which you cannot even 
 have imagined. These should deter yon, Miss 
 Tierney.* 
 
 ' They do not and would not deter me, be- 
 cause I should nerve myself to bear them.' 
 
 ' Then there would be the prejudice to your 
 own health ; the loss of rest ; the burden of 
 other people's domestic sorrows ; — these things 
 should make a young lady pause and shrink 
 from such a calling.' 
 
 1 1 have considered all this, Dr. Eustace, and 
 I do not shrink, much less hesitate. These are 
 the " cons." Please tell dear mamma the 
 " pros," ' continued Hester, earnestly ; ' she 
 needs to be cheered/ 
 
 'Now then for the "pros;" the result of 
 my experience is, that the gains outweigh the 
 cost,' said the physician, encouragingly. 
 
 ' Yes, yes,' exclaimed Hester, with every
 
 MISGIVINGS. 241 
 
 manifestation of delight, 'I have come to that 
 conclusion.' 
 
 'Few joys exceed those we feel in mitigating 
 the sufferings of others ; of faithfully discharg- 
 ing the common duties of humanity ; of winning 
 back the hue of health to the pallid cheek ; of 
 listening to the first few simple words that well 
 up from the grateful heart ; to be watched for 
 lovingly and anxiously, and to go one's way 
 bearing the precious burden of an approving 
 conscience ; — these are the rewards that out- 
 weigh the pains a hundred times over/ 
 
 Hester turned a radiant face to her mother 
 who had long been silent and said, 
 
 ' These are the rewards, dear mamma ; may 
 I not have them V 
 
 Mrs. Tierney felt too moved to answer. She 
 signified by a glance at Dr. Eustace that she 
 assigned the decision to him. 
 
 ' Your daughter,' he began, speaking with the 
 seriousness the case demanded, ' is not, with all 
 her earnestness, an enthusiast merely, — had she 
 been so I should have done my utmost to 
 dissuade her from entertaining this idea, — but 
 she is a calm and capable thinker, who has 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 242 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 reasoned out a noble conception and arrived at 
 a sound conclusion, as I should have expected. 
 The dangers I pointed out had no deterrent 
 effect ; the possible risks of infection and even of 
 death had no terrors for her. I therefore say, 
 without hesitation or misgiving, that she is 
 marked out by nature for the noble calling to 
 which she aspires, and I think, dear madam, 
 you should not withhold your consent/ 
 
 It was an ordeal both for mother and child ; 
 both were impressed with the gravity of the 
 situation, and at length Hester broke the 
 silence : 
 
 'If you disapprove, darling, I will try to 
 think no more about it.' 
 
 * I wish it, my precious child. Go, and may 
 the Father of us all protect you V and Mrs Tier- 
 ney burst into tears. 
 
 Dr. Eustace saw that it rested with him to 
 conjure away the doubts and apprehensions 
 which evidently afflicted Mrs. Tierney. 
 
 4 Your daughter shall be exposed to no need- 
 less trials, toils or dangers. Intentionally I 
 dwelt upon them with emphasis by way of 
 crucial test. But she can do this beneficent
 
 MISGIVINGS. 243 
 
 service in the fullest sense without all the perils 
 I suggested. Confer together, ponder it well, 
 and, if you agree that it shall be undertaken, I 
 will place her under Mrs. Beaver, a skilled and 
 very judicious nurse, who will be another 
 mother to her, and, associated with her, she shall 
 have the opportunity of administering consol- 
 ation and comfort to those in need of them, and 
 exercising her healing powers on the suffering. 
 Leave it to me.' 
 
 Thereupon Dr. Eustace withdrew. 
 
 It was an issue of moment in Hester's life 
 and her mother recognised it as such. But she 
 was both a true woman and a good mother, and, 
 while pointing out the many objections and 
 difficulties, she nevertheless dwelt with admira- 
 tion on the nobleness and honourableness of the 
 calling, and, giving her the benefit of her wise 
 and matured discretion, left her absolutely 
 mistress of her actions. And if there was a 
 moment's hesitancy in Hester's mind it was on 
 account of her mother. Would she be justified 
 in leaving her 1 This doubt her mother instant- 
 ly dismissed. Thanks to Hester's good nursing 
 and the fine air of Flinders, she was now in 
 
 r2
 
 244 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 excellent health ; she could safely be left. In 
 the course of a few days, Hester wrote to Dr. 
 Eustace in these terms : 
 
 ' If I have delayed writing on the subject of 
 our discussion it has not been in consequence of 
 any change of purpose on my part, and if I 
 have felt any hesitancy it has been from a fear 
 of my falling short of the high estimate you, in 
 your goodness, have formed of me. But, even 
 with this drawback, I am ready to serve those 
 to whom I may be useful, and dear mamma not 
 only permits but encourages me to place myself 
 in your hands.' 
 
 Dr. Eustace lost no time in bringing Hester 
 and Mrs. Beaver into association, and the young 
 novice went into training in one of those 
 excellent institutions for gentlewomen which 
 Dr. Eustace visited professionally. 
 
 Hester speedily won the respect of the in- 
 mates by her thoughtful care, deft service and 
 cheerful manner, while her sympathetic interest 
 in her patients' affairs secured for her their 
 genuine affection. 
 
 Mrs. Tierney, who watched her child with
 
 MISGIVINGS. 245 
 
 great solicitude, saw by her bright demeanour, 
 chastened though it was by the constant 
 spectacle of human suffering, that she had not 
 mistaken her vocation, and, when Dr. Eustace 
 next visited her, she gave full expression to her 
 satisfaction. 
 
 * Do you know,' she said, * the dear girl 
 doesn't in the least fulfil the promise of her early 
 childhood.' 
 
 'I recollect she used to be frolicsome as a 
 young girl.' 
 
 ' Say frivolous, rather ! I may say mis- 
 chievous.' 
 
 ' It was the pretty mischief of a kitten,' inter- 
 posed the physician ; ' a sign of health and 
 strength and good digestion.' 
 
 ' But the playful kitten changed into the de- 
 mure cat so suddenly,' she remarked. 
 
 'Was the transformation so very sudden?' 
 inquired Dr. Eustace, amused. 
 
 ' Indeed it was. I may say it took place in a 
 day — in an hour, even ; almost in a moment !' 
 responded Mrs. Tierney, in the confidential 
 tones of one who imparts a secret. 
 
 ' How, pray V
 
 246 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ' You remember that startling incident when 
 I visited you some months ago V 
 1 When the young artist swooned V 
 * Yes. I date the change from that day.' 
 Dr. Eustace recalled all the incidents ; the 
 sympathy the young girl evinced for the sufferer, 
 her solicitude for his restoration in subsequent 
 conversations, and her animation whenever 
 reference was made to him. 
 
 ' My dear madam,' he said, * if it was as you 
 suppose, and the beautiful traits in your daugh- 
 ter's character were really called into activity 
 by that accidental circumstance, it is only ano- 
 ther proof that trifles are often fruitful of great 
 issues. That moment may have decided your 
 child's future. It gave a direction, sharp and 
 sudden, to her mind, turning it into a channel 
 fraught with great benefit to others and happi- 
 ness to herself. Therefore let us be thankful 
 that it was as it was.' 
 
 8 Yes, I am indeed thankful. Still,' continued 
 Mrs. Tierney, with some anxiety, after a mo- 
 ment's pause, * you will not, I am sure, doctor, 
 allow the dear girl to sacrifice her precious
 
 MISGIVINGS. 247 
 
 health, in this praiseworthy employment, which 
 has now lasted some months.' 
 
 1 1 am too selfish to sacrifice the nurse for the 
 sake of the patient, — I value them too highly for 
 that ; and you have only anticipated me, Mrs. 
 Tierney, on a point I was intending to touch 
 upon.' 
 
 Mrs. Tierney expressed her satisfaction at this 
 statement. 
 
 ' The nurse is the doctor's right hand. They 
 see with his eyes, and lead the patient with 
 infinite care along the tedious road to recovery 
 to which the physician only points the way. I 
 have watched your dear child with no slight 
 anxiety, for I have seen how absolutely she 
 surrenders herself to the cause she has espoused, 
 and how completely she forgets herself in the 
 discharge of her pious duties. The natural 
 result follows. Her physical resources are drawn 
 upon largely, and her reserve of strength is not 
 what I should desire to see. Notwithstanding 
 her buoyancy of spirits and her bravery, she 
 flags, unconsciously to herself, but palpably to 
 me. I propose, therefore, to give her a few
 
 248 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 weeks' vacation. Take her away. Give her 
 rest and pure air.' 
 
 Mrs. Tierney was rejoiced at the suggestion, 
 and lost no time in arranging to give effect to 
 it, for Dr. Eustace's opinion was confirmatory of 
 her own apprehensions; she had observed the 
 lassitude which Hester betrayed after her day's 
 labours, and her evenings were too frequently 
 passed in involuntary repose. Especially notice- 
 able was the fact that, whereas hitherto she was 
 wont to entertain and delight her mother and 
 friends with song after song, endowed as she 
 was with a voice of singular beauty, she now 
 declared herself unequal to the effort, and was 
 consequently neither invited nor encouraged to 
 sing. 
 
 Dr. Eustace's parting words were : 
 * I would not have you let her imagine that 
 you are anxious and apprehensive. It might 
 bring about the evil you dread. You need a 
 change yourself ; she will accompany you neces- 
 sarily. And, whithersoever you go, let her pur- 
 sue her beneficent inclinations. You are too 
 wise to thwart a tendency which has developed 
 into a holy passion. Every cottage, every cabin
 
 MISGIVINGS. 249 
 
 will be a field for her ministrations ; for sorrow 
 and suffering are to be found everywhere.' 
 
 Dr. Eustace then took leave of Mrs. Tierney. 
 He had received an urgent summons from 
 Alderman Clive. 
 
 The worthy alderman made it a rule to do 
 nothing in a hurry ; and this was in a great 
 measure the secret of his successes, — he con- 
 sidered well, made up his mind, and then went 
 straight to his goal, as has been already stated. 
 Many men, probably most men, finding them- 
 selves on the trail of a man with whom they 
 desired to have personal intercourse, would have 
 followed the scent at once, and have sought 
 the desired interview there and then ; but Mr. 
 Clive was for the moment content, — he had dis- 
 covered the young artist's abode, surely that 
 was sufficient success for the day. To-morrow 
 he would visit him alone, and afford himself the 
 pleasure of making the acquaintance of the 
 gifted author of the * Queen of the Glen,' and 
 commission a companion picture. His business 
 in the city concluded, he drove to Brompton, 
 and, dismissing his carriage, he made his way 
 on foot to Thistle Grove. Reaching No. 9, he
 
 250 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 rang the bell, which was answered by a little 
 girl. 
 
 'Does Mr. Aspen live here?' he inquired. 
 
 1 Yes, sir.* 
 
 ' Can I see him V 
 
 1 Please go upstairs to his room.' 
 
 ' Which is his room V 
 
 * The first door on the landing, sir.' 
 
 Mr. Olive, as he ascended the stairs, was 
 struck with the modesty of the dwelling, which 
 seemed hardly in keeping with the genius which 
 was so palpable in the painting. 
 
 'How often it happens,' he meditated, 'that 
 the most gifted men enjoy little and covet less 
 the good things of life ! Art must indeed be 
 its own reward. This young painter, for a 
 paltry fifty pounds, parts with a work which 
 will be a delight to generations, and deems 
 himself paid. No sordid ambition his! no 
 rapacity for lucre here ! Such facts should be 
 a forcible lesson to us men of ease and plenty !' 
 
 These reflections occupied his mind as he 
 mounted the stairs with a soft and almost tim- 
 orous foot and reached the door, when he 
 knocked with his gloved hand. Noiselessly and
 
 MISGIVINGS. 251 
 
 gently the door was opened, and a pale and 
 anxious face appeared. It was Jem. 
 
 Jem interrogated the visitor by a glance ; he 
 spoke no word. 
 
 6 1 have called to see Mr. Aspen, if he is not 
 too much engaged/ said the alderman. 
 
 'Hush!' exclaimed the youth, in a hoarse 
 whisper. ' Hush ! he is asleep, I am thankful 
 to say ;' and Jem laid a finger on his lips, while 
 tears rolled down his pallid cheeks. 
 
 'Is he ill?' demanded Mr. Olive, alarmed at 
 the appearance of the young man. 
 
 { III !' answered Jem, and a spasm seemed to 
 stifle his voice. • 111 ! He's dying !'
 
 252 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 
 
 ' Dying !' Mr. Clive was a man of no nervous 
 and feeble constitution, no morbid sensibility ; 
 but the brief response made by Jem, confirmed 
 as it was in its alarming import by Jem's facial 
 expression, sent a thrill and a chill to his heart 
 which for a moment seemed to paralyse him, 
 for he felt unable to advance or retire. Dying ! 
 The gifted painter of the lovely tree. Dying ! 
 The brave rescuer of the aged lady ! It is too 
 sad. It cannot be true. 
 
 Jem opened the door to allow Mr. Clive to 
 enter the sick-chamber, if he so desired. He 
 asked no questions as to his right to the privi- 
 lege ; he could read in his face the language 
 which can be neither assumed nor concealed, —
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 253 
 
 sympathy deep and true, and that was creden- 
 tial sufficient for the young man. All he did 
 was to enjoin silence by a motion of the hand. 
 Mr. Clive stepped into the room, but the light 
 was so subdued by a curtain stretched across 
 the window that it was some moments before 
 his eyes were reconciled to the gloom. Gradu- 
 ally the scene became revealed, and Mr. Clive's 
 eyes sought the suffering occupant. Lying on 
 a camp-bedstead at the end of the chamber, 
 which was partly concealed by hanging dra- 
 pery, was a wasted figure of a young man 
 whose face, pinched and pallid, was yet remark- 
 able for its expression of dignity and serenity. 
 A rug was carefully spread over him ; a nosegay 
 stood on a little table beside the bed, at the 
 head of which was placed a chair. The rug 
 and the nosegay were Jem's, and he at once 
 took his seat on the chair at the head of the 
 bed, and gave the sleeper the watchful atten- 
 tion which the visitor had for a moment inter- 
 rupted, and which was resumed as though no 
 visitor were present. 
 
 Mr. Clive's glance passed for a moment from 
 the sufferer to the surroundings, and the worldly
 
 254 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 condition of the occupant was at once manifest. 
 Almost Spartan in its simplicity, and in the 
 absence of even the faintest pretence to luxury, 
 it was conspicuously clean and orderly. Brushes 
 and pencils, paints and palettes, easels and can- 
 vases, books and folios, studies, draperies and 
 casts no longer in use, were arranged with a 
 method which, to Mr. Clive, seemed remarkable, 
 as method and order are not, as he knew, pro- 
 verbially characteristic of artists. The order 
 and the method were Jem's, — they had come to 
 him as an instinct in a sick- chamber, though 
 hitherto, as Mrs. Starkie was never weary of 
 testifying, he was by nature, and in the bosom 
 of his family, the incarnation of untidiness and 
 misrule. 
 
 If Jem wondered (as, possibly, he did) who 
 the stranger was, and what his errand was, no 
 sign of wonderment, no interrogatory glance 
 escaped him. He had eyes and thought, hope 
 and fear for one creature only at that moment, — 
 the beloved friend at whose side he watched, 
 and whom he believed to be entering upon his 
 journey hence. And if the devoted youth was 
 so strangely forgetful of so palpable a duty to
 
 RUN TO EART1I. 255 
 
 a dying friend, as that of summoning medical 
 aid, it was because that friend had avowed his 
 pious resignation to the inevitable, and had 
 prayed to be allowed to die in peace ; and to 
 Jem his wish was law. At one moment the 
 prostrate man had a strong desire to summon 
 Dr. Eustace, if only to let him see that the 
 three years' span which he promised him was 
 all too liberal ; for the day and the hour were 
 already upon him. But he had not the courage 
 again to face the man whose kindness he had 
 so ill-requited, by withholding his name and 
 dwelling-place — and, indeed, he reflected, it were 
 better, both for his own sake and for the sake 
 of the only living creature who cared for him — 
 that loyal and loving friend who smoothed his 
 pillow and bathed his brow with the gentle 
 hand of a woman — for Jem's sake it were better 
 that he should pass away now than later. 
 
 To Mr. Clive, the absence of the usual cour- 
 tesies and the interchange of ordinary civilities 
 between himself and Jem were both natural and 
 fitting. Mr. Clive comprehended perfectly Jem's 
 concentration of heart and mind on one thought 
 — a thought which commanded respect and ad- 

 
 256 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 miration — and he was content to remain a pas- 
 sive observer of a domestic episode of singular 
 pathos. As his sight became more perfectly 
 accustomed to the subdued light, he noted the 
 varying expression on the face of the sleeper, 
 who was evidently disturbed by a dream. A 
 tremulous movement of the hands, a spasm of 
 the breath, indicated distress, which re-acted on 
 Jem painfully, and he was on the point of arous- 
 ing the sleeper, with a view to terminate his 
 misery, when Mr. Clive, bending forward, whis- 
 pered in his ear : 
 
 'Pray excuse me, but I think it might be 
 dangerous to awaken him suddenly. It might 
 be too great a shock.' 
 
 Jem's hand was at once arrested ; he saw 
 that the caution was wise. Turning to Mr. 
 Clive, with appealing eyes, he said, 
 
 1 Sir, are you a doctor f 
 
 'No.' 
 
 1 Are you a friend of Mr. Aspen V 
 
 * I wish to be a friend. I presume you are 
 his brother V 
 
 i Oh, no, sir ; I'm only his pupil.' 
 
 * Do you live here V
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 257 
 
 ' Yes ; the landlady is my mother, Mrs. Starkie. 
 I am Jem.' 
 
 * Can I see your mother V 
 
 6 Yes, sir ; she is downstairs.' 
 
 Mr. Clive turned towards the door, when words 
 from the bed — words disjointed and incoherent 
 — arrested his foot. 
 
 ' Again I hear it ! that sweet, soft voice ; my 
 mother's, yet not my mother's ! That song and 
 that face ! I'll paint it ! Yes, if I live long 
 enough — that song — that face; let me, let 
 
 me ' and the dreamer turned in his bed, 
 
 and relapsed into a deep sleep. 
 
 Jem quite comprehended the train of ideas 
 which agitated Aspen, and which was a pure 
 enigma to Mr. Clive, and, without reflection, he 
 said, in a subdued tone, ' And he did paint it,' 
 at the same moment glancing towards a canvas 
 on the easel, covered over. 
 
 * Really?' answered Mr. Clive, in the same 
 low key, as he followed the direction of Jem's 
 gaze. * May I see it?' and he advanced a hand 
 towards the picture. 
 
 4 No, no !' replied Jem, peremptorily ; ' you 
 cannot, sir ; nobody but me has ever seen it !' 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 and he stepped to the easel and made the cover- 
 ing more secure. 
 
 Mr. Give, the art-patron, the liberal sup- 
 porter of every benevolent work, the man of 
 sterling character and great wealth, saw no 
 affront in the curt prohibition, but, on the con- 
 trary, he recognised in it a fine delicacy on the 
 part of the painter and loyalty on that of the 
 pupil. He was puzzled but not pained. It 
 was extraordinary, but at the same time it had 
 the ring of a noble independence about it, and 
 Mr. Give not only respected the interdiction, 
 but it increased his sorrowing interest in the 
 dying artist. 
 
 Descending to the hall he found the little girl 
 who had apparently been in conversation with 
 somebody at the door, for Mr. Clive, glancing in 
 that direction, observed a vanishing skirt — a 
 black skirt which he recognised, for he had seen 
 the identical article at Tapioca Terrace when he 
 paid Mrs. Sparragus his visit. The coincidence 
 at once struck him as remarkable, — Mrs. Lip- 
 perty here ! That sombre lady excited no inter- 
 est person ally, but her movements in the two 
 
 ,
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 259 
 
 instances under Mr. Olive's observation did so 
 to a very considerable degree. 
 
 6 Was that lady a friend of your mistress's V 
 he inquired of the little girl. 
 
 ' Don't think so, sir. She wanted to know if 
 Mr. Aspen lives here.' 
 
 • Ah ! and you told her that he does V 
 
 ' Yes, sir ; and 1 said he is dying !' 
 
 ' And she was much shocked V 
 
 ' Dreadful, sir, for she says, says she, " Poor 
 dear, poor dear ! But the Lord's will be done !" 
 and didn't she rub her eyes P 
 
 'And then V 
 
 6 And then the poor lady went away, sir.' 
 
 If Mr. Olive discovered any reasonable ex- 
 planation of the fact of a person making 
 inquiries as to a perfect stranger and mani- 
 festing such deep grief on hearing of his 
 deplorable condition of health, he gave no 
 visible or audible expression of the discovery, 
 but inquired of the little girl where Mrs. Starkie 
 was, to which question she replied that Mrs. 
 Starkie was in the kitchen a-making beef-tea, 
 whereupon Mr. Olive requested the damsel to 
 fetch that good woman. 
 
 S2
 
 260 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Mrs. Starkie responded to the summons, and 
 at once gave vent to her feelings. 
 
 ? Oh, sir, isn't it dreadful V 
 
 ' You mean Mr. Aspen's condition V responded 
 Mr. Clive, sadly. 
 
 'Yes, poor young man, — such a gentleman, 
 too ! I've let lodgings now for over twenty 
 years — it'll be twenty-one years come Michael- 
 mas — and I've never had his like in the house,. 
 — nor I won't, for I don't believe there's the like 
 of dear Mr. Aspen in all London.' 
 
 ' I quite believe he is a worthy fellow.' 
 
 'Worthy; that's not the word, sir: he's 
 beautiful ! and the beautiful ain't long for this 
 world, as everybody knows ; — and I can't for- 
 give myself, no, I can't.' 
 
 ' I'm sorry to hear you say that.' 
 
 4 How can I, sir ? To go and hurt the feel- 
 ings of the dear young gentleman who only 
 wanted to be good and kind to our Jem, and 
 for me to be that contrairy and throw cold water 
 till he was nearly drove to give me notice to 
 quit and go and live opposite where the bill's 
 in the window. How can I forgive myself, and 
 him a-dyingf
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 261 
 
 ' Let us hope, my dear Mrs Starkie, that he 
 may yet rally.' 
 
 * Yes ; may the Lord be merciful ! and I'm 
 making some beef-tea, which Jem bought a 
 pound of beef out of his money-box, and it's 
 been stewing all the morning.' 
 
 1 Excellent ! But I should like with your 
 permission to send him some soup from a house 
 I know of in the city. It will help to strengthen 
 him.' 
 
 ' Very well, he shall have every drop of it ; 
 you may depend, sir.' 
 
 ' Of that I am quite sure, Mrs. Starkie.' 
 
 1 Yes, sir, you may depend.' 
 
 'But there is one matter', Mrs. Starkie, in 
 which you have been wrong.' 
 
 6 Me wrong !' 
 
 * Yes, in not calling in a doctor to see Mr. 
 Aspen.' 
 
 'There, you see, that comes of your not 
 knowing, but when I tell you Mr. Aspen forbid 
 it when I wanted to, and said he wouldn't see 
 no doctor and told Jem, and Jem's that fond of 
 him it's downright foolish, and I say so to his 
 face as I say it behind his back — he's foolish,
 
 262 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 and nothing would induce Jem to fetch a doctor 
 — and it's hard to be told it's my fault, sir ;' and 
 Mrs. Starkie sighed and gave every evidence of 
 lacerated feelings. 
 
 6 1 quite understand, my dear madam, that, 
 from motives of true kindness and in obedience 
 to Mr. Aspen's wish, you and your son have 
 neglected an obvious duty — but, better late 
 than never, you know ; therefore, I will bring a 
 friend of mine who understands these cases and 
 who will tell us the exact state of things. I've 
 no doubt you've done quite right so far as nurs- 
 ing goes.' 
 
 1 As for that, I only make his beef-tea and do 
 his bit of washing,' interrupted Mrs. Starkie, 
 meekly, * our Jem does everything else. Lor', 
 sir, he seems as if he was born to it ! He watches 
 day and night, feeds him, physics him, dresses 
 and undresses him, reads to him, prays for him, 
 and never takes his own clothes off ; it's down- 
 right beautiful, sir ! and though I'm his mother, 
 and didn't ought, I say it's beautiful to see Jem 
 a-nursing that young man!' and Mrs. Starkie 
 fairly gasped for want of breath.
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 263 
 
 ' Your son deserves all the praise you give 
 him.' 
 
 * That I never do, sir, I'm afraid! I daren't 
 encourage him, for, if I did, he'd make ten times 
 more messes than he does with them nasty paints, 
 which he hasn't a pocket-handkerchief fit to be 
 seen, let alone the table-cloths! No, sir, I 
 daren't praise our Jem, much as I love the 
 lad!' 
 
 * But I understood from him that he was Mr. 
 Aspen's pupil !' answered Mr. Clive, interro- 
 gatively. 
 
 'Ah, sir, I begin to think that's all a part of 
 the young gentleman's disease. It must be his 
 complaint, for he took to our Jem so violent 
 all because he tried to copy a picter of his.' 
 
 'A picture of a tree*?' enquired Mr. Clive, 
 eagerly, for he was more and more interested in 
 Mrs Starkie's disclosures. 
 
 ' No, not that tree — and it ivas a pretty tree ! 
 I never could keep my eyes off that when I was 
 trying to tidy his room, — and, do you know, he 
 got ten pounds for it !' 
 
 ' Ten pounds V replied Mr. Clive, shocked.
 
 2(54 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 * Yes ; but it was a portrait of a voice, as Mr. 
 Aspen called it — and you may well look aston- 
 ished, sir, but, as I said, that's his complaint, — and 
 our Jem he tried to copy that picter of a voice ; 
 it was a face of a girl which I should call fan- 
 tastic — but that's neither here nor there — and he 
 caught our Jem at it, and he nearly killed him ; 
 and serve him right, I say, for what business 
 had he to go messing with them 'orrible paints 
 in a lodger's room, and let hisself in with my key 
 unbeknown ? which is bad enough in his own 
 room, and all the walls daubed over with sunsets 
 and such rubbish ! Well, sir, he changed all of 
 a sudden, which proves to me that it's his 
 disease, and now they're always together, and 
 away they must go a-painting in the country, 
 and that's where he caught his cold, — I mean 
 Mr. Aspen, of course, but, for my part, though 
 he says he's dying, and Jem says he's dying, I 
 don't think he's half so bad as he was after his 
 exertion a-saving an old lady somewhere in the 
 city, so they say ; and, between you and me, I 
 don't think he has ever been quite right since. 
 Ah, he was bad then !' 
 
 Mr. Olive perceiving no limit to the good
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 265 
 
 landlady's rhetoric, and feeling the necessity of 
 ordering the soup and summoning the physician 
 without loss of time, looked at his watch, and, 
 pleading engagements, hurried away, intimating 
 that in the course of the day he should return 
 with a friend, and he hoped Jem would not deny 
 them admission to the sick-chamber. 
 
 During the afternoon Dr. Eustace arrived, 
 according to appointment, at Regent's Park, 
 where he found Mr. Clive anxiously awaiting 
 him. 
 
 ' My dear Eustace,' he said, grasping his 
 hand, * I'm going to put your skill to the test. I 
 have found a young man who, the people about 
 him say, is dying. If human power can pro- 
 long his days, you will do it. And, as the man 
 is too poor to requite your service, I know you 
 will be all the more anxious to snatch him from 
 the grave/ 
 
 Dr. Eustace became very thoughtful, and 
 requested all possible information as to the case. 
 
 4 Bv a train of circumstances, which I need 
 not trouble you with, I found myself this morn- 
 ing in the chamber of a young artist who lay 
 unconscious on his bed. I am keenly interested
 
 266 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 in him, as you, Eustace, will be, not only in 
 consequence of his poverty, but also on account 
 of his patient submission to what he conceives 
 to be his impending decease, and his artistic 
 ability, which is remarkable.' 
 
 ' What is his ailment V inquired Dr. Eustace, 
 1 consumption V 
 
 ' Yes ; so far as I can judge from his wasted 
 appearance.' 
 
 ' The most hopeless of all,' sorrowfully replied 
 the physician; 'you must not expect much of 
 science in those cases, my dear Clive.' 
 
 Then, appearing suddenly to recall a parallel 
 case, he desired to know the patient's name. 
 
 'Aspen,' replied Mr. Clive, as they stepped 
 into the brougham, and, ordering the coachman 
 to drive to 9, Thistle Grove, Mr. Clive enlivened 
 the journey by describing Jem, and doing full 
 justice to his devotion, and to his honest 
 mother's volubility. 
 
 Mrs. Starkie opened the door and at once 
 reported progress : 
 
 ' You may take your friend into the room to 
 see him, sir : the delicious soup you sent did it ! 
 I don't believe anything else would have got
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 267 
 
 over Jem, for he says, says he, " Mother, that's 
 the wonderfullest soup that ever was. The 
 moment he swallowed it he seemed to pick up, 
 and, though Mr. Aspen said I wasn't to fetch no 
 doctor, he didn't forbid me admitting a friend, 
 and anyone who sends such stuff as that there 
 soup is a friend, and no mistake, and he may 
 bring anybody he likes !" So, gents, you may 
 go up.' 
 
 The door was opened by Jem in response to 
 Mr. Olive's gentle knock, and the visitors were 
 received with a nod and a smile which consti- 
 tuted at once a grateful recognition and a 
 welcome. 
 
 When Dr. Eustace and Mr. Olive entered the 
 room, Aspen was in a sitting posture, propped 
 up by pillows and enveloped in a shawl which 
 partly concealed his features, but, while greeting 
 the strangers with a slight inclination of the 
 head, his action seemed to convey the inquiry, 
 * Who are you, and what brings you here ?' 
 
 Mr. Olive correctly interpreted it, and, ad- 
 dressing Graham, said, 
 
 ' Mr. Aspen, we are neither idle persons nor 
 curious ; we only ask to be viewed as friends
 
 268 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 and allowed to lighten, so far as our humble 
 efforts go, the cares and labours of your devoted 
 companion, Jem.' 
 
 * You are very, very good, sir,' responded 
 Aspen, in subdued accents. 
 
 'And this gentleman,' continued Mr. Clive, 
 introducing Dr. Eustace, 'feels a very great 
 interest in your case, so far as I have described 
 the little I gathered from your good landlady, 
 and he hopes you will allow him to prescribe 
 for you. He is a medical man.' 
 
 Aspen glanced at Jem, aad Jem discerned in 
 that glance a reproach for having summoned a 
 doctor. 
 
 'This is the gentleman who sent you the 
 soup,' Jem hastened to explain, in extenuation 
 of his breach of orders, as he indicated Alder- 
 man Clive , ' and this other gentleman is his 
 friend.' 
 
 Aspen gave a slight inclination of the head to 
 indicate assent if not approval, and Dr. Eustace 
 accordingly took the seat by the bedside. The 
 young man's features were still partly obscured 
 by the shawl, and the physician peered curi- 
 ously and with evident perplexity, for he seemed
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 269 
 
 in search of a clue to a strong impression which 
 he had, but could not define. 
 
 * You are very weak, sir, I perceive.' 
 ' Very ;' in muffled tones. 
 
 1 Weakness is not necessarily disease. It may 
 arise from too great abstemiousness.' 
 
 Aspen understood the euphemism — it was a 
 delicate way of ascribing his weakness to his 
 poverty, and he resented it. 
 
 '1 beg your pardon, sir. I have as much- 
 food as I desire.' 
 
 The retort was given clearly and incisively,, 
 and Dr. Eustace started. He raised the shawl, 
 and obtained a full view of the patient's face. 
 His impression was verified. It was Mr. Graham*, 
 The physician took the young artist's hand, and 
 placed a finger on his pulse. 
 
 * No doubt you do, but food is not always 
 assimilated, and in that case it fails to nourish. 
 We must try to improve the digestive organs, 
 which appear to me somewhat impaired. Does^ 
 your cough trouble you V 
 
 4 Very much,' replied Aspen, without raising- 
 his head ; at the same time it was evident, from* 
 a certain restlessness and nervous action, that:
 
 270 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 his mind was disturbed. This did not escape 
 the keen eye of the physician. 
 
 ' I dare say you are longing to get back 
 to work/ he ventured, glancing round the 
 room. 
 
 * No ; I have done with that for ever.' 
 
 1 Nonsense, my dear sir. You must allow me, 
 as a bit of a physiologist, to contradict you. 
 You are below par, as they say in the City; 
 but, as soon as we have got up your physical 
 strength, you will think, and speak, and act as 
 a young, vigorous, and ambitious man should,' 
 argued Dr. Eustace, consolingly. 
 
 ' I have no ambition now — at least, for my- 
 self. I should have wished to see my dear 
 companion here' — pointing to Jem, who stood 
 at the foot of the bed — ' gain the position he 
 will some day occupy. But that is not to be.' 
 
 4 Why not, my dear sir V 
 
 ' Look at my face, look at my hands, sir. Do 
 you not see that I have not three years to live?' 
 remonstrated the sick artist. 
 
 * I have been observing your face and hands 
 ever since I entered the room, and I am happy 
 to say that I arrive at a different conclusion.'
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 271 
 
 'Then your opinion clashes materially with 
 Dr. Eustace's V 
 
 'Have you any confidence, then, in Dr. 
 Eustace?' 
 
 'Absolute confidence,' replied Aspen, with 
 emphasis, a flush overspreading his features as 
 he spoke. 
 
 ' Then, pray, sir, why did you not call in Dr. 
 Eustace V 
 
 ' Because — because I once acted snobbishly, 
 and requited his kindness badly.' 
 
 ' Indeed ; may I ask how V 
 
 ' Though I was a stranger, he treated me as a 
 friend, and inquired my name and address. 
 I misled him as to my name, and I refused 
 altogether to give him my address. That was 
 the action of a snob.' 
 
 ' Dr. Eustace puts a more generous construc- 
 tion upon it.' 
 
 ' How can you possibly know what construc- 
 tion he puts upon it V 
 
 ' Because 1 am Dr. Eustace.' 
 
 Graham started at the announcement. It was 
 a surprise and a shock he seemed hardly equal 
 to, and looking his visitor full in the face for
 
 272 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 the first time, and recognising him, he betrayed 
 genuine distress, which the kind physician 
 hastened to dispel. 
 
 ' But why you should gratuitously vex your- 
 self respecting a trifle which was, in fact, as 
 humorous as it was innocent, I can't conceive. 
 If you wished to preserve an incognito, you 
 were perfectly free to do so.' 
 
 ' But how did you find me out?' inquired the 
 artist. 
 
 ' This gentleman, Alderman Clive, — whose mis- 
 sion in the world is to perform acts of kindness, 
 — brought me here,' replied Dr. Eustace, in- 
 dicating his companion, whom Graham had not 
 observed, and who advanced to the bed-side, 
 his presence evidently increasing the patient's 
 perplexity. 
 
 'You naturally wonder, Mr. Aspen, why I 
 intrude upon you, and why, without asking 
 permission, I ventured to bring my friend, Dr. 
 Eustace,' said Mr. Clive. 
 
 ' Yes, sir,' replied the young man, ' I am 
 wondering why you should take so much 
 trouble concerning a stranger.'
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 273 
 
 'Did you ever lose a small sketch-book?' 
 inquired Mr. Clive. 
 
 * My sketch-book !' echoed Graham, in tones 
 of incredulity and astonishment, at the same 
 time pressing his hand to his head. ' My sketch- 
 book !' 
 
 1 1 cannot say positively that the one I know 
 of is yours, but, if you will allow me, I will 
 bring it for identification. It was picked up in 
 Cheapside some months ago.' 
 
 'It was there that I must have lost mine/ 
 responded Aspen, with energy ; and Dr. Eustace, 
 observing the young artist's agitation, interfered, 
 giving his opinion that he was not sufficiently 
 strong to bear a lengthened interview, and there- 
 fore it would be better to leave matters at the 
 interesting point arrived at until Alderman 
 Clive gave effect to his promise to produce the 
 sketch-book. Thereupon the visitors rose to 
 take leave. 
 
 ' I will give some instructions to your land- 
 lady, and your friend and pupil who, however, 
 gives evidence of possessing such excellent 
 judgment and true devotion that suggestions 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 from me almost amount to presumption. You 
 will remember when you consulted me in Savile 
 Row my last injunction to you was to hope. 
 I can say nothing better now : hope ; but to 
 that salutary advice I would add : submit. L et 
 others think and act and provide. Ask no 
 questions; conjure up no scruples. Submit. 
 Believe that a higher Power than the fallible 
 and feeble creatures you see beside you at 
 this moment is providing for your needs, and 
 submit.' 
 
 'Dr. Eustace, I will submit.' 
 
 < And hope V 
 
 ' And hope.' 
 
 The kind physician offered his hand, which 
 Graham grasped passionately, and while Mr. 
 Clive was doing the same gracious act, linger- 
 ing beside the sick man with words of en- 
 couragement and consolation, Dr. Eustace, 
 prompted by a natural curiosity to see an 
 example of Aspen's artistic ability of which he 
 had intuitively formed a high estimate, raised 
 the silken scarf which covered a canvas on an 
 easel, without a thought as to any discourtesy 
 in the act, and he was struck with amazement
 
 RUN TO EARTH. 275 
 
 as a painting, recalling a well-remembered and 
 beloved face, met his gaze. Had he not been 
 from habit and discipline a man who kept his 
 feelings under perfect control, he must have 
 betrayed both pain and pleasure as he muttered 
 to himself the name ' Mildred !' 
 
 As the two gentlemen journeyed homeward a 
 gravity oppressed them both, and for some 
 minutes no words were spoken by either. At 
 length Alderman Clive remarked that the young 
 artist interested him greatly, adding, 
 
 ' There is a fine independence about him, an 
 unvvorldliness which is rare and charming. His 
 very reluctance on one occasion to divulge his 
 name arose from delicacy of feeling and a fear 
 of recompense for a service rendered.' 
 
 * You refer to his reticence with the old lady 
 whom you told me he rescued V 
 
 < Yes/ 
 
 * But can you explain his reticence with me V 
 1 Diffidence merely.' 
 
 * That was my opinion at the time ; but while 
 I was in his room just now I discovered the 
 real cause/ 
 
 < Indeed V 
 
 T 2
 
 276 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 The physician hesitated for a moment to 
 divulge the conviction which had forced itself 
 upon him, and which he felt needed confirma- 
 tion to justify his announcing it as a fact ; but 
 the idea of discovering a surviving relative was 
 so fascinating to the lonely man, and one in 
 which, he was sure, his friend Clive would cor- 
 dially sympathise, that his scruples vanished. 
 He replied : 
 
 6 It was a natural but unconscious reluctance 
 to give me pain. That frail, needy, half-starved 
 and perhaps dying youth is, I firmly believe, the 
 son of my dead sister Mildred ! But, Clive, not 
 a word, 1 pray you, to anyone on the subject 
 till I know, beyond a doubt, whether it is so.'
 
 277 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 
 
 Notwithstanding the airy indifference dis- 
 played by Mr. Honeydew in his interview with 
 Mrs. Lipperty as regarded the young man who 
 had rendered such timely service to their 
 neighbour, he still entertained the grave mis- 
 givings he had originally felt, for he had con- 
 sidered the possible issues of the act with the 
 far-reaching intelligence of a man versed in 
 calculations and averages, and the logical 
 argument seemed to point to results decidedly 
 unsatisfactory ; and, as he traced matters back 
 to their inception, he deplored more and more 
 the unfortunate circumstance which led to the 
 appearance of a stranger on the field which he 
 had hitherto viewed as his own.
 
 278 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 In his interviews with Mrs. Sparragus which, 
 unlike those daily indulged in by Mrs. Lipperty, 
 were comparatively rare, he cordially adopted 
 her estimate of the young man, and, as evidence 
 of his sincerity, he confessed that he had em- 
 ployed himself day after day in the endeavour 
 to obtain traces of him, for the sole purpose of 
 gratifying her ardent desire to search him out ; 
 but, unhappily, he had hitherto failed. The 
 young hero had effaced himself; and, nothing- 
 more being practicable, he thought the best advice 
 he could offer her was to endeavour to dismiss 
 him from her thoughts. 
 
 When, however, Mrs. Sparragus told him at a 
 later day that Mr. Clive had visited her — a 
 fact which he had observed for himself — and 
 that he had pledged himself to produce the 
 young man, if it were possible, good Mr. Honey- 
 dew had to turn his back to the light and have 
 a violent fit of coughing to conceal the colour 
 which overspread his usually sallow face. It 
 was more than annoying, it was disgusting, to 
 have a second stranger start up, and volunteer 
 to find the first, and more particularly so as he
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 279 
 
 proved to be a city man, like himself, and there- 
 fore probably an expert in matters of finance. 
 
 As soon as he had recovered his composure 
 he replied, 
 
 ' Well, that is singular ! I too have per- 
 severed in my researches, and it will be a race 
 between me and the worthy alderman as to 
 which of us will bring you the tidings.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! how so V 
 
 1 Well ; I think I have got hold of a clue.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus was dumb between gratifica- 
 tion and incredulity. 
 
 * I have been informed that there is an artist 
 corresponding to his description living some- 
 where in Brompton.' 
 
 'But — but is it the same?' demanded Mrs. 
 Sparragus, anxiously. 
 
 4 That we must find out.' 
 
 1 Oh, if you succeed, you will render me a 
 great service.' 
 
 4 My great desire is to be of use to you, Mrs. 
 Sparragus.' 
 
 * I fear I am already too great a tax upon 
 your kindness, Mr. Honeydew.'
 
 280 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 4 Nay, nay,' replied he, with a gesture of the 
 hand which conveyed that the observation made 
 by Mrs. Sparragus gave him intense pain, and 
 that he could not possibly endure a repetition of 
 it ; ' if you really feel that, my dear lady, I can 
 only say that I have laboured in vain in your 
 interests ever since I have had the pleasure of 
 your acquaintance.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus perceived at once that she had 
 lacerated her friend's feelings, and she hastened 
 to anoint them with a healing balm. 
 
 4 1 hope you will forgive my blundering way 
 of saying things ; you know I'm only a simple 
 old lady.' 
 
 4 Oh, Mrs. Sparragus !' 
 
 * I only desire to say I do not wish to presume 
 upon good nature.' 
 
 4 Let me assure you, Mrs. Sparragus, that I 
 
 only live to be of service to my fellow-creatures.' 
 
 4 How noble ! You will, therefore, I am sure, 
 
 approve of my desire to reward that brave 
 
 young gentleman,' she said, hesitatingly. 
 
 4 It is precisely what I should have suggested 
 if I had felt privileged to give advice.' 
 
 4 1 am so glad to hear you say so, for I am
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 281 
 
 sure, if you approve, it is the right thing to 
 do.' 
 
 ' No real friend could think otherwise,' urged 
 Mr. Honeydew, with a decision which induced 
 Mrs. Sparragus to be still more communicative. 
 
 'You know I have neither chick nor child V 
 resumed the widow, with doleful modulation of 
 voice. 
 
 'Alas, yes!' and Mr. Honeydew appeared to 
 hurl bitter reproaches at Destiny for having 
 denied her the joys of maternity ; 'a sad, sad 
 truth.' 
 
 * And I cannot forget and I ought not to for- 
 get that, but for the young man, I should not 
 have lived to see this day !' 
 
 • I can only say that he deserves everything 
 you contemplate doing for him/ said Mr. 
 Honeydew, cordially supporting the idea which 
 Mrs. Sparragus was evidently incubating, with 
 a view to learn the full extent of it ; ' no 
 one could entertain any other feeling for a 
 moment.' 
 
 ' Ah, sir, people look at things so differently. 
 Now, there's Mrs. Lipperty ; do you know that 
 she's quite violent at the bare hint from me that
 
 282 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 I intend to make certain bequests beyond— 
 Tapioca Terrace/ 
 
 * She is evidently afraid you may be imposed 
 upon,' rejoined Mr. Honeydew, judiciously ; ' she 
 is, I believe, an excellent person.' 
 
 * I don't wish to say a word against her, and 
 I daresay I'm not so fond of her as I ought to 
 be.' 
 
 * That is to be regretted ;' and Mr. Honeydew 
 looked grave and distressed, but he had to gnaw 
 his tongue to produce that expression. 
 
 1 And as we're on the subject,' resumed Mrs. 
 Sparragus, ' I may ask your advice on a delicate 
 matter. I wish, as a proof that I have no ill- 
 will against Mrs. Lipperty, to leave her a 
 memento, — some little thing in token of good 
 feeling, you know. I'm under no obligation to 
 her whatever — she has never done anything but 
 remind me of my sins and shortcomings, — though 
 I daresay I ought to be grateful for that ; but I 
 desire to prove to her that she is not altogether 
 forgotten. Now will you give me the benefit 
 of your clever brains and suggest what that 
 memento should be V
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 28S 
 
 Mr. Honeydew was hardly prepared for such 
 wholesale confidences. Mrs. Sparragus had 
 never consulted him in this delicate matter 
 before, nor had she enlightened him as to her 
 intentions, though she had entrusted to him, as 
 the custodian of her securities, her testamentary 
 papers in a sealed envelope, which envelope he 
 had felt it incumbent on him, in her interest, to 
 open with a view to satisfy himself that the 
 instrument was in proper form and valid. 
 
 ' Well, really, I'm hardly qualified to ' 
 
 1 Oh, yes, you are ! Pray tell me what to do/ 
 1 But I hardly like to say what I myself should 
 do under the circumstances/ 
 
 ' I beg you will. That's exactly what I wish/ 
 The opportunity for a superb act of retalia- 
 tion which was thus offered Honeydew could 
 not be resisted ; he replied, 
 
 * If I were in your place, I should leave Mrs, 
 Lipperty, in token of my affection, my — my — ' 
 
 1 Speak freely, please.' 
 
 * My cuckoo-clock and my plated soup-ladle.' 
 Mrs. Sparragus was struck with the felicity 
 
 of the suggestion. What could possibly be
 
 •284 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 more graceful as a tribute of respect? The 
 cuckoo-clock had been her maternal grand- 
 mother's, and the fact of its being worn-out and 
 the cuckoo no longer vocal only enhanced its 
 value. The crust of several generations lay- 
 thick upon its wheels, which was a title to 
 veneration, and its face, marred and scarred 
 with age, rendered the gift more complimentary 
 and significant. And, singular coincidence ! 
 these were the very mementos she had origi- 
 nally destined for Mr. Honeydew in the will 
 prepared by Mrs. Lipperty, and there could be 
 no doubt that the alteration in her wishes as 
 regards these precious relics would be highly 
 appreciated by that lady. 
 
 ' I consider the suggestion capital, and I 
 decide to act upon it, and will see Tangle and 
 Wrench about it. And now I must ask your 
 advice upon one other little matter, — though I 
 really feel quite ashamed!' 
 
 * I shall be grieved if you hesitate to make 
 use of me.' 
 
 ' Those dividends of mine, you know. 1 quite 
 dread going to the Bank of England since 
 that '
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 285- 
 
 1 That unfortunate circumstance V 
 
 < Yes.' 
 
 * It is natural, and nothing but a sense of 
 delicacy has prevented my offering to go and 
 receive them for you.' 
 
 'But could it possibly be done?' inquired 
 Mrs. Sparragus, energetically, like one who 
 grasps at a hope which may prove fallacious. 
 1 It can't, can it V 
 
 'Yes, under a power-of-attorney ; and Mr. 
 Honeydew explained the use of that valuable 
 instrument by which he could not only receive 
 her dividends and hand her the cash, but he 
 would also be able, in the event of her requiring 
 funds, to sell out whatever she wished without 
 her being troubled to cross the threshold of her 
 house. 
 
 The suggestion, like everything which eman- 
 ated from him, was pronounced admirable* 
 and that question was consequently set at rest 
 by Mrs. Sparragus requesting her friend to give 
 effect to his kind offer. 
 
 ' It is such a comfort to me to get these things 
 settled, for I never could give my mind to money 
 matters.'
 
 286 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 * That is not an unusual failing with ladies.' 
 
 ' And when I think how naturally it all comes 
 to you, and how easily you managed all my 
 little investments, and how nicely you arranged 
 the Flinders' business, I consider you the most 
 wonderful person I know.' 
 
 * Oh, these things are mere A B C to us men 
 of business,' explained Mr. Honeydew, with 
 becoming diffidence ; then, as though asking 
 the idlest of idle questions, he continued : ' I 
 have no doubt if your friend, Mr. Olive, is a 
 man of business he would tell you the same.' 
 
 ' Yes, perhaps, for he is, as you say, a man of 
 business — an alderman, you know.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! is he Alderman Olive !' 
 
 1 The same ; a magistrate at the Mansion 
 House.' 
 
 The information surprised Mr. Honeydew 
 considerably. 
 
 ' How very interesting !' 
 
 i Isn't it ? and to think he should condescend 
 to visit an every-day person like me.' 
 
 ' Most flattering ! The only wonder is, what 
 his object was in visiting you V
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 287 
 
 * Oh, it was dear Lena's doing. She told him 
 all about Flinders.' 
 
 'Flinders!' echoed Mr. Honeydew, with a 
 start. 
 
 ' Yes, she told him what a healthy place it 
 is for invalids ; and she also related about my 
 narrow escape and interested him about the 
 young man that everyone is trying to discover ; 
 that was all.' 
 
 ' 1 understand. And as he is such a kind, 
 good gentleman, I think, if I had been you, I 
 should have confided in him so as to secure his 
 friendship.' 
 
 c Oh, I did. I told him how beautifully and 
 profitably you managed my affairs for me and 
 got me ten per cent, for some of my money/ 
 
 Mr. Honeydew had another violent fit of 
 coughing, which prevented his making any 
 distinct rejoinder, though Mrs. Sparragus 
 thought she heard a sound like an imprecation, 
 which filled her with amazement. Mr. Honey- 
 dew, observing her gesture, hastened to relieve 
 her mind : 
 
 'This cough of mine tears me to pieces! I
 
 288 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 really lose my self-command when the fit seizes 
 me.' 
 
 1 Yes, it must be very trying, I've no doubt,' 
 replied Mrs. Sparragus, quite reassured. 
 
 Whereupon Mr. Honeydew rose, and, cor- 
 dially grasping the widow's hand, withdrew to 
 No. 3. 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Lipperty, from her obser- 
 vatory, saw that the rather protracted confer- 
 ence between her neighbours was concluded, 
 and that the field was again clear, she slid on 
 her black kid gloves and called to pay her visit 
 at No. 2. Shown into the drawing-room, 
 where she was intentionally left for several 
 minutes by Susan with the object of intimating 
 infer entially that her presence was not the 
 dearest wish of Mrs. Sparragus's heart, the 
 relict of the Rev. Ebenezer had ample time to 
 prepare a homily on .the vanity of mundane 
 things in general and the faithlessness of man 
 — or rather of one man in particular, namely, 
 Mr. Honeydew, though she was already dis- 
 posed to put Mr. Olive and Graham Aspen in 
 the same odious category. When Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus eventually joined her, she was absorbed
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 289 
 
 in the perusal of the Lamentations of Jeremiah, 
 a book she invariably carried in her pocket, and 
 produced when anything approaching levity or 
 undue exuberance of spirits was manifested in 
 her presence. 
 
 When Mrs. Sparragus greeted her, she 
 replied, 
 
 * I was just reflecting, my dear, that we are 
 all more or less Jobs and Jeremiahs. Is it not 
 so!' 
 
 ' We all have our trials,' replied Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus, with gravity. 
 
 ' I am glad you feel that, Lucinda, for what 
 else is life, after all? You, my poor dear 
 friend, have had more than your share of 
 sorrow !' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus did not seem quite to real- 
 ise the melancholy fact, so Mrs. Lipperty 
 explained : 
 
 ' I'm sure when I buried my Ebenezer I had 
 but one desire, which was to lie beside him. 
 What, then, must be your feelings when not one 
 but two — yes, two beloved ones are gathered 
 into the same resting-place !' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus sighed. 
 
 VOL. I. U 

 
 296 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 * But, if anything can assuage sorrow, it is 
 sympathy, eh?' 
 
 'Yes, yes, sympathy is very precious indeed !' 
 
 ' And I trust my poor sympathy has not been 
 altogether valueless, Lucinda?' 
 
 1 How could it be so V 
 
 ' If one thing pleases me more than another it 
 is the belief that others beside myself feel a joy 
 in ministering to you.' 
 
 This euphemistic speech was rather wasted on 
 Mrs. Sparragus, who did not for a moment 
 believe that she was a cause of joy to any- 
 body, especially to Mrs. Lipperty; she merely 
 sighed again. 
 
 « I allude to — to No. o.' 
 
 ' Ah, yes — Mr. Honeydew is very good to me.' 
 
 ' Latterly, in particular.' 
 
 ' Yes ; so kind of late, ever since my narrow 
 escape in the city.' 
 
 * That was indeed an unfortunate circum- 
 stance !' and Mrs. Lipperty was never more 
 sincere in her life than in making that rejoinder. 
 
 'But good sometimes comes even of these 
 accidents ; and if Mr. Honeydew should succeed 
 in finding that brave young man — he says he
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 291 
 
 has a clue already — things may turn out better 
 for it.' 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty smiled approval, while her 
 thoughts ran thus : 
 
 ' Idiot that he is to encourage her whim ! 
 But it won't do to allow him to be more zealous 
 than myself; I must trump his last card.' 
 
 4 That is exactly what I was hoping, for you 
 know, my dear Lucinda, that our trials here 
 below are blessings in disguise ; and, if Mr. 
 Honey dew has been busying himself in further- 
 ing your wishes, I have not been less active. 
 And, in fact, my object in coming to-day was to 
 administer some crumbs of comfort.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus quaked. The comfort to 
 which she was accustomed from the relict of the 
 Reverend Ebenezer usually took the shape of 
 admonitions and exhortations, and at the present 
 moment she felt she could hardly appreciate the 
 delicate service. 
 
 ' I came to tell you that i have discovered his 
 name and address.' 
 
 'Whose name?' demanded Mrs. Sparragus, 
 with a start ; ' not the young man's V 
 
 i Yes, dear Lucinda, the name and address and 
 
 u2
 
 292 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 ever so much more about the brave young 
 man.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus's first impulse was to fling her 
 arms round her friend's neck by way of express- 
 ing the delight to which she failed to give 
 utterance, but, in spite of the benign smile which 
 met her gaze, there appeared in her neighbour's 
 eyes a fierce and deterrent glare, which chilled 
 and dissipated the feeling and left her motion- 
 less as well as silent. 
 
 Mrs. Lipperty waited for a rejoinder and an 
 urgent entreaty for the information which she 
 had intimated she was in a position to impart, 
 but Mrs. Sparragus remained dazed and dumb. 
 
 ' Perhaps, Lucinda, you are hardly well enough 
 to hear the news to-day V ventured Mrs. Lipper- 
 ty, a good deal perplexed. 
 
 'It is so,' replied Mrs. Sparragus, without 
 raising her eyes from the ground, dreading 
 nothing so much as a prolonged discourse of 
 Mrs. Lipperty 's on any subject. 
 
 ' Then I will tell you another day, dear, when 
 I hope to find you more like yourself;' and Mrs. 
 Lipperty, not a little vexed at her failure to 
 trump Mr. Honey dew's last card, retreated
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 293 
 
 crest-fallen from the field and sought her own 
 home. 
 
 The day was unquestionably a remarkable 
 one in Mrs. Sparragus's calendar, for, in the 
 course of the afternoon, a brougham drew up, 
 and Alderman Clive advanced to the door. 
 
 Susan was quite prepared to be scandalised, 
 and asked her mistress whether ' that impident 
 man was to be admitted,' to which Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus sharply replied, 
 
 ' The gentleman is a friend of Lena, therefore 
 he is to be treated as a friend of mine, Susan. 
 Now you know.' 
 
 ' Oh, mem, if the gent's a friend of dear Miss 
 Lena's I'm sure he's welcome !' and Susan flew 
 to the door and opened it with a smile which 
 rather confused Mr. Clive, and made him feel 
 disposed to blush, and ushered him into the 
 drawing-room with a bob which was almost too 
 much for his magisterial gravity. 
 
 * My missus ain't engaged,' she said, confi- 
 dentially, with the accompaniment of a little 
 snigger. 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus received her visitor with 
 unaffected cordiality. Though comparatively
 
 294 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 a stranger, she felt she knew him, for Lena had 
 minutely described his character and related 
 some of his good deeds ; moreover, she had not 
 failed to notice that the object of his former 
 visit was not to serve himself. 
 
 ' When I last had the pleasure of seeing you, 
 madam,' he said, accepting a seat which Susan 
 placed for him beside her mistress, but which, 
 to Susan's surprise, he removed to a more con- 
 venient distance, 'you remember, I daresay, 
 that I made a promise/ 
 
 ' To seek for the young man who saved my 
 life.' 
 
 ' Precisely ; I now have the pleasure to tell 
 you that I have seen him, and I hope soon to 
 be able to bring him here to visit you, or to take 
 you to him.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus, notwithstanding the gratifi- 
 cation she felt, fairly laughed. 
 
 * Well, if it isn't like the newspapers which 
 bring out fresh news every half-hour !' a remark 
 which naturally puzzled Mr. Clive, who re- 
 quested to be enlightened. 
 
 ' Why, this morning my neighbour at No. 3 
 came in to tell me he thought he had found
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 295 
 
 a clue ; half-an-hour after my neighbour at 
 No. 1 called to inform me she had ascertained 
 his name and address ; and now you've not only 
 found him, but you're going to bring him here ! 
 Isn't that just like the newspapers with their 
 new editions V And Mr. Clive admitted the 
 parallel, whereupon they both laughed merrily, 
 which satisfied Susan, who was at her post at 
 the key-hole, that matters were progressing 
 as they should do, and she began to think that 
 they would not make by any means a bad couple 
 after all. 
 
 * With such zealous friends right and left of 
 you,' resumed Mr. Clive, after a few moments' 
 silence (which Susan accounted for by saying to 
 herself, ' he's a-squeeging of her hand now, you 
 may depend '), « I really feel that you don't need 
 my humble services.' 
 
 'Oh, I hope, sir, you do not think I value 
 your kindness less just because others are try- 
 ing to do the same thing,' pleaded Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus, anxiously. 
 
 'Not at all; I merely thought that, as the 
 gentleman next door manages everything for 
 you so successfully, you might prefer that he
 
 296 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 should have the pleasure of carrying out your 
 wishes in this matter.' 
 
 * Oh, in business, yes, he's wonderful, but this 
 is quite another thing.' 
 
 ' Quite ; and I daresay he prefers financing.' 
 
 ' He's never so much at home as when he is 
 up to his eyes in it, sir ; and, as if he hadn't 
 enough to think about, he offered this very 
 morning to save me the trouble of going to the 
 Bank to get my bits of dividends, by taking out 
 what he calls a power.' 
 
 1 1 understand.' 
 
 'And I needn't tell you I was always on 
 thorns with my bonds and deeds and things in 
 this house in a chest of drawers which might be 
 unlocked with a hair-pin/ 
 
 'And he has kindly relieved you of that 
 anxiety, too V 
 
 ' Oh, yes ; they're all in his fire-proof chest at 
 his office/ 
 
 ' Just so. Where is his office V 
 
 ' In — in — what's its name — Crooked Friars.' 
 
 ' Crutched Friars.' 
 
 < That's it. Crutched Friars— No. 50.' 
 
 Mr. Clive, with his inveterate habit, made a
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 297 
 
 note of the address in his pocket-book, re- 
 marking that it might be useful to know the 
 address of such a clever man of business, an 
 observation which gratified Mrs. Sparragus ex- 
 ceedingly. 
 
 4 We have been wandering away from the 
 object of my visit, madam,' resumed Mr. Clive, 
 with genial humour. ' I came to report about 
 your young hero, whose name is Graham Aspen.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus repeated the name over and 
 over again with quiet exultation. 
 
 'When will you bring him here, sir?' she 
 inquired, eagerly. 
 
 t J re g re t to say he is at present too ill to 
 come.' 
 
 <iiir 
 
 ' Yes, seriously ill.' 
 
 * Oh, let me go to him !' said Mrs. Sparragus, 
 appealing to her visitor imploringly. 
 
 * That cannot be at present. The doctor 
 enjoins quiet, and forbids all possible excite- 
 ment. As soon as he permits it, I will, with 
 your permission, drive you thither.' 
 
 This offer was gratefully accepted, and, as 
 Mr. Clive rose to take leave, Mrs. Sparragus
 
 298 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 opened her desk, and, slipping a bank-note into 
 an envelope, she said, 
 
 * You have been so very, very good, sir, may 
 I ask one more kindness V 
 
 ' I fear I must refuse the one service which I 
 imagine you wish to solicit,' replied Mr. Clive, 
 glancing at the envelope. 
 
 ' It would make me happy to give him this, 
 just to meet present need, without his knowing 
 who sent it.' 
 
 ' My dear lady, such an act would give 
 him pain. I am sure you do not wish to do 
 that.' 
 
 ' But he seemed so poor.' 
 
 ' He is an artist, and a gentleman ; and to 
 remind him of his poverty, or to suggest charity, 
 would be to humiliate him.' 
 
 ' Can I then do nothing V asked the widow, 
 with genuine distress, as tears rilled her eyes. 
 
 Mr. Clive reflected for some moments. He 
 sincerely desired to benefit Graham, and also 
 to gratify the generous impulse of Mrs. Spar- 
 ragus. The brief silence which ensued was 
 explained by Susan with entire satisfaction to 
 herself :
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 299 
 
 * I s'pose he's a-whispering something pretty ; 
 and how kindly my missus takes to it !' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus awaited her visitor's reply. 
 She felt confident that he would devise a solu- 
 tion of the difficulty ; and she was not dis- 
 appointed. 
 
 ' An artist lives by his art,' said Mr. Clive, in 
 response to her question, 'and, consequently, 
 commissions are neither unwelcome nor out of 
 place.' 
 
 6 But what could I commission him to do V 
 inquired Mrs. Sparragus, in astonishment. 
 
 ' Why not let him paint your portrait V 
 
 ' My portrait !' echoed the widow. * My por- 
 trait ! Why, I haven't a friend in the world 
 whom I would burden with it, and,' she added, 
 sadly, ' I haven't a friend who would care to 
 give it house-room.' 
 
 ' 1 can't believe that for a moment, clear 
 madam. However, perhaps you have a friend 
 whose portrait you would like to possess. Let 
 him paint that friend.' 
 
 Mrs. Sparragus mentally ran down her list of 
 acquaintances — it did not take long to do so — 
 and she found only one whom, on the ground of
 
 300 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 mutual attachment, she could pronounce a 
 friend. 
 
 ' There is only one whose face I would care 
 to have always before me, sir, and that one is 
 Lena.' 
 
 The suggestion was gratifying to Mr. Clive, 
 and at first it seemed peculiarly felicitous ; but 
 on consideration it seemed not quite devoid of 
 objections : would it be wise, would it be kind 
 to either Lena or Graham to bring them into 
 the familiar position of painter and sitter? He 
 remembered that Lena took a more than ordi- 
 nary interest in the young artist, though she 
 had scarcely seen him and had never exchanged 
 a word with him. He had observed how ani- 
 mated, but at the same time silent, she always 
 was whenever his name was mentioned, and 
 how her colour would come and go as his 
 courage and patience and sufferings were de- 
 scanted upon. It was quite evident she admired 
 his character and pitied his trials, and these 
 sentiments lay dangerously near a deeper and 
 warmer feeling. Ought that warmer feeling to 
 be conjured up? Socially there could be no 
 possible objection ; and, if reciprocity could be
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 301 
 
 relied od, the result would be happiness. But 
 would it be right to submit Lena to the chance 
 of disillusion, disappointment, and anguish % 
 
 Aspen, with all his fine qualities, was too 
 much of an anchorite ; he was phlegmatic, and 
 apparently unemotional. If Lena sat to him, 
 he would, no doubt, do his task ably, but it 
 might be to him purely a technical study. Her 
 face might be to him an object to be rendered 
 pictorially, and there an end. He might neither 
 look for nor see nor suspect the existence of a 
 heart vital with tenderness and a mind rich in 
 feminine graces, ready for companionship, and, 
 if so, how terrible would be the ordeal to Lena ! 
 Then, on the other hand, supposing that Aspen 
 should not be unimpressionable ; supposing that 
 the grateful current of sympathy pass from one 
 to the other, and the artist awaken to the dis- 
 covery that Lena's presence is to him more than 
 that of any other living creature, would his 
 diffidence or pride, or whatever the sentiment 
 in which he was encased, dissolve beneath the 
 witchery, and would he study her heart as well 
 as her features ? 
 
 Weighing anxiously all the eventualities, Mr.
 
 302 GRAHAM ASPEN, PAINTER. 
 
 Clive decided that the possible issue was worth 
 the risk, and he replied, 
 
 'I consider, madam, your idea felicitous, and 
 in every way unobjectionable ; when Mr. Aspen 
 is sufficiently restored to health, I will acquaint 
 him with your wish to commission a portrait 
 which I have very little doubt he will gladly 
 undertake.' 
 
 ' Stay,' interposed Mrs. Sparragus, ' I would 
 •rather he were not told that the order conies 
 from me.' 
 
 ' Very well, madam, he shall not know. And 
 I think, on the whole, that it is not necessary 
 to tell him.' 
 
 And Mr. Clive withdrew, leaving Mrs. Sparra- 
 gus radiant with generous pleasure, he himself 
 being hardly less contented ; nor was the satis- 
 faction visible on their faces lost upon Susan, 
 who reflected it with compound interest on her 
 own as she opened the door for the departing 
 visitor, saying to herself, 
 
 ' It's all settled, and no time lost. Well, he's 
 a nicer-looking gent than I thought him, and 
 they won't make at all a bad couple. Lawks !
 
 DANGER AHEAD. 303 
 
 how easy it seems to make up your mind ! I 
 don't believe I could do it in such an 'urry V 
 But on further reflection she thought she should 
 like to try. 
 
 Mr. dive's meditations ran in quite another 
 channel. 
 
 'Poor confiding old soul! that man of busi- 
 ness of hers will rob her of her last dime. She 
 had a wonderful escape in Cheapside, but what 
 is to be done to save her from another danger 
 of which she little dreams V 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 London ; Printed by Duncan Macdonald, Blenheim House.
 
 H