SELE( 
 
 The best, d 
 in ' 
 
 Containing 
 
 Of the mai 
 which better c 
 public than th 
 Fiction.” In a 
 they present tc 
 excellent type 
 the cheaper re] 
 sorely try the < 
 carriages. — T'h 
 
 W 
 
 VOL. 
 
 1 Agatha’s 1 
 
 Auth 
 
 2 Head of the Family 
 
 Author of “ John Halifax '' 
 
 5 The Ogilvies 
 
 Author John Halifax''* 
 
 7 Olive : a Novel 
 
 Author of John Halifax'' 
 
 10 Mary Barton Mrs. Gaskell. 
 
 11 The Half Sisters 
 
 Geraldine Jewsbury. 
 15 Ruth: a Novel Mrs. Gaskell. 
 
 17 Jack Hinton, the Guardsman 
 
 Charles Leaver. 
 
 18 Charles O’Malley, 750 pp., 3s. 
 
 Charles Lever. 
 
 20 The Daltons, 708 pp., 3s. 
 
 Charles Lever, 
 
 22 Harry Lorrequer’s Confessions 
 
 Charles Lever. 
 
 23 Knight of Gwynne, 630 pp., 3s. 
 Charles Lever, 
 
 'ION. 1; 
 
 L I B R. A ILY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N I VERS ITY 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 8Z5 
 
 L4a9br 
 
 1870 
 
 /ell printed 
 
 1 . 
 
 the day, 
 
 here is none 
 hands of the 
 :t Library of 
 , themselves, 
 in clear and 
 ’rom some of 
 ,nd which so 
 d in railway 
 
 > 672 pp., 3 ^* 
 
 larles Lever. 
 
 27 The O'Donoghue Charles Lever, 
 
 28 Tom Burke, 704 pp., 3s. 
 
 Charles Lever. 
 
 30 Davenport Dunn, 772 pp., 38. 
 
 Charles Lever. 
 
 32 Fortunes of Glencore 
 
 Charles Lever. 
 
 33 Roland Cashel, 618 pp., 3s. 
 
 Charles Lever. 
 35 One of Them Charles Lever, 
 
 37 Katherine and Sisters 
 
 Lady Emily Ponsonhy. 
 
 42 Martins of Cro’ Martin, 704 pp., 
 3 s. Charles Lever. 
 
 48 Sir Jasper Carew Charles Lever. 
 
 52 Young Heiress Mrs. Trollope. 
 
 53 A Day’s Ride ; or, a Life’s 
 
 Romance Charles Lever. 
 
 54 Maurice Tiernay Charles Lever. 
 
 
V** 1^ It r^ % 7 ** i ir^ % ^ ' V'^ 
 
 
 THE SELECT LIBRARY OF FICTION. 
 
 .* 
 
 
 5 8 Mafter of the Hounds“-Sf rw/d-for.’* 
 
 60 Cardinal Pole : an Historical 
 
 Novel H, Aim^orth, 
 
 6 1 Jealous Wife Miss Pardoe. 
 
 (i’j Charlie Thornhill Charles Clarke* 
 75 Barrington Charles Lever. 
 
 77 Woman’s Ransom 
 
 F, W. Rohlnson. 
 
 78 Deep Waters Anna H Drury, 
 
 79 Misrepresentation 
 
 Anna H. Drury, 
 
 80 Tilbury Nogo Whyte Melville, 
 
 82 He Would Be a Gentleman 
 
 Samuel Lover, 
 
 83 Mr. Stewart’s Intentions 
 
 F, W, Robinson, 
 
 84 Mattie : a Stray 
 
 Author of^^Ozven: a Waif," 
 
 85 Doctor Thorne Anthony Trollope, 
 
 86 The Macdcrmots of Bally cloran 
 
 Anthony Trollope, 
 
 87 Lindisfarn Chase T, A. Trollope, 
 
 88 Rachel Ray Anthony Trollope, 
 
 89 Luttrell of Arran Charles Lever, 
 
 91 Wildflower F. W. Robinson, 
 
 92 Irish Stories and Legends 
 
 Samuel Lover, 
 
 93 The Kellys and the O’Kellys 
 
 Anthony Trollope, 
 
 94 Married Beneath Him 
 
 Author of Found Dead." 
 
 95 Tales of all Countries 
 
 Anthon"^ Trollope, 
 
 96 Castle Richmond 
 
 Anthony Trollope, 
 
 99 Jack Brag Theodore Hook. 
 
 - 1: \ 
 
 VOL. 
 
 100 The Bertrams 
 
 Anthony Trollope, 
 
 101 Faces for Fortunes 
 
 Augustus Mayhew, 
 
 104 Under the Spell 
 
 F, W, Robinson, 
 
 105 Market Harborough 
 
 Whyte Melville, 
 
 106 Slaves of the Ring 
 
 F, W, Robinson, 
 
 111 One and Twenty 
 
 F, W. Robinson, 
 
 112 Douglas’s Vow 
 
 Mrs, Edmund Jennings, 
 
 113 Woodleigh 
 
 F, W. Robinson, 
 
 1 14 Theo Leigh Annie Thomas, 
 
 1 16 Orley Farm, 589 pp., 3s. 
 
 Anthony Trollope, 
 
 1 17 Flying Scud Charles Clarke, 
 
 1 1 8 Denis Donne Annie Thomas, 
 
 1 19 Forlorn Hope Edmund Tates, 
 
 120 Can you Forgive Her? 583 pp., 
 
 3 s. Anthony Trollope. 
 
 122 Miss Mackenzie 
 
 Anthony Trollope. 
 
 123 Carry’s Confession 
 
 By Author of Matties a Stray," 
 
 125 Belton Estate Anthony Trollope. 
 
 127 Dumbleton Common 
 
 Hon, Eleanor Edm. 
 
 128 Crumbs from a Sportsman's 
 
 Table Charles Clarke. 
 
 129 Bella Donna Percy Fitzgerald. 
 
 13 1 Christie’s Faith 
 
 By Author of Mattie : a Stray." 
 
 132 Polly ; a Village Portrait 
 
 By a Popular Writer, 
 
 134 Called to Account 
 
 Annie Thomas. 
 
 
 
 

 
 I 
 
 
 SELECT LIBRARY OF FICTION. 
 
 PRICE rivo SHILLINGS PER FOLUME. 
 
 The best, cheapest, and most POPULAR NOVELS published, well printed 
 in clear, readable type, on good paper, and strongly bound. 
 
 Containing the writings of the most popular Authors of the day. 
 
 Of the many cheap editions and reprints of works of fiction, there is none 
 which better deserve the extensive support which they receive at the hands of the 
 public than the series in course of issue under the title of ‘‘The Select Library of 
 Fiction.” In addition to the literary merits which the works possess in themselves, 
 they present to the reader the important advantage of being printed in clear and 
 excellent type on good paper, diftering in this respect very materially from some of 
 the cheaper reprints, which fall to pieces in the process of reading, and which so 
 sorely try the eyesight, especially of those who are accustomed to read in railway 
 carriages. — 'The Observer. 
 
 When orderings the Numbers only need be gi^en. 
 
 1 Agatha’s Husband 
 
 Author of “ fohn Halifax."*' 
 
 2 Head of the Family 
 
 Author of “ John Halifax'"* 
 
 5 The Ogilvies 
 
 Author of^^ John Halifax," 
 
 7 Olive : a Novel 
 
 Author of ^^fohn Halifax,'* 
 
 10 Mary Barton Mrs. Gaskell, 
 
 11 The Half Sisters 
 
 Geraldine Jewshury. 
 
 1 5 Ruth : a Novel Mrs. Gaskell. 
 
 17 Jack Hinton, the Guardsman 
 
 Charles Leaver. 
 
 18 Charles O’Malley, 750 pp., 3s. 
 
 Charles Leaver. 
 
 20 The Daltons, 708 pp., 3s. 
 
 Charles Leaver, 
 
 22 Harry Lorrequer’s Confessions 
 
 Charles Leaver. 
 
 23 Knight of Gwynne, 630 pp., 3s. 
 
 Charles Lever, 
 
 25 Dodd FamilyAbroad, 672 pp., 3f. 
 
 Charles Lever, 
 
 27 The O'Donoghue Charles Lever, 
 
 28 Tom Burke, 704 pp., 3s. 
 
 Charles Lever, 
 
 30 Davenport Dunn, 772 pp., 38. 
 
 Charles Lever. 
 
 32 Fortunes of Glencore 
 
 Charles Lever. 
 
 33 Roland Cashel, 618 pp., 3s. 
 
 Charles Lever. 
 35 One of Them Charles Lever, 
 
 37 Katherine and Sisters 
 
 Lady Emily Ponsonhy. 
 
 42 Martins of Cro’ Martin, 704 pp., 
 3 s. Charles Lever, 
 
 48 Sir Jasper Carew Charles Lever. 
 
 52 Young Heiress Mrs. Trollope. 
 
 53 A Day’s Ride j or, a Life’s 
 
 Romance Charles Lever. 
 
 54 Maurice Tiernay Charles Lever. 
 
 

 THE SELECT LIBRARY OF FICTION. 
 
 < ' 
 
 f 
 
 VOl. 
 
 5 8 Mafter of the Hounds^^rr/z/tf /or.’* 
 
 60 Cardinal Pole : an Historical 
 
 Novel W» H, Am^orth, 
 
 6 1 Jealous Wife Mm Par doe, 
 
 67 Charlie Thornhill Charles Clarke, 
 75 Barrington Charles Lever. 
 
 77 Woman’s Ransom 
 
 F. TV. Robinson. 
 
 78 Deep Waters Anna H Drury, 
 
 79 Misrepresentation 
 
 Anna H. Drury, 
 
 80 Tilbury Nogo TVhyte Melville, 
 
 82 He Would Be a Gentleman 
 
 Samuel Lover, 
 
 83 Mr. Stewart’s Intentions 
 
 F, TV, Robinson, 
 
 84 Mattie : a Stray 
 
 Author of ^^Ozven : a TVaif,'' 
 
 8 5 Doctor Thorne Anthony Trollope, 
 
 86 The Macdcrmots of Bally cloran 
 
 Anthony frollope, 
 
 87 Lindisfarn Chase T. A. Trollope, 
 
 88 Rachel Ray Anthony Trollope, 
 
 89 Luttrell of Arran Charles Lever, 
 
 91 Wildflower F. TV. Robinson. 
 
 92 Irish Stories and Legends 
 
 Samuel Lover, 
 
 93 The Kellys and the O’Kellys 
 
 Anthony Trollope. 
 
 94 Married Beneath Him 
 
 Author of “ Found Dead.'''* 
 
 95 Tales of all Countries 
 
 Anthony Trollope, 
 
 96 Castle Richmond 
 
 Anthony Trollope, 
 
 99 Jack Brag Theodore Hook. 
 
 VOL. 
 
 100 The Bertrams 
 
 Anthony Trollope, 
 
 101 Faces for Fortunes 
 
 Augustus Mayhew, 
 
 104 Under the Spell 
 
 F. TV, Robinson, 
 
 105 Market Harborough 
 
 TVhyte Melville, 
 
 106 Slaves of the Ring 
 
 F. TV, Robinson, 
 
 111 One and Twenty 
 
 F. TV. Robinson, 
 
 1 12 Douglas’s Vow 
 
 Mrs, Edmund Jennings, 
 
 113 Woodleigh 
 
 F. TV. Robinson. 
 
 1 14 Theo Leigh Annie Thomas. 
 
 1 16 Orley Farm, 589 pp., 3s. 
 
 Anthony Trollope, 
 
 1 17 Flying Scud Charles Clarke. 
 
 1 1 8 Denis Donne Annie Thomas. 
 
 1 19 Forlorn Hope Edmund Tates. 
 
 120 Can you Forgive Her? 583 pp., 
 
 3 s, Anthony Trollope. 
 
 122 Miss Mackenzie 
 
 Anthony Trollope. 
 
 123 Carry’s Confession 
 
 By Author of Matties a Stray'* 
 
 125 Belton Estate Anthony Trollope. 
 
 127 Dumblcton Common 
 
 Hon. Eleanor Edm. 
 
 128 Crumbs from a Sportsman's 
 
 Table Charles Clarke. 
 
 129 Bella Donna Percy F'it%gerald. 
 
 13 1 Christie’s Faith 
 
 By Author of Mattie : a Stray." 
 
 132 Polly ; a Village Portrait 
 
 By a Popular TVr’iter, 
 
 134 Called to Account 
 
 Annie Thomas. 
 
 t 
 
 % 
 
 

 
 THE SELECT LIBRARY OF FICTION. 
 
 VOL. 
 
 135 A Golden Heart 
 
 Torn Hood. 
 
 138 Clyffards of ClyfFe 
 
 Author of “ Married Beneath Him,'* 
 
 139 Which is the Winner 
 
 Charles Clarke, 
 
 140 Archie Lovell Mrs, Edwardes, 
 
 141 Lizzie Lorton E. Lynn Linton, 
 
 142 Milly’s Hero F, W. Robinson, 
 
 143 Leo Dutton Cook, 
 
 144 Uncle Silas y, S, Lefanu, 
 
 158 A Fatal Error J, Masterman, 
 
 159 Secret Dispatch James Grants 
 
 Author oj Romance of kPar,** 
 
 160 Guy Deverell 
 
 Author of “ Gncle Silas.*' 
 
 1 6 1 Carr of Carrlyon 7 /^/«/ 7 ^o« Aide', 
 
 162 All In the Dark J. S, Lefanu, 
 
 163 Sense and Sensibility 
 
 Jane Austen, 
 
 164 Emma Jane Austen. 
 
 165 Mansfield Park Jane Austen, 
 
 3 
 
 145 Bar Sinister Charles A, Collins, 
 
 146 Rose Douglas 
 
 By a Popular Writer, 
 
 147 Cousin Stella 5 or, Conflict 
 
 Mrs. C. Jenkin, 
 
 148 Highland Lassies 
 
 Erick Mackenzie, 
 
 149 Young Singleton 
 
 ’Talbot Gwynne, 
 
 150 The Eve of St. Mark 
 
 Thomas Doubleday. 
 
 151 The Family Scapegrace 
 
 James Payn. 
 
 152 Mirk Abbey 
 
 Author of “ Married Beneath Him.** 
 
 153 Fair Carew: or, Husbands and 
 
 Wives 
 
 154 Riverston 
 
 Georgiana M. Craik. 
 
 155 Sabina Lady Wood. 
 
 156 Pique 
 
 Author of Agatha Beaufort,** 
 
 157 Lord Falconberg’s Heir 
 
 Charles Clarke, 
 
 166 Northanger Abbeyy^«^ 
 
 167 Pride and Prejudice 
 
 Jane Austen, 
 
 168 Beauclercs, or Father and Son 
 
 Charles Clarke, 
 
 169 House by the Churchyard 
 
 J. S, Lefanu, 
 
 170 Owen: a Waif 
 
 Author of “ Mattie : a Stray?* 
 
 17 1 Two Marriages 
 
 Author of ^^John Halifax,** 
 
 172 Found Dead 
 
 Author of Married Beneath Him,** 
 
 173 O. V. H. j or. How Mr. Blake 
 
 became an M. F. H. 
 
 Wat. Bradivood, 
 
 174 Foster Brothers James Payn. 
 
 175 Robert-Houdin, Conjuror, &c. 
 
 By Himself, 
 
 176 Only George 
 
 Author of Not Too Late,** 
 
 177 Tenants of Malory 
 
 J, S. Lefanu. 
 
 178 Wylder’s Hand J, S, Lefanu. 
 
 OTHER VOLUMES IN PREPARATION, 
 
 London: CHAPMAN & HALL, 193, Piccadilly. 
 
'/'Z<rLoc/t/77 
 
 BEEAKING A BUTTERFLY; 
 
 OR 
 
 BLANCHE ELLEKSLIE’S ENDING. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 in 2017 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates 
 
 https://archive.org/details/breakingbutterflOOIawr 
 
BREAKING A BUTTERFLY 
 
 ^lantlje (^IbrslM’s 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 ‘GUY LIVINGSTONE,’ ‘SWORD AND GOWN,’ 
 ‘ BARREN HONOUR,’ &c. 
 
 Beto (Bbitiuir* 
 
 LONDO]^: 
 
 TINSLEY BIIOTHERS, 18, CATHEEINE ST., STRAND. 
 1870. 
 
 "^All Eights reserved.'] 
 
JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS. 
 
70ct^l^ 
 
 L^2‘}4^ 
 
 Up 
 
 BEEAKfflG A BUTTERFLY; 
 
 BLANCHE ELLEESLIHS ENDING. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 All is ya:mty. 
 
 Those three words come often home to many who never 
 ^villingly listen to sermon ever so short, or sit under preacher 
 4^ver so winning — ay, and to many of creeds, nations, and lan- 
 ^guages other than ours, who have not so much as heard of the 
 name of Ecclesiastes. The world’s kaleidoscope may shift as 
 ;^it will, with myriad changes of form and colour ; hut the 
 : centre-point of the prisms bides steadfast and unaltered, round 
 ^ which is inscribed the trite old dreary text. Frequent amongst 
 the illustrations of its truth are those trifling disillusions — 
 scarcely amounting to disappointments — that affect us when we 
 confess that the reality falls somewhat short of the ideal ; that 
 2 the substance is something coarser in outline, or meaner in 
 proportion, than the foreshadowing. 
 
 Said a friend to me the other day : 
 
 - - ‘I have tramped and sailed over three parts of the globe 
 now ; and I never saw but one thing, alive or dead, that 
 ^ thoroughly answered its Avarranty — and that Avas a Cyclone. 
 ^ You must remember that, being an indifferent sailor at all 
 times, I was just then in a state of mortal fear.’ 
 
 Noav, the man Avho thus expressed himself AA^as of a temper 
 
 B 
 
 I 153451 
 
2 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 neither somhre nor sanguine ; not given to philosophy — cynical 
 or otherwise ; hut one who went his way about the world in a 
 quiet Odyssean fashion ; taking the rough and the smooth as 
 they came, and keeping, so far as I know, his heart whole and 
 his digestion unimpaired. 
 
 Most of us — putting cases of exceptional luck aside — have 
 thought, or will think, nearly the same. The mountain is 
 lofty, yet not quite so stupendous— the river is romantic, yet 
 winds not quite so picturesquely — the face is fair, yet not 
 quite so lovely — as had been set forth by fancy or word-paint- 
 ing. In the after-time we may come to dwell in the shadow 
 of that same mountain, and wax so jealous of its honour that 
 we shall scarce allow there is its peer - amongst the everlasting 
 hills ; we may float on that same river till we knoAV and love 
 every rippling eddy and quiet pool, and swear that there flows 
 seawards no pleasanter stream ; we may look on that same 
 face till we are ready to maintain against all comers its sove- 
 reignty in beauty. But, — if we go back honestly to our first 
 impression of any wonder of nature or art that we have ap- 
 proached with expectation on the strain, we shall remember a 
 faint reaction, like the slackening of a damped chord. 
 
 In the commonplace amusements and pleasures of life the 
 apothegm holds specially good. Indeed, when some five hum 
 dred people, of different ages or sexes, attend any entertainment 
 whatever that has been announced with a certain flourish of 
 trumpets, the odds against some few of the number coming 
 away disappointed are such as would puzzle Mr Babbage, or 
 the subtlest in the Bing, to compute. 
 
 On these premises it would seem a fact not less worthy of 
 record than many set down in the Annual Register, that the 
 first ball given at I^ithsdale House, after the bride was brought 
 home, was pronounced a thorough success by each and every 
 one who assisted thereat, from the royal Personage who, with 
 infinite grace and agility, opened the first quadrille, down to 
 the linkman without who, with a hoarse and unctuous blessing, 
 sped the last of the parting guests. 
 
 The host himself would scarcely have claimed a share in 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 the social triumph. Hugh, tenth Earl of Mthsdale, was a 
 grave gentle person, now somewhat past middle age. He did 
 not shine in ordinary conversation — though he could speak 
 sensibly enough at need from his place in the House — and was 
 too shy to be a general favourite. ^Nevertheless, few were 
 better loVed or esteemed by such as knew him thoroughly. In 
 his nature there Avas not an atom of arrogance or self-assertion ; 
 but he Avas thoroughly imbued Avith the pride of caste, being 
 more careful of the obligations than of the privileges of his 
 order. Erom his youth upAA^ards he had striven, in his OAvn 
 quiet fashion, to the uttermost of his poAver and light, to dis- 
 charge his duty both to God and to his neighbour ; and kept 
 the Fifth not less religiously than the other commandments. 
 So Avhen his mother — AvidoAV of the ninth Earl — found a help- 
 meet for her son soon after he came of age, Nithsdale shoAved 
 no signs of rebellion or reluctance ; though the damsel AA^as 
 something hard of feature and meagre of frame, and, to say the 
 least of it, acidulated in temper. But then she AA^as of stain- 
 less descent, and had wealth enough to parcel-gild richly a 
 faded coronet. 
 
 For many years that couple plodded on together, peacefully 
 if not happily. Indeed, after they had once settled doAvn into 
 their places there Avas little chance of domestic jars: fretfulness 
 Avas simply AA^asted on jSTithsdale’s placid temperament ; and 
 for domestic jealousy neither gave cause. The Earl never — so 
 far as the nearest of his intimates kneAv — suffered his fancy to 
 AA^ander beyond bounds; and the Countess carried doAvn to her 
 grave a virtue absolutely unsullied. 
 
 . There Avas born of this marriage only one sickly boy, Avho 
 died in infancy. The lack of an heir perhaps troubled Hiths- 
 dale more than he cared to confess, even to himself : to such 
 as are free from all taint of avarice, it is weary work laying up 
 riches without knoAving Avho shall gather them. ^Nevertheless, 
 he slackened not a Avhit in the skill and care that he had dis- 
 played since he came of age in administering a vast encumbered 
 patrimony ; mortgage after mortgage Avas cleared off, acre after 
 acre drained, farmstead after farmstead repaired, till the great 
 
4 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 Xitlisdale estates not only were set free of burden, but in such 
 order as to become an agricultural ensample far and near. 
 
 When he was left a widov/er, Hugh of Hithsdale felt his 
 bereavement heavily. He had never himself cared for coun- 
 try sports, though he took care to provide them plentifully for 
 his guests : his own relaxations Avere chiefly sedentary, of 
 mildly scientific kind ; so that most of his time was spent 
 within doors. Haturally, tlie absence even of that hard-fea- 
 tured face and spare angular figure made a dreary blank, both 
 at fireside and board-head ; and just as naturally, after a decent 
 interval, the Earl began to reflect how that blank should be 
 filled. 
 
 Perhaps he had never absolutely regretted the first alliance ; 
 yet he may have considered that in contracting it he had dis- 
 charged all his duty to his house ; and he determined, in 
 vdving again, to please only his own fancy. Moreover, there 
 Avas no privy-councillor, to insist on state-policy and the like, 
 since his lady-mother Avent to her rest. 
 
 The union of January and May is so common noAV-a-days 
 that no one thinks of inditing epithalamia thereon, satiric or 
 other Avise. E’evertheless there AA^as a certain stir of Avonder- 
 ment in the great Avorld Avhen it became noised abroad that 
 Lady Pose Marston Avas to be the second Countess of Mthsdale. 
 In truth there Avere disparities betwixt the affianced pair seem- 
 ingly more serious than that of age, though the bride Avas 
 barely in her tAventieth year. 
 
 She came of rather a Avild stock, and her bringing-up liad 
 been none of the staidest. Her mother. Countess Daventry, 
 once a famous beauty, had not ceased to be dangerous and en- 
 terprising ; and her father, though too lazy to be vicious, had 
 never cared himself to practise any virtue, domestic or other- 
 Avise, and devoted all the energ}^ he could muster to the mis- 
 management of his racing stable, taking no thought as to the 
 training of his olive-branches. Erom him the Lady Pose in- 
 herited the long sleepy broAvn eyes that never greAv eager or 
 troubled Avhen a race on Avhich a year’s income hung Avas being 
 Avon or lost by the shortest of heads ; and the soft rich auburn 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 5 
 
 hair, the envy of Lord Daventry’s bald or grizzled compeers. 
 There was much beauty in lier face, but of the stillest, quiet- 
 est kind ; and it might have been inanimate but for the per- 
 fect little mouth, which, smiling often, smiled never unmean- 
 ingly. She was not jDarticularly clever, nor a whit ambitious ; 
 and hereditary indolence would have prompted her to glide 
 listlessly down the social stream, accepting such flowers as float- 
 ed into her hands, yet not straining after such as grew out of 
 her reach. But, early in her first season, a large mixed jury 
 of natives and foreigners pronounced Lady Bose Marston one 
 of the best vctheuses in Europe. 
 
 In these days, most demoiselles endowed with lithe light 
 figures, and a fair ear for music, dance — as our forefathers would 
 have said — more or less ‘ divinely ; ’ so, that one should be singled 
 out and set above her sisters, involves some marked peculiarity. 
 And Bose Marston’s waltzing ivas very j^eculiar. However rapid 
 the whirl, she never lost the languid grace that distinguished 
 her in repose ; but, all the while, a practised eye, to say 
 nothing of a practised arm, could detect, in all her movements, 
 a latent energy and suppressed power. Men found they could 
 go on longer with Lady Bose without feeling the exertion than 
 with any other ; as for tiring her — a month after she was pre- 
 sented, there was no question of such a thing. 
 
 ‘ She’s always going so thoroughly within herself,’ Begy 
 Avenel remarked ; ‘that’s about the secret of it.’ 
 
 His opinion in these matters was worth having ; for he 
 was the crack cotillon-leader of that year. 
 
 Every man or woman Avho has a reputation to keep up, 
 however flimsy or trivial, has a certain object and interest in 
 life ; and, after all, there seems no reason why there should 
 not be choregraphic as well as athletic champions. The girl 
 became imbued with a kind of artistic enthusiasm ; and 
 looked forward to her balls, as a successful actress looks for- 
 ward to her scenic triumphs. She was too lazy, perhaps too 
 frank, ever thoroughly to flirt; yet she would do much in an 
 innocent way to win or retain an eligible partner ; and was 
 not niggardly of looks, words, or smiles, in rewarding her 
 
6 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 special favourites. These were found naturally enough in 
 fast, though not a very vicious, set. They were too young for 
 the most part to be thoroughly depraved : amongst Lady 
 Eose’s attaches, there was scarce one whose beard was fairly 
 grown. 
 
 hlevertheless, certain matrons, and maids whose snoods had 
 lost their gloss, looked askance as she passed by, whisjiering 
 bitter words ; even as Eebecca, on the day after she cheated 
 her firstborn of his birthright, may have wagged her head, 
 and scowled from under her brows, at some laughing daughter 
 of Heth. 
 
 Whatever may liave been her temptations, the Lady Eose 
 must have kept herself heart-whole, if not quite fancy-free. 
 When she first heard of Lord Mthsdale as a suitor, she showed 
 no signs of repugnance or terror, but said placidly to her 
 mother, that she liked him as well as she liked any one else *. 
 and she was sure he would be kind to her. Speaking on the 
 subject to the most intimate of her male and female friends, 
 she consistently declined to be looked on as a martyr. It was 
 true that she had known the Earl from childhood upwards ; 
 for one of his divers estates, on which he had of late resided 
 frequently, marched v/ith her father’s property at Daventry 
 Court. 
 
 Perhaps amongst their mutual acquaintance, more pity was 
 felt for the bridegroom than for the bride ; though none of 
 these amicable impertinences were expressed aloud. Despite 
 his homely bearing and quiet manner, none, gentle or simple, 
 dreamed of taking liberties with Hugh of Mthsdale ; and pity, 
 real or feigned, was utterly uncalled for. 
 
 The Earl had no mind to cage or clip the wings of 
 the beautiful bird that had perched so willingly on his 
 shoulder, and knew right well he could trust her not to range 
 too far. Though there was no verbal compact. Lady Eose un- 
 derstood that she was free to follow her own inclinations in any 
 reasonable way ; that she was still free to indulge her own 
 tastes, to plan and carry out her own amusements, and to 
 gather her own friends round her, when and where she would. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 7 
 
 It was a very blithe bridal ; and when the honeymoon had 
 waned, the bride did not scruple to confess, to whomsoever it 
 might concern, that she was perfectly — I believe her own 
 words were ^ awfully ’ — ^happy. 
 
 In the shape of this same ball, her first matronly anxiety 
 came upon her. The ordinary cares of preparation troubled 
 her not a whit ; she left all such things in perfect confidence 
 to her housekeeper and house-steward, and to the tradesmen, 
 whom she had learned to look upon as trusty Slaves of the 
 Eing. neither was she nervous ; though she would have to 
 play hostess for the first time before a critical audience, and in 
 presence of royalty. She had other causes of disquietude ; 
 and these were solemnly discussed one day at luncheon by a 
 council of three, whereat assisted her mother and Eeginald 
 Avenel of choragic fame. The chiefest trouble, as may be 
 imagined, was the revision of the invitation-cards. 
 
 The Countess had set her delicate foot down on one point 
 — that, come what would, her first ball should not be over- 
 crowded — a just and pleasant resolve, but not so easily carried 
 out in the face of a visiting-list of portentous dimensions, 
 when people congregated from the uttermost parts of the earth 
 for the express purpose of showing themselves — if they had 
 the chance — on that especial night at ^Nithsdale House. The 
 worst of it was, that friends, who had made their own election 
 sure, declined to be content therewith, and persisted in plead- 
 ing for others who seemed likely to be left in the outer dark- 
 ness. Lady Hithsdale was at her wits’ end. She had calcu- 
 lated, by the help of some cunning in such matters, how many 
 her rooms would hold comfortably ; and she was on the very 
 verge of such a limit now. Yet still the letters came pouring 
 in, and her carriage could not halt for five minutes in the 
 Mile, without being beset by petitioners. She was too good- 
 natured to like vexing anybody, and too wise in her simple 
 way to make needless enemies thus early in her career. Even 
 whilst she sat at luncheon two notes were brought in, of which 
 she guessed the import so soon as she glanced at the mono- 
 
 grams. 
 
8 
 
 BREAKING A liUTTERFJ.Y ; OR 
 
 ^ One can’t even eat a poor little plover’s egg in peace,’ the 
 Countess said, pouting. ‘ I declare it’s a thousand times worse 
 than Christmas bills ! ’ And she tore open one of the en- 
 velopes quite viciously. 
 
 Avenel looked at lier with a half-smile — a little sad and a 
 little envious. He had been trying for some time now to make 
 a younger son’s fortune square with expensive tastes, and had 
 come to the conclusion that there are not many things worse 
 than Cliristmas bills, when the patience of creditors waxes 
 threadbare. 
 
 The first note contained only one of the ordinary petitions ; 
 and the Countess threw it carelessly across to her mother, after 
 a glance at its contents, saying, 
 
 ‘Lady Blakeston wants to bring that plain prim niece. 
 Quite impossible, isn’t it, mamma? — What can M. de Fontey- 
 rac want?’ she went on, as she opened the other envelope. 
 ‘ All the embassy, except those two who don’t dance, have got 
 cards already.’ 
 
 But the second note seemed to touch the Countess more 
 narrowly ; and, as she passed it to Avenel, she clasped her 
 hands in comic despair. 
 
 Yet there was nothing very alarming on the face of the 
 document, couched in the courtliest of diplomatic styles. 
 Therein M. de Fonteyrac, referring himself to the angelic 
 goodness of Madame la Comtesse, j^rayed permission to bring 
 with him to her ball his especial friend Gaspard de SautereL 
 
 How Lady Hithsdale, as you know, was, in a certain way, 
 imbued with an artistic spirit ; and all real artists are more 
 nervous in exhibiting before a single maestro than before five 
 hundred cognoscenti. Gaspard, Marquis de Sauterel, was an 
 European celebrity. Filling a high post at the Imperial 
 Court, he held another office, quite as well recognized and 
 defined, though betokened by no outward insignia. For the 
 last four seasons he had reigned without a rival over Parisian 
 cotillons. The haughtiest of the female noblesse altered the 
 date of their entertainments to insure his presence ; and the 
 lightest feet in France were too proud to follow in his wake. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 9 
 
 ‘ 0 Eegy, what is to be done ? ’ the Countess asked half 
 pettishly. ‘ Something is sure to go wrong ; and then, can’t 
 you fancy his going hack to Paris, and talking compassionately 
 about insular ambition 1 ’ 
 
 Before he answered, Avenel finished slowly a goblet of 
 weak claret-cup. He was very temperate, both in food and 
 drink — training, so to speak, for his work — and from mere 
 condition would have run into a place in any ordinary two- 
 mile handicap. Then he read the note through carefully, lift- 
 ing his brows : he was not a handsome man ; but his eyebrows 
 were unexceptionable, and he made play with them accord- 
 ingly. 
 
 ‘ Don’t you flurry yourself. Lady Eose ’ (to the Countess 
 of Nithsdale’s intimates her maiden name seemed to come 
 always most naturally) ; ^ we’re not beat yet, and I don’t see 
 why we should be either. De Sauterel isn’t running in his 
 old form, so Dolly Forester says, and he ought to know, for 
 there never was more than seven pounds between ’em. Bac- 
 carat after balls, and absinthe before breakfast, are beginning 
 to tell. The Marquis is as quick on his legs as ever ; but, I 
 hear, he can’t stay.’ 
 
 What might have been a dark sj)eech to others was in- 
 telligible enough to his hearer. Turf metaphors were scarce 
 likely to offend the ears of Lord Daventry’s daughter. Her 
 sweet face cleared somewhat, though doubt still lingered there. 
 
 ‘ Besides,’ Avenel went on placidly, ‘ it’s very easy to make 
 things quite safe. AYhy don’t you let De Sauterel lead in his 
 own fashion? He can’t find fault then. Don’t mind me: 
 I’ll abdicate with pleasure. I’ve always said my life is one 
 long self-sacrifice.’ 
 
 Eose Marston by many of her acquaintances was called 
 capricious and fickle — and not without reason. Her prefer- 
 ences were often wonderfully shortlived, and the first favourite 
 of one night would become the extremest outsider the next. 
 Indeed, sometimes after supper her card became so terribly 
 involved that she was forced, so to speak, to take the benefit 
 of the Act, and start afresh; paying her creditors nothing 
 
10 
 
 BREAKING A BL'TTERFLY ; OR 
 
 whatever in the pound. Eiit in her real friendships she was 
 stanch as steel. She had known Eeginald Avenel long before 
 she came out, and had always looked upon him as one of the 
 family — their ancestors had been related in some very remote 
 age : it was strange, but perfectly true, that their cousinly 
 familiarity had never ripened into the cousinly flirtation, 
 which is almost de rigueur. 
 
 ‘ Don’t be so utterly absurd, Eegy,’ she said, with a flush 
 on her cheek and a flash in her lazy brown eyes. ‘ Throwing 
 one’s old friends over for people one has never seen, isn’t the 
 way to bring luck about the house. If you say two words 
 more, I shall think you want to change me for the Eirefly ; I 
 always thought her step suited you best.’ 
 
 He held up his hand in deprecation. 
 
 ‘ L! Empire, dest la Paix, Lady Eose. So said a greater 
 than De Sauterel. Always remember that before you begin to 
 quarrel. If your Majesty won’t accept our resignation, it’s 
 easily withdrawn. We’ll pull through somehow, never fear. 
 Only don’t fret any more about these things. You’re begin- 
 ning to look quite fagged already.’ 
 
 Lady Daventry was in no sort of way a model of matron- 
 hood ; but she was foolishly fond of her children, and spe- 
 cially of this, her eldest-born daughter. She was a better 
 listener than talker, and up to tliis time had taken httle part in 
 the family-council : she got up now, and wound her arm around 
 her daughter’s neck caressingly. 
 
 ^ Eegy is quite right, darling,’ she said ; ^ you musn’t fret, 
 and there’s no earthly reason for it. I saw a good deal of M. 
 de Sauterel last year in Paris. There’s not a more good- 
 natured little creature alive ; and, if he were given to fault- 
 finding, he would scarcely practise it — here.’ Lady Daven- 
 try’s smile was full of memorial meaning. ^ I’ll take care 
 that everybody knows to-day that your list is full ; so you 
 shall be bored with no more begging-letters. That’s settled.’ 
 
 Then the conclave broke up. 
 
 Is it likely that, in this hard workaday world, many should 
 be found who could throw themselves seriously into a discus- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 11 
 
 sion, frivolous as that set down here ? Truly, I know not. 
 The statesman’s plans probably were no less deep, the swords 
 of soldiers no less sharp, the quibbles of lawyers no less astute, 
 the song of poets no less musical, the lash of critics no less 
 sharp, in Liliput than in Brobdingnag. Insects, as well as 
 carnivora, are integral parts of creation ; and Ephemeris, set- 
 ting things in order for her bloodless banquet, has cares just 
 as real, though less truculent than those of Megatherium, who 
 shakes the forest-land with his roaring as he seeks his meat 
 from God. 
 
 CHAPTEE IL 
 
 So Lady ISTithsdale’s ball was a success — teres atqiie rotan- 
 dus — without a single flaw. The Dieu de la Danse was 
 thoroughly propitious, sanctioning everything and everybody 
 with the benignest of smiles ; and before daybreak became 
 the merest mortal, in his readiness to lay down his divinity at 
 a mortal’s feet. Indeed, when Gaspard de Sauterel returned 
 to his own place, he created great scandal and discontent 
 amongst the faithful beyond the seas by what they w^ere 
 pleased to call his Anglo-mania. It was months before he 
 ceased to rave about Lady Mthsdale’s waltzing, which he was 
 wont to characterize as ‘ a poesy.’ 
 
 But i).o triumph can last for ever, so Lady Mthsdale’s ball 
 was over at last. Carriage after carriage drove away with its 
 cloaked and hooded freight ; whilst the men for the most part 
 strolled off by twos and threes through the fresh spring morn- 
 ing. But only one brougham we need follow. In it sat two 
 women, both fair to look upon, though neither w^as in her very 
 first youth, and their beauty, such as it was, differed essentially 
 in style. 
 
 The chief thing which you would probably have re- 
 marked was, how wonderfully both faces stood that trying 
 
12 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 aftor-dawn liglit, under which few damsels, even in their first 
 season, willingly linger. It only seemed to soften becomingly 
 the exceeding brilliancy of Laura Brancepeth’s colouring : and 
 it did not bring out a line or deepen a shadow on Blanche 
 Ellerslie’s cheeks — soft, smooth, and white as the leaves of a 
 tropical lily. 
 
 On neither countenance was there trace of weariness ; and 
 they were not too sleepy, it seemed, for a little quiet talk, 
 opened by Lady Laura Brancepeth — better known in her own 
 set as ‘ La Eeine Gaillarde.’ 
 
 ‘ Thoroughly well done, wasn’t it, Blanche ? The rooms 
 just full enough to look their best, and not a particle of heat 
 or crowd. Anne Daventry has a specialty for these things, 
 when she will only give herself the trouble. Those leaf- 
 screens round the fountains in the conservatory were the 
 prettiest things I ever saw ; and you admired them even more 
 than I apparently, for you spent about half the night there. 
 By-the-by, that reminds me — I should just like to know 
 where you were all the cotillon ? I missed you after the first 
 figure 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I was tired,’ Mrs Ellerslie answered. ^ I should certainly 
 have got one of my headaches if I had gone on : you know 
 what my headaches are '? The fact is, I am going down fast 
 into the vale of years ; after this season, I don’t mean to wMtz 
 any more.’ 
 
 Few and faint were the signs of age on the delicate face 
 just then : and so Laura Brancepeth thought, as she gazed at 
 her companion, with a mischievous flash in her broad black eyes. 
 
 Yes : I know what your headaches are, and how they come 
 and go, and how easily tired you are sometimes. As for that 
 excuse about your age, I consider it positively rude. I’m two 
 years older than you are, but I’ve no idea of wall-fiowering just 
 yet. You wicked little comedienne ! I never saw you act 
 better than you did to-night ; you know very well you only 
 slipped away, to take another long lesson in botany from Mark 
 Eamsay. Why, Blanche — is it possible? I can’t believe it : 
 you’re actually blushing ! ’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 13 
 
 If an aurora borealis had blazed forth suddenly in the clear 
 gray sky above them, Lady Laura could not have spoken with 
 more astonishment. She was, in truth, looking on a natural 
 phenomenon. The practised coquette was no more likely to 
 betray signs of discomfiture at the mention of any ordinary 
 name than a charger is likely to start at a pistol-shot. Yet 
 there was no mistake about the tell-tale flush — rather deepen- 
 ing than fading under the other’s searching gaze. 
 
 ^ 0 Blanche ! Was it not acting then, after alii ’ — Lady 
 Laura went on, in quite a changed tone ; and the mockery 
 died out of her eyes. ‘ You can’t mean that you have been in 
 earnest to-night. The worst of your flirtations v/ould be better 
 than such fearful folly.’ 
 
 Mrs EUerslie’s look of injured innocence was scarcely so 
 successful as usual. 
 
 ‘ You’re too tyrannical, Queenie,’ she said plaintively ; 
 ‘ there’s no possibility of contenting you. Well, allomng that 
 you are right in your suspicion — which I don’t — is it not bet- 
 ter to be foolish once in a way, than wicked always 1 ’ 
 
 But the other was not to be put off with a jest. 
 
 ‘ I am quite serious,’ she said. ‘ You and I are very old 
 friends, fast friends too ; though you’d provoke a saint some- 
 timas, and I own I’m rather apt to bully you. Though I often 
 tease you about men, I never really pity them much. But I 
 should pity you awfully if you came to grief ; and I’d sooner 
 hear of your breaking half-a-dozen honest hearts, than giving 
 the least bit of yours to Mark Eamsay.’ 
 
 ‘ What fresh story have you heard against him 1 ’ 
 
 The low voice was quite steady ; but the down trimming 
 fluttered, though there was no breeze to stir it. 
 
 ‘ Are not the old ones enough?’ the other answered gravely. 
 ‘ If I had never heard a single word against him, I should take 
 warning from his face — wonderfully handsome, I allow, and 
 gentle too, when he chooses to let it soften. But when it is 
 in repose, I think it the cruellest face I ever looked upon. It 
 would be rather nice to be lorded over by some people I know ; 
 but I don’t like to think of any woman as that man’s slave. 
 
14 
 
 BKEAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 And slave slie would be : depend upon it, there would be no 
 half-measures there/ 
 
 Blanche laughed, quite naturally now. 
 
 ‘ Wliat a vampire you have made of poor Mr Eamsay ! If 
 you knew him better, perhaps you wouldn’t think him so fatal 
 in any way. It’s rather refreshing to talk to him, after the 
 platitudes one has to listen to as a rule ; though he neither 
 talks politics nor scandal, and doesn’t seem to consider flirting 
 a matter of absolute duty. But — so far — Queenie, he has done 
 me no harm.’ 
 
 l!^either capitals nor italics, nor any other device of type, 
 could do justice to Blanche Ellerslie’s ‘ me.’ gu, issuing from 
 the tenderest lips that have murmured love-whispers in Ehine- 
 land, never sounded half so cosy and caressing. Very few 
 men heard it for the first time, without feeling a new sympathy 
 awaking within them, and a kind of prescience that some con- 
 fidence was coming. 
 
 Lady Laura’s wiry night-slaves scuffled over the ground 
 quicker than the best pair of steppers in town ; and they were 
 so nearly at home now, that she had only time to say : 
 
 ‘ I’m too sleepy to go on preaching ; only, Blanche, do 
 pray take care.’ 
 
 So the two women embraced, and parted for the night. 
 
 With a sinful indifference to beauty-sleep, Mrs Ellerslie 
 sat musing long after her maid had left her. Self-examination 
 was not much in her line ; but in the solitude of her own 
 chamber she did not affirm to herself quite so confidently as 
 she had done to Laura Brancepeth, that ‘ no harm has, been 
 done to me.’ 
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 Xow what manner of man was he, whose name had made 
 Blanche Ellerslie flush and flutter like a girl, and the reckless 
 Eeine Gaillarde earnest in warning. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 15 
 
 • ISTot a wonder in any way. Yet one who would certainly 
 have achieved some notable success in life, if he had turned 
 to any account his gifts and chances. 
 
 Mark Eamsay came of an ancient Scots house, that had 
 once been very powerful in the Lowlands, but whose fortunes 
 had ebbed steadily for centuries, and rapidly at last, till the 
 present generation was well-nigh stranded. Instead of having 
 a voice in the councils of the realm, Eamsay of Kilmains could 
 scarce get a hearing at petty sessions ; out of demesnes vast 
 and fertile, there were left now only a few hundred acres of 
 poor hungry land round a hideous red-brick barrack, tacked on 
 to a gaunt gray peel tower ; and of all the wealth amassed by 
 wrong and rapine, there was not enough left to keep a credit- 
 able balance at the county bank. 
 
 The family met with singularly little sympathy in their 
 downward career. Erom time immemorial these Eamsay s had 
 been hard, despotic tyrants, apt to oppress the poor and needy, 
 whether vassals or neighbours, and only lavish of their gold 
 when it was a question of selfish vice. The present Laird of 
 Kilmains, Mark’s father, was quite as unpopular as any of his 
 ancestors, though he had been guilty of none of the excesses 
 for which they had been evilly renowned ; being, indeed, ex- 
 ceeding miserly in his habits, and in religion a gloomy fanatic. 
 Though he looked so keenly and carefully after the pence, the 
 pounds, somehow, took to themselves wings, and fiitted one 
 by one out of his covetous fingers. He had an unhappy turn 
 for small speculations, and each of these seemed fated to prove 
 more or less unprofitable ; so that, after pinching and saving 
 for a score of years, he found himself rather poorer than when 
 he came into his heritage. Ill-luck may have done much to 
 embitter a temper naturally morose and sullen ; but certainly 
 amongst all his forbears there was not found a more thorough 
 tyrant, though his tyranny, perforce, was on a jietty scale. A 
 hard master, a merciless landlord, an austere father, and a 
 brutal husband — though of actual violence he was never guilty 
 — he seldom lost a chance of vexing an}^ living thing that 
 could safely be oppressed. 
 
16 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Two cliildren were the issue of a most unhappy marriage ; 
 and Marcia Eamsay went to her rest — gladly enough, no doubt 
 — within a month after Mark’s birth. 
 
 The heir of Kilmains, both outwardly and inwardly, very 
 much resembled his father : perhaps for this reason the two 
 got on Avell enough together in a sort of way. From his boy- 
 liood upwards, Gilbert Eamsay had always yielded to dictation, 
 liowever unreasonable, a stolid acquiescence with which it was 
 next to impossible to quarrel ; and when he grew up to man- 
 hood, from mere force of habit he continued docile, with oc- 
 casional tits of the sullens, that never opened into ripe revolt. 
 All this the elder man accepted ungraciously, as his mere due ; 
 yet it is certain that he liked his first-born better than he 
 liked any other creature. 
 
 With Mark it was very different. To say that there was 
 no love lost betwixt the two does not at all express it. There 
 was positive antipathy : Kilmains hated his second son almost 
 from his birth. He hated him for the haughty beauty that 
 always reminded him of the woman whose spirit he never could 
 cow though he broke her heart, and who died long before she 
 was tamed. Mark’s mouth and eyes were the counterparts of 
 his mother’s ; and James Eamsay’s violence of word or deed 
 was soon met over again by the same disdainful smile and 
 glance of quiet defiance that had often galled him in the old 
 days. He would never own it to himself, but it vras quite true 
 that he never felt thoroughly easy in the boy’s presence. He 
 hated him for this ; he hated him worst of all because, before 
 Mark was ten years old, he was made virtually independent of 
 his father. 
 
 AVhen Duncan Cameron came back wdth a fair fortune from 
 the East, where all his youth and manhood were passed, almost 
 his first visit was to his favourite sister’s grave. He had heard 
 enough of the manner of her life and death to keep him from 
 ever setting foot under her husband’s roof ; and wEen he made 
 his will in favour of her child, he took special care that not a 
 doit should be handled by the Laird of Kilmains, much less 
 pass into his clutches. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 17 
 
 The guardians of the child were well chosen — two shrewd, 
 sturdy, sensible business men ; ready to do their duty without 
 fear or favour, and as little likely to be bullied as beguiled. If 
 Duncan Cameron had designed to work out a posthumous re- 
 venge on him who had made his sister’s life miserable, he could 
 scarcely have defused a more ingenious plan. From the day tliat 
 he heard the will read, to that on which Mark attained his ma- 
 jority, James Eamsay lived in perpetual fret and discontent. 
 The property was not so very large — a little over a thousand 
 a-year, all told ; but the sum allowed yearly for the boy’s 
 nurture and education would more than have discharged all 
 the household expenses at Kilmains. Of this, beyond a 
 meagre allowance for actual maintenance whilst Mark lived 
 at home, the father could touch no part ; for education the 
 guardians provided as it seemed to them good. 
 
 When it was decided to send Mark to Eton, Eamsay did 
 make some show of resistance, and threw every possible impedi- 
 ment in the way; but there loomed in the distance the terrors of 
 the High Court of Chancery; and, though he had never read So- 
 phocles, he knew well enough what usually befalls those who 
 
 Hurl themselves violently against the footstool of Justice. 
 
 So he was bound to swallow the bitter pill, and wreak his ill- 
 humour on such as were compelled to endure it. 
 
 Mark’s school-days passed very pleasantly. He was a 
 great favourite with his masters and his mates. He did not 
 show much energy, either at work or play, but got through a 
 sufficient amount of both creditably enough. The vacations 
 spent at Kilmains were terribly dreary. James Eamsay never 
 lifted his hand against his son — perhaps he feared whither one 
 act of violence might lead him — but he did not seek to dis- 
 semble his dislike. Though the boy was wonderfully intrepid by 
 nature, and had unhappily grown quite careless of such things 
 as domestic affections, he could scarcely helj) starting some- 
 times as, looking up suddenly, he met those hard haggard eyes. 
 His brother was no sort of companion for him, for they had 
 not a single taste in common ; so it was no marvel if Black 
 
 c 
 
18 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLX ; OR 
 
 Monday was a day to be scored with the whitest of chalk in 
 Mark’s calendar. 
 
 When he went to Oxford he became practically his own 
 master ; and his first act of independence was a refusal to 
 spend any part of his first vacation at Kilmains. From that 
 day forth, he slept no more under his father’s roof-tree ; and no 
 communication by word or mouth passed betwixt the two. 
 
 Thus no foundling was ever more absolutely free of all 
 home-ties than Mark Eamsay. How fraught with danger is 
 such isolation, all men know — many to their cost. Some 
 hearts there are of such rare material that, under such proving, 
 they grow strong and self-reliant, but never hard. Mark’s 
 was none of these. His selfishness, such as it was, lay not on 
 the surface, but deep in grain. He did not object to benevo- 
 lence on principle, and would do a good-natured action readily 
 enough, if it led him not too far out of his way ; but would 
 help a mere acquaintance just as readily as an ancient comrade, 
 expecting no gratitude in return. If he had confessed his real 
 sentiments, he would jDrobably have told you that friendship was 
 a thing as much out of date as brotherhood-in-arms. He was 
 liberal and hospitable to the outside limit of his means^that 
 his worst enemies allowed — but was neither reckless nor pro-* 
 digal. He was fond of playing his part in the battle of life ; 
 and had no mind to be invalided^, for lack of the sinews of war. 
 
 So he never got into any serious money-scrape on his own 
 account. As for involving himself for another, — ^the man Avas 
 yet to be found confident enough in his OAvn persuasive poAvers 
 to ask Mark Eamsay for the use of his name. Nevertheless, 
 he Avas quite as popular at Oxford as he had been at Eton : 
 not a general favourite, simply because he did not care to mix 
 much in general society ; but the men of his set swore by him. 
 His personal advantages may have had much to do Avith this. 
 You may sermonize till you are Aveary about these things 
 being but skin-deep, and the rest of it ; but you never will 
 prevent them being a passport to the favour of men, to say 
 nothing of AA^omenkind. The credentials may be false, or 
 forged, of course : till their falsity is proved, they stand. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 19 
 
 Mark’s beauty was of a very rare type — slightly effemin- 
 ate, perhaps, but none the less attractive for that. An old 
 Venetian painter would have revelled in the rich soft colour- 
 ing of his hair, eyes, and lips, each the darkast of their 
 several shades of chestnut, blue, and crimson ; and all har- 
 monizing, instead of contrasting, with cheeks of clear pale 
 olive. His frame was well knit and put together, though on 
 rather a slender scale. And it was a good lasting figure ; for 
 at five-and-thirty neither gauntness nor coarseness marred its 
 outline. His manner, too, was very winning : more perhaps 
 at first than after long acquaintance ; for sometimes its exceed- 
 ing quietude almost irritated you. But of his voice, with its 
 subtle variations of semi-tones, you never grew weary. Any 
 one thus endowed, unless exceptionally weak in intellect, or 
 strong in principle, or furnished with a special safeguard, is 
 scarce likely to reach manhood without working some great 
 harm to himself, if not to others. The safeguard I mean, is 
 the having won the love of a true, beautiful woman ; and the 
 being able to hold fast that most precious pearl — never han- 
 kering after other men’s jewels. 
 
 How Mark Eamsa}’' was neither very simple nor very 
 seraphic. Of boyish romance he never was guilty ; indeed, 
 before he left Eton he could theorize with dangerous glibness 
 on certain subjects, and was an advanced Fourierist in matters 
 feminine. Guilty passion or lawless caprice, when they have 
 once fairly laid hold on a man, will leave their traces behind, 
 however thoroughly they may seem to be shaken off, like any 
 other malaria. Years after the patient has been pronounced 
 perfectly whole, there will come back, without rhyme or rea- 
 son, the hot thrills and the cold shivers. Hevertheless, there 
 are degrees in maladies, and Mark Eamsay had curiously ill- 
 luck in his fii’st fever-fit. 
 
 Frederic, Graf von Adlersberg, was a very famous diploma- 
 tist. The truces he obtained, and the treaties he cemented, 
 when war, or discord at the least, seemed inevitable are written 
 down in history. Ermengild, his wife, was almost better 
 known for the domestic contracts she had severed, and the 
 
20 
 
 T3REAKIXG A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 family revolutions she had caused. There was scarcely a 
 capital boasting an embassy on which she had not made her 
 mark. In six European tongues at least anathemas or com- 
 plaints might have been heard at the mention of her name ; 
 and matrons^ mothers, and maids would have joined in the 
 chorus. She had served her master more earnestly and suc- 
 cessfully than ever her husband served his earthly sovereign : 
 but she never wrought a more thorough piece of the Devils 
 work than when she ^ formed ’ Mark Eamsay. 
 
 There are crimes that no lawgiver, from him of Horeb 
 downwards, has ever set down in his calendar ; crimes con- 
 cerning which the acutest legalist could never draw an indict- 
 ment. Yet to expiate lesser offences, men — ay, and women to 
 boot — have come forth through a low door into the cold gray 
 morning, and stood under a black beam waiting for their 
 shameful death, whilst ten thousand of their fellow-creatures 
 looked on unpityingly. IMany who are guilty of such deeds 
 sit in the foremost places of our synagogues, and the fore- 
 most rooms at our feasts, bearing themselves debonnairely or 
 austerely after their fashion ; either smiling with calm supe- 
 riority at their neighbour’s misdeeds and failings, or casting, 
 with unerring aim, sharp stones at whoso shall have broken 
 the least commandment in the Decalogue. Yet, I think, for 
 these things there will come a reckoning, when the penalty 
 shall be paid to the uttermost pang. 
 
 The Countess von Adlersberg was none of these smooth- 
 faced hypocrites. She sinned with a high hand, and would 
 no more have dreamt of draping herself in social virtue than 
 of going to a masquerade as a wimpled nun. More than once 
 blood had been shed, when she might have averted the calam- 
 ity by a word or a sign : but she sat still, whilst it went on to 
 the bitter end, with no more ruth than Faustina may have 
 felt, at the Circus, when she gave the death-sign with her little 
 white thumb. 
 
 Yet Ermengild was never more thoroughly a murderess in 
 intent than when she dropped poison at the root of every 
 frank, fresh, and generous impulse in Mark Eamsay ’s heart. 
 
BLATOHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 21 
 
 watching them wither day by day, till only a dry waste was 
 left on which flowers could never grow again. 
 
 It was at Baden those two met, in the summer of Mark’s 
 second year at Oxford. Myriads of handsome faces had 
 passed under the review of the Countess’s critical eyes ; but 
 never one quite like Eamsay’s. Almost at the first glance 
 she determined on his conquest, very much as some wealthy 
 bey may determine on the purchase of some new importation 
 into the slave-market, and with no more doubt as to the re- 
 sult. There was no sort of difficulty in bringing him within 
 her reach ; for Count von Adlersberg then, and for some time 
 after, was engaged in London on important diplomatic busi- 
 ness, and Ermengild had a large English acquaintance. How 
 quickly, rapidly, and completely Mark was subjugated need 
 not be told ; all the more rapidly, perhaps, for these theories 
 aforesaid which had given him a hollow sense of security, and 
 made him a sort of oracle amongst his fellows. Every one 
 knows the trite old proverb about ^ a little learning.’ It is 
 never more true than when applied to a moral or physical 
 duel : the straightforward simplicity of utter ignorance has 
 puzzled science ere now ; but it is next to a miracle if one who 
 flatters himself he has some cunning in fence escapes without 
 a dangerous’ wound. All through that autumn and winter and 
 the ensuing spring Mark Eamsay abode under the spell. The 
 sorceress marvelled sometimes at her own constancy in caprice ;; 
 but this one, though it endured longer than most others, came 
 at last to a rather abrupt close. Then — with little preamble 
 or excuse — she cast open the gates of her prison-house and 
 told her thrall that he was free. 
 
 Such a freedom as it was ! Ereedom from faith ; freedom 
 from such old-world prejudices as reverence for woman’s 
 truth, or respect for her honour ; freedom from all natural 
 compunctions that cause a man to ponder for a while, if not 
 to hold his hand, when on the point of working wrong, which 
 may never be amended, on innocents or weaklings ; freedom 
 from ruth or remorse. And — in place of these things — only 
 a vague desire to requite on the many the harm wrought by 
 
22 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 the one, and a dogged determination to make his own pleasure 
 the Lesbian rule of his life thenceforward. 
 
 In such a frame of mind Mark Eamsay went on his way 
 through the world when he was not twenty-one ; and a terrible 
 parody of a noble maxim was his motto even to the end : 
 
 Fais ce que voudras, 
 
 Advienne que pourra. 
 
 It would be unfair to impute all this to the influence — 
 fatal as it undoubtedly was — which overshadowed him so early. 
 Mark was born with a sufficient portion of the stubborn hard- 
 ness which, for centuries past, if Fame spoke true, had run in 
 the Eamsay blood. This had been fostered, doubtless, by his 
 home-training, wherein natural affection was replaced by anta- 
 gonism. If the Countess Ermengild had never crossed his 
 path, it is not likely he would ever have turned out gentle or 
 good, or even wise in his generation. Many there are — for- 
 tunately for the well-being of this world of ours — who, had 
 their first illusion been destroyed yet more rudely, would have 
 remembered that there was much work left for them to do, 
 and many jirizes of all sorts worth the winning ; and have 
 braced themselves to the honest, healthy pursuit of these, in- 
 stead of falling back long before their prime on the cynicism 
 which ought to be the last resource of disappointed old age. 
 But Mark Eamsay — having said in his first haste, ‘ all women 
 are liars ’ — acted on the aphorism in bitter earnest. 
 
 Eor many years he led an odd wandering sort of life ; 
 spending much more of his time abroad than in England, and 
 having nowhere a fixed abiding-place. He cultivated art in a 
 desultory fashion, and his pursuits were rather of a quiet than 
 an athletic order ; though he was famous both with pistol and 
 rifle, and had done some notable work with the big game in 
 divers countries. The only restless element in all his nature 
 was evinced in fondness for travelling. There were few nooks 
 and corners of the civilized world that were strange to him : 
 and fewer still, where he had tarried beyond a brief season, 
 whence some tale might not have been gathered redounding 
 little to his credit. Wherever he went he made the same piti- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLTe’s ENDING. 
 
 23 
 
 less, unscrupulous use of his fair face and lissom tongue. 
 With women, unfortunately, forewarned is not forearmed ; and 
 thus far his evil repute seemed never to have seriously hindered 
 the accomplishment of his desires. He was not a whit more 
 reckless of the consequences to others than of the consequences 
 to himself ; hut he had come out of the most serious scrapes 
 scatheless — ^not always unscathing — with the strange impunity 
 that seems to attach only to those who will play for their 
 lives as readily as for any other stake. 
 
 Eamsay never paraded his conquests or boasted of them in 
 after-days. He would speak lightly enough of womankind, 
 but never disparagingly of any single woman. Indeed, he 
 would show a distaste for such converse plainly enough at 
 times ; few who sought to betray him into confession or con- 
 fidence tried the experiment twice. This spark of chivalry, 
 and a certain generosity at play — he was a bold and successful 
 gambler — ^^vere the two bright spots relieving the darkness of 
 Mark Eamsay’s nature at thirty-five. 
 
 With all this, his evil reputation spread itself far and wide ; 
 the more so, perhaps, because there never had been imputed to 
 liim a single venial or vulgar intrigue. He confined his de- 
 predations exclusively to his own class ; somewhat on the prin- 
 ciple of those masterful thieves of ancient days, who, plunder- 
 ing priest, noble, and franklin without mercy, let peasant and 
 pauper go scot-free. The demi-monde of foreign capitals knew 
 him only by name ; or, at the most, by meeting him occasion- 
 ally at entertainments where their presence was only an acces- 
 sory to high play ; and not one of the soiled doves, who flutter 
 from tree to tree in the forest of St John, or build their nests 
 in Erompton groves, had ever succeeded in perching, were it for 
 an instant, on his shoulder. 
 
 Ermengild von Adlersberg had fallen back on feminine 
 diplomacy when the cunning of cosmetics could no longer dis- 
 semble the retribution of Time the Avenger : half the domestic 
 plots that amused or scandalized Paris were hatched in her 
 boudoir. Though those two met but seldom of late years, no 
 cancans interested her so much as those concerning Mark Earn- 
 
24 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 say. She seemed, whilst she listened, to glow with a quiet 
 satisfaction, and a kind of reflected triumph ; like a venerable 
 college tutor hearing of parliamentary successes achieved by 
 some favourite pupil. 
 
 Two years before the opening of this tale, Mark’s position 
 had been entirely changed by a singular freak of fortune. 
 During a winter spent in Paris, community of tastes, and, to 
 a certain extent, of pursuits, brought him much into the com- 
 pany of a certain Sir Eobert Kenlis. There was some sort of 
 consulship betwixt the two ; but so entirely remote, that even 
 a Scotch genealogist would have been puzzled fairly to unite 
 the pedigrees. Such as it was, it was enough to warrant the 
 old baronet in gratifying a fancy and a dislike. The fancy 
 was for his new acquaintance ; the dislike was for each and 
 every one of tlie relatives he had ever known. So one day 
 about a week after Sir Eobert Kenlis’ sudden death, there was 
 intense heartburning in the large circle of expectants, and some 
 wonderment in the world at large, at the announcement that 
 Mark Eamsay had been left the sole heir. 
 
 It was a very goodly heritage ; comprising some £8000 
 a-year in improvable estates, and money enough in the Punds 
 to buy another fair property ; to say nothing of jewels and 
 pictures, statues and furniture, stored away in half the capitals 
 of Europe, enough to stock a vaster mansion than Kenlis 
 Castle. 
 
 Eamsay was in nowise outwardly exalted by his great good 
 luck, and seemed not in the least aware that from a com- 
 parative cipher in the world he had become an important unit, 
 in whose well or ill faring the matronly part at least of polite 
 society took an interest sudden and sincere. Most of his time 
 was now necessarily spent in England ; otherwise there was 
 little change in his habits, except that he indulged his taste 
 in horseflesh to the uttermost, and entertained in London 
 oftener and on a larger scale than had been his wont. Beyond 
 a bachelor-party in the grouse-season, he had made no attempt 
 to keep house at Kenlis Castle. 
 
 Such was Mark Eamsay at the opening of this our tale. 
 
BLANCHE ELLEKSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 25 
 
 Tims early in it I take leave to observe, that he differs as 
 widely from my private and personal idea of a hero, even of 
 melodrama, as two created or imagined things can differ. He 
 is simply the cliief actor in a company more or less indifferent ; 
 and such as he will, unluckily, often thrust themselves into 
 these roles y whether it like the manager or not. 
 
 CHAPTEE lY. 
 
 ‘Where are you off to, Eamsay'? YouTl come and have 
 a quiet smoke, and take a modest drink, somewhere, surely % 
 Platt’s will be full in about ten minutes ; and the big rubber 
 at the Partington is in full swing just now ; and — and there’s 
 lots of things to do before heading homewards.’ 
 
 The speaker was a big, brawny man, with an aureole of 
 light-red hair round a hale, weather-beaten face, that would 
 have looked more at home on a purple moorland, or at the 
 down- wind side of a gorse-cover, or under the steep bank of a 
 salmon-river, or on the slippery deck of a cutter going free, 
 than amongst the delicate ferns and rare exotics lining the 
 vestibule of Hithsdale House. Indeed, it was a miracle 
 how Dick Calverly always contrived to look so fresh ; con- 
 sidering that he was ready for ‘ a quiet smoke and a modest 
 drink ’ at any hour in the twenty-four, and had a perfect an- 
 tipathy to taking his nightly rest at regular hours if he could 
 find the most shadowy excuse for keeping vigil. 
 
 ‘ That’s the pull of Yorway,’ he was wont to say. ‘ You 
 never need go to bed at all there, unless you like. Somebody’s 
 up all night long.’ 
 
 I believe his only objection to the English climate was 
 that it could boast no midnight sun. People said he burned 
 the candle at both ends ; if so, it was a very tough taper, and 
 seemed likely to outlast many that were consumed by miser’s 
 rule. He rather prided himself on his jDOwers of seducing 
 
26 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 men into sitting up to unearthly hours ; but on this occasion 
 his simple eloquence failed. Eamsay shook his head as they 
 went down the steps together. 
 
 ^Your ideas of a quiet smoke are rather different from 
 mine, Dick. If I had lungs like forge-bellows, or like yours, 
 perhaps I shouldn’t mind doing it in atmosphere that you 
 might cut with a hand-saw ; but I haven’t, you see, more’s 
 the pity ; and my drinks already have reached the outside 
 verge of modesty. We have done quite enough for our coun- 
 try to-night, I think ; why shouldn’t we try what a little sleep 
 will do for our noble selves '? ’ 
 
 Calverly laughed a jolly laugh in his huge ruddy beard. 
 
 ‘You’re a pretty specimen of a patriot, Mark, you are ! 
 Gad ! I shouldn’t mind taking my turn at some of the duty- 
 work you went through to-night. You didn’t fag over it, it 
 struck me. I don’t wonder you’re in such a hurry to get to 
 bed : I suppose you’re pretty safe to dream of the White 
 Widow.’ 
 
 ‘ I never dream,’ said the other, as they parted. 
 
 A short walk brought Eamsay home. He occupied the 
 first floor of one of those pleasant houses which are to be 
 found in certain quiet nooks of Mayfair, that, lying close to 
 the stream of traffic, are never troubled by its rattle. The 
 rooms were very large and lofty, and the rich furniture, though 
 luxuriant to a degree, was subdued in tone. They had been 
 bachelor’s chambers since the days of the Millamants and Wild- 
 airs ; and no tenant had yet been tempted to mar the effect 
 of the carved cornices and panels by any new-fangled devices 
 of modern upholstery. 
 
 ‘ I never dream.’ 
 
 It was a bitter truth. Heither waking nor sleeping did 
 idle visions trouble Mark Eamsay. The deep-blue eyes, that 
 seemed made for dreaming, rarely looked far into futurity — 
 more rarely still, into the past — ^biit always straight and keenly 
 at the goal set before them : never slackening in their gaze, or 
 turning aside, till the race was fairly lost or won. 
 
 Despite the virtuous resolves he had expressed so lately, 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 27 
 
 Eamsay seemed in no great haste to hetake himself to rest, 
 hilt sat down by his fire, — still burning, for the spring morn- 
 ings were chill, — and began to build up the coals, in the slow 
 mechanical fashion of one whose thoughts are busy elsewhere. 
 At length he rose, frowning a little, and muttered half-aloud 
 these two words : 
 
 ‘ I will.’ 
 
 'Now, when Mark Eamsay said ^ I will,’ whether with a 
 smile or a frown on his face, it meant a good deal. This is 
 what it meant now. 
 
 Utterly vicious, cruel, and false — for he was not more pitiless 
 in pursuit than in abandonment — he was not one of those tin- 
 selled Lovelaces who, on the strength of some few conquests, 
 more or less easily achieved, are always dinning into your ears 
 their noisy paean : 
 
 She is a woman, therefore to be won. 
 
 Mark was too good an engineer to conclude, simply because he 
 had assisted at several victories by siege, sap, or storm, that 
 no fortress was impregnable. E’ay, more — he had learnt to 
 estimate very justly the precise strength, natural or artificial, 
 of the place beleaguered. He had not known Blanche EUers- 
 lie— intimately at least — ^very long ; but he had known her 
 long enough to be assured that there was but one way to win 
 her. The austerest devotee in all Belgravia was not less likely 
 to be beguiled into criminal folly than the dainty little co- 
 quette, who only rebuked audacity with a deprecating smile. 
 
 Now Mark Eamsay — not only from the manner of his Hfe, 
 but from the bent of his inclination — had hitherto been ex- 
 ceedingly averse to wedlock. It had never entered into his 
 head to divide the competence which barely sufficed his own 
 needs with a woman no richer than himself. Liking luxury 
 well, he liked liberty better, and preferred a dinner of potherbs 
 to such banquets as purseproud heiresses purvey. That he was 
 not often called upon to exercise self-denial, you may well 
 imagine. The fish must be hungry indeed that will rise at 
 such baits as an evil reputation and a shallow purse ; and 
 more than one of the women who had sacrificed duty and hon- 
 
28 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 our and happiness for Mark Eamsay would have shrunk from 
 finding him a wife amongst tlieir own kith and kin. 
 
 The case was widely different now. Even Arline probably 
 slept infinitely sounder, after the first strangeness of novelty 
 was passed, under the fretted roof of Arnheim than ever she 
 did under gipsy tent or cold twinkling stars : and Mark was 
 never a thorough Eohemian. He was quite ready to admit 
 that Avealth, no less than nobility, obliges ; and Avas disposed 
 to act up to his ncAv duties, at least in outward seeming. 
 KnoAving that a clmtelaine AA^as sorely needed at Kenlis Castle, 
 lie had resolved Avithin himself that the void should ere long 
 be filled. But this Avas not to be hastily or rashly done. 
 
 Despite his antecedents, of choice there Avas noAV no lack. 
 Matrons, however extreme to mark Avhat is done amiss by 
 paupers or detrimentals, are not prone to disbelieve in the 
 penitence of Dives ; and the sternest guardian of our sheep- 
 cotes Avill open the Avicket readily enough to the wandering 
 Avether that carries fleece of gold. Also there are damsels 
 alAA^ays to be found, courageous and charitable enough to de- 
 vote themselves so thoroughly to the good work of guiding the 
 reclaimed sinner aright, as to be Avilhng to Avalk on with him 
 thenceforward through life hand-in-hand. 
 
 Over the ranks of the maiden battalion Mark Eamsay ’s 
 eyes roved, admiringly perhaps, never longingly. He Avas not 
 troubled either Avith scruples or remorse ; but he Avould no 
 more have thought of asking a young innocent girl to cast in 
 her lot Avith him for better and for Avorse, than he Avould have 
 sat doAvn to play piquet Avith a boy who could not count the 
 points of the game. E^either did the taming of a lionceUe 
 tempt him a Avhit. He had seen such ventures turn out hap- 
 pily enough ; indeed, there A\"as fair promise of a like event in 
 the very house from Avhich he had just come ; but he did not 
 believe for an instant that such cases Avere parallel Avith his 
 own. Insurance-tables are not infallible; neither are years 
 ahvays to be reckoned by their mere number. Men like Hugh 
 of Hithsdale, Avho have led from youth upAvards an honest, 
 liealthy life, taking duty and pleasure in their fair turn, have 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING 29 
 
 in them the moral, if not physical, vitality — very often both — 
 of a dozen Mark Eamsays. 
 
 Though he was wonderfully self-reliant and confident in his 
 own resources, there was little trivial vanity about this man. 
 He had held his own — only too successfully thus far — against 
 all comers ; but he knew this could not last for ever. Another 
 victory or two, perhaps, and then he would be fain to stand aside 
 amongst the veterans, and watch the feats of younger cham- 
 pions, with the mild satisfaction of criticism or comparison ; 
 for ‘ Age will be served.’ Years and years ago he had seen in 
 Paris a sparkling little comedy, wherein a choice specimen of the 
 aiicien regime was made to enter the lists with divers aspirants 
 to his young wife’s favour, and vanquish each and every 
 one with tact, tongue, or sword. He remembered think- 
 ing at the time how’ much pains and ingenuity had been 
 spent for small purpose — how unlikely it was that the gal- 
 lant old Marquis would repeat his triumph — how impossi- 
 ble, he could repeat it for ever. Having but faint regard for 
 most laws, human or divine, he believed implicitly in the lex 
 talionis. He guessed with what malicious scrutiny his domes- 
 tic life would be w^atched ; and how little sympathy the assail- 
 ant of other’s peace was likely to meet with if his own were 
 imperilled 5 wdiat exultation, covert if not expressed, would be 
 felt in certain quarters if it came fiirly to wreck. It was odd 
 enough, yet true, that he had never, in all his life, experienced 
 one real pang of jealousy.' What if this infirmity were to 
 come, in the train of others, with advancing years ? He had 
 seen the faces of better and wiser men wax haggard and drawn 
 under the slow torment ; and he had no mind to see such a 
 reflection in liis own mirror. It was many years since he had 
 read the Betrothed ; but, if he had forgotten all other points 
 of the tale, he had not forgotten the substance of stout Wilkin 
 Flammox’s speech to the Constable. 
 
 ‘ Thiuk her shut up in yonder solitary castle, under sucli re- 
 spectable protection, and reflect how long the place will be 
 solitary in this land of love and adventure ! We shall have 
 minstrels singing ballads by the score under our windows, and 
 
30 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 siicli twangling of harps as would he enough to frigliten our 
 walls from their foundations, as clerks say happened to those 
 of Jericho/ 
 
 Mark Eamsay shivered within himself at the hare idea of 
 such a charge as the captaincy of La Garde Doloreuse. 
 
 JSTo. The helpmeet for him was a woman who could 
 sweep graciously and gracefully along the world’s highway, 
 not with prim precaution, yet keeping her dainty feet clear of 
 mire and pitfalls ; with a face still so fair that his own eyes 
 might look on it long without wearying; with a charm of 
 manner that would keep her attractive even if the face should 
 fade ; with tastes sufficiently in unison with his own to pro- 
 mise pleasant companionship in default of perfect sympathy 
 hetwixt them ; a woman, in fine, who could take her place 
 worthily amongst the beauties of many generations whose 
 portraits lined the walls of Kenlis Castle. 
 
 Such an one Mark thought he had found quite lately. 
 
 He had long been familiar with Blanche Ellerslie’s name. 
 AYhen they first met he felt only a languid curiosity, and de- 
 sire to prove for himself whether fame had exaggerated the 
 danger of her society. But before the first hour was over he 
 became sensible, with rather pleasant surprise, that he was 
 becoming subject to the fascination that had enthralled so 
 many, and recognized that there were fresh sensations still for 
 his jaded palate. As they were thrown together her influence 
 grew on him more and more. He no longer watched her 
 coquetries levelled at others with the calm amusement of a 
 mere spectator. Once or twice, when he found himself fore- 
 stalled in attracting attention, he had stood aside, smiling a 
 little disdainfully, yet conscious all the while of a sharp sullen 
 pang that he could not account for. You see, up to this time, 
 Mark had never been quite certain that he had a heart, in the 
 common acceptation of the term ; and so could not be expected 
 to be well up in the symptoms of cardiac disease. At last he 
 was fain to confess to himself that he was as firmly and fiercely 
 bent on the winning of Blanche Ellerslie as he had ever been 
 on winning any woman, living or dead. He had given up. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s EJsDING. 
 
 31 
 
 almost from tlie first, any idea of attaining this end in any 
 way save one — the making her his wife. 
 
 And now you know what those two words meant, that 
 hovered on Eamsay’s lips as he betook himself to his rest. 
 
 CIIAPTEE Y. 
 
 Both in high and low places of this Vv^orld, there are found 
 scores of homely humdrum persons, who, plodding on through 
 life in their own placid way, are always equal to any emergency 
 whatsoever, and come out of such ordeals infinitely better than 
 their flashy fellows. 
 
 Hugh Earl of Mthsdale was one of those. He was 
 thoroughly bucolic in his tastes ; never so happy as when jog- 
 ging about on his quiet old cob, chatting with his tenants, or 
 planning improvements with his steward and wood-reeve. He 
 held Cowper to be the very chief of English poets, simply for 
 having penned the words 
 
 ‘ God made the country, but man made the town.’ 
 
 That hackneyed line seemed to him the embodiment of one of 
 the noblest truths that have ever been promulgated in prose 
 or verse. He never breathed quite freely in an atmosphere 
 laden with smoke, and pent-in betwixt brick and mortar ; and 
 felt far wearier, after a lounge over pavement or trim gravel, 
 than after a trudge through the stiffest clay in the Midland 
 shires. I believe, if the truth were knovm, he kept a private 
 calendar in school-boy fashion, and marked off the days of the 
 London season ; congratulating himself, as he lay down each 
 night, that his holidays were so much nearer. In general 
 society he was not only silent and reserved, but shy to boot ; 
 and would flee from the face of morning visitors, to hide him- 
 seK in the recesses of his library, till the tyranny was over- 
 past. 
 
 nevertheless, when the saloons of Mtlisdale House were 
 
32 
 
 BllEAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 fall, the master of the mansion seemed thoroughly at home 
 and at his ease — essentially the right man in the right place. 
 Xo critic could have found a flaw in the gentle, grave courtesy 
 with which he received his guests, and cared for their comfort. 
 Having to welcome, for the first time in his life, certain august 
 Personages, he went through the ceremony, not with the trem- 
 or of one on whom unmerited or unexpected honour is con- 
 ferred, but like a man whose ancestors from immemorial time 
 liave been deemed worthy of a place at the right-hand of royalty, 
 whether in feast or fray. 
 
 Hot a few there present noticed this, and spoke of it after- 
 wards with a little Avonder. The Countess Pose was not so 
 busy but that she found leisure to mark how her husband bore 
 himself, and to feel proud of him withal. When she had said 
 ‘ good-night ’ for the last time, she was too utterly Aweary to 
 talk even to him, and crept off to her pdloAv, Avhereon, till long 
 after the sun Avas high, she slept the deep dreamless sleep that 
 comes after toilsome triumph. But her first Avaking thought 
 Avas a regret that she had not thanked her dear kind Hugh for 
 playing his part so Avell. 
 
 Hothing short of illness, or a social revolution, Avould have 
 broken the even current of the Earl’s methodical Avays. Late 
 as it Avas Avhen he lay doAvn to rest, he rose at his usual hour, 
 and Avas hard at Avork in his library — for business letters Avere 
 unusually numerous that morning — when a message came that 
 the Countess meant to lunch in her boudoir, and begged that 
 he Avould join her. 
 
 Only once before, since their marriage, had the Earl been 
 so favoured. It Avas Avhen Pose Avas kept for a day in her 
 rooms from the effects of a chill. He felt as pleased as a boy 
 Avho has been asked to an impromptu picnic, and at the ap- 
 pointed hour he mounted the stair Avith an eager haste, curi- 
 ously contrasting Avith his usually sober gait. Yet he stood 
 still for an instant in the doorAA^ay. Truly it was a picture 
 Avorth pausing OA^er that he saw. 
 
 The Countess Avas lying, almost at full length, on a low 
 broad sofa. The Mazarin blue of the huge pilloAvs in which 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 33 
 
 her slight figure was half-buried brought out in relief the soft 
 tints of her face and hair ; though her face was paler than 
 usual, and there were dark circles under the long brown eyes. 
 A pair of dainty slippers, broidered to match her peignoir^ 
 just peeped out under the ample skirt of soft gray silk, with 
 broad cerise facings. Her husband thought- — perhaps with 
 justice — that he had never looked on anything so lovely, and 
 his grave voice faltered a little with very tenderness as he 
 leant over her, saying : 
 
 ^ Yery tired, my darling '? I am sure I don’t wonder.’ 
 
 She wound her arm round his neck, and drew his head 
 down lower and lower till his cheek rested on her lips. 
 
 ‘ Only pleasantly tmed, Hugh ; and it was worth while, 
 was it not Fancy my going to bed without thanking you 
 for all the trouble you took to make it go off well ! You dear 
 patient thing ! I was watching you all the time, and you never 
 yawned once, though you hate late hours so.’ 
 
 The Earl laughed quite merrily as he sat down on the foot- 
 stool close to his wife’s side, keeping her hand in his, and 
 counting the jewels in her rings one by one. 
 
 ‘ You foolish child, did you think that all the burden of 
 doing the honours was to be laid on your poor little shoulders? 
 These things haven’t been much in my line ; you’re right 
 there. And I dare say I made some bungle that you never 
 noticed ; but I shall improve by practice. I wasn’t bored for 
 one single instant — I was too busy; and it was quite amuse- 
 ment enough for me to Avatch you enjoying yourself. You did 
 that, I think ; though you looked rather nervous at first.’ 
 
 ‘ Yes, I did enjoy myself,’ she said ; ‘ but I think I am 
 happier, now that I am quite sure you were not bored. My 
 conscience is quite easy noAv, and — I do hope they’ve sent us 
 something nice for lunch ; I’m so awfully hungry.’ 
 
 It was a very pleasant meal — the pleasanter, perhaps, to 
 one of the partakers thereof because there was not the faint- 
 est chance of its being intruded on ; for the most famihar of 
 Lady Hithsdale’s friends — the few to whom the formal inter- 
 dict of ^ not at home ’ had ceased to apply — would never have 
 
34 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 dreamt of breaking in on her repose till much later in the day. 
 Lady Daventry herself was scarce hkely to show before after- 
 noon tea. AYhen lunch was cleared away, and they were alone 
 again, said the Countess Eose — 
 
 ‘ hs^ow, Hugh, I particularly wish to know if you noticed 
 one single thing go wrong last night, or that you woidd have 
 wished otherwise.’ 
 
 The Earl pondered a while. He was very loth to damp 
 his wife’s elation, were it ever so little ; but he was too honest 
 to keep back the truth. 
 
 ^ Well, there was one thing, Eose,’ he said hesitatingly ; — 
 ^ don’t be alarmed, it was a very trifling thing. Your invit- 
 ation-list was perfect, with one exception — I do wish you 
 hadn’t asked Mr KendaU.’ 
 
 Lady Mthsdale raised her long eyelashes in languid sur- 
 prise. 
 
 ^ How you do puzzle me. Why on earth should you ob- 
 ject to poor Horace Kendall 'I I fancied you didn’t even know 
 him by sight. I hardly know him myself ; but I should have 
 mortally offended Lady Longfield if I had refused him a card. 
 Erom what I have seen of him I should think him the most 
 inoffensive creature alive, though he is so clever in his own 
 way.’ 
 
 The Earl bent his shaggy brows till they met. 
 
 ‘ There’s no more harm in Lady Longtield than in most 
 other empty-headed women, I dare say ; but she’s too fond of 
 patronage to be very careful where she bestows it. It’s quite 
 as well she has no daughters of her own to look after. I never 
 saw Mr KendaU, to my knowledge, till yesterday ; but I have 
 heard quite enough. It’s the fashion to cultivate him now, of 
 course. That don’t make him in my mind a bit more fitting 
 friend for your sister. And I don’t believe, Eose, you’d con- 
 sider him so perfectly inoffensive if you had watched, as I 
 did, how completely he engrossed Hina last night.’ 
 
 How the Earl — though about the last man living to Avish 
 to level or loAver the standard of his order — was singularly 
 unapt to stand upon its privileges.. He Avoald talk just as 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 35 
 
 frankly and genially with, one of his own farmers as with the 
 inheritor of forty quarterings ; and even the Eadical solicitor 
 who opposed him at elections, and strove in all ways to un- 
 dermine his county influence, never hinted that Lord Mths- 
 dale had a purpose in being, as he expressed it, ‘ so infernally 
 affable.’ Very seldom in all his life had he been heard to 
 speak hardly or harshly to any fellow-creature. Indeed, he 
 had sometimes scandalized his brother magistrates at Quarter 
 Sessions by his ingenuity in finding excuses for criminals. 
 'No one knew this better than his wife ; and she felt he must 
 have good reason for so speaking, though she answered laugh- 
 ingly— 
 
 ‘ Mna ! You don’t mean that puss got into mischief at 
 her first ball ^ She ought to have been sent supperless to bed, at 
 least. IsTo, I noticed nothing ; but I wonder mamma didn’t, 
 though she is so dreadfully shortsighted. She was too busy 
 helping me, I suppose. The child shall have a good scolding 
 when she comes to tea.’ 
 
 Flirtations were things so entirely out of Lord Mthsdale’s 
 line, that it may be worth while to explain his reasons for in- 
 terference. 
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 A QUARTER of a centuiy ago few people, living beyond its 
 immediate neighbourhood, were aware of the existence of such 
 a place as Swetenham. Lying somewhat out of the great 
 highway to the West, it was scarcely possible to conceive any 
 traveller being attracted there on business, and the country 
 around was not sufficiently picturesque to tempt artistic ex- 
 plorers. Everything is changed now. Almost the sole relic 
 of the quiet little hamlet is the gray old church tower, that 
 seems strangely misplaced amongst the red-brick street-rows 
 radiating from the station on a well-travelled branch-line. 
 
3Q 
 
 BREAKING A BUITERFLY ; OR 
 
 The great men of those parts for many generations had 
 been the Vernons of Vernon Mallory. The then-time repre- 
 sentative of that family was a very unpopular character ; and 
 deservedly so ; for his manners and morals rather beseemed a 
 Hungarian magnate than a decent English squire. Arrogant 
 amongst his equals, he ground down dependents and inferiors 
 to a dead level of servility ; hunted poachers like wild beasts, 
 — with hound, if not with horn ; and in more ways than one 
 evinced ideas of feudal privileges, utterly out of date in the 
 earlier part of the nineteenth century. Several children had 
 been born to him by a wife, endowed with a temper almost 
 as haughty as his own, who was not inclined to condone his 
 numberless infidelities. Horace Vernon was a profligate of 
 the worst possible form ; his victims were chosen usually from 
 the class whose wrongs, by virtue of his station, he was bound 
 to redress ; and he was utterly unscrupulous as to the means 
 of working out his will. His love, or the brutal passion that 
 he dignified by the name, was more harmful than his anger ; 
 and it was better to see his cruel eyes set like black fiint-stones, 
 than melting into treacherous softness. Educational boards, 
 and middle-class examinations, had not come into existence 
 then ; and Eadicalism had not spread far beyond the outskirts 
 of towns : peasants and small yeomen, in many remote rural 
 districts, were as stupidly patient and irrationally loyal as any 
 Carinthian boor. Men would look up from their work and 
 scowl as the wicked squire rode by, and perhaps growl a 
 curse under their breath ; but none murmured or complained 
 aloud : even in the ale-house, when tongues were loosened by 
 liquor, only a glum, significant silence followed the mention of 
 his name. So long as Horace Vernon was not thwarted 
 abroad, he cared little for being called to account at home ; 
 and went on the tenor of his way, reckless if not rejoicing. 
 EVvertheless, in the great house there was discontent always, 
 and not seldom bitter woxd-duels. 
 
 If the dwellers in and about Swetenham were not lucky 
 in their landlord, they could boast of one blessing not to be 
 despised. It was the healthiest place possible. It lay in a= 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 37 
 
 broad valley, sheltered to the east and north, hut athwart 
 which there was free passage for the pleasant breezes that 
 swept over the chalk downs. So the sanitary requirements 
 of the neighbourhood were easily satisfied ; indeed, there was 
 no more than work enough for a single practitioner. 
 
 For nearly fifty years this post had been filled by a certain 
 Doctor Thorner — all medical men were ‘ doctors ’ in those 
 parts and those days, without regard to their precise diploma 
 or degree. You needed only to watch him jogging along be- 
 hind his sober old pony, and coming to a stand-still wherever 
 he got a chance of a gossip on the road or over a gate, to guess 
 ut once that there was seldom urgent need for his services. In 
 truth, these were chiefly confined to bringing young folks into 
 the world, and helping old ones to sHde out of it comfortably. 
 But the shadow on the dial kept creeping on — a little more 
 slowly, perhaps, than in other places — yet still creeping on, 
 even in Swetenham. Doctor Thorner felt less equal to his work, 
 light as it was, and less patient of interruptions to his night’s 
 rest. He had saved more than enough to furnish thencefor- 
 ward his modest needs ; but -was too wuse to give up practice 
 altogether, for the bread of utter idleness would certainly have 
 disagreed with his digestion ; so he determined to retire on 
 ■ half-pay for the present, and to take an assistant. One fine 
 morning a new doctor appeared in Swetenham. 
 
 James Kendall was a man of about thirty, with a sharp 
 fox face and foxy hair ; a low though not a pleasant voice ; and 
 u manner that most people found disagreeably obsequious. 
 The master of Yernon Mallory was not easily surfeited with 
 servility : from the very first he seemed to take a fancy to the 
 new-comer ; and treated him with more courtesy — cold as it 
 was — than he had ever shown to the homely old man Avho had 
 assisted at his own birth, and the deaths of both his parents. 
 
 The discords and bickerings at the great house had waxed 
 bitterer of late ; indeed, ever since the establishment there of 
 Mademoiselle Adele Deshon in the quality of governess. She 
 was a Proven^ale ; rather piquante than pretty : perhaps her 
 only real attractions were large velvety eyes, and a superb 
 
38 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 contralto voice, perfectly trained. The squire was really fond 
 of music, and himself no mean performer; so it was only 
 natural that he should take pleasure in Mademoiselle Adele’s 
 performances, and, to a certain extent pleasure in her society. 
 Eut Lady Eleanor Yernon in nowise saw the matter in this 
 light. She did not care to dissemble her dislike to the 
 foreigner; and soon was not ashamed to put her suspicions 
 into words. Ere long reports came to her ears that fanned 
 the jealous embers into flame — reports of meetings, frequent 
 and prolonged, not in her presence ; and of words and actions 
 that Griselda would scarce have looked on tamely. Then the 
 Lady Eleanor took up the daggers in earnest ; and there was 
 a battle-royal — a battle such as the servants, unhappily used 
 to such scenes, spoke of afterwards with ’bated breath — a battle 
 that was bound, one way or another, to be decisive. 
 
 Oddly enough, the event was not such as might have been 
 expected from the relative strength of the belligerents. At 
 the moment when she seemed certain of defeat, Lady Eleanor, 
 for the first time in her matronly broils, fell back upon her 
 ^family;’ and that army of reserve turned the fortunes of the 
 day. With all his violence, Horace Yernon was not blinded 
 by passion; though he might utterly disregard the good or bad 
 opinion of his poorer neighbours, he was by no means indif- 
 ferent to the opinion of the county at large, or inclined to risk 
 his own position therein. He knew very well that this would 
 be jeopardized, and seriously too, if he were brought into open 
 collision with the House of Arlington — a house thrice as power- 
 ful as his own, and not less unscrupulous than himself in the 
 exercise of their power. If Lady Eleanor betook herself to 
 her own people, insisting on a separation, with grounds of 
 complaint just and grave, the squire guessed that place would 
 no longer be found for him amongst the magnates of the land. 
 Many who never troubled themselves to sift reports, or inquire 
 into village scandal, would have been earnest enough in their 
 partisanship when it was a question of Lady Eleanor Y ernon’s 
 wrongs. 
 
 Though the squire cursed and stormed more savagely than 
 
BLANCHE ELLEBSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 39 
 
 liis wont, evidently weakness was at the bottom of all that 
 fume and fury. The wife kept her temper in a manner mar- 
 vellous for one of her character — kept her ground too steadfastly 
 — and at last carried her point, as she well deserved. 
 
 It chanced that James Kendall came to Yernon Mallory 
 that same afternoon to visit one of the household. After 
 leaving his patient he was summoned to the squire’s study, and 
 remained closeted there for a full hour. When he drove away, 
 there was a great satisfaction on his cunning face, tempered by 
 the momentary distaste of a man who has bound himself to 
 perform some hard or unpleasant service on exceedingly remu- 
 nerative terms. Immediately afterwards, Mademoiselle De- 
 shon was called into her master’s presence. The interview was 
 long, and, if domestic tittle-tattle is to be believed, very tem- 
 pestuous. Some servants passing near the study-door heard 
 the Proven^ale’s rich round voice strained and shrill in plaint 
 or reviling 5 answered by the deep harsh tones that, when 
 Horace y ernon was angered, sounded like the growl of distant 
 thunder. When Mademoiselle Adele came forth, she went 
 straight to her own chamber, whence she emerged no more that 
 evening ; but one of the housemaids, who crossed her on her way 
 thither, averred that ‘ Mam’sell looked pale as a turnip, and 
 her eyelids were as red and puffed as ripe gooseberries.’ 
 The next morning the village gossips — there were gossips in an 
 out-of-the-way hamlet five-and-twenty years ago — were startled 
 by the news that the new doctor had been for some time past 
 engaged to the governess at the great house, and that the mar- 
 riage would take place shortly. 
 
 A week later, it was noised abroad that Doctor Thorner 
 had, for a liberal consideration, been induced to abandon his 
 practice altogether to his assistant ; and that thenceforward 
 Swetenham and the neighbourhood would be under James 
 Kendall’s sole medical care. 
 
 It Avas a very quiet wedding. The only person of any im- 
 portance present was the squire himself, whose louring face 
 would have suited a funeral better than such a ceremony ; and 
 neither the bride nor the bridegroom looked precisely like 
 
40 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 2 )eople whose uttermost happiness is crowned. Before Adele 
 liad been long a wife, a weakness in her lungs displayed itself 
 — at least, so her husband said, and he, of course, must have 
 ];nown best — that could only be arrested by removal to a 
 warmer climate. So she went to her own people in Provence, 
 and abode with them nearly twelve months. She returned to 
 all appearance perfectly recovered, bringing with her a handsome 
 dark-haired boy — extraordinarily forward for a yearling — who 
 had already been christened ^ in honour ’ — Adele was wont to 
 murmur demurely — ‘ of our good friend and benefactor up yon- 
 der.’ The precise nature of such benevolence she never cared 
 to define ; neither into such matters w^as it anybody’s special 
 business to inquire. 
 
 In the twenty years that ensued. Doctor Kendall certainly 
 prospered. He was clever in his profession, and wrought 
 many cures in cases where honest old Thorner would have 
 thrown up his hands in despair ; and liis practice had largely 
 increased, especially since the branch railway was begun ; for 
 the navvies were not only always cutting and maiming them- 
 selves after their fashion, but also infected the neighbourhood 
 with evil habits of debauch and drink. So grist flowed in fast 
 to the medical mill — not quite fast enough though for all the 
 luxuries in which his wife indulged, nor for the expensive edu- 
 cation of his son. Being an only child, it was perhaps likely 
 that Horace should be much indulged ; but one or two of the 
 more sharp-sighted of Kendall’s neighbours thought the 
 doctor’s manner was scarcely that of an over-fond father. He 
 seemed to yield to the boy’s whims, and overlook his insolence, 
 rather because it was politic than pleasant for him so to do. 
 With each year Horace, too, seemed less inclined to cumber 
 himself with i3utting on even a decent semblance of filial 
 respect. All the affection he had to spare centred itself in 
 his mother, who certainly deserved it by her intense devotion : 
 it was a great trial to both when Horace left home to live per- 
 manently in London, on his appointment to a clerkship in the 
 Eescript Office. 
 
 Eetribution for the sins of his youth had come heavily, in 
 
BLANCHE ELLEHSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 41 
 
 more ways tlian one, on the master of Yernon Mallory. He 
 had plunged deep into speculation of late years, with the 
 headlong obstinacy of a man who will listen to no counsels 
 but his own, believing the rest of mankind to be either fools 
 or knaves. He struggled out of the quagmire, not absolutely 
 ruined, but crippled in income for the rest of his life. The 
 expenses of his family — though he grudged every shilling not 
 spent on his own comfort — added to his numerous ailments, 
 caused the squire to break up his establishment, and reside 
 almost always abroad. His last act before leaving England, 
 was to exert his influence to obtain that clerkship in theEescript 
 Office for Horace Kendall. Competitive examinations were 
 not as yet ; and A^ernon of A^ernon Mallory had always shown 
 himself a stanch adherent to the party then in power. It was 
 hot a great boon for a man to ask, who brought up as many 
 votes to an election as he could count tenants ; for none of 
 these had yet been found bold or enlightened enough to run 
 eounter to their lord’s will. Such a patriot would have been 
 dismissed very speedily to ruminate in fresh pastures on the 
 blessings of independence and the privileges of our glorious 
 constitution. 
 
 Horace Kendall began life under auspices exceptionably 
 favourable for a country apothecary’s son. He had personal 
 advantages of no mean order. His face was decidedly hand- 
 some, in the jeune premier style, with a delicacy of feature 
 almost effeminate ; and he had the eloquent Proven9al eyes ; 
 his figure was, though long and loosely hung, one of those that 
 make up well under the hands of an artistic tailor ; his man- 
 ner, though sometimes rather affected, was not devoid of a 
 certain grace ; and by some mysterious means there was pro- 
 vided for him an allowance more than sufficient. 
 
 Yet, for a while, he seemed not likely to make the best of 
 a good start, and amongst his immediate associates was de- 
 cidedly unpopular. The Eescript Office men were not more 
 fastidious than other civil servants ; but they generally con- 
 trived to find out something concerning the antecedents of 
 each fresh recruit to their small and select company. There 
 
42 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 were several among them not much, if at all, superior to- 
 Kendall in birth — according to his reputed parentage — who 
 got on jierfectly with their fellows, both in and out of office- 
 hours. Eut then these men bore themselves modestly, not 
 with the assumption in which Horace saw fit to indulge. 
 
 There are degrees and differences in conceit, as every one 
 knows. There is the light, frothy conceit, easily blown away 
 with a strong breath, which not unfrequently floats on the 
 surface of a generous nature. There is the puerile conceit of 
 the spoiled page, which provokes a not ill-natured laugh from 
 manhood, and often meets encouragement from women. Lastly, 
 there is the conceit ingrain, — at which none are inclined to 
 smile, even if they chafe not thereat, — that betrays itself not 
 so much by vaunting words as by subtle self-assertion. This 
 last, surely, never, since the world begun, has been known to 
 leaven stuff out of which brave or wise or honest men are 
 made. 
 
 ‘ A natural curiosity,’ said Walter Eougemont, the heraldic 
 authority of the Kescript Office. ‘ That supercilious look of 
 his yesterday, and the way in which he minced out “Chelten- 
 ham ” when Goodenough talked of having been at school there, 
 was quite a study. But when I want to see natural curiosities 
 I go to a museum. If he knew his own interests, he would 
 not always be provoking people to ask “who is he?” I’m 
 not quite clear about it yet ; but I have more than a vague 
 notion that, if lie’s any right to armorial bearings, it is as a 
 “Bitz ’’-somebody or other. I vote we begin seriously to take 
 the conceit out of him. The man’s a perfect nuisance, as he 
 stands.’ 
 
 Kow this exhaustive process, however sanitary in the end, 
 is intensely disagreeable to the patient. Kendall’s self-suf- 
 ficiency was in no wise proof against the keen shafts that ever 
 and anon sought out the joints of his harness ; and, when he 
 was free from such annoyance, the sense of isolation was almost 
 more intolerable. Ere long, Horace felt so thoroughly ill at 
 ease that he was sorely tempted to resign, and seek fortune 
 elsewhere. Whilst his first London season was yet young,, 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 43 
 
 all sncli notions vanished, and his social prospects brightened 
 suddenly. 
 
 Kendall’s visiting-list was, thus far, very limited ; but he 
 chanced one night to be present at a large musical party where- 
 at most of the cognoscenti then in London were assembled. 
 He knew hardly any one there ; and hovered rather discon- 
 solately near the piano, where somehow he felt more at home. 
 It was not a set programme, and there was plenty of room for 
 amateurs as well as professionals to display their talent ; but 
 it was late before the mistress of the house bethought herself 
 of asking Kendall to sing. 
 
 ^ He has rather a singing face,’ she thought, ^ and must be 
 fond of music, or he would not have been hovering round the 
 instrument all night.’ 
 
 Horace complied very willingly. He was not a whit 
 troubled with bashfulness, and reckoned — not without reason 
 — on some sort of a triumph, though most assuredly not on 
 such a one as he obtained. His audience were fairly taken by 
 storm. Professionals were not less enthusiastic than amateurs 
 in their praise of the purest tenor voice that had been heard 
 in London saloons for many a day ; and those who understood 
 such matters best affirmed that there was in it a latent power 
 that only needed to be developed to surpass many of high re- 
 nown on the stage. 
 
 Thenceforward, Horace’s immediate future was assured. 
 On tlie morrow morning he woke and found himself the 
 Fashion : what that terse and rather vulgar expression signi- 
 fies, every one knows. Before long, as far as evening parties 
 were concerned, he was only troubled by the embarrassment 
 of choice. His fellows in the Kescript Office liked him per- 
 haps not a whit better ; but they could not help feeling a cer- 
 tain pride at counting amongst their subalterns such a cele- 
 brity ; and they could not deny that he had some right to 
 give himself airs now — the which privilege Kendall was not 
 minded to neglect. 
 
 Adele Kendall was not a model, either as a wife or a 
 mother : but the wisest and purest of women need not have 
 
44 
 
 lillEAKIXG A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 "been ashamed of such tears as clouded her eyes as she laid 
 down the letter in which her son’s first success was set forth, 
 and in a long sweet day-dream built up a stately air- temple, 
 fit one day to he her idol’s shrine. 
 
 Amongst those who cultivated the new celebrity most 
 assiduously, was the Lady Longfield mentioned above, con- 
 cerning whom Hugh of Mthsdale spoke so irreverently. She 
 was one of those worthy widows, with hearts even larger than 
 their purses, who seem to thrive nowhere so naturally as on 
 English soil, who always mean thoroughly well by their gener- 
 ation, even if they do not greatly contribute to its credit or 
 well-being. Amongst all followers of that haute vmerie^ 
 there was found no more intreihd ‘ lion-hunter.’ ^ Lion- 
 slayer ’ to boot she was called by her detractors ; in truth, 
 sooner or later, in one fashion or another, her proteges gener- 
 ally managed to come to grief. But, putting a little harmless 
 vanity aside, she had no selfish motive in the pursuit ; and, 
 though her days of mourning lasted not long, no one regretted 
 more sincerely the shortcomings or downfall of her favourites. 
 Eor the time being, she spoiled them intensely, and no amount 
 of disappointments could teach her discretion in patronage. 
 She might be as plaintive as you please overnight ; but the 
 joy of a fresh and rarer discovery was almost sure to come 
 with the morning ; and her moan over the monarch of her 
 affections was scarcely made, before on her lips resounded a 
 jubilant — ^ Long live the king ! ’ 
 
 It was very pleasant to have the entree at all canonical 
 hours to that charming mansion in Mayfair, where every 
 domestic detail was faultless, and visitors found themselves 
 metaphorically, no less than literally, on velvet; but the at- 
 mosphere would have been pernicious to a healthier nature 
 than Horace Kendall’s. Very few men of his age can occupy 
 the oracular tripod round wEich clouds of incense are always 
 steaming, with senses sober and clear ; and fewer stiU can feed 
 on flattery daily, without waxing overweening as Jeshurun on 
 the rich, unwholesome diet. 
 
 Lady Longfield did not scruple to suggest to her new 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 45 
 
 favourite that he should abandon at once mechanical quill- 
 driving, and seek fame and fortune on the operatic stage. To 
 this plan Horace lent a not unwilling ear. Whilst it was yet 
 immature, he wrote to Swetenhaih setting forth this new pro- 
 ject, in perfect confidence of its meeting with assent and en- 
 couragement. Had the answer rested with her alone, it is 
 certain Mrs Kendall would have tried to promote this like any 
 other whim of her spoiled darling ; hut she was fain to take 
 others into counsel. Within a week there came from across 
 the seas a veto curt, stern, and decisive, that neither mother 
 nor son dared disregard ; so for the present Horace was fain to 
 content himself with private ovations, instead of aspiring to 
 public triumphs. 
 
 There was a faint savour of bitterness in the luscious cup 
 that day by day he drained so eagerly. His presence was 
 sought by many melomaniacs of high degree : yet his over- 
 weening vanity did not blind him to the fact that it was in 
 a semi-professional capacity that he was Avelcomed in their 
 houses. Only at Lady Longfield’s he was thoroughly at 
 home. His hostesses were charmingly civil and grateful ; but 
 after their most elaborate compliments and expansive thanks- 
 giving, he felt as if he were being paid in kind, if not in coin. 
 Their daughters were liberal of pretty speeches and smiles ; 
 but somehow he never found his way into a coterie; and with 
 every advantage of time and place, he could never bring off 
 one of the cosy ^ two-handed cracks ’ contrived, even in the 
 heart of a crowded assembly, by barbarians who had not so 
 much as heard of the chromatic scale. 
 
 With men he was not a whit more popular than before he 
 began to be famous. They had no purpose to serve in gaining 
 his ^ most sweet voice ; ’ and troubled themselves very little 
 with his whims or his ways — always excepting certain par- 
 vemis and their parasites, to whom notoriety was a sufficient 
 attraction. Hot many seemed to care for more than a nodding 
 acquaintance with Kendall ; and when he sought to be ad- 
 mitted into a certain club — not ill-naturedly exclusive as a rule 
 — he was ‘ pilled ’ pitilessly. 
 
46 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Witli all his fatuity, Horace had a keen cunning eye for 
 his own interests, and very just ideas as to the wisdom of fdl- 
 ing his garner whilst the sun shone. A marriage that hy con- 
 nection, if not hy mere dowry, would assure his j^osition 
 thenceforth for ever, was the aim set steadfastly before him. 
 There was nothing wildly improbable in such ambition. Was 
 he not, in common with other frequenters of the Mile, 
 dazzled daily hy the gorgeous equipages of Camille Desmou- 
 lins, who, not long ago, had been content with the modest 
 salary of a second-rate tenor ; and was it not known how the 
 said Camille, with no other exertion — bodily or intellectual — 
 had so warbled himself into the good graces of a wealthy 
 widow, that she proffered him the guardianship of her vener- 
 able person, and of her vast worldly goods 1 Kendall knew 
 himself to be an adventurer, and felt no shame in avowing it 
 to himself ; reckoning his chances and resources quite coolly, 
 he came to the conclusion that he had the pull of most of his 
 rivals in the ignoble race. 
 
 Nevertheless, the curtain dropped on the summer season, 
 the country visits that engrossed all his autumn furlough were 
 over, the mild dissipations of winter were past — and his object 
 as yet assumed no more definite form and substance, than the 
 shadows that cross magic mirrors or glide past the watchers on 
 All-Hallows-eve. Horace waxed discontented, if not disap- 
 pointed ; but, before the spring was far advanced, there came 
 a salve to his wounded vanity. 
 
 Gwendoline — more familiarly called Nina — Marston was, 
 as the most indulgent of her friends and kinsfolk allowed, ‘ a 
 very odd girl.’ She was not eighteen yet, so that her char- 
 acter could scarcely have developed itself : nevertheless even 
 now it presented the strangest contrast of weakness and 
 strength. In what manner Lady Daventry’s children were 
 trained has already been told. Nina was no exception to the 
 general laissez-alleriivlQ ; indeed, being decidedly independent, 
 not to say turbulent, by nature, she emancipated herself sooner 
 than Lose had done from the light thraldrom of the governess ; 
 nnd, being less a favourite with her mother, was left more en- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 47 
 
 tirely to her own devices. She was as different as possible 
 from her sister, physically no less than morally. Till you 
 Temembered how such peculiarities reappear capriciously after 
 the lapse of generations, and that within the last century and 
 a half there had come a Spanish cross into the Marston blood, 
 you would have been puzzled to account for the wavy black 
 hair, and the eyes more intensely black that lit up the small 
 resolute face. After being an hour in Mna Marston’s com- 
 pany, and watching the play of her lips, you guessed that she 
 was a woman already in wilfulness and tenacity of purpose; 
 yet impulsive withal, and romantic to a degree most uncommon 
 in these days, when our very school-girls smile at the love- 
 conceits which beguiled their granddames, even as they may 
 have smiled at the philandering of Arcadia. 
 
 It was at the very beginning of Nina’s first season, before 
 her presentation dress was ordered, that she met Horace Ken- 
 dall at a morning concert, and heard him sing. As she drove 
 home she said to herself, ‘ she had met her fate.’ Now, in the 
 mouths of most girls, such words would have been a mere 
 form of romantic speaking ; with Nina, it unhappily was not 
 so. She was none of the melodramatic heroines who talk by 
 rote ; but one of those who play out their parts, good or bad, 
 only too naturally. 
 
 They met tolerably often after that first day. Horace 
 Kendall was no dunce in such matters; but it needed no 
 expert to decipher the language of the great earnest eyes, that 
 rested on him with such rapt attention whilst he was singing, 
 and followed him afterwards, till they hid themselves shyly 
 under their long lashes if their pursuit was detected. He came 
 to the Nithsdale ball with a pleasant conviction of ‘ having 
 made an impression in that quarter,’ and a firm resolve to work 
 out the chance to the uttermost. 
 
 Lady Daventry did not bow down and worship) before the 
 newly-discovered star. She was Cjuite content with her own 
 set ; and found her house sufficiently attractive, without call- 
 ing in the aid of talent, professional or otherwise. Neverthe- 
 less, Horace was sufficiently well-acquainted with her to war- 
 
48 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY! OR 
 
 rant his seeking an introduction to iN’ina early in the evening. 
 Lady Daventry was not at the best of times a vigilant chape- 
 ron ; and all her energies that night were engrossed in giving 
 aid and encouragement to her elder daughter : she performed 
 the presentation almost mechanically, and was too busy after- 
 wards to notice the flirtation which gave umbrage to Hugh of 
 Hithsdale. Had she known of it, it is possible that the 
 haughty dame would not have lain down to rest without a 
 single misgiving of the complete success of the entertain- 
 ment. 
 
 Lose Hithsdale was too thoroughly good-natured to get 
 any one, gentle or simple, into a scrape if she could possibly 
 avoid it ; and had a great horror even of the mildest domestic 
 discussion. She stood in no great awe of Lady Daventry, 
 who was, in truth, anything but a stern duenna. Nevertheless, 
 she resolved that the punishment-parade should be strictly pri- 
 vate ; and, on some pretext or another, carried Nina off into 
 her own dressing-room before she said a word concerning the 
 misdemeanor of overnight. When Lady Nithsdale did speak, 
 she spoke very much to the purpose, and with most unwonted 
 earnestness and energy ; but the culprit was quite impenitent, 
 and seemed inclined to justify, if not to glory in her guilt. 
 
 ^ I never heard so much ado about nothing,’ she said. ‘ If 
 I had waltzed five times running, or sat out half the night, 
 with Hegy Avenel, or any of that lot, I shouldn’t have heard 
 a word about it ; and I don’t see Avhy Mr Kendall isn’t as good 
 as any of them, though he don’t happen to be in your set.’ 
 
 ‘ We know who that lot ” are at all events/ Eose Nithsdale 
 said ; ‘ and of Mr Kendall we know absolutely nothing,, except 
 that he sings charmingly. Eegy Avenel would never have 
 dreamed of compromising a child like you at her first balk’ 
 
 ‘ No, he only compromises married women. So kind of 
 him — isn’t it ? So kind of you, too, to sacrifice yourselves to 
 keep us out of harm’s way. I thought you were too well- 
 amused last night, Eosie, to watch other people amusing 
 themselves.’ 
 
 ^ I didn’t watch you ; but Hugh told me this morning — ’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 49 
 
 the Countess checked herself abruptly, biting her pretty lip ; 
 she saw she had made a false move. 
 
 ‘ Hugh is more than old enough to be my father, I’m quite 
 aware of that,’ Nina retorted ; ‘ but while papa’s alive I don’t 
 .see that he’s any right to treat me paternally. He’ll have 
 enough to do in looking after one Marston, I fancy, without 
 taking all the family on his hands.’ 
 
 It was hard indeed to ruffle Lady Nithsdale’s easy indolent 
 temper ; but she began to be provoked at the stubbornness of 
 the reckless little rebel, and that last thrust touched her 
 nearly. She rose up with no bad imitation of matronly dig- 
 nity, considering how seldom she had tried to assume it. 
 
 ^ You’re very ungrateful, Nina, and you speak very im- 
 properly about Hugh. It’s only too good of him to try to 
 keep you out of mischief. I didn’t mean to worry mamma 
 with this nonsense, but as you are so self-willed I must tell 
 her about it. Perhaps she will make you listen to reason. 
 
 The stubborn defiant face changed into a look almost of 
 terror. Nina was not the least afraid of her mother’s anger ; 
 but she was mortally afraid of being put under surveillance : 
 that would materially interfere with the carrying out of divers 
 ingenious schemes, floating since last night in her busy brain. 
 
 ‘ 0 Eosie, you won’t do that ! ’ she whispered coaxingly, 
 nestling close to her sister’s side. ^ I- didn’t mean to be un- 
 grateful either to you or to Hugh — I didn’t indeed. If you 
 only won’t speak to mamma, I promise to be as good as you 
 please.’ 
 
 Lady Nithsdale was only too happy to accept the olive- 
 branch ; she hated the idea of haling any one before the judg- 
 ment-seat. In her own heart, she felt that she was no more 
 fitted to play the monitress, even to that wilful child, than to 
 teach a class in a Sunday-school. So she consented readily 
 enough to connive for that once at Nina’s derogation ; and, 
 without actually becoming surety for her sister, contrived to 
 persuade her husband that the offence should be repeated no 
 more. 
 
50 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 CHAPTEE YII. 
 
 Mark Eamsay was none of those over-eager hunters who 
 mar their own sport by impatience in the stalk. Every foot- 
 fall that brought him nearer to his quarry was cautiously 
 planted ; so that no rustle of leaf or grass-blade should startle 
 in her fancied security the fair hind he had marked for his 
 own. Yet day by day, almost hour by hour, the distance be- 
 tween them lessened. 
 
 To those who knew Blanche Ellerslie, it would have 
 seemed impossible that any man — not standing in the place 
 of her accepted suitor — should find the field clear of rivalry 
 more or less dangerous. Mark Eamsay’s attentions were never 
 persecuting or obtrusive — seldom, indeed, so marked as they 
 had been at the Nithsdale ball. Yet, somehow or other, the 
 ‘ old loves,’ whose name was legion, found that an invisible 
 circle was being drawn around her, wherein there was no rest 
 for the soles of their feet. The small ear, that used to listen 
 so readily, had grown strangely deaf to whispers of late ; the 
 delicate lips answered kindly and courteously, but no longer 
 with the old temptations of mockery or gibe ; the soft eloquent 
 eyes had grown pensive, and sometimes full of an anxiety 
 which the most confident admirer could not flatter himself he 
 inspired. 
 
 Even Oswald Gauntlet, the famous and fatal horse-gunner 
 (by the rules of the service he had been transferred twice or 
 thrice into a field-battery, but even the W ar Office had not 
 the heart to keep him there), who, ever since their first flirta- 
 tion on first principles — begun when Blanche was scarcely 
 seventeen, and Oswald a beardless aide-de-camp — had retained 
 his post of High Confidant at the capricious little despot’s 
 court, no matter how other ministers were changed, found him- 
 self, to all intents and purposes, shelved. He was a warning 
 to all ‘ scufflers ’ present and to come, as he stood apart twist- 
 ing his long tawny moustache in angry bewilderment ; always 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 51 
 
 beset by tbe same dreary doubt — ^ Whether it was worth while 
 to come up all the way from W oolwich for this ’ — ‘ this ’ mean- 
 ing a passing fan-salute, or careless smile, or perchance a few 
 words to which all the world might have listened and been 
 none the wiser. 
 
 'Now the thought of making Elanche Ellerslie his wife had 
 never dwelt for an instant in Major Gauntlet’s mind. He was 
 too poor a man to dream of such a luxury, and he had never 
 in his life spoken to her passionate or over-earnest words : but 
 he was really attached to her in his own fashion, and he felt 
 their estrangement keenly. Furthermore, putting all jealousies 
 aside — he was fain to confess to himself that he was jealous at 
 last — Oswald happened to have heard more than most people 
 of Mark Eamsay’s past ; and he would have been sorry to see 
 any woman, for whom he cared ever so little, given over to 
 that man’s keeping. One morning. Major Gauntlet went to 
 lunch in Craven Square ; with the fixed resolve, if he found 
 opportunity, to take heart of grace, and say out his say. 
 
 La Heine Gaillarde had a fine instinct in such matters ; 
 and somehow guessed that it would not be disagreeable, to one 
 of her guests at least, if she left them alone. Any ordinary 
 flirtation she was rather inclined to countenance than to hin- 
 der ; and she was only too ready to aid and abet in anything 
 that might possibly weaken Eamsay’s growing influence over 
 Elanche Ellerslie. So when they went up-stairs after luncheon 
 the fair widow found herself en champ clos ; with no possi- 
 bility of escape unless by absolute flight, which she was not 
 cowardly enough to contemplate. Had she not been five 
 hundred times before alone with Oswald Gauntlet ; and was 
 it not too utterly absurd to feel awkward now*? In spite 
 of all this, she felt so nervous that it was almost a relief to 
 her when he actually broke ground. 
 
 ^ I have been waiting for this chance some time, Elanche ’ 
 — she was quite a girl when he came on her father’s staff, and 
 he had called her ever since by her Christian name — ‘ and I’m 
 not going to waste it by talking nonsense now. You know 
 pretty weU how much and how little I like you ; and you 
 
52 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 know too, whether I have deserved to he dropped as I have 
 heeii of late. Good God 1 you’re not going to deny it *? ’ he 
 broke out fiercely, seeing that she was about to speak. ‘ Surely 
 we’re too good friends still, to begin that kind of fencing. 
 I’m not going to quarrel with you ; and, what’s more, I don’t 
 complain. If a woman chooses that old acquaintance should 
 be forgot, she is only using her woman’s privilege. It’s of 
 your new acquaintance I’m going to speak.’ 
 
 Mrs Ellerslie had sat a picture of pretty penitence till now, 
 with bowed head and drooping eyelashes ; at those last words 
 she drew herself up, and looked straight into Gauntlet’s face. 
 
 ‘ You mean Mr Eamsay, I suppose.’ 
 
 ‘ Could I mean any other 'I Now, Blanche, just be patient 
 and hear me out. I sha’n’t bore you any more, after to-day. 
 If I had asked you to marry me, any time when you were 
 free, you’d have said Yo,” I dare say. That’s neither here 
 nor there ; but, why I never could ask you, you know as well 
 as I do. When I heard you were going to be married to poor 
 Ellerslie, I didn’t like it at first, but I never grudged him his 
 luck ; and now, if I heard that the same luck had befallen any 
 true honest man, I wouldn’t grudge it him — I wouldn’t, by 
 G — d ! But I should grudge it to Eamsay ; for I don’t believe 
 he’s either honest or true.’ 
 
 They had known each other very long, and Oswald had 
 often amused himself with teasing the pettish little beauty ; 
 but he had never before seen real anger in her eyes. 
 
 ‘ And that is your idea of truth and honesty,’ she said, 
 speaking very low — ‘ to revenge yourself lor neglect that was 
 never intended, by coming here to say to me what you never 
 would dare to say to him ! ’ 
 
 Major Gauntlet had Avon his Cross, not by a single act of 
 foolhardiness, but by repeated proofs of disciplined A^alour ; 
 and he could well ha\^e afforded to have passed over such a 
 suspicion coming from a man’s lips. Coming from a woman’s, 
 it only made him smile. 
 
 ‘Wouldn’t I]’ he said sinqily. ‘You are a very clever 
 woman, Blanche Ellerslie — accustomed to read men’s hearts, 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDIx\G. 53 
 
 and all the rest of it — and yon know hest, of course. Now I 
 fancied, as I lay awake this morning, that there was nothing 
 I should like better, than to say to Mark Eamsay — what I 
 say to you — that he’s not a fit person to be trusted with the 
 happiness of any woman alive. There’s not the least neces- 
 sity for your telling me I have no right to interfere between 
 him and you. I’m perfectly well aivare of that ; and another 
 taunt like that last one won’t make me forget it; but I 
 wouldn’t talk too much about daring” if I were you. It’s 
 bad form, to say the least of it.’ 
 
 Blanche was thoroughly ashamed of herself long before he 
 had done speaking. 
 
 ‘ Those were very base words of mine,’ she said ; ^ try and 
 forget them. I am not used to being taken to task, and 
 every one seems to have had a special call to do it lately ; I 
 thought I was safe with you. I have never known you so 
 hard on my fredaines before : you might look sulky at first, 
 but you always laughed at last.’ 
 
 ‘ I wish I could laugh now,’ he said. ‘ I’m doing no good 
 here, I see : but, Blanche, for old acquaintance’ sake, answer 
 me one question ; never mind whether I’ve a right to ask it 
 or not. In spite of all you have heard or may hear, do you 
 mean to marry Eamsay '? ’ 
 
 ‘ He has never asked me.’ 
 
 The sentence meant little, but the shy, conscious look, and 
 the trembling of the voice, meant — all. The other knew 
 that darker proofs of Eamsay’s unworthiness than he was 
 prepared to bring forward, would only embitter Blanche 
 against himself, without turning her aside one hair’s-breadth 
 from the path she was bent on pursuing. He rose up, with 
 both her tiny hands in his own ; and his handsome face was 
 very pale, though he strove to speak lightly. 
 
 ^ Don’t let us part in anger, because I was fool enough to 
 think that my warning would not come too late. Perhaps 
 you’ll need a friend yet before you die : when you do, you’ll 
 not forget me, if I’m to the fore '? I sha’n’t see much of you 
 for some months to come. I’ve been offered to go on this 
 
54 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Commission that is to visit all the great fortresses and camps 
 of Europe — a good thing for me, in more ways than one, just 
 now. I suppose everything will be settled before I come 
 back. So — good-bye, Blanche, and God bless you ! ’ 
 
 Oswald Gauntlet was by no means a devout man. I fear 
 he seldom attended public worship unless on duty, or some 
 such sort of compulsion : and perhaps was not always regular 
 in his private orisons. But no fanatic, trailing himself from 
 shrine to shrine, ever uttered a petition more thoroughly 
 heartfelt and earnest than was contained in those last three 
 words. Whether that prayer reached the base of the Mercy- 
 seat, or whether, like many petitions formed by more saintly 
 lips, it was borne idly away by one of the winds that never 
 blow in heaven, you will know hereafter who have patience 
 to read to the end. 
 
 Thus the lady was left in possession of the field, whereon, 
 to say the least of it, she had held her own. Yet she did not 
 seem triumphant or victorious, as she sat there with her face 
 buried in the sofa-pillow for some minutes after she was left 
 alone. When she looked up again her eyes were wet. 
 
 Her best friends — Laura Brancepeth for example — called 
 her a cruel coquette ; yet there was much of softness, if not 
 of tenderness, in her nature. That same inconsistency has 
 been noticed in much more famous criminals. Mahomet’s 
 cat, and Couthon’s la23dog, are matters of history; and Count 
 Eosco’s canary has always seemed to me one of the happiest 
 touches in a very powerful picture. Though she had wrought 
 so much harm in her time, Blanche had never with malice or 
 of aforethought injured any living thing. Her repentance 
 was not keen or durable enough to keep her from falling into 
 fresh temptation : yet each and every one of her victims 
 might have been consoled by knowing that Blanche’s heart 
 •wore for him a decent half-mourning. In one respect Mrs 
 EUerslie had exceptional luck. Amongst womankind she had 
 enemies not a few : but men — no matter what wrong they 
 had suffered at her hands — seemed incapable of nourishing 
 rancour against her ; in almost any company there might have 
 
BLANCHE ELLEIISLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 55 
 
 l3eeii found champions ready and willing to buckler her good 
 name against whomsoever should presume to assail it. She 
 was really fond of her cage-birds, though she teased them so 
 terribly ; and it was not her vanity only that suffered, when 
 one of these found the use of his wings and escaped from 
 bondage. 
 
 Major Gauntlet was not an ordinary pet. Till within the 
 last two months, she had liked and admired him more than 
 any one she had known. A soldier’s daughter and a soldier’s 
 wife — she was able to appreciate soldierly renown : she liked 
 to think that she had at her beck and call one whom brave 
 hearts were proud to follow ; and to carry on light word- 
 warfare with the man whose name carried terror with it 
 wherever it was spoken along the north-western frontier of 
 •India. Many maids and matrons, since Una walked in forest- 
 land, have found it pleasant pastime to dally with the mane 
 of a couchant lion. She knew that Oswald had left her not 
 in anger, and that she might count on his friendship now and 
 always ; but she knew, too, that it could never be the same 
 between them any more ; and that the ancient intimacy — 
 half-sportive, half-tender — had that day gotten its death-blow. 
 
 'When, after discreet absence, Laura Brancepeth returned, 
 she found Mrs Ellerslie looking so sorrowful, that she could 
 not forbear questioning. 
 
 ^ There’s nothing the matter,’ Blanche said, with a little 
 sob ; ^ only I do so hate saying good-bye ; and that is what 
 Oswald Gauntlet came here to say. He’s going abroad, for 
 I don’t know how long, on some stupid Gommission or 
 another.’ 
 
 ISTow La Eeine Gaillarde had an implicit belief in the 
 dashing horse-gunner — not in matters martial alone — and had 
 reckoned rather confidently on him as a counter-agent on the 
 present occasion. It was provoking to her that he had so 
 readily beaten retreat, and left the held clear for other invad- 
 ing forces. 
 
 ‘ Eather a sudden resolution, wasn’t it ? It was only the 
 night before last, that Major Gauntlet was talking to me 
 
56 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 about bis summer plans ; and travelling on the Continent 
 was certainly not one of them. I wouldn’t worry myself too 
 much about saying good-bye, Blanche, if I were you. You’ll 
 have to say it, sooner or later, to more than one old friend, 
 I fancy. It’s to be hoped the new ones will make you 
 amends.’ 
 
 It was not often that Mrs Ellerslie was at a loss for a 
 reply ; but now she could frame none — unless a low reproach- 
 ful whisper, ‘ 0 Queenie ! ’ could be called such — and escaped 
 to her own room. 
 
 Those two were very silent during their drive. When, 
 they drew up under their favourite tree in the Mile, the least 
 observant of her courtiers saw that something had ruffled the 
 quick temper of La Eeine Gaillarde ; and the most successful 
 of those who strove to engross Mrs Ellerslie’s attention was 
 scarcely rewarded with a languid smile. Whilst that especial 
 carriage halted there was always a kind of circle round it : but, 
 by some strange coincidence, one familiar face was missing — 
 the face of Mark Eamsay. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 ^ And is this your last — your very last answer 1 ’ 
 
 Mark Eamsay spoke quite calmly, almost unconcernedly ; 
 yet his thoughts were very bitter just then. He had very 
 seldom left on the board the stake in any game on the win- 
 ning of which he had thoroughly set his heart’s desire — so 
 seldom, indeed, that nine men out of ten, on the strength of their 
 evil success, would have grown over-weening in confidence. 
 But Mark was none of these. He deemed that the Devil’s 
 luck, like any other luck, would run itself out at last ; and was 
 prepared at any moment to see the intermittence set in. From 
 personal vanity, pure and simple, he was, as has been afore- 
 said, singularly free ; and he could calculate his own chances 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 57 
 
 of success or failui'e just as coolly as if he liad been looking over 
 a third person’s game. All this only made him feel his present 
 disappointment more keenly. He had never been more sure 
 of any one thing in his life^ than of Blanche Ellerslie’s assent 
 whenever he should ask her to marry him. 
 
 He knew perfectly well with what manner of woman he 
 was dealing, and was prepared from the first to meet all the 
 wiles of finished coquetry. But over the perfection of any art 
 whatsoever, Hature will sometimes prevail. Smiles may be 
 feigned, glances be tutored, and voices be trained to tremble 
 but Cleopatra herself, though she might counterfeit a blush, 
 could not summon up at Avill the faint, tender gloAv of happi- 
 ness which, at the sound of a certain footstep or the glimpse of 
 a certain figure, has caused ere now many ill-favoured faces to 
 Avax for the nonce pleasant and comely. For such signs Barn- 
 say’s practised eyes had Avatched often and earnestly of late, 
 and had not Avatched in Amin. He could not accuse himself of 
 being precipitate noAV in pressing his suit. And what manner 
 of ansAver had he just listened to 1 It Avas not an absolute re- 
 fusal ; but still less Avas it one of those feminine Hays concern- 
 ing AABich so many pleasant conceits have been indited both 
 in poesy and prose. The plea for delay Avas too earnestly 
 urged, and too steadily persisted in, to be set doAvn to coy sub- 
 terfuge. 
 
 That delays are dangerous, none knew better than Bamsay. 
 If the fortress to Avhich he laid siege could not be carried at 
 once, he guessed that its defences Avere not likely to be weaken- 
 ed by the according of a truce, nevertheless, AAuthin that same 
 fortress much doubt and difficulty prevailed just iioav. 
 
 Mrs Ellerslie Avas, in all Avays, of the world Avorldly ; yet 
 the veriest country girl, hovering on the Amrge of first love, 
 could not be more single-minded in intent than Blanche had 
 been of late. Hot one mercenary motive entered into her pre- 
 ference for Mark .Bamsay. She might have landed quite as- 
 heavy, if not heavier, fish ere noAv, if she had cared to Avork 
 the Avaters where the big trout lie more patiently ; but she had 
 wealth more than sufficient to satisfy all her Avhims ; and as- 
 
58 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 yet liacl never been seriously tempted to exchange the freedom 
 of the Allee des Yeuves for any prison whatsoever, even if the 
 walls were of jasper and the gates of wrought gold. As for 
 ambition — that is another affair. Blanche was too thorough 
 a woman, not to savour her triumph in holding at her discre- 
 tion the ‘ stag of ten,’ against whom younger and fairer hunt- 
 resses had emptied their quivers in vain. She was well aware 
 that many matrons, who turned indignantly away from jMark 
 Eamsay lingering at her side, would have found gracious 
 glances for him, lounging in their own drawing-rooms 3 and 
 that the pity they feigned to feel for her would scarce have 
 been extended to their own daughters, had these been ex- 
 posed to like temptation ; she was keenly alive, too, to the 
 delight of successful rivalry. But putting all these incitements 
 aside, she felt for Mark Eamsay what she had never felt for 
 any man alive or dead. It was not only a strong liking, but 
 a growing sense of dependence which almost frightened her, 
 intensely pleasant though it was. From her girlhood upwards 
 she had scoffed pitilessly at the substance of Love, though she 
 had ever been coquetting with his shadow : but she felt mis- 
 givings now, lest she should have been over-rash in her gay 
 defiance. Yet, had the choice been given her, she would not 
 have drawn back one step on the road that seemed to trend 
 towards the house of bondage. 
 
 All this being premised, it seems hard to understand why 
 she should hesitate and plead for delay when Mark asked for 
 her hand. It was scarcely prudence withheld her ; but rather 
 one of those presentiments that are such true prophets, though 
 they speak more darkly than the oracles whose utterances 
 were whispered on the winds of Dodona, or through the smoke 
 of Delphi. All the warnings that she had put aside and tried 
 to forget came back upon her now ; and she could not drive 
 them away. The friends who had spoken those warnings 
 might not have been very safe counsellors as a rule, and cer- 
 tainly were little apt to preach ; but she knew that they 
 had spoken honestly for her good — ay, and not without sound 
 reason. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 59 
 
 ‘ ISTot fit to be trusted with the happiness of any woman 
 alive.’ 
 
 How sharply she had checked Oswald Gauntlet when he 
 spoke these words ! Eut her heart heard them over again, 
 sleeping or waking, often enough since. They rang in her 
 ears like a church-bell, that never wearies of its message of 
 truth and kindness to sinners, whether they will hearken or no. 
 Trom the first moment when she looked on her suitor’s face, 
 she had tried to believe that much of the ill-report concern- 
 ing him was idle gossip or scandal : yet, at this very moment, 
 she remembered that without fire there is no smoke ; and that 
 creatures more innocent than herself — innocent as the children 
 that were burned before Moloch — might ere now have passed 
 through the furnace of Mark Ramsay’s evil passions. 
 
 It was very true that the love he now proffered brought 
 with it no shame ; nevertheless, the gift might be fatal. On 
 men of his stamp, vo^vs are not more binding because they 
 have been spoken before an altar. Spirits so hard to tame 
 stand in small awe of a simj)le wedding-ring. Moreover, if 
 the Talmud speak true, the talisman whereby King Solomon 
 controlled the Djinns, could not save him from betrayal by 
 the Shulamite. 
 
 Warning and presentiment availed just so much as to make 
 her hesitate — no more. For her life she could not have spoken 
 the words that would have sent Mark Ramsay away from her 
 for ever. When he said, ^ Is this your very last answer 1 ’ she 
 could only look up at him timidly, murmuring, 
 
 ‘ You must not be angry : you must be patient. If you 
 knew all I have heard, you would not wonder.’ 
 
 His face began to harden. 
 
 ‘ Rare tales, I dare be sworn. With all the talent for in- 
 vention that is abroad, it’s very odd better novels are not 
 written now-a-days. And do you think it is only about me 
 ihdX fahliaiix are made? I find it so much pleasanter to take 
 people as I find them, instead of on hearsay ; and so much 
 wiser not to trouble myself with what happened before my 
 time. Eut if one were to beheve half one hears — Mrs 
 
CO 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Ellerslie, as you are so fond of listening to stories, I’ll tell you 
 one. It’s not very sensational ; but it’s true. 
 
 " When people told you so much about my past, did they 
 tell you that some time ago I spent twelve months in India 1 
 Ho? It was so, nevertheless. I was a poor man in those 
 days, and only too thankful to be set forward on my road, or 
 helped in getting at the big game. I had heard a good deal 
 of Indian hospitality before I started ; but I was not prepared 
 for half the kindness I met with. With one regiment in par- 
 ticular, I lived nearly three months, at free quarters — the — tli 
 Hussars, who were quartered at Meerut. The day before I 
 was to leave them to return home, sitting alone with the Chief 
 in his bungalow, I naturally offered to execute any commission 
 for him or for any other comrade. 
 
 “Well, there’s one thing you might do,” Colonel Heville 
 said, “ but I hardly like to ask you, though it would please 
 several others in the regiment besides me. There’s one of 
 ours whom you have never seen yet, though you’ve heard him 
 talked over often enough, for he’s been on the sick-list since 
 you came here. It’s a very sad case. We liked vdiatwe saw 
 of him immensely, when he joined, and thought we had got a 
 real acquisition ; but I don’t think he has done ten days’ duty 
 since, nor dined a dozen times at mess. lie was very shaky 
 from the first, and he’s never given himself half a chance 
 since ; for he does nothing but mope in his bungalow, smoking 
 like a chimney, and, I’m very much afraid, drinking to match. 
 He don’t look fit to travel, and seems to hate the idea of going 
 home ; but the doctor says the sea-voyage is his last chance. 
 He w^as very loth to move ; so I got his sick-leave without 
 consulting him, and he starts to-morrow. How, if you are 
 not in any great hurry — you haven’t taken your passage yet, I 
 Imow — 1 thought perhaps you wouldn’t mind looking after him 
 as far as Calcutta. You’ll have to travel slower, of course ; 
 but otherwise he won’t be much trouble : he’s as gentle as a 
 girl in his ways, spite of the drink.” 
 
 ^ An act of simple charity was not much return for all the 
 kindness I had met with there. So I said ; and so it was 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 61 
 
 settled. I did not see my travelling-companion till I called 
 for liim at his bungalow next evening, I thought I had sel- 
 dom looked on a handsomer face, though death was written on 
 it very plainly ; and I was quite struck by the pleasantness of 
 his voice as he said good-bye to his comrades ; for every officer 
 in the regiment was there to see him off. Eeyond a few sen- 
 tences of commonplace courtesy exchanged then, very few 
 words passed between us that night ; and, when we reached 
 our first halting-place, he seemed so tired that I did not tempt 
 him to talk. 
 
 ‘ There were no railways in those days. Travelling was 
 done by dawk-gharries. You travel always by night, resting, 
 if there’s no necessity to push forward, during the heat of the 
 day. I saw scarcely anything of my travelling-companion 
 except at meals, at which he made a mere pretence of eating, 
 and then betook himself to lay down again in his own room 
 till it was time to start. He did not seem inclined to talk ; 
 but his manner was very winning, and he seemed grateful to 
 me for lingering with him on the road. So it went on, till we 
 halted on the sixth day at a lonely station beyond Benares. 
 When he got out of his gharry, he seemed scarce able to 
 walk into the dawk bungalow, and said he would try to sleep, 
 for he could swallow no food. So I breakfasted alone, and 
 afterwards began to doze. I woke up with a start — feeling 
 sure that there was some one in the room near me, though I 
 had not heard the door open. 
 
 ‘ My companion stood there, resting his hands on the table 
 and swaying to and fro. The sun-blinds were closely drawn 
 and the room was very dark ; yet I could see his face — deathly 
 white — and the gleaming of his great black eyes. From cer- 
 tain significant words dropped by my bearer I guessed what 
 his habits had been throughout the journey, and delirium 
 tremens was the first idea that crossed my mind. 
 
 I’m not drunk ! ” he said, as though he read my thoughts. 
 
 I’m dying, that’s all ; and I — I daren’t die alone.” 
 
 ‘ I sprang up just in time to catch him in my arms as he 
 .stumbled forwards ; and I laid him down on my coiicli, from 
 
62 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OB 
 
 which lie never stirred again. There are times, I believe, 
 when a man must speak — even to a dog or his worst enemy — 
 rather than keep silence altogether. So it came to pass that I, 
 a mere chance-acquaintance, heard his last confession, spoken 
 slowly and painfully in the lulls between the spasms. I dare 
 say the story is very dry and old ; but I never listened to one 
 quite like it, and it made rather a strong impression on me. I. 
 remember it almost word for word. 
 
 ^ He had served, till he got his lieutenancy, in a heavy- 
 dragoon regiment : and during those three years met a 
 woman, who — unwittingly as I thoroughly believe — turned 
 all the current of his life awry. JSTeither did he accuse her. 
 He accused only his own folly, for having been so be- 
 witched. 
 
 “ She was only in play,” he said ; and she could not 
 guess that it was playing the devil with me. She would not 
 have soiled the tip of her little finger for my sake ; and there’s 
 no sin or shame on earth that I would not have worked out at 
 the beck of that same finger. I never told her as much. 1 
 don’t think I ever said a syllable to her that her husband 
 might not have listened to. And this is how we parted. I 
 was going on leave to see after some of my mother’s affairs, 
 that ought to have been attended to long before : I should not 
 have gone even then ; but she knew how things stood with 
 me, and would have it so. To reward me for being ‘ dutiful 
 and obedient,’ I was to have as many waltzes as I chose at 
 a dance that came oft at barracks that night. I had heaps to 
 do ; but I managed to get there just as the first quadrille was 
 over. She was sitting in an out-of-the-way corner, talking 
 very earnestly to a man whom I had never seen before, though 
 I had heard his name often enough ; for, to give him his due, 
 I believe there’s no better soldier. I felt hot and savage, and 
 then sick at heart, before she spoke. 
 
 I wasn’t to be furious. "When she promised me those 
 unlimited waltzes, she had reckoned without Oswald Gauntlet, 
 who was a very, veru old friend ; and old friends were so ex- 
 acting. He had travelled a long way to be there that night ; 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE's ENDING. 
 
 65 
 
 and she had been weak enough to promise him the first waltz 
 and galop at all events. Apres^ on verrait, 
 
 I felt very dizzy just then ; yet not so dizzy, but, as I 
 turned away, I heard him say, with a half-laugh, 
 
 ‘ It’s hard lines on him too, poor boy.’ 
 
 “ And she laughed too, as she answered : 
 
 ‘ You were always fond of children, Oswald — fonder than 
 I am. Shall I call back my pretty page % ’ 
 
 “ Those were the last words I ever heard her speak ; and 
 I never saw her face again. I got away to my quarters some- 
 how ; and I got through the night — well, very much as I have 
 got through most nights since ; and the first thing I did after 
 getting to London was to arrange an exchange into the — th 
 Hussars. I never went near the old regiment again ; and I 
 never answered the letter she wrote when she heard I was go- 
 ing to India, though I did answer the postscript her husband 
 added. He was a rough old martinet, bub he had been really 
 kind to me. I thought I should get rid of her by coming out 
 here ; but I haven’t. The drink that has Idlled me has only 
 driven her away for an hour or two. And now — Well, there’s 
 my mother, who has petted me since I was born, and who will 
 break her heart when she hears of this. If one of the two 
 could come and sit' beside me now, it Avould not be the mother 
 I’d choose. Look here : you’re a real good fellow, from all I 
 have heard ” (I am speaking by rote, you know, Mrs Ellerslie) 
 
 ‘‘ and I know I can trust you. You’ll see this buried with me ; 
 and not let any of those black devils handle it.” 
 
 ‘ He drew out from his breast a broad gold locket in a 
 double case. There was a photograph in the front ; at the 
 back a tiny scraj) of paper with the word Dear.” 
 
 It’s very absurd,” he went on, very childish, she would 
 have called it. I cut it out of a common invitation-note : I 
 thought it looked so well in her handwriting. Yow you shall 
 hear her name.” 
 
 ^ He drew my ear close down to his mouth. 
 
 If ever you get a chance, I should hke you to tell her 
 that I said ‘ God bless her ! ’ — now.” 
 
64 
 
 BllP^AKlNG A butterfly; OR 
 
 ‘ Those were very nearly tlie last words lie spoke intelli- 
 gibly ; for the spasms came on sharper and stronger till, half- 
 an-hour after, he was dead. Mrs Ellerslie, it’s just possible 
 you’ve guessed already that this man’s name was Harry Ar- 
 mar ; and whose face was in his locket ; and why I have 
 broken no confidence in telling you this story.’ 
 
 Guessed it 1 Yes ; she had done that long ago. Eyes, less 
 keen than those that looked down on her, might have read so 
 anuch, even before she started at the mention of Oswald 
 Gauntlet’s name. She had often felt mild penitence and self- 
 reproach : but real remorse, never till now. Eor a moment, 
 she was as much shocked and startled as if she had been 
 brought suddenly into a chamber where a corpse was lying. 
 
 She remembered the brave, handsome boy so well ; remem- 
 bered how she had laughed that night at what she deemed his 
 pettish anger ; how sure she had made of his coming back to 
 her lure ; how surprised she had been when she heard of his 
 exchange to India ; how vexed when no answer came to her 
 farewell letter ; how grieved when she heard of his death. 
 How different all would have been, had she known then what 
 she knew now ! She bowed her head in silence for a minute 
 or two ; and when she spoke it was low and brokenly. 
 
 ‘ I have done deadly harm ; though I never meant it, God 
 knows. But I scarcely deserve that the pain should come from 
 you. . Could you not have told me this sooner, or — later ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I never thought of punishment,’ Mark answered, ‘ for 1 
 never thought that you deserved it. Perhaps I’m not a fair 
 judge ; but, you’ll remember, I believed from the first all the 
 harm had been done unwittingly. You were amusing yourself 
 as hundreds of women do : the only pity was, that you found 
 out a little too late with what a brittle toy you were playing. 
 I should fancy poor Armar Avas not organized to stand the 
 wear and tear of everyday life long, even if he had never cross- 
 ed your path. Only think what gaps Avould be made in 
 society, if men in general, on finding out they had mistaken 
 jest for earnest, were to flee to the uttermost parts of the earth, 
 to drown their disappointment in strong drink ! I told you 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 65 
 
 all this, partly because I was in a fashion hound to tell you 
 some time or other ; hut more, because I wished you to under- 
 stand that I ask no more than I offer, when I ask you to let 
 the past bury its dead. For now — with this story, which 
 some good-natured friends would work up into a sensation,” 
 fresh from my lips — I ask you, once more, to cast in your lot 
 with mine.’ 
 
 For the last few minutes Mark had kept his eyes averted 
 from his companion’s face, as though willing to give her time 
 to recover herself. Before he looked at her again, he knew 
 that he had won the day. As he finished speaking, a soft 
 hand crept into his palm, and was content to be clasped ; and, 
 as their lips met, Blanche Ellerslie knew of a surety that she 
 had found her heart at last. 
 
 When a woman of her experience — though she was com- 
 paratively young in years — makes this discovery so late, it is 
 by no means certain that it is for her happiness it is made. 
 It is the old story, of the peasant suddenly made rich, by 
 lighting on a treasure hidden in the ground that he has delved 
 for years. There is great joy at first over the new-gotten 
 wealth ; but the cares and fears of guardianship follow soon ; 
 and there will be heard never more the light-hearted lilting 
 and ready laughter that made the cottage merry, when it held 
 nothing that thieves would break through to steal. 
 
 Tlieirs was a strange wooing — strange even for these days, 
 wherein sentiment does not greatly abound. Scarcely a word 
 of tenderness passed between the two before they were irre- 
 vocably plighted ; and such as believe in omens might have 
 noted as an evil augury, that sharp stings of remorse were 
 tingling in Blanche Ellerslie’s breast when she betrothed her- 
 self to a man who brought her a message from the dead. 
 
GG 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 Laura Erancepeth could not affect surprise at the news 
 that greeted her wlien she came in from driving. Xeverthe- 
 less, she was exceeding wroth ; and, as was her wont on such 
 occasions, spoke somewhat unadvisedly with her lips. Blanche 
 was too happy just then to quarrel with any one — much less 
 with a real friend. The sharp words only made her smile ; 
 and she answered as serenely as if she had received the warm- 
 est congratulations. 
 
 ‘ I’m very sorry, dear. You’d have liked me to have married 
 some great church dignitary, I do believe. But I don’t know 
 any bachelor bishop ; and, though the Dean of Torrcaster is 
 a widower, I could not have become bone of his bone even to 
 please you. Eor my part, I think it’s better for like to match 
 with like — sinners Avith sinners, and saints Avith saints. Be- 
 sides, Mark and I have soAvn all our Avild-oats ; and Ave shall 
 do nothing henceforth but quiet family gardening.’ 
 
 Laura Brancepeth had the outline in her mind of a retort 
 at once scriptural and severe, relating to seeds and tares, and 
 reaping the Avhirlwind ; but she got her metaphor into a 
 tangle, and so gave it up ; contenting herself Avith observing, 
 that ‘ she didn’t believe in sudden conversions, but that she 
 Avas tired of preaching, and only hoped the other Avould not 
 one day have cause to remember her sermons Avhen it Avas too 
 late.’ 
 
 Mrs Ellerslie’s face put on the caressing look that AA^omen, 
 no less than men, found it hard to withstand. 
 
 ‘ Too late to Avarn, perhaps,’ she said ; ‘ but, Queenie, not 
 too late to Avish me happy. Xo one would be sorrier than 
 you, I knoAV, if your proj^hecies were by any chance to come 
 true.’ 
 
 Lady Laura’s gusts of temper never lasted long. She 
 stooped and kissed her friend very affectionately. 
 
 ^ I do AAush 3 oil haT)py, dear, from the bottom of my heart ; 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S. ENDING. 
 
 67 
 
 and, if you should ever come to confess to me that it was 
 otherwise, I promise you that I won’t answer with — I told 
 ymi how it would be.’” 
 
 ISTeither could La Eeine Gaillarde bear malice, for having 
 been worsted in fair fight. She had done her very uttermost 
 to thwart and countermine Mark Eamsay ; but, now that he 
 had finally prevailed, she was as ready to shake hands as if 
 she had been throughout his warmest partisan. When they 
 next met, she greeted him quite cordially ; making him free 
 of her house at all canonical hours ; and entered with great 
 energy and good-will into all preparations for Blanche’s 
 marriage. 
 
 There was much lawyer’s work to be done ; for Mrs Ellers- 
 lie was by no means a portionless bride, and Mark’s liberality 
 in point of settlements needed rather the check than the spur. 
 As a poor man he had always been free-handed to a fault ; 
 and wealth had not made him miserly, or even careful to count 
 the cost. In all this, beyond a few timid objections to excess 
 of generosity, Blanche took little concern : but, when she was 
 asked to choose her trustee, she named, without hesitation, a 
 cousin of the late Colonel Ellerslie, and principal executor of 
 his will. She had seen comparatively little of George An- 
 struther ; but she knew that her husband trusted implicitly in 
 his judgment and honour, and more than once had sought his 
 advice and assistance. Since she became a widow, she had 
 always found him ready and willing to assist her in business 
 matters, of which she was ignorant as a child. 
 
 Mr Anstruther had gone out when comparatively young to 
 a lucrative appointment in India : interest was more powerful 
 then than it is now-a-days, and the cadets of certain families — 
 unless actually deficient in ability — had a kind of hereditary 
 claim to rapid advancement. He was a just and upright man; 
 and would have scorned to exact a doit more than his due 
 either from rich or poor ; but saving withal, with a shrewd, 
 sagacious eye for all legitimate chances of increasing his store, 
 and well able to sift the chaff from the grain in the tempting 
 speculations that even then were rife in the East. So it was 
 
G8 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 not wonderful that at the age of forty-five — some six years 
 before the opening of this story — he was enabled to retire with 
 a fortune that, added to his pension, was affluence to one of his 
 tastes. 
 
 From the morning when George Anstruther sailed out of 
 the Downs, to the evening when he saw the points of the 
 ISTeedles glimmering white through the twilight, he had never 
 once set foot on English ground. Absence of less than a 
 quarter of a century will make most men feel aliens at first in 
 their birth land ; with some, this feeling of estrangement never 
 quite wears away. So it was with Anstruther. Eor many 
 years he had lived almost entirely alone ; for his station, 
 though an important one, lay far up the country out of the line 
 of traffic ; and the scanty European society that lay within his 
 reach had rather repelled than attracted him. Solitude had 
 not made him morose or eccentric ; but it had fostered the shy 
 reserve natural to him. His habits were too set now, to be 
 altered greatly by change of clime. 
 
 His living relatives were singularly few, and even with the 
 nearest of these he had corresponded but rarely ; so, when he 
 landed in England, there were none who would have travelled 
 far to bid him welcome home. Anstruther did not feel this 
 isolation, as many would have done. Perhaps he rather re- 
 joiced that absence of any family ties left him free to live after 
 his own fashion, without seeming ungracious towards his kins- 
 folk. He paid a few duty- visits in the first few months after 
 he landed ; but these were made as brief as possible, and were 
 never repeated. Before the year was out, he had established 
 liimself in a house on the north-western border of St John’s 
 Wood — very modest in appearance, but sufficiently capacious 
 to hold him and his belongings; and with ground enough 
 around it to prevent the possibility of being hemmed in or 
 overlooked. Other reasons, besides a fancy for seclusion, 
 guided Anstruther in the choioe of a dwelling. Eor some time 
 past chemistry had been his favourite pursuit ; and he had no 
 mind that any timid or sensitive neighbour should take out an 
 ^ injunction ’ against his laboratory. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 69 
 
 Most of his Indian contemporaries — less lucky or less 
 prudent than himself — were still toiling on out yonder ; so in 
 London he found few personal friends. Nevertheless, he 
 became a member without difficulty of the two clubs into 
 which he sought admission — the Planet and the Orion. At 
 one of these he was sure of a faultless dinner ; at the other, 
 sure of finding scope for the display of his rare skill at whist 
 and piquet. Beyond some half-dozen fevers, that had left no 
 seeds of disease behind, he had never known what sickness 
 meant ; but his daily routine was as regular as if he had been 
 condemned to live by rule. 
 
 Winter or summer, he breakfasted always at nine ; then 
 came a huge cheroot, and the reading of the morning paper ; 
 then work in the laboratory till about noon. Then, no matter 
 what the weather might be outside, he went out on horseback 
 for two hours, neither less nor more ; never through the streets 
 or in the Eow, but straight out into the country — not dawd- 
 ling along on a leisurely constitutional ; but riding quite as 
 sharply as was good for the legs and wind of the cattle that 
 carried him. He gave great prices for his hacks ; and was too 
 good a judge not to get his money’s worth. When he came in, 
 he changed his dress completely — solitude had not made him 
 the least of a sloven — and drove down to the Orion, where he 
 played whist or piquet till seven. After dressing again, unless 
 there were special reasons for the contrary, he dined at the 
 Planet. Though he never offered to join any other party, he 
 seldom dined alone. There was generally some one ready to 
 take the second place at the corner-table to which, ere long, he 
 acquired a prescriptive right ; for it Avas knoAvn in the Planet 
 that Mr Anstruther’s talent in composing a menu — simple or 
 elaborate — Avas exceptional, and that he could talk sensibly on 
 most subjects, Avithout speaking ex cathedra. 
 
 ‘ Not half a bad felloAV, Avhen you knoAV him; and devilish 
 shreAvd, too ; but Avants draAnng out’ — Avas the club verdict — 
 a pretty just one, as such verdicts commonly are. 
 
 After his black coffee, he smoked one digestive cheroot — 
 very sloAvly, and in silence, for choice — and then betook him- 
 
70 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 self to the Orion again, where his brougham was always wait- 
 ing at midnight. After that hour he could not be tempted to 
 begin a rubber. 
 
 Thougli his acquaintance, without the walls of the Planet 
 and the Orion, was so confined, when he was permanently 
 established in town, invitations began to drop in : but these 
 were one and all courteously declined ; and when it became 
 known that there was no exception wdiatever to Mr Anstru- 
 ther’s rule of never dining out and never entertaining at home, 
 the Amphitryons forbore to disquiet him. Only one or two 
 very intimate friends could tempt him sometimes to vary the 
 even tenor of his life; chiefest among these was Walter 
 Ellerslie. These two were not only kinsmen, but had seen 
 much of each other in India. Each had learned long ago to 
 value aright the sterling qualities of the other’s nature — dis- 
 guised in the one case under shy, cold reserve ; in the other, 
 by a curt, incisive manner, that at its best was anything but 
 courtly. 
 
 Colonel Ellerslie was passionately fond of whist, and a 
 hopelessly bad player. His errors sprang not from rashness, or 
 want of thought ; but from a combination, peculiar to himself, 
 of a set of rules, of which all that were not absurd were more 
 or less false in principle. He was one of the most intrepid 
 men alive ; and, not only in his profession, but in ordinary 
 life, acted, whether for right or wrong, with singular prompt- 
 ness and decision. When he sat down to the whist-table, the 
 whole nature of the man seemed changed. He became timor- 
 ous and vacillating to a degree ; avaricious of his trumps in 
 season and out of season ; and leading from his weakest suit, 
 rather than from ace queen. He would certainly have chosen 
 the ‘ happy despatch ’ of throwing up his hand, rather than 
 lead up to an exposed honour. 
 
 Some years ago there flourished in the Shires a notable 
 sportsman, from whom it was said many useful hints had been 
 gained by such as had got a bad start, and wished to know 
 which way the hounds were turning. They watched the line 
 that he was taking, and then took exactly the opposite one; 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 71 
 
 and nine times out of ten were right. So, a beginner at whist 
 might have greatly improved himself by watching Colonel 
 Ellerslie’s play whenever there was the shadow of a doubt, and 
 thenceforth noting that card as the very last to be produced 
 under the circumstances. Even had he been likely to take 
 schooling patiently, he was so palpably incorrigible, that few 
 would have wasted reproach on him, much less argument. 
 He lived and died in happy unconsciousness of the blundering 
 that made him a very proverb amongst those who suffered there- 
 by. The Colonel had a great idea of playing ^ in good com- 
 pany,’ as he termed it, — in no wise alluding to the social 
 position of those who made up the party, but to their celebrity 
 at the game. He was not a member of the Orion ; for, not 
 being a rich man, he was too prudent to pit himself constantly 
 against men by whom he felt he was overmatched; but 
 nothing pleased him so much as an occasional rubber there. 
 If he lost his money, as was generally the case, he grudged it 
 not a whit ; if he won, were it ever so little, he went home — 
 prouder than Diomedes, bringing back from the Trojan camp 
 the fatal horses of Ehesus. 
 
 When Ellerslie first appeared at the Orion, it was as An- 
 struther’s guest ; and there was great marvel that he, who 
 would often wait for an hour or more rather than cut in at a 
 second-rate table, should have brought in a man to whom the 
 veriest neophyte in the club could have given one point in ten. 
 Eut Anstruther only shrugged his shoulders, with a quiet 
 smile — it was his way of declining discussion — whenever the 
 anomaly was hinted to him ; and would sit patiently for a 
 whole evening conniving, so to speak, at the other’s blunders ; 
 never once, at the most flagrant of these, lifting his shaggy 
 gray eyebrows, that arched themselves readily enough over 
 much more venial transgressions. Others too, less disposed to 
 indulgence, deemed it better to suffer in silence ; partly out of 
 deference to Ellerslie’s entertainer ; partly because it seemed 
 scarce safe to vent spleen, however justly provoked, on the 
 grim old martialist. 
 
 Philosophers and politicians have ceased long ago to write 
 
72 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 treatises De Amicitid ; and even Corinna finds graver or more 
 passionate use for her pen, than inditing sonnets to a female 
 favourite : the romance of sentiment rarely survives our school- 
 days ; and surely these gray-beards had cast such follies far 
 behind them : yet I doubt if sincerer sacrifice ever was laid 
 on the altar of Friendship, than the one just recorded. 
 
 For his hospitality George Anstruther never would take 
 payment in kind. When his cousin’s regiment was quartered 
 within easy distance of London, he could not be induced to 
 visit the pretty villa in which the other had set up his house- 
 hold gods. Before she became a widow, he had only met 
 Blanche Ellerslie twice — each time by accident. The duties 
 of executorship brought them more together of necessity. 
 Then, despite his reserve and shyness, Anstruther showed 
 himself so thoroughly kind and considerate, that Blanche con- 
 ceived a great liking for and confidence in him ; and thence- 
 forth did not scruple to rest entirely on his advice in any im- 
 portant matters of business. These consultations were always 
 made by letter. 
 
 CHAPTEK X. 
 
 On a certain bright May morning, Mr Anstruther walked 
 in his garden, smoking slowly his after-breakfast cheroot. 
 When he walked his step was planted firmly, never springily ; 
 and all his movements were marked by a kind of mechanical 
 slowness. His frame, naturally tall and spare, had grown 
 gaunt and angular under twenty-five years’ endurance of east- 
 ern dust and sun. His features were roughly cast, but rather 
 regular than otherwise ; and though the cheeks and forehead 
 were crossed by myriads of intersecting lines, none were as yet 
 very deeply grained. His strong short hair, carefully-trimmed 
 whiskers, and thick eyebrows, were all of the same dark-griz- 
 zled hue ; and his eyes, of a paler gray, were steady without 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 73 
 
 "being searching, with a kind of look in them of judicial au- 
 thority — not unbecoming one who had spent the better part of 
 his life in winnowing grains of truth out of sheaves of false- 
 hood, and from whose decision there had seldom been appeal. 
 His feet were large and clumsy ; but his long hands were well- 
 shaped, and the nails carefully trimmed, though dark specks 
 here and there betrayed the nature of his favourite pursuit. 
 
 Heither in face nor figure was there a single point on which 
 the eye of an artist or of a woman would have loved to linger ; 
 yet, in a crowd of strangers, you would probably have singled 
 out George Anstruther as worthy of a second glance. You 
 would have guessed that you looked upon a man whose 
 strength lay rather in patient pertinacity, than in daring 
 genius or passionate impulse — a man not easily moved by 
 avarice or ambition, but yet who would seldom fail to work 
 out his own end by his own means — a man self-respecting, if 
 not entirely God-fearing ; who might possibly be goaded or 
 beguiled into the commission of some great crime, but scarcely 
 into any action merely base or mean — a man who would pass 
 safely through toils and temptations in which others would 
 surely be entangled, and over whom the Lust of the Eye and 
 the Pride of Life had as yet seldom prevailed. 
 
 It was a morning to make one forget the many sins of 
 English spring. A light breeze from the north-west came, 
 without a taint of smoke or miasma, straight from green 
 pasture-grounds, and pink orchards, and russet fallows. A 
 morning that would have braced the nerves of a hypochon- 
 driac better than all the tonics of the faculty — a morning that 
 might have tempted a would-be suicide to give the world 
 another chance of making him amends for intolerable wrong. 
 
 Staid and sober as Anstruther was, he was by no means 
 inaccessible to weather influences ; and he was very happy, 
 after his own fashion, as he paced to and fro, halting often to 
 savour the fragrance of his trim parterres, with which mingled 
 not unpleasantly the keener scent of the Manilla weed. He 
 was no gambler, in the common sense of the word ; for his 
 stakes both at whist and piquet were invariably such as could 
 
74 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 scarcely have damaged the fortune of a much poorer man ; 
 hut he felt success or defeat none the less keenly; and the 
 fact of the previous night having been an exceptionally good 
 one, may have contributed not a little to the pleasantness of 
 his humour. The tenacity of his memory was something 
 marvellous ; and he could carry more than one whist-problem 
 in his brain quite easily. He was working out rather a diffi- 
 cult case which had occurred on the previous night, and had 
 just determined that his own and his partner’s cards could not 
 possibly have been played to more advantage, when his serv- 
 ant brought him out a note, saying that the bearer waited for 
 an answer. 
 
 It was a dainty-looking missive. At the first glance An- 
 struther saw that it was a woman’s ; and the second told him 
 whence it came. When he was alone, he sat down and opened 
 the envelope deliberately, taking care not to destroy the in- 
 tricate monogram of violet and silver. Considering the 
 brevity of the note, it took strangely long in perusal. 
 
 Therein, for the first time, Anstruther was made aware of 
 Mrs Ellerslie’s matrimonial intentions ; and further entreated, 
 if he was not weary of doing her kindness, to take charge 
 thenceforth of her separate interests, as her trustee. 
 
 ‘ But it is so much easier to talk than to write about some 
 things,’ Blanche concluded ; ^ and if you would only name an 
 hour that would suit you best for calling here, I would be 
 quite sure to be at home to you, and to no one else.’ 
 
 Then she signed herself ‘ affectionately,’ instead of ‘ truly,’ 
 as heretofore. 
 
 Tor a space that would have sufficed to get evety word 
 written on the two pages by heart, George Anstruther sat 
 musing ; and, as he mused, he toyed with the delicate note, 
 passing it to and fro over his lips and nostrils, as though it 
 had been a fresh may-blossom. 
 
 Mrs Ellerslie’s worst enemy would not have imputed to 
 her such a vulgarism as using scented paper ; and George 
 Anstruther was little wont to give imagination the rein ; 
 nevertheless, he seemed to savour a suspicion of perfume. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLTE’s ENDING. 
 
 75 
 
 Other roses, besides those of Gueldres and Provence, have 
 been known to impart fragrance to the meanest object they 
 brush with their petals — a fragrance the like of which exhales 
 not from any herb or flower of earth, the like of which no 
 cunning of chemistry can imitate — a fragrance that will endure 
 after those same roses are withered and dead. As Anstruther 
 mused, his bushy gray brows were drawn together, and the 
 lines on his forehead grew deeper and deeper. 
 
 ‘ Married again ! ’ so his thoughts ran. ‘ A risk surely for 
 one of her stamp ; she’s scarce likely to have her old luck 
 over again. And to Mark Earn say too ! — There’s more than 
 risk there. It’s the same man, of course, I heard so much of 
 in India. He was not more than a twelvemonth out, and was 
 keen enough after the big game ; but he found leisure enough 
 to do harm that could not be undone in a lifetime. Didn’t 
 he come into a great fortune a year or so ago ? Hot that that 
 would have anything to do with it : she has more than she 
 wants already. Well, I’m not her guardian, or even a very 
 old friend ; so there’s no reason for my concerning myself 
 with her future, beyond looking after settlements and invest- 
 ments. Of course, I’m always ready to do as much, for poor 
 old Walter’s sake. I’ll write and tell her so, and call this 
 afternoon. Congratulation-visits are not much in my line : 
 I’d just as soon get this one over.’ 
 
 When he had written a few lines in reply, the hour at 
 which he was wont to betake himself to his laboratory was 
 past : but he went out into the garden again ; muttering, 
 while he lighted a fresh cheroot : 
 
 ‘ Ho use attempting to work ; it’s a broken day.’ 
 
 A forenoon passed in idleness, was not the only infraction 
 of the methodical habits which had become ingrained in An- 
 struther’s nature. He had long been accustomed to destroy 
 every letter that he received so soon as it was answered ; but 
 Blanche’s note, instead of finding its way to the waste-basket, 
 was dropped into a drawer in the writing-table, the key of 
 which was always turned. The circumstance was trifling in 
 itself ; yet a physiologist might have found ominous signifi- 
 
76 
 
 imEAKING A butterfly; or 
 
 cance therein. When a clock, that for years has not varied a 
 second, begins all at once, without any assigned reason, to 
 indulge in ever so slight vagaries, it is a chance if any horo- 
 loger will make it thenceforth keep quite correct time. 
 
 Whether Mrs Ellerslie desired to show gratitude to her 
 trusty counsellor for his past services, or whether she desired 
 still farther to secure his future fidelity, or whether she was 
 23rompted by the mischievous devil of coquetry that had been 
 her familiar so long — is a question not worth discussing. All 
 these motives — the last for choice — may have influenced her 
 that afternoon. • 
 
 La Eeine Gaillarde was once heard to say, that Blanche 
 would flirt with a baby in arms rather than not flirt at all ; 
 and truly her conduct on certain occasions — like the present 
 one, for instance — made the imputation seem not unfounded. 
 A more unpromising subject for captivation than George 
 Anstruther could scarcely be imagined. She had long had 
 great respect for his judgment, and confidence in his honour ; 
 and felt grateful to her late husband for having bequeathed to 
 her so useful an ally. E’evertheless, she had always looked 
 on him in a sort of professional light ; and seldom thought of 
 him except in connection with business of some kind. It 
 was on business he came to speak now — ay, more than that — 
 on business relating to her own second marriage. 
 
 Anstruther, to do him justice, after offering his brief good 
 wishes, seemed disposed to keep the conversation on a cor- 
 rectly formal footing. It was not his fault that it assumed 
 gradually a quasi-cousinly tone. It was not his fault if, whilst 
 deeds were being consulted and vouchers verified, Mrs Ellers- 
 lie, instead of sitting decorously at the table over against her 
 adviser, chose to adopt a posture befitting a pupil of Gamaliel. 
 Even that venerable rabbi might have found it hard to meet, 
 quite unmoved, those confiding upward glances. George An- 
 struther was neither stock nor stone. He was originally, per- 
 haps, not colder of constitution than his fellows ; but the 
 secluded life on which he entered at a very early age, added 
 to a shy reserve increasing with his years, had ke^^t him to a 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 77 
 
 great extent clear of temptation : lie was continent rather by 
 force of habit than for conscience’ sake. He had mixed so 
 seldom in society, from youth upwards until now, that a wo- 
 man’s voice speaking low and sweetly was in his ears like the 
 sound of some strange unearthly music • and he felt like one 
 scanning the alphabet of an unknown language, as he looked 
 down into Blanche Ellerslie’s eyes. 
 
 Soon his thoughts began to wander from dry business de- 
 tails, and to dwell on such trifles as the fashion of a skirt or 
 the hue of a trimming. He wondered whether any two 
 colours on earth could blend so harmoniously as lilac and 
 white, or were so fitting to be twined in bright broAvn hair. 
 He was not unconscious of the growing weakness, and strove 
 to shake it off with inward self-contempt : but it fared with 
 him as with the victims of witchcraft in old time, who never 
 could quite complete the cross-sign that would have set them 
 free. And so the weaving of the spell went on. He became 
 so absent at last that Blanche noticed it. 
 
 ^ You have got quite tired over these dreadful papers. It’s 
 such a shame of me, to give you so much trouble. Shall we 
 put them all away till another day h ’ 
 
 As she spoke she laid her fingers lightly on his wrist. If 
 a spirit had touched him in his sleep, Anstruther could 
 scarcely have started more violently. 
 
 ‘ I beg your pardon,’ he said ; ^ but I was really thinking 
 of things concerning you, though not exactly of your settle- 
 ments. I am not tired in the least, and these papers are very 
 simple. I believe I quite understand what has to be done ; 
 and I don’t know that I shall have to trouble you much more 
 about this business.’ 
 
 ^ But you’ll come again, and soon % ’ she said. ‘ Do you 
 never mean to visit me, except as my trustee '? ’ 
 
 Before Anstruther could reply, the door opened slowly. 
 The Brancepeths’ butler was an elder of infinite discretion. 
 Incapable of hurrying himself, he was not less indulgent to his 
 superiors than to his inferiors, and far too discreet to make 
 sudden irruptions on a tete-a-tete^ howsoever innocent in out- 
 
78 
 
 BllEAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 ward seeming. He came now to inquire whether it was Mrs 
 Ellerslie’s j^leasure to receive Mr Eamsay. Mr Eamsay had 
 heard she was engaged, and would detain her for a few minutes 
 only. The lady did not stir from where she sat ; hut glanced 
 up at her companion, rather doubtfully. 
 
 ‘ I meant this afternoon to be all yours, and I mean it still. 
 If you don’t mind my leaving you for a very little while, I’ll 
 go down and give Mark his audience. I shall be back before 
 you have finished looking through my photograph-book.’ 
 
 Anstruther rose up hastily. 
 
 ‘ Don’t think of such a thing. You are only too kind ; 
 but I really must leave you, now that our business-talk is done. 
 I had no idea how late it was ; and I have one or two engage- 
 ments that I cannot break.’ 
 
 She 230uted a little, as if half loth to be gainsaid. 
 
 You know best, of course. I didn’t mean to be exacting; 
 but at least you’ll see Mark before you go ? I should not like 
 to lose this opportunity of making you acquainted.’ 
 
 It would have needed a very keen observer to detect the 
 shade of coldness and constraint in Anstruther’s acquiescence ; 
 and the slight formality of manner afterwards, during the in- 
 terchange of the few courteous commonplaces with Eamsay, 
 might be fairly set down to constitutional shyness. 
 
 ‘ A quaint creature,’ Mark observed, as soon as the door 
 had fairly closed behind Anstruther ; ‘ I have seen the very 
 image of him in some old picture or another — ah, I remember 
 now — it’s the faithful steward in Hogarth’s Marriage a la 
 mode : only this one wears whiskers and no wig. I hope he’ll 
 never have reason to hold up Iris hands at our extravagance, 
 Bianchetta.’ 
 
 ^ Don’t laugh at him,’ she said gravely. ^ You would not, 
 if you knew how thoroughly kind and useful he has always 
 shown himself to me ; though I never had the grace to thank 
 him for it, properly, before to-day.’ 
 
 ^ I don’t laugh at him. Lawyers who understand their 
 business, and work without fees, are too rare to be hghtly en- 
 treated. I would not have his manner thawed for the world. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 79 
 
 If it were a shade more genial, it would not suit a model 
 trustee.’ 
 
 She shook her head reprovingly, smiling nevertheless ; and, 
 hve minutes later, they were speaking of matters with which 
 conveyancing had little enough to do. 
 
 Whatever were the engagements for that afternoon that 
 George Anstruther could not break, he seemed to have forgot- 
 ten them before he left Craven Square far behind him. In- 
 stead of turning his steps towards either of his clubs, or 
 towards any frequented thoroughfare, he walked slowly away 
 northward, through the Eegent’s Park, to the gardens of the 
 Botanical Society, of which he had been some time a fellow. 
 The grounds were almost empty ; and the solitary bench that 
 he selected lay far out of the track of the few loungers who 
 wandered hither and thither, mostly in pairs. Minutes passed 
 into hours, and still Anstruther sat a-niusing, haunted by the 
 echo of a voice, by the shadow of a face, and, most of all, by 
 the memory of a look — the look with which Blanche Ellers- 
 lie, before she spoke ever a word, had greeted Mark Eamsay. 
 
 The names of Hafiz and Firduzi are strange to many ; but 
 we all have heard or read of the eloquence of Eastern eyes. 
 They gleam not less lustrously, be sure, on the banks of Indus 
 or Ganges, than beside the waters of Shiraz. No man could 
 have dwelt for a quarter of a century, with almost autocratic 
 power, in a remote Indian district, without having chances 
 enough of studying such language. Anstruther had seen eyes, 
 compared with which Blan(Ee Ellerslie’s might seem dull, 
 melting in entreaty, sparkling in provocation, and languishing 
 sometimes in passion not wholly venal ; but such a look as 
 he had watched to-day — a look in which there was none of 
 the guile of coquette or courtesan, but only the frank confes- 
 sion of a woman’s love — he had never seen before. He felt 
 somewhat despondent, as he thought that he had spent two- 
 thirds of the span of human life without ever winning such an 
 one for himself ; and that to dream of winning such an one 
 now would be the very madness of vanity. 
 
 His reverie was not rose-coloured, yet it cost him a painful 
 
80 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 effort to break it. He forced himself back into the groove of 
 his usual habits that evening ; but the chef oi the Planet failed 
 for once to please his palate ; and, in the first rubber that he 
 played at the Orion, if his partner had not been one of those 
 irrational loyalists who think that the King can do no wrong, 
 exception might more than once have been taken to his play. 
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 On that same forenoon, one of the opening scenes in an- 
 other drama was being enacted in another garden — the garden 
 of Kensington, to wit. What a many secrets have been over- 
 heard by those ancient elms, since Heneage Finch built the 
 boundary-fence of his pleasaunce ! Could their experience be 
 set forth for the behoof of modern lovers, would they be apt, 
 I wonder, to encourage or to warn? If they said, ^ Forbear ! ' 
 the word would be whispered very timidly, be sure, on such a 
 morning as this. 
 
 In the Hamadryad there was ever a touch of human weak- 
 ness, that the daughters of Oceanus would have spurned, and 
 from which the Xaiads and Oreads were free. She was not 
 immortal, you know ; her fragile life might any day be cut 
 short by the woodman’s axe, withered by long unseasonable 
 frosts, or blasted by cruel lightning. Some of the saddest 
 and tenderest of ancient legends are those which tell of the 
 sorrows of these poor nymphs, for whom no place was found 
 on Olympus, and whom the greater gods seldom deigned to 
 notice, unless it was to work them woe. So it was but na- 
 tural that they should sympathize with the hopes and fears of 
 mortals ; and that the favourite spots for love-trysts, since the 
 trees budded in Eden, should have been found in forest land. 
 
 Mythology, in these practical days, is chiefly for the use 
 of schools ; and if any of those who loitered in Kensington 
 Gardens that forenoon thought of such old-world fables, it was 
 
BLA.NCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 81 
 
 probably such an one as that sallow, gray-bearded man yonder 
 — sitting apart and alone, seldom lifting his eyes from a dingy 
 volume in antique binding — a bibliopole most likely, anxious 
 to ascertain whether his purchase of yesterday was a veritable 
 Elzevir or no. l^o such fancies, you might be sworn, crossed 
 the brain of either of the pair with whom we are now 
 concerned. 
 
 Horace Kendall was first at the trysting-place, as in duty 
 bound. In the pleasant shadowy nook where he sat, any idler 
 would have been content to lounge an hour away without such 
 special object as a meeting with Mna Marston. But, before 
 ten minutes of solitary expectation were gone, Kendall evi- 
 dently began to think himself ill-used, and a victim either of 
 circumstances or caprice. His face — handsome enough in its 
 own peculiar style — was something like a flashily-furnished 
 room, that must be well lighted up to be attractive. Just now, 
 with peevish fretfulness upon it, it was certainly rather the 
 reverse of fascinating. He was chewing a second cigarette 
 rather viciously between his teeth, when he saw Kina Marston 
 approaching. 
 
 Few people would have called Kina beautiful — she had 
 not enough regularity of feature or brilliancy of complexion 
 for such a distinction — but fewer still would have denied that 
 she looked wonderfully piquante and pretty, sweeping over the 
 grass with the rapid grace inherited from her Spanish ancestry ; 
 whilst stray gleams of sunlight flickered on the ripples of her 
 rich black hair — scarcely concealed by the excuse for a bonnet 
 matching her dress of misty blue. Even Kendall did her 
 that much justice ; and his brow cleared involuntarily as he 
 rose to greet her, though his first words were querulous. 
 
 ‘ I began to think you were never coming.’ 
 
 ^That is so like a man,’ Kina answered — ^ a man who has 
 nothing to do but to stroll out after breakfast, without any 
 danger of being questioned about whithers or wherefores.” 
 I’m sure a cigarette must be much pleasanter here than in a 
 hot stuffy room. I’m not a quarter of an hour late, after all ; 
 and you are as plaintive as if I had no danger and difficulties 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 to fight with. Yes, dangers — you needn’t shrug your shoulders. 
 It isn’t very likely that mamma will come down or want me 
 before I get back — we weren’t home from the Eroadlands till 
 past four — and it isn’t very likely she’ll question Eosie, as to 
 whether I’ve been with her this morning or not ; but she might 
 do it, you know, and then — ’ 
 
 She pursed her firm scarlet lips significantly. 
 
 Kendall did not repent being unjust; but he had tact 
 enough to see that to persist in sulking was scarcely wise. He 
 laid his lips on the gloved hand that he held, with a grace that 
 the girl thought perfect, though many women would have term- 
 ed it theatrical. 
 
 ‘ Cannot you guess what makes me exacting ? ’ he murmur- 
 ed. ^ It is because the minutes I spend with you seem so short 
 and few, and the hours I spend alone — I am always really 
 alone when I don’t see you — are so long and dreary; and yet 
 I should be miserable, and hate myself for ever, if you got into 
 trouble on my account to-day. I fear your sister would hardly 
 help you out of the scrape.’ 
 
 ‘ Kever ! ’ Kina replied decisively. ^ Eosie is the most 
 good-natured thing alive, as a rule ; but in this case she would 
 not help me one bit. It was all I could do, on the morning 
 after her ball, to prevent her putting mamma on her guard 
 about you and me. I think its partly on account of some- 
 thing Lord Kithsdale said — I do wish those grave elders 
 would mind their own affairs — ^but it’s not only that. She’s got 
 prejudices of her own, I’m certain.’ 
 
 His brow grew overcast again. 
 
 ‘Yes : it isn’t likely that I shall ever have to be grateful 
 to Lady Kithsdale for her good offices, or her good w^ord either. 
 I suppose it isn’t in her to be uncivil to any one ; but her man- 
 nei; grows colder every time we meet, and that’s seldom enough, 
 God knows. So you weren’t home from the Eroadlands till 
 past four? How you must have enjoyed yourself ! It was so 
 pleasant for me to sit alone and fancy it all — who were your 
 partners, and what they said; and how you listened, and 
 smiled back at them ; and all the rest of it.’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 83 
 
 He shut his lips quickly ; but scarce quick enough to pre- 
 vent the escape of a base bitter word — such as must, indeed, 
 grate on any woman’s ears ; unless, like the relatives of a cer- 
 tain literate, ^ she has grown steady under swearing.’ The girl 
 looked at him with a little pained surprise, but without a par- 
 ticle of fear. If Lord Daventry’s daughter was to be ruled by 
 terror, another manner of man than Horace Kendall must have 
 swayed the iron sceptre. 
 
 ‘ I wish very, very much that you could have been there,’ 
 she said simply ; ^ and I didn’t quite give you up till midnight ; 
 for I thought it just possible you might have got an invitation 
 at the last moment. But when I saw that wishing was of no 
 use, I tried to make the best of' it ; and I did enjoy myself 
 after a fashion ; I’m not a bit ashamed to confess it. You 
 hardly expected me to sit sulking in a corner, or to waltz with 
 tears in my eyes % I’m sure I can’t remember what my part- 
 ners said. Much the same as usual, I suppose ] but I can re- 
 member their names, I dare say. Hardly any of them are 
 friends or enemies of yours.’ 
 
 There was not a shadow of taunt in those last words ; yet 
 they stung him not the less sharply. 
 
 ^ That’s very likely,’ he sneered. ‘ All in your sister s set, 
 I suppose — a very nice set, too. They live in a sort of Aga- 
 pemone of their own, and don’t think an outsider worth nod- 
 ding to. They are the very partners I should have chosen for 
 you, of course, if I had had to choose.’ 
 
 Gwendoline Marston was not by any means a well-read 
 young lady ; and ^jpiritual Wives had not then been written. 
 The long Greek word fairly puzzled her. 
 
 ‘ I haven’t an idea what you mean by Aga-something-or- 
 other ; something very severe, no doubt. I suppose I’m an 
 outsider, too ; for very few of Eosie’s set ever notice me much 
 — unless it’s Eegy Avenel, who gives me a turn sometimes for 
 old acquaintance’ sake. You needn’t be captious about my 
 partners. Wait till I risk for any one of them one quarter as 
 much as I have risked for you this morning — something more 
 than a scolding, as you know. But I didn’t come out here to 
 
84 
 
 IiRi:AKING A butterfly; or 
 
 quarrel. Look pleasant this moment, or I’ll carry back what 
 I’ve brought for you. Cross-grained people don’t deserve any- 
 thing half so pretty.’ 
 
 She opened a small case, holding a sort of armlet, like an 
 Indian bangle ; only the band of dead gold was flatter and 
 broader, and it was closed with a spring-lock^ On the out- 
 side, in bright raised Eoman letters, was the word ‘ Nina ; ’ 
 and within was engraved a date — the date of the Nithsdale 
 ball. 
 
 ‘ I arrest you in the Queen’s name,’ she said, laughing de- 
 lightedly at his look of surprise, ‘ and resistance is useless ; so 
 sit still and be handcuffed.’ 
 
 As she spoke, she fitted the band round his arm, and closed 
 the spring-lock with a snap. It was not so tight as to be gall- 
 ing, yet not loose enough to slip below the wrist-joint ; so 
 that under any ordinary circumstances the sleeve would 
 hide it. 
 
 Very wise or very morose he must surely be, who is not 
 mollified by a present ofiered timorously by fair white hands. 
 Men who would put aside such a thing, coming from one of 
 their fellows, as though it savoured of bribe, would no more 
 reject the first proof of a woman’s generosity than they would 
 stay the dropping of the summer-dew ; and might be inclined 
 to doubt whether it is always more blessed to give than to re- 
 ceive. The consciousness that the natural order of things is 
 for this once reversed, does not make the situation less pleasant. 
 When Solomon sat in his glory, and peace-oflPerings were laid 
 at his feet from Ophir, and Arabia, and the Isles of the Sea, I 
 doubt if the richest of them all found such favour in 
 his solemn eyes as the meanest gift of the dusky Sabsean 
 beauty. 
 
 Kendall was neither a sage nor a stoic, nor at any time 
 hampered by over-much delicacy. His ill-humour vanished 
 instantly. He would possibly have preferred a trinket that he 
 could have flaunted more ostentatiously — the plebeian drop in 
 his blood showed itself in nothing more than in a garish taste 
 in personal adornment — nevertheless, he was much gratified. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 85 
 
 and so eloquent in liis thanks, that Mna was fain to check 
 them. 
 
 ‘ It isn’t worth speaking about,’ she said, with a bright 
 blush ; ^ but I’m so glad you like it, and that you should like 
 the fancy, too. Whenever you get tired of it, you must come 
 to me to take it off ; for it can’t be opened without the key, 
 which I mean to keep.’ 
 
 ISTot worth speaking about h Perhaps few women, un- 
 spoiled by the. world, think any homage paid to their first 
 suzerain d'amour worth a second thought, much less a second 
 word. Yet there are men, not especially high-souled or unself- 
 ish, who would have owned to a certain swelling of the heart, 
 had they guessed with what infinite difficulty and risk Mna 
 Marston had contrived to order that armlet ; and at what cost, 
 not only of self-denial, but of self-abasement, she had con- 
 trived to beg and borrow and save coin enough to pay for it. 
 If Horace Kendall had been aware of these details, he would 
 only have smiled ; and the smile would have been half-con- 
 temptuous of the girl’s folly, half-exultant over his own irre- 
 sistible charms. 
 
 Por a minute or two they sat hand in hand, quite silent ; 
 then Kina glanced at her watch, and rose quickly. 
 
 ^ I must go now. Don’t try to keep me ; I feel it isn’t 
 safe. It’s always bad luck to go against presentiments. You 
 may walk with me to the gate if you like, but you musn’t 
 come outside. I don’t want to scandalize my respectable old 
 cabman. It was so nice of him, to bring me here all through 
 by-streets, just as if he guessed what I wished ; and not to 
 look in the least knowing, when I told him to wait here. I 
 only hope he’ll be as discreet in taking me back.’ 
 
 Kendall had studied his part of jeune 'premier very care- 
 fully ] he thought it was his cue here to look mildly reproach- 
 ful, and to heave a little injured sigh; but he did not attempt 
 to detain his companion either by word or gesture, and the two 
 walked away together. 
 
 ‘ I shall see you again soon — very soon h ’ Horace asked, 
 when they were nearing the gate. 
 
86 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ^ I’m sure I hope so,’ she said rather drearily. ‘ Every day 
 it seems more difficult to manage. We go to the Opera to- 
 night, of course ; and to-morrow there’s a great dinner at home, 
 and a crowd coming in the evening. On Saturday there’s a 
 hateful garden-party of the Chetwynds’ at Twickenham. I do 
 so wish it would rain, and spoil those horse-chestnuts they 
 make such a fuss about. I don’t see a chance of our meet- 
 ing, unless it’s in the crush-room to-night; and then you 
 mustn’t talk to me for more than a second or two.’ 
 
 His face lowered again ; and he looked at her askance from 
 under his bent brows. 
 
 ‘ I have always heard that where there’s a will there’s a 
 way. The proverb don’t seem to apply in our case. I sup- 
 pose we shall not meet again, till some one of your acquaint- 
 ance gives a music-party at which I’m wanted. I have a great 
 mind to go in for the regular professional game. Then, per- 
 haps, Lady Daventry wouldn’t mind my giving you some sing- 
 iug-lessons ; my terms wouldn’t be exorbitant, and your voice 
 is worth taking some pains about.’ 
 
 There was sorrowful wonder in her great black eyes, but 
 no anger or upbraiding. Considering her quick, wilful tem- 
 per, the patience with which she met each fresh proof of his 
 peevish ingratitude was something miraculous. 
 
 ^I don’t deserve that,’ she said. ‘Hever mind: I’ll for- 
 get it as soon as I can ; but I wish you wouldn’t say things 
 that it hurts one to remember. It isn’t my fault, surely, that 
 Lady Longfield has been crossed off our visiting-list, so that 
 there’s no chance of her bringing you to-morrow evening. I 
 don’t think mamma had any special reason for doing it — she’s 
 too indolent to quarrel with any one — but she’s rather a knack 
 of dropping her acquaintances. Did you ever hear of a girl, 
 in her first season, teasing people for invitations for a man — 
 neither her cousin, nor a very old friend 1 If you won’t trust 
 me, I can’t help it. It will only make more up-hill work for 
 us both.’ 
 
 Kendall had the tact to see that for once he had touched 
 the wrong chord, and pressed it too long : so he drew the com 
 
BLANCHE ELLEIISLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 87 
 
 trition-stop at once. The first few words brought the light 
 back into Mna Marston’s face ; and, after the usual promises 
 to write and so forth, they parted amicably. 
 
 Horace Kendall’s meditations seemed somewhat chequered 
 in their kind ; for, if he frowned twice or thrice as he walked 
 back across the park, his lips wore an insolent smile as he 
 halted in a solitary spot, and, drawing back his sleeve, let the 
 armlet shimmer in the sun. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 When the news of Mrs Ellerslie’s engagement was an- 
 nounced, there was in the world not a little wonder ; and much 
 diversity of opinion as to the chances of its turning out happily. 
 The prophets of evil were to the prophets of good as it were 
 ten to one : yet few of these were influenced by rancour, or 
 anything beyond the purposeless spite of the hack-gossip, who 
 is bound to be cynical, if not scandalous. 
 
 The animosities that Blanche EUerslie had provoked were 
 all feminine, and not very bitter or enduring. Indeed, many 
 who had watched jealously the going-out and coming-in of the 
 dangerous little cruiser, were not ill-disposed to wish her ‘ God- 
 speed,’ now that she was to sail no longer under her own flag ; 
 and so could have less excuse than ever for molesting the 
 stately caravals forging onwards towards nuptial roadsteads 
 and havens. 
 
 Xo man could follow such a career as Ramsay’s had been 
 for years past, without laying foundation for more than one 
 mortal feud : but, if Mark could not speak of his enemies in 
 the words of the old Spanish statesman who has just passed 
 away — I Is sont tons fusilles — he could comfort himself with 
 the assurance that none of them was just now to the fore to 
 witness against his past, or augur maliciously of his future. It 
 should be remembered, that since the early meridian of life he 
 
88 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 had lived so much abroad, that the untravelled part of English 
 society scarcely knew him, except by hearsay. 
 
 On neither side were there any of those ill-used friends, 
 whose querulous voices mar the harmony of epithalamia. In 
 the early and middle days of her widowhood, Blanche had not 
 lacked suitors ; but of late her disinclination to marry again 
 had become such an established fact, that no one had cared to 
 incur an almost certain rejection, which might bring a restraint 
 on the pleasant freedom of Platonic straying. Others, besides 
 Harry Armar, had carried away from her presence the sting of 
 her coquetry, and had striven more or less effectually to dead- 
 en it by one or other anodyne. But, of all that had known 
 her intimately, Oswald Gauntlet was perhaps the only one Avho 
 had never quite ceased to think of her in the light of his pos- 
 sible wife. 
 
 Since Mark Ramsay’s name was first quoted in the mar- 
 riage-market, his demeanour had been so carefully guarded, and 
 his courtesy so justly apportioned, that no chaperone^ howso- 
 ever exacting or sanguine, could complain of his having trifled 
 with the affections of their charges. 
 
 If on the present occasion there was not much of envy or 
 uncharitableness, doubt, and infinite curiosity, were expressed 
 as to the result of the match. It could not exactly be called 
 an ill-assorted one ; for the several ages of the two affianced 
 were suitable enough ; and they might be supposed to possess 
 a certain similarity of tastes. Nevertheless, their contract 
 seemed to rouse in the world a kind of buzz of expectation — 
 such as pervades the gallery when two renowned ecar^e-play- 
 ers face each other. If any of these whispers reached, as is 
 not likely, the ears of the parties chiefly concerned, neither 
 surely bestowed on them a second thought; for Mark had 
 walked too long after his own devices to care a straw for the 
 world’s wisdom when it criticized his private concerns ; and, 
 though Blanche had hesitated, as you are aware, before taking 
 the final step, all the preachers in Christendom would not have 
 persuaded her to repent it when once taken. 
 
 Everything was soon ready for the marriage. Even legal 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE's ENDING, 
 
 89 
 
 charioteers have no excuse for driving heavily when their well- 
 oiled wheels meet with no impediment ; and it is known with 
 what a will milliners will work for a favourite customer, in 
 whose order there is the ring of ready gold. If any had been 
 disposed to question Mrs Ellerslie’s popularity, they would 
 have been compelled to acknowledge it after reviewing her wed- 
 ding-presents. This was not a case of contract hetAveen finan- 
 cial or social magnates, Avhere the gifts, as a matter of course, 
 are gorgeous and numberless. Yery feAV of Blanche’s intimates 
 could really afford to be generous ; yet day by day offerings 
 came pouring in, till Laura Brancepeth’s back drawing-room 
 became all ablaze with Mjouterie, Amongst these there was a 
 gift that attracted much attention — though several that lay 
 around Avere much richer in appearance, if not in intrinsic 
 value — a fire-opal of great size and brilliancy, set in the midst 
 of a square amulet of the soft pale gold Avorked only by East- 
 ern jewellers. Bound the upper edge ran an intricate mixture 
 of dots and curves, that ninety-nine out of a hundred Avould 
 haA^e mistaken for a pattern in arabesque. A very accurate 
 observer might have noticed that the graving of the signs was 
 of later date than the ornament itself. 
 
 This Avas Mr Anstruther’s present, and he brought it him- 
 self. He had Avritten to Blanche several times about her 
 business-matters, which he managed Avith his usual skill and 
 earnestness ; but had never shoAAm in Craven Square since the 
 day you wot of. On the present occasion his manner Avas stiff 
 almost to ungraciousness ; and, if Blanche had not been taken 
 up in admiring the amulet — for the quaintness of the design, 
 even more than the beauty of the gem, captivated her fancy — 
 she must have noticed this at once. And Avhen she thanked 
 him, not only for his pretty present, but also for the trouble he 
 had taken on her behalf, he ansAvered quite chillingly. 
 
 ‘ I cannot accept thanks that I have not earned — at least, 
 from you. A little business is quite a godsend to a perfectly 
 idle man who has Avorked in his time ; and the little I haA^e 
 done for you I Avould have done twenty times over, unasked, 
 to please Walter Ellerslie. And he did ask me, in the last 
 
90 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 letter I ever had from him, to serve you whenever I could. If 
 I have carried out his wishes, I am glad ; hut I can claim little 
 gratitude from you, you see, any more than I can for devising 
 that trinket, which I got — honestly, I assure you — years and 
 years ago. The change I made in it — it’s hardly worth nam- 
 ing — was only adding these letters.’ 
 
 He traced with his finger the inscription round the edge. 
 
 She was surprised, and a little hurt, at the change in his 
 demeanour. He seemed so bent on ignoring entirely their last 
 interview — so determined to make her feel, that familiar con- 
 fidences, between a grave personage like himself and a light- 
 minded bird like her, were misplaced ; and that for her own 
 sake she was not worth looking after. Nevertheless, she felt 
 somehow that no real unkindness was meant, and deemed it 
 best to let it pass for the present. 
 
 ‘ Those letters ’ she said ; ‘ I had no idea they were let- 
 ters. And what do they spell ? — some terrible cabalistic word, 
 I dare say.’ 
 
 ‘ No ; a very plain and simple one, whether it is written 
 in Enghsh or Sanscrit — the word is “ Eeady.” I had it en- 
 graved there, because I wished you to be reminded sometimes 
 that though the trust, if you can call it so, that Walter EUers- 
 lie left me ends on your marriage-day, I am always ready with 
 any help that I can render. If I had ever been romantic, 
 Mrs Ellerslie, I should have outlived that long ago. I mean 
 literally what I say ; and I shall not go back from my word if 
 we don’t chance to meet for years after next Wednesday — not 
 a very unlikely thing either — and the service I refer to has 
 nothing to do with the duties of a marriage- trustee.’ 
 
 ‘ I will not forget,’ she said softly ; ‘ but, if I ever ask you 
 for help, it will be in my own name — not even in that of the 
 kind, brave soul who trusted me to you — and then I may 
 thank you for myself, and in my own fashion. But I cannot 
 understand what you mean by its being likely that we should 
 not meet. Wherever I am, you know you will always be wel- 
 come ; and I’m certain you will like Mark when you become 
 better acquainted. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 91 
 
 Was she so sure of that 1 Little as she was to he trusted 
 when trifling, Mrs Ellerslie was seldom insincere. She felt 
 a disagreeable consciousness just now, that those last words 
 might just as well have been left unsaid ; and that George 
 Anstruther deserved something better than a hollow form of 
 courtesy. Possibly some such thought may have crossed his 
 mind likewise. If his manner, had thawed a little, it froze now 
 more rigidly than ever. 
 
 ‘ You’re very kind. I’m not likely to be troublesome to 
 you ; and I fear I’ve little chance of improving my acquaint- 
 ance with Mr Eamsay. I never mix in general society, as 
 perhaps you have heard, and my bad habits are past mending. 
 When I accepted your invitation for Wednesday next, I ac- 
 cepted only for the church, you remember.’ 
 
 With all her tact in such matters, Blanche felt at a loss 
 how to break the awkward pause that ensued. She had always 
 considered Mr Anstruther very abrupt and eccentric ; but his 
 manner now fairly puzzled her. That he still meant kindly 
 by her was clear ; but then, what signifled the harsh coldness 
 for which she had given no sort of fresh cause Whilst she 
 was in this state of perplexity, the door opened, infinitely to 
 her relief, and Laura Brancepeth entered — from whose pre- 
 sence, so soon as he could decently escape, Mr Anstruther 
 made precipitate retreat. 
 
 Lady Peverell herself — ^hating La Eeine Gaillarde as only 
 Puritans can hate — was fain to attribute to her some slight 
 good-nature and generosity ; but the warmest of her admirers 
 scarcely gave that reckless dame credit for so much delicacy, 
 as she had evinced since the engagement had become an ac- 
 complished fact. Her one object seemed to be, to make 
 Blanche forget all that she had said whilst warning was of 
 avail ; and she would not hear of the wedding-breakfast taking 
 place elsewhere than in Craven Square — devoting to the cele- 
 bration of that select banquet more time and zeal than she 
 had ever spared to the most important of her own entertain- 
 ments. She was not fickle, either in her likes or dislikes. 
 At first it was rather a trial to be always cordial to Mark Earn- 
 
92 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 say ; and slie had to set a watch on her free-spoken lips, lest a 
 sharp word should escape them unawares. But this restraint 
 soon passed away. She could not deny that Mark’s demean- 
 our towards his fiancee was simply perfect ; and as, day by 
 day, she came to acknowledge that report had not exaggerated 
 the fascination of his manner, she ceased to wonder at Blanche’s 
 infatuation, or even to call her choice by such a name. 
 
 ‘ Devils are not often quite so black as they are painted,’ 
 she confessed, ^ and this one’s complexion certainly improves 
 on acquaintance. I don’t feel the least inclined to exorcise 
 him now when he appears ; and I have quite left off pitying 
 Blanche ; though I don’t think it’s likely I shall ever quite 
 come to envy her. There’s room for improvement, of course ; 
 but I’m not sure that’s a bad thing. Mr Brancepeth is never 
 so happy as when he’s ‘‘improving ” some piece of land or 
 another ; and Blanche can try her hand in the same line. Per- 
 haps she will get some good crops out of her new property 
 after all, if she’s any luck in husbandry.’ 
 
 Her confidant — vieux routier himself — smiled approvingly. 
 
 ‘ Metaphorical as usual,’ he said. ‘ I don’t suppose any one 
 else would have got Satanic and agricultural similes into the 
 same sentence. But your charity covers even such a sin, as 
 that very old joke about husbandry. I do hope things will 
 turn out better than the wiseacres would have it. It’s such a 
 comfort to see the talent wrong sometimes.’ 
 
 When Blanche Ellerslie lay dowm to rest on the eve of her 
 second wedding-day, she could not help comparing her sens- 
 ations mth what she had felt at a similar season once before. 
 Though she was very young then, she had tasted, in all inno- 
 cence, of the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge of good and evil ; 
 and she was not much overcome by the vague terrors that beset 
 guileless maidenhood, just about to cross the frontier of an un- 
 known land. Left motherless in her childhood, she had 
 managed a household at an age when most girls are still in 
 school trammels. General Korman, when off duty, was too 
 busy with his own pursuits to keep strict watch and ward over 
 the proceedings of his charming daughter. He was only too 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 93 
 
 glad to see lier amusing herself in her own way ; and, though 
 he told his friends in confidence sometimes that ^ such an ar- 
 rant little flirt never breathed,’ he said it rather pleasantly 
 than complainingly ; and never dreamed of the possibility of 
 her coming to harm 
 
 The father, though not very wise in his generation, was 
 right so far. Blanche, before she was far advanced in her 
 teens, was well able to defend her own heart. Love-whispers 
 not a few had been poured into her ears, before Walter EUers- 
 lie’s deep grave tones made the offer of marriage ; but she had 
 never been hampered by a serious attachment, or even by a 
 fancy that survived a week ; neither had she any repugnance 
 to overcome. Perhaps she would have preferred a husband 
 whose 
 
 ‘ locks were like the raven’s, 
 
 Whose honnie hrow was brent.’ 
 
 But this was a mere matter of taste not worth insisting on ; 
 and she felt somehow that she would be safer and happier, and 
 freer to boot, in the long run, under the guardianship of the 
 stiff, stern soldier, than under that of the gay gallants whose 
 lissom knees would bend each night before a fresh beauty. 
 She fully intended to make Colonel Ellerslie’s home bright and 
 cheery ; and that resolve she worked out to the letter, after 
 her own fashion. At least he thought so who ought to have 
 known best, and said so when he lay a-dying. 
 
 She had sat on her first husband’s knee, and played with 
 his sword-hilt, when she was quite a child ; he gave her the 
 first ornament she ever wore — a waist-belt of regimental gold 
 lace — and she had got so thoroughly used to him, that, on the 
 eve of the day when she was to take his name, she hardly felt 
 as if she were going to enter a strange home. It was very 
 different with her now. She had known Mark Eamsay scarcely 
 four months ; and there was no reason why she should feel 
 safe in trusting herself implicitly to his mercy : indeed, now 
 that she was about so to trust herself, there were less grounds, 
 as she knew full well, for confidence than for fear. 
 
 To his mercy. That was the only true way of putting it. 
 
94 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY: OR 
 
 That she had firm and fast hold on his affection now she could 
 not doubt ; but, if that hold were ever to be loosened, or cast 
 off altogether, she felt she would have nothing else to cling to 
 in this life, or — if truth must be written — in the next. Blanche 
 was not absolutely a heathen ; but she had never been taught 
 to say a prayer except by rote, and hers was but a lip-religion 
 at the best. Her perishable wealth, such as it was, was all 
 locked up in treasure-houses that, if they keep out the robber, 
 cannot for long keep out the canker-worm. She had made a 
 plaything of love till now ; suddenly the laughing child had 
 waxed into a giant’s stature, and stood before her — dark-browed, 
 armed, menacing. Into the fair house so long tenantless, 
 though swept and garnished, a strong spirit had entered ; what 
 manner of spirit it was, could be proven in the future only. 
 She felt somewhat like a gamester who, having always till now 
 played for the merest trifle, finds himself lured on to deeper 
 and deeper stakes ; till at last all his fortune is set upon one 
 cast — a cast yet to be thrown. 
 
 Pondering on these things, it is no wonder if Blanche El- 
 lerslie’s heart fluttered strangely ; but she never repented for 
 an instant, or wished the morrow deferred ; and the tremor 
 only gave a keener zest to the delight of anticipated happiness. 
 She would not have set the shadow of the next morning’s sun 
 one hair’s breadth back on the dial. A smile lingered on her 
 lips long after her eyes were closed ; and, if her sleep was not 
 dreamless that night, it was haunted by no visions of warning. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 Eew men, if they told truth, would not own to having 
 experienced some curious sensations, when they came to realize 
 that, with another round of the clock, the thread of their 
 bachelor life must be cut in twain. 
 
 It is not a very terrible death, certainly. The Wielder of 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLTe’s ENDING. 
 
 95 
 
 tlie shears wears a fair white rohe^ all he-rihboned and purple- 
 fringed ; and over her features there falls the brightest of saffron 
 veils ; but, mask it as gaily as she will, we know it is Atropos, 
 and none other, that cometh in the morning. Even the im- 
 petuous lover — who, for the last month past, has quarrelled 
 with the tardiness of time — may, without treason, at such an 
 hour indulge in two or three retrospective sighs. These last 
 hours are spent differently, of course — often very differently 
 from what one would expect from previous knowledge of the 
 person — but I think they are not often spent alone. 
 
 d^ot long ago, a man, who has since turned out a perfect 
 prize-husband, was found late on the eve of his wedding-day, 
 wandering through the groves of Cremorne. He was no rois- 
 tering Alsatian ; the place had never been a favourite haunt 
 of his ; and I dare swear there was not a single wish or regret 
 then in his honest heart that his bride might not have known 
 and approved. When put upon his defence there and then 
 by certain acquaintances, who pretended to be scandalized at 
 lighting on him there, his sole excuse was, that it was too hot 
 for any smoking-room, and he came there for company. It 
 was the simple truth, 1 have no doubt. He had less reason, 
 perhaps, than most people to dread being left alone with his 
 own thoughts ; but he preferred any society to theirs just then. 
 
 Mark Hamsay was not given to sentimentalize, and — 
 troubling himself not a whit about the past — was nearly a 
 fatalist as to the future. He had a presentiment, as has been 
 hinted before, that retributive justice, in one shape or other, 
 would lay hands on him some day ; but he felt no awe of the 
 distant shadow. Whether the sword over his head swung by 
 a steel wire, or a silken thread, he cared not to inquire ; and 
 fully meant to take his ease after his own fashion till the 
 blow should fall. He was no surface Sybarite : his thoughts 
 were so thoroughly drilled, that, if he could not always regu- 
 late their flow, he could at least draw them out of any dis- 
 agreeable channel ; so that they were scarce likely to give him 
 much trouble now.* Nevertheless, he had been careful to 
 provide against solitude on the last evening of his bachelor- 
 
96 
 
 lillEAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 hood; and another beside himself heard the clocks chime 
 midnight in those same chambers, where his musing-fit after 
 the ISTithsdale ball had ended with the words, ^ I will.’ 
 
 Mark Eamsay had a very large acquaintance ; and, in de- 
 spite of his misdemeanors, was rather popular than otherwise 
 in general society ; but if he had lived from youth upwards 
 the life of a recluse he could not have had fewer intimates. 
 Such a term certainly would not apply to his present com- 
 panion ; though, since he first knew Yere Alsager, he had 
 been much in his company, and each could have told curious 
 tales of the other, had they been given to babbling. 
 
 Some people thought Alsager’s face singularly handsome. 
 Picturesque it certainly was — with its keen aquiline contour, 
 set off by a blue-black beard, whose massive lustrous waves 
 might have made an Osmanli envious. His deep-set eyes 
 were quiet enough as a rule ; but now and then there came 
 into them rather a truculent look, after seeing which once, 
 you ceased to wonder at the man’s story. It was a simple, 
 and not a very uncommon one. He was bred to diplomacy ; 
 and was on the fair road to advancement, when an unlucky 
 accident — as his friends called it, though the world in general 
 gave it a harsher name — turned him adrift without a career. 
 Half-a-dozen different versions of this were given at the time ; 
 none of which perhaps were absolutely correct. Ho one be- 
 lieved that the first cause of offence arose out of the difference 
 of opinion at the Casino ; or that Agnello Salviati, the sweet- 
 est-tempered of voluptuaries, would have made a few careless 
 words, dropped by the other, the pretext of a mortal quarrel. 
 One thing was certain — that Alsager might easily have avoided 
 the unhappy issue, had he been so minded, without impeach- 
 ment of his honour. This told heavily against him. There 
 was a rumour, too, more generally believed than disbelieved, 
 of a woman, thickly cloaked and veiled, who visited him late 
 that night ; and of agonized entreaty and bitter wailing, OYei- 
 heard by some who lodged under the same roof ; and people 
 would have it that other reasons, besides natural grief for her 
 only brother, drove Maddalena Salviati soon afterwards into 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 97 
 
 the shelter of the cloister. If it was she who came to plead, 
 that night, for herself or another, she might have spared her- 
 self the trouble and the shame. There was no more com- 
 passion in Yere Alsager’s eyes, than if he were there to avenge 
 a wrong, when he took his place next morning for the harrier- 
 duel 3 and his hand was steady enough to send a bullet 
 through his adversary’s lungs, before the forty paces betwixt 
 them were shortened by three. 
 
 Looking at it in its most favourable light, it was a very 
 ugly story — so ugly that all the family interest, used unspar- 
 ingly in the delinquent’s behalf, could make no head against 
 it. The chief of the Foreign Office in those days was no 
 purist ; but his bitterest political foes avouched him a high- 
 minded gentleman ; and the black cross, set by him over 
 against Yere Alsager’s name, none of his successors was 
 tempted to erase. It was years and years ago when all this 
 happened ; and Alsager — who since then had lived a quiet 
 dilettante sort of life, addicting himself chiefly to painting, 
 wherein he had acquired no mean skiU, and giving no further 
 grave cause for scandal — had been gradually taken back into 
 the world’s good graces ; till now he was not in much worse 
 repute than many of whom it is vaguely whispered ‘ that they 
 have been a little wild in their youth.’ His own memory was 
 not quite so accommodating. He never thought of that night 
 — and he thought of it often — without intense bitterness : 
 the bitterness of an eager, ambitious man, by whose own act 
 and deed a promising career has been marred; with which 
 mingled, perhaps, certain drops of remorse. But then, you 
 see^ he kneAV all the rights of the story ; wherein he had the 
 advantage of any living. Even Mark Eamsay, who jDaced 
 out the ground from the barrier, and measured to a grain the 
 charge of the fatal pistol, was only partially taken into his 
 principal’s confidence at the time ; and since then, by tacit 
 consent, the subject had been ignored betwixt them. 
 
 All the circumstances considered, one might have thought 
 that Eamsay, lacking a groomsman, would have chosen some 
 other than Alsager. The parallel of one good turn deserving 
 
 II 
 
 4 
 
98 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 another, would scarcely apply here. Yet both seemed to think 
 the arrangement perfectly natural : when Vere said, ‘ Of 
 course, I shall be very happy,’ the other thoroughly under- 
 stood the meaning of his smile. And so it was settled. 
 
 It was characteristic of the two men, that, though they 
 had dined and spent all the evening together, neitherdiad made 
 the faintest allusion to the event of the morrow. They had 
 analyzed the racing of the past week ; and the chances of cer- 
 tain of their fellows surviving the next great meeting — for 
 plunging was much affected by the set to which they both be- 
 longed — decided that the great Ethiopian Opera was a delusion 
 and a snare ; and that its impresario, through age and over- 
 feeding, had become incapable of judging whether voices were 
 cracked or legs crooked — discussed the latest alliances, legal or 
 illegal, of their mutual acquaintances : but of Mark’s marriage 
 not one word. 
 
 ^Perfect chambers, certainly,’ Alsager remarked after a 
 long pause, making a blue smoke-wreath curl round the 
 bronze torso of a dancing faun ; ^ quite ornamental enough, 
 and not overdone. I hate, when I’m sitting in a man’s room, 
 to be always reminded of a boudoir in the Quartier Breda.’ 
 
 ^ Yes. Clinton had very chaste notions of furnishing,’ the 
 other assented, ‘ which is odd enough, remembering what liis 
 other tastes were. I took this place off his hands just as it 
 stood, when he was obliged to make a moonlight flitting. 
 There was no valuation ; and I gave him his own price with- 
 out chaffering ; but I fancy I got a real bargain. Nothing 
 you see is really mine, so far as choice goes, except a few pic- 
 tures and statuettes ; and I haven’t been long enough here to 
 feel thoroughly domesticated ; so there’s no great reason why I 
 should be plaintive about changing my quarters.’ 
 
 A low incredulous laugh stirred the black waves of Al- 
 sager’s beard. 
 
 ^You’re improving,’ he said. ^Till now, I never guessed 
 that you would undervalue a pretty thing because another 
 man owned it ; or that you could not be comfortable unless 
 you felt thoroughly domesticated. Made nova virtute. The 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 99 
 
 will-o’-tlie-wisp will be a steady, shining light, before all’s 
 done. What do yon mean to do about these chambers — to let 
 some one else have them, all standing ? That’s the simplest 
 way. I wish I could afford to take them, I know.’ 
 
 ‘ I’ve hardly made up my mind,’ Mark answered. ^ I’m in 
 no particular hurry about it. There’s nothing here I should 
 care to move all the w^ay to Scotland ; and I shan’t look out 
 for a town-house till next spring. I’ll tell you what, Yere; 
 you may live here till then, if you like — rent-free, of course. 
 It’s no favour. I’d infinitely sooner leave my things in your 
 charge, than at the old housekeeper’s mercy. Will you come '? ’ 
 ‘ I should like it of all things,’ the other said ; ‘ though, if 
 it isn’t a favour, I’ve very vague ideas of benevolence. The 
 worst of it is, one would never be able to go back and settle 
 down in dingy lodgings again. JN’ever mind. Unto the day, 
 the day. I accept all the same. I’m very disinterested, you 
 see ; for I can’t understand why you don’t clear out at once. 
 You could easily put your nicknacks in safe-keeping some- 
 where ; and it’s so utterly impossible that you could ever use 
 these chambers again.’ 
 
 ‘ Highly improbable, certainly ; but — as for impossible, it’s 
 a very big word ; too big for my dictionary, I know.’ 
 
 They looked at each other ; and Alsager smiled again. 
 
 ^ Ah., I understand. A wise general always provides for 
 retreat. Your provisions are made in good time. Mark — the 
 devil’s in it if we two can’t speak frankly — you’ll own, it is a 
 leap in the dark you are taldng, after all '? ’ 
 
 ‘ y ery much in the dark,’ the other answered coolly. ‘ But 
 the landing is likely to be as safe, or more so, than in most of 
 the jumps that we have taken with our eyes open. One thing 
 I am certain of — if I’m not comfortable it will be my own 
 fault or misfortune ; and so you’ll see, when you come to know 
 Blanche better. There are dozens of women all round us 
 prettier, and wittier, and better than she is, I dare say ; but she 
 is simply the most sociable creature I ever met with ; her 
 voice and manner, let alone her face, grow on you quite curi- 
 ously.’ 
 
 H 2 
 
100 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ‘ I never doubted Mrs Ellerslie’s attractions/ Alsager said, 
 ' and I dare say you could not have made a luckier choice. 
 What I did doubt was — whether you should have chosen at 
 all. Eut we’re creatures of circumstance much more than of 
 habit, I do believe ; and, perhaps, if any one left me a big pro- 
 perty and a big house, I should begin to feel matrimonial im- 
 mediately, as a matter of course. It isji’t likely such a good 
 23art will ever be cast to me : but, I confess, I look forward to 
 seeing you j)lay the Head of the Family.’ 
 
 ‘ Mind you do come and see it, then,’ Eamsay retorted. 
 ^ There’s no disease in the Kenlis moors so far, I hear : they 
 are only overstocked, and want shooting down. I shall reckon 
 on you early in August, mind.’ 
 
 He stretched himself as he spoke, jhtching the end of his 
 cigar away. The other took the hint, and rose. 
 
 Wes ; it’s full time we went to bed. It’s no Cjuestion of 
 steadiness of eye and hand to-morrow ; but the breakfast is 
 an awful trial of nerve : I’m not afraid of the church work.’ 
 
 ‘ Very brave of you, I must say. How I think it’s just 
 as well, for your sake, there’s no sprinkling of holy water, in 
 our marriage-service, over the assistants ; there’s no knowing 
 what the effect might be. Good-night : mind you’re ready 
 when I call for you.’ 
 
 ^ ‘‘The assistants,” ’ Yere Alsager thought within himself as 
 he strode away. ‘ And Iioav about the principals '? They have 
 no need to shrink from holy water, of course — particularly 
 St Mark yonder. I’ve done some queerish things in my 
 time : but, if his past were weighed against mine, I know 
 which side would kick the beam. It’s kind of him, too, to 
 lend me these chambers ; though I question if it’s quite dis- 
 interested kindness. Eah ! I’m always questioning; and 
 what’s the use of it ? Perhaps it will be longer than next 
 spring before he wants to make use of his loetite maison : per- 
 haps he never had the idea, after all. I like what I have seen 
 of her. Those dainty, delicate women are piquant long after 
 they cease to be pretty ; and hers is a face that will last. I 
 shouldn’t mind painting it. I’ll book Kenlis for August, at all 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’y ENDING. 
 
 101 
 
 events : it won’t be half a bad place to stay at, as long as 
 things go on smoothly.’ 
 
 CHAPTER XIY. 
 
 Did yon ever chance to read Firmilian — the completest 
 literary mystification of modern times '? Yon may be snre, it 
 has not been forgotten yet by the ill-nsed critics who sat in 
 jndgment on its merits and demerits, wagging their heads over 
 its spasmodic vagaries — though some, tempering jndgment 
 with mercy, held out hope of amendment to the hot-brained 
 offender, if he wonld bnt profit by their monitions — and who 
 fonnd ont, when it was too late, that they had but fed the 
 laughter of the veteran humorist, who, having spread the net, 
 never stirred tongue nor finger till the grave Palladian birds 
 were fluttering in the meshes. 
 
 Truly, the mock-tragedy deserves to be remembered on 
 other grounds besides these. After all, the spasmodic element 
 was not much more glaringly developed that in parts of Festus, 
 and others of the same school ; and many dramas, worked out 
 in sober earnest, and profusely sprinkled with the midnight 
 oil, lack the rhythm and power of the pasquinade penned for 
 l^astime in the summer forenoons at Spey-side. 
 
 There is great pomp and festival in the church of St Ni- 
 cholas. The sun streams full and fair through the gorgeous 
 window ; sweetly and slowly rises and falls the chant of the 
 trained voices — 
 
 There rolls the organ anthem down the aisle, 
 
 And thousand voices join in its acclaim. 
 
 All they are happy — they are on their knees ; 
 
 Round and above them stare the images 
 Of antique saints and martyrs ; the censers steam 
 With their Arabian charge of frankincense ; 
 
 And every heart, with inward fingers, counts 
 The blissful rosary of pious prayer. 
 
102 
 
 BUEAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 It is very still and dark in the vaults below, where the 
 powder-barrels are stored, and where waits the busy mocker, 
 holding the slow match that will anon send the souls of all 
 those good worshippers above flitting hither and thither. After 
 a while comes the last triumphant antiphon — 
 
 Nicholai, sacerdotum 
 Decus, honor, gloria; 
 
 Plebem omnem, clerum totum — 
 
 And then — 
 
 [ The cathedral is blown up. 
 
 long ago, I heard a man confess — he was not given to 
 quaint fancies, nor specially sardonic or sombre of temperament 
 — that he never listened to a marriage-service without thinking 
 of that same cathedral scene. His experience of life, it ap- 
 peared, had forced him to believe that, under the feet of 
 most couples standing face to face before the altar, there is 
 stored up more or less of combustible elements, the firing 
 of which is merely a question of time; though the ex- 
 plosion may be long deferred, and, when it occurs, may be 
 attended with nothing more harmful than a little noise and 
 smoke. 
 
 But even this foreboder of evil would have been puzzled 
 to discover anything very threatening in the aspect of things, if 
 he had been present on the morning when Mark Eamsay took 
 Blanche Ellerslie to be his wedded wife. Though neither the 
 bride nor the bridegroom had turned the corner of middle life, 
 they were quite old enough to know their own minds ; and 
 neither was likely to make a false step through impulse or from 
 rashness. If there was little likelihood of intense devotion on 
 either side, there was fair promise of the pleasant companion- 
 ship which unites people endowed with similar tastes and facili- 
 ties for indulging the same. 
 
 Against this were to be set, of course, Eamsay’s antecedents, 
 which certainly were the reverse of encouraging ; but he had 
 been more than twelve months, as it were, on his probation 
 and, so far as the world knew, had shown no signs of relapse. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 103 
 
 Society in general was disposed to give him credit for having 
 turned over a new leaf. If he had not intended henceforth to 
 do all things decently and in order, there was no earthly reason 
 why he should have hampered himself with a wife or a regular 
 establishment. Kenlis Castle was a line place, to be sure ; but 
 there were others quite as majestic on either side of the Border, 
 the honours of which were done by bachelors in bachelor- 
 fashion — in the most liberal sense of the word. Mark’s was 
 one of the exceptional faces that never look weather-beaten, 
 after a youth ever so stormy ; and any one, seeing him that 
 morning for the first time, would have found it hard to believe 
 that half the stories told of him could be true. 
 
 It was meant to be a quiet wedding, and the invitation 
 list was purposely limited ; but the concourse of spectators, 
 larger than was common in that fashionable church, proved 
 that others besides the intimate acquaintance of the contract- 
 ing parties were curious to witness their espousal. Several 
 of the wedding-party, to whom seats were allotted in the pews 
 nearest the altar, may have felt like the Pope at Paris, when 
 he said that ‘ the greatest wonder of the town was to see him 
 there.’ But not one of them seemed so thoroughly out of place 
 as Mr Anstruther. 
 
 The colour and fashion of his garments — more funereal than 
 festive — would not have been so remarkable ; for Anglo-Indian 
 attire is apt to be eccentric, especially when the wearer is not 
 on speaking terms with his tailor : but the settled gloom of the 
 man’s countenance was not so easily to be accounted for ; and 
 the nervous discomfort of his manner could hardly be attributed 
 to mere lack of familiarity with the forms and ceremonies of 
 the Church as by law established. In his eyes — usually so 
 hard and cold — there was a haggard look not pleasant to meet. 
 Perhaps he was vaguely conscious of this ; for, during the de- 
 lay before the service commenced, and throughout it, except 
 when he was compelled to stand up with the rest, he kept his 
 face always shaded with his bony hand. 
 
 Yet, when Blanche Pamsay turned away from the altar 
 and descended the steps, leaning on her husband’s arm, it so 
 
104 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 clianced that the first glance that met hers, as she raised her 
 eyes rather shyly, was George Anstruther’s. His tall lanky 
 ligure could scarcely fail to he prominent anywhere ; and he 
 stood close to the aisle. A superstitious person might have 
 taken the omen somewhat to heart ; and Blanche — who be- 
 lieved in jettatur a no more than she did in second-sight — 
 
 was half inclined to regret she had so pressingly insisted on 
 the presence of this especial wedding-guest. She never sus- 
 pected, for a moment, that any one there present could take 
 more than a friendly interest in the ceremony just concluded; 
 and — as for any malice or uncharitableness being stirred in the 
 breast of so staid a personage as George Anstruther — she was 
 just as likely to impute such emotions to Mr Brancepeth, who 
 gave her away. If she had been forced to answer the question 
 of Oswald Gauntlet’s searching eyes, she might possibly have 
 felt rather timid, and just the least bit remorseful. But he 
 would never have glared at her in that uncanny fashion. 
 
 Men, out of Bedlam, or off the stage, very seldom do glare 
 now-a-days. Those whom she has jilted most cruelly, instead 
 of confronting the bride at the church-door, in the antique 
 ballad fashion, bow their heads meekly and courteously as she 
 passes out — even if they do not hum under their breaths Be- 
 ranger’s gay wicked refrain : 
 
 Un doux espoir 
 
 Me sourit encore 
 
 Be la couronne de la mariee. 
 
 l^evertheless, the glimpse of that face did affect Blanche Barn- 
 say with a faint presentiment of ill-luck ; and she shivered 
 ever so slightly — even as Horace’s* fair mistress may have done, 
 when, stepping daintily towards her litter, she caught sight of 
 the snake 
 
 Qui, per obliquum similis sagittse, 
 
 Terruit mannos. 
 
 The wedding procession had scarcely passed down the aisle, 
 when Mr Anstruther began to make his way out of the church, 
 muttering some excuse to his nearest neighbour about the heat. 
 It was an odd pretext for him to choose, who had lived so 
 
BLANCHE ELLEBSLIE’s ENDING. 105 
 
 long where 90° in the shade was the normal state of the ther- 
 mometer ; and who had often, in old times, stirred the ire of 
 portly hahoos by looking comfortably cool in an atmosphere 
 that caused them to pant and perspire. Yet it was not, per- 
 haps, altogether a false one ; for there was a dark flush round 
 either cheekbone 5 and^ if you had touched his hand as he 
 dragged off his gloves impatiently, you would have thought 
 there was fever in his veins. Eut no one in the crowd through 
 which he elbowed his way noticed anything strange in his 
 demeanour ; and the idlers outside never turned their heads 
 to watch the gaunt ungainly figure, hurrying away with long 
 uneven strides through the glaring sunlight. 
 
 The breakfast in Craven Square was not nearly so dreary 
 as such entertainments are wont to be. The table was not 
 crowded, and almost all who sat round it were in the habit of 
 meeting each other daily. Formal speech-making would have 
 been utterly out of place there — so, at least, thought every one 
 except Mr Brancepeth. 
 
 This honest gentleman had not so many opportunities of 
 airing the eloquence on which he rather prided himself, as to 
 lose one when it presented itself. He had been a hard-work- 
 ing member of the Commons’ House for many years ; but his 
 maiden speech was yet unspoken. The whip of his party re- 
 garded Mr Brancepeth with an immense respect and affection, 
 as a model that harebrained, garrulous legislators would have 
 done well to imitate. He never asked importunate or imper- 
 tinent questions, and when he was wanted was sure to be found 
 in his place, ready to vote exactly as the keeper of his political 
 conscience directed, listening always — or seeming to listen — 
 with impartial patience to the declamation on either side, but 
 never to be biassed in tlie faintest degree by argument, per- 
 suasion, or diatribe. Surely he had a perfect right to indemnify 
 himself elsewhere for his silence at St Stephen’s ; and few 
 grudged him that simple satisfaction. At quarter sessions, 
 agricultural meetings, and all manner of county gatherings, 
 Mr Brancepeth was always listened to with greater attention 
 than more brilliant orators could command ; whilst he glozed 
 
106 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 on tlirougli one smooth j^eriod after another, enouncing truisms 
 like startling verities, and winding up with a peroration in which 
 there was seldom any definite conclusion. 
 
 On occasions like the present he was great. The facetiae 
 that formed his stock-in-trade were rather trite and mild, hut 
 from long practice he had acquired a knack of setting them 
 forth so that they did not seem so very threadbare ; and the 
 fumes of champagne consumed at abnormal hours are apt to 
 make an audience rather indulgent than critical. During the 
 long purposeless afternoon, when the idea of dinner is as it 
 were an abomination, we wax more captious, to be sure ; and 
 wonder how we could have been weak and base enough to 
 smile at the platitudes floating in our memory. But this is a 
 mere question of digestion after all. If any of Mr Brancepeth’s 
 hearers felt bored or wxary, they were polite enough to sup- 
 press all outward and visible signs thereof. So, in perfect 
 charity with all man and womankind, he drank to the 
 health of the bride and bridegroom, and finished with the 
 comfortable conviction of having achieved no mean • social 
 success. 
 
 La Eeine Gaillarde had a keen sense of humour of her own ; 
 and you may guess that the exhibition was not particularly 
 agreeable to her. But she ^vas not inchned to be hard on any 
 innocent weakness : her sigh of relief was not too audible, nor 
 her smile too satirical, when the orator sat down. Her lord 
 and master had shown himself so very amiable about all 
 arrangements, that she considered he had quite earned the 
 license of making himself ridiculous if it so pleased him. 
 Most men think they have done enough if they play father to 
 a comparative stranger at the altar, without placing their man- 
 sion at her disposal before or on the marriage-day. 
 
 Mark Eamsay replied in half-a-dozen sentences ; and this 
 was the only other interruption to the flow of general talk 
 that went on pleasantly enough till breakfast broke up. 
 
 Availing herself of the widow’s privilege, Blanche had 
 dispensed with bridesmaids : so the cynics — if any such were 
 present — were halloed of the treat of hearing the acknow- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 107 
 
 ledgments of innocence and beauty spoken by tbe lips of Yere 
 Alsager. 
 
 Amongst tbe advances of civilization made in this our 
 century ought to be reckoned the shortening of honeymoons. 
 Very few conversationalists can talk quite up to their mark, if 
 they know they are expected to be amusing ; and the effect of 
 being expected to be amative for a certain definite period must 
 often be much the same. If our grandsires would confess the 
 truth, we should hear, I fancy, that the sun drove his chariot 
 somewhat heavily before the twenty-eighth day of enforced 
 seclusion closed in ; and, long ere that, there had been certain 
 misgivings as to the perfect truth of the ancient adage — ^ Two 
 are company : three are none.’ We have changed all this 
 most assuredly. Even Mrs Malaprop, whose matrimonial 
 ideas were somewhat in advance of her age, would lift her 
 brows in wonder over the curtness of some wedding trips. 
 
 Dropping into a certain club on a murky afternoon last 
 spring, to my great wonderment I lighted upon an ancient 
 acquaintance in his accustomed place, smoking his cigarette, 
 and sipping his yGrroquet, in the contemplative fashion that is 
 usual with him when the day is almost done. I rubbed my 
 eyes, so to speak, thinking that I saw a vision ; or that, at the 
 least, I must have been dreaming when I read, not twenty- 
 four hours before, the announcement of his marriage. In- 
 clining to this last opinion, I expressed it in so many words. 
 
 There’s no mistake,’ Eandal Lacy said placidly. ‘ We 
 
 were married all right enough ; and we went down to ’ 
 
 (the precise locahty of the Arcadian hostel don’t signify) : 
 ^but it rained all yesterday, and our windows were on the 
 ground-floor, and the people walking under the verandah would 
 stare at us ; and so — and so — we came back to-day, you see ; 
 and I’m going to take J^ellie to the Prytaneum to-night. 
 We’ve got the stage-box; and she can sit back behind the 
 curtain. Will you come ? There’s lots of room.’ 
 
 I do not know a happier mmage than this has been, up to 
 the present moment of writing, in a quiet domestic way ; or 
 one that holds forth fairer promise of so endming. 
 
108 
 
 BREAiaNG A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ]^ow Eamsay did not apprehend that either himself or 
 Blanche would grow weary of each other in a tete-a-tete^ even 
 if it was somewhat prolonged : hut he had an objection, on 
 principle, to crucial tests, and opined that sufficient solitude 
 for all reasonable purposes could be found in the skirts, if not 
 in the heart, of a crowd. If Kenlis Castle had been habit- 
 able, he would have gone thither straightway ; but there was 
 much still to be done there before the bride could fitly be 
 brought home. He might have found shelter in the country- 
 houses of half-a-dozen friends ; but Mark was not minded to 
 begin his married life by trusting to the mercies of another 
 man’s household. On the whole, he thought that Paris would 
 be as good a lounging-place as any ; and Blanche, when the 
 idea was suggested to her, adopted it quite eagerly. So it came 
 to pass that their second domestic dinner was eaten in the 
 Place Vendonie. 
 
 It was one of the close sultry evenings, more trying to 
 natural complexions than the glare of lamp or sun. Blanche 
 was quite refreshing to look upon in her pale-gray dress — 
 relieved at the neck and wrist by trimmings of filmy lace — 
 not a braid of her smooth soft hair ruffled or awry ; and with 
 just the faint flush on her cheek that an artist would have 
 chosen to see there. Mark’s critical eye took in every point 
 of the picture with profound satisfaction, as he reahzed how 
 much more suited to his taste was that demure little person 
 than any brilliant beauty of the Pornarina type, magnificent 
 in redundant outline and gorgeous colouring. 
 
 Two days of Blanche’s exclusive society had made him 
 more fully aware than he had ever yet been how thorouglily 
 pleasant a companion he had found. There was nothing im- 
 pulsive, or demonstrative, or expansive about her : though it 
 was evident that she liked being petted above all things, she 
 was not exacting, or lavish of her own caresses. It would 
 have needed a very subtle analysis to discover a single acid 
 <lrop in all her composition ; but there was no danger, with 
 her, of being cloyed with too much honey. The very sound 
 of her voice would have been a specific for more irritable 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 109 
 
 nerves than Eamsay’s; and tlie most indolent of talkers 
 deemed it worth while to be amusing only to provoke one 
 trill of her low laugh-music. 
 
 With these thoughts in his mind, said Mark, after sitting 
 silent awhile — • 
 
 ‘ Is there anything you care particularly about seeing here, 
 Blanche ; or are any of your commissions very pressing^ If 
 not, I think we might as well move into cooler quarters whilst 
 this heat lasts. Fontainebleau isn’t half a bad place : there’s 
 always shade in the forest ; and generally a breeze somewhere, 
 if you know where to look for it.’ 
 
 ^ I’ve never been at Fontainebleau,’ she answered : ‘ but it 
 must be quite charming in this weather. My commissions 
 can wait ; and as for sight-seeing, I went through that penance 
 long, long ago, when — ’ 
 
 Her face was a little grave as she stopped : the next in- 
 stant, in spite of herself, she smiled. 
 
 She always thought kindly, if not tenderly, of honest 
 Walter Ellerslie. It was with him she had lionized Paris 
 when they had been married about a year : and she remem- 
 bered how each morning at breakfast he used to pore over 
 Galignani as if it had been a new drill-book — wrinkling his 
 forehead, and knitting his brows, whilst he mapped out that 
 day’s work — conscientiously making a toil of every pleasure, 
 after the fashion of a thoroughgoing British tourist. She had 
 plodded through the weary round quite patiently then ; but 
 she had not forgotten her thankfulness when it was over. It 
 was partly those memories that made her smile ; partly the 
 contrast of the present Avith the past. Truly there Avas not 
 much fear of any Avoman, travelling under Mark Eamsay’s 
 escort, being driven against her Avill into the lAerformance of 
 any duty Avhatsoever, much less an irksome one. 
 
 Thus the Avise and Avorldly resolves of this pair Avent for 
 nought, after all ; and a full AA^eek of their honeymoon AA^as 
 spent not only in solitude, but ‘ under greenAvood tree.’ 
 
 It Avas the A^ery happiest AA^eek of all Blanche Bamsay’s 
 life. Even had she visited it alone, the place Avould have had 
 
liO BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 great attractions for her. She liked intensely the slow drives 
 through forest-land, and the long halts under tlie great oaks 
 and beeches, that are just as liberal of their shade now, as 
 when the beauties of the old time rested there after the 
 ‘ liallali ! ’ had been sounded over a hart-royal ; she liked the 
 ugly, formal gardens that can scarcely have changed since the 
 reines meres rustled along their alleys ; she liked the quaint, 
 low-hrowed courts better than if each had been a model of ar- 
 chitecture. In this fancy she was not alone. 
 
 There are few places that bring uji the past more vividly, 
 to others besides antiquarians, than Fontainebleau. Though 
 time, and neglect, and revolution have left their marks plainly 
 enough there, a pleasant rococo savour still hangs about the 
 place, heightened rather than marred by the restorations of the 
 Citizen King. The double initials, ^ H. D.,’ intertwined so 
 tenderly, still look almost as fresh as when they were first set 
 up to the glory of the superb courtesan who carried the gar- 
 ment of infamy as if it had been a robe of honour. In the 
 Galerie des Cerfs you can stand on the very spot where Mon- 
 aldeschi Avas done to death under the eyes of the Swedish 
 Messahna. Leaning out of the Avindow of the Queen’s bou- 
 doir, you touch the espagnolette Avrought by the cunning hand 
 of Louis the locksmith ; and you can fancy the smile — half- 
 kindly, half-scornful — Avith Avhich the haughty Austrian paid 
 the labour that proceeded of love. Altogether a place fitter 
 to dream in, than many to which Art and Kature have been 
 more kind. 
 
 Blanche had no draAvhack to her pleasure, in a suspicion 
 that her husband Avas bored. He had seen all these things 
 before, of course ; but if they had no fresh interest for him 
 noAv, it Avas excellently feigned. Blanche could have stayed 
 another and another week there, Avithout a chance of groAAung 
 Aveary ; yet, Avhen the hot weather broke up in rain that look- 
 ed like lasting, it Avas she Avdio suggested a move back on 
 Paris. It was just the instance of womanly tact that Mark 
 could appreciate ; and that he could do so he shoAved plainly 
 enough, though his approbation was not uttered in words. 
 
BLANCrnE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 Ill 
 
 CHAPTEE XY. 
 
 There Pave Teen many changes in Paris of late years, be- 
 sides those for which the Prefecture is accountable : old types, 
 no less than old streets, have been swept away; and the 
 British resident has not been exempt from the spirit of change. 
 
 A quarter of a century ago, he was a decent domestic 
 creature, usually of a certain age ; not absolutely in embarrass- 
 ed circumstances, yet under necessity of retrenchment ; and 
 always bent on ministering to the educational demands of a 
 growing family at a reasonable rate. ' Codum non animum mu- 
 tabat After the first bustle of removal was over, he went on 
 contentedly enough in his old humdrum Avay — the right of 
 grumbling, of course, always reserved — looking out for his 
 special corner-seat at Galignani’s, as he was wont to look for 
 the club arm-chair ; indulging b^t rarely in the dissipation of 
 a cafe dinner at his own charge ; and frequenting theatre or 
 opera not much more sedulously than he was wont to do during 
 a trip to London in the old days. Little versed were these 
 quiet spirits in the clironiques scandaleuses of the day ; an 
 emeute in the Quartier Breda interested them no more than a 
 revolution in Ashantee. They seldom sought to master the 
 intricate idioms of the foreign tongue ; and if they could steer 
 clear of glaring faults in grammar, were no more ashamed of 
 their fine broad British accent than of any other proof of their 
 nationality. 
 
 Amongst them there were always to be found, of course, 
 certain roisterers, doing penance for past sins and follies in en- 
 forced exile ; and not hankering the less after Egyptian dain- 
 ties, since they were forbidden to taste the fieshpots. But 
 these were the exceptions to the rule ; and regarded with 
 little favour by their fellows, who gave these black sheep as 
 wide a birth as was consistent with courtesy — by no means en- 
 couraging them to frequent the pastures in which their own 
 lambkins strayed. 
 
112 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 That modest colony is utterly broken np and dispersed now. 
 The remnants thereof have migrated to Tours, Toulouse, and 
 j)rovincial towns yet more remote from the costly capital, where 
 the space left for the poor and needy is narrowed hour by hour. 
 In their places sit another generation of aliens, differing from 
 those sober sojourners as widely as Eochester and his crew 
 from the worthies of the Commonwealth ; scarcely aliens either, 
 if taking art and part in all the vices of his adopted country 
 can make out a man’s claim to naturalization. 
 
 The Anglo- Gaul at present is a jaunty gallant — usually in 
 the flower of his age; with a full, if not a fathomless, purse ; lisp- 
 ing out impurities with the purest of accents ; and able to an- 
 swer the argot of the coulisses in kind; found at all races 
 wuthin the Jockey Club enceinte ; and, when haccarat is afloat 
 at the Cercle des Creves, holding his own undauntedly against 
 all plungers — Jew, Turk, Christian, or infidel ; in fine, hurry- 
 ing down the broad slope of ruin in all respects with as easy a 
 grace as if he traced his descent from Grammont or Montmor- 
 ency. E^o wonder that the fair city accords to these strangers 
 within her gates a very different welcome from that which she 
 deigned to bestow on their modest predecessors. 
 
 In this especial clique, Eamsay could not exactly be reck- 
 oned. Till quite lately, he had been too poor to live their 
 pace, and too prudent to hazard a certain break-down ; and 
 since he became wealthy, business of one sort or another had 
 kept him chiefly on the other side of the Channel. Eut he 
 was thoroughly at home here, and at two Cercles his face 
 was better known than in any London club. 
 
 The season was virtually over ; and each day the trains 
 starting for frontier or seaboard carried away a heavier 
 freight ; but the Bois was not a solitude as yet, and a score at 
 least of ancient acquaintances greeted Eamsay the first time 
 he appeared there. The news of his marriage had gone before 
 him ; and Blanche had to run the gauntlet of many curious 
 glances, before their carriage reached the turning-point at the 
 head of the lake. On the whole, she came out of the ordeal 
 very cleverly. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 113 
 
 ‘ Un peu palotte ; metis gentille a croquer, avec un morhid- 
 ezza delicieuse — ’ said Amedee de Beaiimanoir, a veteran 
 rAveur whose valuation of fresh faces carried as much weight 
 as the Admiral’s judgment of a yearling. 
 
 Coquettes of a certain grade know hy instinct when they 
 have achieved a success, before a compliment — ever so deli- 
 cately veiled — has reached their ears. Despite this satisfac- 
 tion, it was not without a sinking of the heart that Blanche 
 realized, during that first drive, that she must not expect to 
 have her husband entirely to herself for some time to come. 
 She was not discontented or disappointed ; for their tete-a-tete 
 had lasted already longer than she had hoped ; and she did 
 not feel — much less look or express — surprise, A\dien, after 
 dinner that evening, he left her to ^ look in at the Cercle for 
 an hour.’ A very elastic hour; for it slid into another day, 
 and Blanche was sleeping placidly before it ended. At break- 
 fast next morning it was so evident that she expected no ex- 
 cuse, that Mark never thought of composing one. iN’othing 
 could be more prettily saucy than her smile, as she listened to 
 his epitome of the congratulations offered him overnight. 
 
 Mrs Eamsay had a long list of commissions to execute for 
 herself and others, and she preferred going about this business 
 alone, she said : so they did not meet again till the evening. 
 After an early dinner, they went straight to the Bouffes, 
 where a famous operetta was being played for about the four- 
 hundredth time. 
 
 You know that operetta and the fashion thereof. E’ot a 
 very potent or generous liquor fills the jewelled cup that the 
 wicked princess waves before us so deftly. It has plenty of 
 froth and sparkle, and flavour enough to please a not-too-curious 
 palate ; and there is small danger of the weakest head being 
 turned thereby. Feet and hands — to say nothing of eyes — 
 have quite as much to do as the lips here : the prima donna^ 
 if only she be perfect in such arts of provocation — though a 
 singer whose compass and sweetness of voice could hardly vie 
 with a Bayadere’s — need seldom despair of triumph. 
 
 What would Beaumarchais have said of the public that 
 
114 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 can assist nightly at such a performance as this — never craving 
 for novelty, and by their persevering enthusiasm giving the 
 claque^ after the first week, a sinecure ? If he were in the 
 flesh again, he might, with some justice, have been severe on 
 the derogation of Parisian taste ; but wherefore we insulars 
 should shrug our shoulders thereat, would be rather hard to 
 say. How many times, I wonder, have you and I sat through 
 a sensational drama, waiting patiently for the leap into a 
 fathomless abyss, that would break the long dead-level of dul- 
 ness h And how often have we gone, with a laugh ready cut- 
 and-dried, to reward the one dance tacked-on to a patter-song, 
 that gave vitality to the weakest of burlesques % Go to 1 
 Paith, hope, and charity shall flourish, for many a day to 
 come, no less benignly on the hither than on the farther side 
 of the narrow seas — faith in our playwrights, hope in their 
 prolific talent, charity to their shortcomings. 
 
 The sort of thing was quite new to Mrs Pamsay, and 
 amused her intensely ; indeed, in the opening scenes, there 
 was nothing that need have called up ^ the blush on the cheek 
 of a young person,’ unless the equivocal jokes of the libretto 
 had been carefully studied beforehand. It was a crowded 
 house ; but one double baignoire^ exactly opposite the Eam- 
 says’ box, remained empty till the middle of the first Gntr''acte. 
 Then, with some bustle and flourish — as if willing to announce 
 their presence to all whom it might concern — two women oc- 
 cupied it. 
 
 In the appearance of one of these there was nothing re- 
 markable. Her face in the very first freshness of youth 
 might possibly have been tempting ; but now, in spite of cos- 
 metics and carefully-dishevelled false-hair, it was simply 
 ignoble. There was a cowed, servile look about this woman. 
 The flourish of her entry was palpably rather in imitation of 
 her companion than an act of self-assertion ; and she hesitated 
 about seating herself in front, till an imperious sign from the 
 other bade her do so. 
 
 In this evil trade, as in others, there are bankrupts. 
 When Lolotte Lalange’s scanty stock of beauty failed, she had 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 115 
 
 not wit enough to he either dangerous or attractive : she had 
 just sense enough to know this ; and to know furthermore 
 that, if she would find food and shelter and clothing thence- 
 forth, she must cease to traffic on her own account, and take 
 wages — ever so nominal. Being of a torpid, pliable nature, 
 by no means sensitive of affront, and always open to a peace- 
 offering in any shape wdiatsoever, she had thriven thus far 
 tolerably well on the bread of dependence. In that same 
 bread — especially, I fear, if it be dispensed by female hands — 
 there must always be a bitter leaven. Those who are bound 
 to truckle to the caprice of crabbed old maids, or purse-proud 
 widow^s, do not sleep upon roses ; but — setting ignominy alto- 
 gether aside — the unluckiest of ‘ companions ’ may well feel 
 thankful to the Fates that have spared her the endurance of a 
 harlot’s tyranny. 
 
 The other woman was a striking contrast, and would have 
 been remarkable in any place or company ; though, after look- 
 ing at her once and again, you might have been puzzled to de- 
 cide where the secret of her famous fascination lay. 
 
 There was a good deal of character certainly in her face, 
 with its low broad brow, which the strong crisp curls half- 
 covered wdthout shading — in the great hard eyes, that seemed 
 as if they never would blench or soften — in the firm, well- 
 chiselled nose, with nostrils always dilated as if they scented 
 prey — in the full crimson lips, curling outwards, so that the 
 level, gleaming teeth were never quite hidden — and in the 
 square, cruel jaw scarcely tapering towards the chin. But it 
 was essentially an unlovely face — one that wearied the eyes 
 that dwelt on it, like a garish picture. If they had been 
 asked to name its antitype in the animal creation, nine men 
 out of ten would have pitched upon the tigress. She was forte 
 femme in every sense of the word. There was physical power 
 in every line of the straight throat, the round arms, and 
 ample bust — white, and firm, and cold as Carrara marble ; 
 but a wasp-like waist only just saved her figure from coarse- 
 ness. 
 
 Such as she was, Delphine Marechal had wrought damage 
 
 l2 
 
IIG BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 enougli with her enchantments, to become a by-word in a land 
 where such sorceries are rife. 
 
 The world first heard of her as the wife of a captain of 
 Spaliis, in the army of Algiers. Of her birth and parentage, 
 and of the manner of her wooing, nothing certain was known ; 
 but that Eugene Boisragon, on his return from furlough, 
 brought back a lawfully-wedded wife, there was no reason to 
 doubt. Before the second year of their marriage was half 
 spent, there were many scandals afloat concerning her. It was 
 whispered that long good service, and hitherto stainless repute, 
 did not save a certain general of brigade from sharp rebuke in 
 high quarters, where such trifles as a liaison are seldom noticed. 
 Eugene Boisragon, after a few outbreaks of jealous fury that his 
 wife laughed utterly to scorn, had taken to desperate drink- 
 ing, and was seldom seen sober off parade. Men all said that 
 something worse than absinthe was working in his brain ; and 
 that he was off his head long before the last frenzy-fit possessed 
 him, when he rode down alone, yelling like a maniac as he 
 was, on the thirsty Kabyle yataghans. His widow went 
 through no farce of mourning, but ‘ made her packet’ with the 
 briefest possible delay, and betook herself to Paris — not with- 
 out male escort. From that day forth, she threw off the thin- 
 nest disguise of respectability, and went on her wicked way 
 rejoicing. 
 
 'Whether it was some faint scruple of remorse, or only a 
 wild whim, that prompted her to drop the ‘ Boisragon,’ and fall 
 back on her maiden name — Heaven save the mark ! — none 
 could guess : but on any note or quittance, she signed herself 
 Delphine Marechal. She was much better known, though, 
 as ‘ La Topaze.’ Looking at her yellow lustrous hair, and 
 tawny gleaming eyes, you were struck at once with the aptness 
 of the sobriquet. She was no hypocrite, and disdained the 
 common stratagems of her trade. She never affected softness 
 or sympathy ; and conquered without troubling herself to be 
 winning. When her phantasy — and phantasies she had not 
 seldom — was passed, or when the purse that supplied her 
 reckless caprice was drained, she dismissed her lover just as 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 117 
 
 she dismissed her lackey ; and it would have been as vain for 
 one, as for the other, to look for charity or compassion at her 
 hands in after-time. Threats or complaints or entreaties were 
 all met with the same hard, ringing laugh ; and none, so far, 
 had fared better than his fellows — from Achille, Prince de 
 Senneterre, who for her sake left a fair young bride to pine 
 before the orange flowers had time to wither, down to Leon 
 Gondrecourt, the struggling sculptor, with a face like an old 
 Greek statue, who left her presence for the last time with 
 scarcely sous enough in his pocket to buy the charcoal that 
 stifled him. She was not particularly clever, and passably ill- 
 educated ; but v/as endowed with a rude mother wit, and a 
 certain readiness of repartee. This, added to the known vio- 
 lence of her temper and utter unscrupulousness in revenge, 
 made her much dreaded amongst her sisterhood ; so that in 
 most companies she took and kept the lead — queening it like 
 a thorough usurper. 
 
 Eather royal, in her own fashion. La Topaze looked to- 
 night, in a dress that few of her complexion would have dared 
 to wear — a superb maize moire trimmed with priceless lace — 
 with emeralds flashing in her tawny hair, and round the carved 
 column of her neck, and all over her ample white breast. The 
 contrast of colour, that would have shocked any civilized taste, 
 only seemed to enhance her barbaric splendour. Any one fond 
 of such parallels would surely have been reminded then of the 
 famous Czarina, whose loves and wars, more than a century 
 ago, kept all Europe on the alert. 
 
 As she entered, there was a stir through the parterre, and 
 a murmur that might have been mistaken for subdued applause ; 
 and, before she had been seated three minutes, a hundred 
 glasses levelled at her box answered the challenge of her auda- 
 cious eyes. To nine-tenths of the men present hers was a 
 familiar face. To provincials, who saw her for the first time, 
 their neighbours pointed out the celebrity, with the sort of 
 pride that a Javanese might feel in the exhibition of a flour- 
 ishing upas-tree. 
 
 On this personage Mrs Eamsay gazed, with an eagerness of 
 
118 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 which she was more than half-ashamed. She was no country- 
 bred girl, looking for the first time on the world’s wicked ways. 
 She had seen Pelagia flaunting in different guises in divers 
 places ere now, without shrinking aside in holy horror at the 
 sight, or feeling any special interest therein ; but such a speci- 
 men of the sisterhood as this, she had never looked upon, and 
 she was attracted by it as she would have been attracted by 
 any other animal curiosity. 
 
 Whilst Mark, laughing outright at her eagerness, was an- 
 swering her questions with a brief sketch of the antecedents of 
 La Topaze, the door of the baignoire opposite opened again and 
 two men came in. One, a pale, boyish-looking Prenchman, 
 came to the front at once ; and evidently began some explan- 
 ation or excuse, to which La Topaze gave no sort of heed — 
 dashing it aside, as it were, with an insolent wave of her fan ; 
 whilst she glanced over her shoulder, as if waiting to be ad- 
 dressed by the other cavalier, who, after he had closed the door, 
 remained leaning against the wall, in the shadow. He came 
 forward at last, and proceeded to take stock of the house 
 through his glasses, in a lazy, leisurely way, before he troubled 
 himself to reply to a remark from La Topaze, which was evi- 
 dently either an angry question or a sharp reproach. 
 
 A man of proper presence, decidedly, with a tall, martial 
 figure, and a face that must have been strikingly handsome 
 once, and had not ceased to be picturesque since it grew hard 
 and haggard, and marred by a kind of lowering that told of 
 evil temper not often controlled. It was a face, though, that 
 few women would easily forget when they had seen it once. 
 That Mrs Eamsay had not forgotten it, was abundantly clear ; 
 for, as she caught sight of the new-comer, she started and 
 drew back hurriedly, saying in a whisper — so low that her 
 husband hardly caught the words — 
 
 ' Good heavens ! It is Yereker Yane.’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 119 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI. 
 
 In tlie storehouse of almost every ■woman’s memory — 
 whether it he hare and poverty-stricken, or crammed to the 
 threshold with treasures varied and manifold — there is kept a 
 special corner for her ‘ old loves.’ I do not speak now of those 
 who, having been interwoven to a greater or less extent in her 
 life-skein, have coloured it with deep joy or deep bitterness — 
 of those whose names never recur without a reminder, regret- 
 ful or reproachful, of 
 
 How close .to the stars we seemed, 
 
 That night on the sands by the sea. 
 
 I speak of those who in the old time could scarcely he distin- 
 guished from the rank-and-file of her friends and acquaintances, 
 who never caused her pulse to flutter uneasily, or her cheek to 
 flush unbecomingly ; hut who nevertheless proffered to her 
 once, without stint or limit, the richest gift that was in their 
 power to bestow, albeit it found no favour in her eyes — I 
 mean, the wooers that wooed in vain. 
 
 K it he a weakness to wrap up these memories rather 
 tenderly, it is one to which women of every shade of character 
 are prone. It is just as likely — rather more likely, indeed — 
 to he found in the gravest prude as in the most frivolous co- 
 quette ; nor does the state of their domestic relations seem to 
 have much to do with it. 
 
 The historic Helen was probably not a much more con- 
 scientious personage than Schneider represents her. Yet her 
 heart may have melted a little when, from the tower over the 
 Scsean Gate, she looked down on the Achsean array, and re- 
 membered that each and every one of the chiefest there was 
 expiating by exile from home, and peril of limb and life, the 
 madness of having once aspired to her hand. 
 
 Eor an opposite example, take Lady Gatacre. That model 
 matron for years has ruled every household in her parish with 
 
120 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 an iron rod— a merciless allopath, both in religion and medi- 
 cine ; forcing her doctrine, her physic, and her charity down 
 the throats of the poor, whose cottages she carries at the point 
 of the parasol. She regards all works of fiction as more or 
 less emanating from the Father of lies, and romance in real life 
 as a folly almost within the pale of sin. An upright woman, 
 s'il en flit — she dresses the character to perfection ; and towers 
 at her board-head darkhng and stately, not to be lighted up 
 by sconce, lamp, or lustre. But, on certain evenings, you may 
 see gleams of scarlet breaking the sable monotony of her attire ; 
 and you recognize, with a certain astonishment, that the dame 
 may have been admired once by such as look favourably on 
 sombre, severe beauty. On such occasions there sits always 
 on her right hand the head of a certain Chapter hard by. 
 The Dean is a rabid Protestant, prone to take up his parable, 
 in season and out of season, against the abominations of the 
 Seven Hills ; but my lady remembers what was his favourite 
 colour in the old, old times — the times when a patient, hard- 
 working curate asked a proud, penniless girl to share his for- 
 tunes, and took meekly, if not contentedly, ^iSTay’ for an 
 answer. Good Sir John stands in far too great awe of his 
 spouse, to banter her on this or any other subject ; but you 
 may see by the twinkle in his merry moist eye, how thoroughly 
 he appreciates her rare concessions to the vanities of this 
 ■wicked world, and rejoices over these vulnerable points in the 
 tough Amazonian harness. 
 
 The last time that Yereker Yane stood face to face with 
 Blanche Kamsay, he had urged his suit for her hand as elo- 
 quently and earnestly as it was in his nature to speak ; and 
 liad gone out of her presence in bitter anger. If she had 
 ever regretted her answer then — and I believe she never had 
 done so — she surely would have known none such misgivings 
 now, in the flush of her ovm fresh happiness, and meeting 
 him — thus. Nevertheless, the very proof before her eyes of 
 how far he had gone astray, made her remember that she 
 might have moulded his life otherwise had she so vdlled it ; 
 and a kind of self-reproach mingled with the natural pity of 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 121 
 
 a woman who, having parted from an old friend in good 
 estate, finds him again, brought very low. 
 
 It may he that something of this showed itself in her 
 voice and manner ; for Mark’s smile was very meaning, as he 
 answered her exclamation recorded above. 
 
 ‘Yereker Yane, Avithout doubt. So he was another of 
 your victims, Blanche'? Why, you are nearly as bad as 
 Miladi, in Les Mousquetaires : the traces of poison tell us elle 
 a qjasse qxtr la.'' 
 
 His tone did not quite please her ; though why she mis- 
 liked it she could hardly have told. They had mutually 
 agreed to pass lightly over the past, and to let bygones be by- 
 gones. Nothing, in theory, could be more convenient and 
 comfortable ; but she would have preferred a little more sus- 
 ceptibility — even a little captiousness — to that easy indiffer- 
 ence. 
 
 The green-eyed monster is troublesome to deal Avith al- 
 ways, and a perfect pest sometimes ; yet there be beasts abroad 
 noisomer, or at all eA^ents more difficult to tame, than he. 
 Mesdames, are you sure you Avould approA^e of his utter ex- 
 tinction '? Would it not be a pity, if there were use no longer 
 for all the sweet sops, and potent charms, that are noAv em- 
 ployed to lull him to sleep '? The zest and subtle attraction of 
 danger, you knoAV just as well as the boldest matamore of us 
 all. The rambles of those AAdio Avalk abroad after their OAvn 
 SAveet will — unchecked and unAvatched — are dull as an en- 
 forced ‘ constitutional,’ compared Avith the stealthy, albeit 
 innocent, sallies of those Avhose footfalls are planted Avithin 
 earshot of a dozing dragon. 
 
 It is of masculine jealousy only I have been speaking. 
 Feminine jealousy is, as Ave all knoAV, not a ravenous Avild- 
 beast, but a virgin, serene if stern,-— Justice, in fact, under 
 another garb, — avIio never smites unreasonably, unrighteously, 
 or on insufficient grounds. 
 
 So, as AAns aforesaid, Blanche felt slightly discontented, 
 and ansAvered rather more coldly than her Avont, 
 
 ‘ ^^’ot a victim, in the least ; but I saAV a good deal of him 
 
122 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 at one time ; and I liked him very much in his way ; and he 
 liked me well enough to ask me to marry him, and too well to 
 keep friends with me after I said “ JSTo.” There’s the whole 
 story. It wouldn’t make a chapter in the weakest romance 
 that ever was written.’ 
 
 He shook his head, always with the same smile on 
 his lip. 
 
 ^The poison works all the same; hut it affects different 
 constitutions differently, of course. What drives one man to 
 drink, drives another to the demi-monde. Whether of the 
 two is worse, the immortal gods alone can tell. Either remedy 
 is worse than the disease, I should fancy. Yane’s face has 
 awfully changed, even since I saw him last ; and that’s not 
 long ago.’ 
 
 Mrs Eamsay shrugged her shoulders impatiently. 
 
 ^ It’s not a pleasant or improving spectacle. I’d rather 
 look at the stage, I think; though I’m not inclined to rave 
 about Herodias,^ 
 
 Just then the second act began. Vane had recognized, 
 even more quickly than Blanche had done, who sat over 
 against him. . He scarcely checked the sweep of his opera- 
 glass; and his left hand, that held it, remained perfectly 
 steady; but his right, resting on the back of La Topaze’s 
 chair, grasped it so hard and nervously that the chair slightly 
 rocked. He had become almost domesticated- — if the term 
 could be applied to such a hfe as his — in Paris of late, and 
 took little heed of matters on the other side of the Channel, 
 nevertheless, he had heard of Mrs Ellerslie’s engagement to 
 Pamsay soon after it was made public in England. He took 
 the news with an outward unconcern, that rather chagrined 
 the purveyor thereof — a worthy gossip, who considered agree- 
 able intelligence not worth the trouble of carrying. He was 
 an ancient comrade of Yane’s, and. well acquainted with this 
 episode in the other’s life ; furthermore, he had a grudge of 
 long standing against him, and rather reckoned on the effect 
 of his little coup. The Colonel only laughed boisterously; 
 and swore with a great oath that a better match was never 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 123 
 
 made up down below, and that the Devil himself could not 
 tell which had the best of the bargain. 
 
 He had been drinking deeply already, or he would have 
 scarcely spoken lightly, much less coarsely, of Blanche Ellers- 
 lie ; but he drank deeper yet before the ^ little supper ’ was 
 done, and contrived to make himself intensely disagreeable to 
 all who assisted thereat — the news-bearer above mentioned 
 being especially set upon and overborne. The thought of the 
 engagement, whenever it recurred since, had always chafed 
 him ; but, as he had not read the announcement of the mar- 
 riage, he never realized till this moment that the prize he had 
 coveted was actually another man’s chattel. 
 
 With men of Vereker Yane’s temper, these realizations are 
 no jest. Hot being endowed with a very vivid power of fancy, 
 they are less tormented than their fellows by the spectral fore- 
 shadowing of grief or pain ; but, when set face to face with the 
 substance of these, they suffer more keenly. It is no figure of 
 speech to say, that for the moment Yane was fairly blinded 
 with passion : though he swept his glass mechanically back- 
 wards and forwards along the crowded boxes, they were all 
 blanks to him, save one in which those two faces were framed. 
 Yet it was a vague, purposeless rage, levelled rather at fate, 
 and the force of circumstances that had balked him, than 
 against a flesh-and-blood enemy. If some one had succeeded 
 where he had failed, as well this one as any other. He bore 
 Mark no greater grudge than a loser does the winner, where 
 the stakes are ruinous, and the play perfectly fair. 
 
 So, in just the frame of mind to relish the antics of Hero- 
 dias — they had made him yawn the third time lie witnessed 
 them, and this was about the fortieth — Colonel Yane sat down far 
 back in the 'baignoire^ whence he thought he might watch his 
 opposite neighbours unobserved ; for a certain savour of good 
 manners, despite of evil communications, still clung to the 
 sometime Chief of the ^Princess’s Own.’ The avowed pro- 
 tector of the most famous courtesan in Paris was inconsistent 
 enough to have scruples about ^ staring.’ 
 
 La Topaze was in no placable humour that night. The 
 
124 
 
 BKEAKIXG A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 liigliest-born dame of the Faubourg was not more arrogant or 
 exacting than she. She had got a grievance cut and dried : 
 lier cavalier had presumed to dine without her, en ville — an 
 outrecuidance only to be atoned for in the usual course of 
 things by much contrition, rich bribes, or unlimited indulgence 
 of her next whim. Yet the offender did not seem in haste to 
 make his peace, or even to apologize for being late ; but had 
 handed over that trouble to smooth-tongued Adolphe — a con- 
 scientious parasite, always ready to take any troublesome 
 thing, or person, off his friends’ hands — for a consideration. 
 To be sure, she had learned already not to look for any abject 
 submission from Yereker Yane ; and had learned, too, that it 
 was scarcely safe to provoke him beyond a certain point. His 
 fierce, overbearing temper had a kind of attraction for her. She 
 was sick, even unto death, of the mincing ways, petty fractious- 
 ness, and languid love-making of les Creves ; and liked her 
 bear’s growlings and roughnesses a thousand times better than 
 their monkey tricks. Nevertheless she had no notion of letting 
 neglect pass unpunished ; and determined, if she could not 
 make Yane contrite, she would at least make him uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 Facing round with this intent, she marked in what direc- 
 tion his glasses were levelled. Indeed, he did not disturb him- 
 self, or seem to notice that she had turned towards him, till 
 she spoke. The woman’s instinct, always on the watch for 
 rivalry, added to the cunning of her craft, set La Topaze on 
 the scent at once. 
 
 ‘ My faith, Eruno ’ (for some time past the cocottes had 
 called him by no other name), ‘ thou art charming this night ! 
 Since when hast thou the wine taciturn 1 I marvel why thou 
 camedst here — Nenni ; I marvel not. It was, apparently, to 
 devour the little pale woman yonder. The morsel does not 
 seem to me dainty ; but perhaps thou hast found it to thy 
 taste ere now. Hein ? Art thou touched Answer, at least, 
 without blushing.’ 
 
 Flushing ! It is the fashion now-a-days to christen ugly 
 things prettily ; but he must have been an euphemist indeed, 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 125 
 
 who would have given so tender a name to the dark flush on 
 Yane’s cheek. In truth, the aggression was singularly inop- 
 portune. Since that first access of jealous rage, his thoughts 
 had turned into a milder channel. The sight of the quiet pale 
 face opposite rather soothed than irritated him : he was trying 
 to recall the cadences of some low caressing tones, just as one 
 tries to piece together the fragments of a half-forgotten tune. 
 Here, his reverie was broken. 
 
 How the most besotted admirers of La Topaze were fain 
 to confess, that her voice was not one of her chiefest attractions. 
 It was a good serviceable organ ; clear though not flexile, and 
 proof, so far, against the effects of late hours and hard living ; 
 but its steely ring — which gave such effect to sarcasm or re- 
 tort — the toughest nerves found, after a while, rather fatiguing. 
 How that voice grated on Yane just then, would be impossible 
 to describe. 
 
 He frowned heavily ; and, as he glanced down on her, you 
 might have seen the blood mount to his eyes. 
 
 ‘ Leave me in peace, I counsel thee ; and leave yonder lady 
 in peace also. Are there not cocottes enough here for thee to 
 dissect, that thou must fall foul of honest women ’ 
 
 Her broad nostrils dilated ; and she showed her white teeth 
 — not smiling. 
 
 ‘ Honest women ! — Fine guarantee, my faith, for a woman’s 
 honesty, that she should have been an ancient acquaintance of 
 M. le Colonel Yane. Our tongues are free to speak of the 
 greatest dames in France : I would know, why they should 
 spare une petite cliipie d' Anglaise.’’ 
 
 The phrase is not easily translatable; nor could any 
 verbal insolence be half so expressive as the gesture of her 
 lithe fingers. 
 
 Daredevil as she was, a minute later she wished her words 
 unsaid ; as Yane rose up, with such a darkness on his counten- 
 ance as she had never seen there. She had reason to know, 
 that time and place could put no check on his passion when it 
 was fairly roused ; and shrank within herself in mere physical 
 fear. If any mad temptation to violence assailed him, he con- 
 
126 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY I OR 
 
 trolled liimself after one glance at the box opposite ; and, tak- 
 ing down his overcoat, went out without uttering a word, 
 flinging off the hand that La Topaze would have laid on his 
 arm as if it brought contagion. 
 
 Yereker Yane’s worst enemy might have pitied him a little, 
 reading his thoughts as he walked away through the empty 
 corridor out into the air. He had begun to hate his paramour 
 with the sudden intense loathing that, unlike most rapid emo- 
 tions, does not lightly pass away. He hated and despised him- 
 'self yet more ; and — desiring earnestly, for the moment at 
 least, to escape — saw no way out of the shameful maze in 
 which he had wandered for some time past. He did not walk 
 straight away; but, though a fine rain was falling, paced 
 backwards and forwards in front of the theatre, so persistently 
 as to excite the suspicions of certain police-agents hovering 
 about. They concluded, from his manner, that he must have 
 a worse object than a mere assignation in lingering there. 
 
 Standing back in the shadow, he heard after a while the 
 cou'pe of Madame Marechal summoned; and watched her 
 come forth, followed by her frightened ‘ sheep-dog ’ — her very 
 robes rustling with passion — and fling herself into the car- 
 riage with an energy that set the springs a-quivering. He 
 waited till they had driven off ; and began to pace to and fro 
 again, retreating into the dark nook when each fresh carriage 
 was called up. Ere long a continuous stream succeeded the 
 straggling departures ; then Colonel Yane thrust his way for- 
 ward till he stood just without the principal doorway, so that 
 he was within arm’s-length of all that passed out. 
 
 It was an odd anomaly — one that might have furnished a 
 text to a homily- writer, or a sketch to a humorist. Erom 
 youth upwards this man had been wont to work out his pur- 
 pose by mere strength of mil or hand, cutting all manner of 
 knots without attempting to unravel them ; from sentiment, 
 properly so called, AYitikind the Waster was not more ex- 
 empt ; and in his breast, specially after the life he had led of 
 late, it was no more likely that pathos or tenderness should 
 be found, than that lilies should bloom on sea-sand. Yet his 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 127 
 
 heart fluttered like a hashful boy’s as he stood there — wait- 
 ing to see whether, as she passed out, Blanche Eamsay would 
 appear conscious of his presence or not. He no more dreamed 
 of addressing her first, than of offering her any other insult. 
 More oddly still — considering of what manner of man we are 
 speaking — passion had little or nothing to do with his longing 
 to hear her voice and touch her hand again. Eather, it was 
 such a hankering after the better and pleasanter days now past 
 and gone, as might beset any outcast reminded of these things 
 suddenly by the sight of an ancient friend. 
 
 Before very long the Eamsays came out. Blanche chanced 
 to be on the side nearest the pillar against which Yane was 
 leaning : as he was just outside the doorway, she did not see 
 him till her dress brushed his foot. She started and slirank 
 back a little ; clinging closer to her husband’s arm. It was 
 no wonder. Yane’s face was not pleasant to look upon just 
 then ; and hair and beard dank with rain made it more hag- 
 gard and wild. He marked the effect he produced, and was 
 not a whit angry ; only it was something like a groan that he 
 gulped down as he stepped back a little to let her pass, slightly 
 moving his hat, as if he had made way for an utter stranger. 
 But, after a second’s hesitation, Blanche held out her hand, 
 with rather a nervous laugh. 
 
 ^ Is it de rigueu)\ to cut your old friends, Colonel Yane, 
 when you are hving abroad 1 You are become quite acclim- 
 atized, they tell me ; but I had no idea you were in Paris. I 
 wonder, at least, that you and Mark have not met some- 
 where.’ 
 
 It was a falsehood, of course — such an one as certain 
 moralists would find it very hard to condone — and, that it was 
 a falsehood, the man to whom it was spoken knew perfectly 
 well. He knew that she had recognized him hours ago ; and 
 that she had been made aware long ere this — even if she had 
 not guessed for herself at the first glance — who and what were 
 his companions. But he did not thank her the less ; and let 
 us hope that this white lie was covered, like a multitude of 
 other sins j for assuredly it was conceived in charity. 
 
128 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 The Colonel just touched the little hand, with a timid 
 half-pressure — very unlike liis usual grip. 
 
 ‘ ISTo : I’ve a pretty good memory for old friends, Mrs Eam- 
 say, even when they have new names ; and as for cutting, — 
 that would come well from me, wouldn’t it ? I seldom look 
 at an English paper, somehow, except the sporting ones ; and 
 I didn’t know that you were actually married, much less that 
 you were in Paris ; or I’d have hunted you out, and sent the 
 regular congratulations, if I hadn’t brought them. You must 
 take them now in the rough — ^both of you. Eamsay and I, 
 at least, needn’t stand on ceremony.’ 
 
 ‘E'ot exactly,’ Mark answered; ‘even if pretty speeches 
 were jowv forte ^ Yereker. It is odd we liaA^en’t met. hTever 
 mind : better late than never. We’re at the Bristol ; will you 
 breakfast there to-morrow h ’ 
 
 Vane accepted at once. Three minutes later he stood on 
 the pavement alone, watching the lamps of a certain coupe 
 gleaming away through the mist and rain. 
 
 There were high jinks in the half-world that night. ' Mdlle 
 Eretillon had lately so far honoured M. Bonasse, the famous 
 financier, as to accept from him a modest mansion hard by the 
 Barriere du Trone, — the price of which would have bought 
 twice over a chateau and appanages in Touraine, — and called 
 her friends and neighbours together to rejoice over la pen- 
 daison de la cremaillere. Over the Babel of tongues at the 
 supper table La Topaze’s laugh rang out ; and she was unusu- 
 ally brilliant in her pitiless sallies — levelled impartially at 
 friend and foe — and none entered with keener zest into the 
 lansquenet^ that raged till dawn. But the door never opened 
 without her tawny eyes were turning towards it — defiantly at 
 first, then wistfully, hopelessly at last — in search of some one 
 who never appeared ; and she did not carry it off so success- 
 fully, as to prevent every one there present being aware that 
 there had been something more than a love-quarrel betwixt her 
 and Bruno. 
 
 ‘You did that very well, Blanche,’ her husband remarked 
 as they drove homeward. ‘ I should have been sorry if you 
 
BLANCHE ELLEBSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 129 
 
 had cut Yane outright. He felt himself in a false position 
 this evening, I do believe; and that’s a point gained, at all 
 events. He’ll never be thoroughly respectable ; but he’s too 
 good still to swell the returns of killed and wounded, that La 
 Topaze publishes yearly. He certainly left her in the lurch 
 to-night. I shouldn’t wonder if he were to break with the 
 whole lot if he had a little timely encouragement. Shall we 
 be benevolent, and try what we can do t ’ 
 
 Blanche assented very readily. But as, lying awake, she 
 thought over these things, she was haunted by misgivings as 
 to whether her hands were strong enough to deal with such a 
 good work ; and, more than that, if a blessing was likely to 
 attend benevolence prompted by Mark Eamsay. 
 
 CHAPTEE XYII. 
 
 On a certain forenoon towards the close of that London 
 season, a party of eight sat down to breakfast in a jDleasant 
 bachelor house in Charles Street just as the latest church-bell 
 ceased to chime. 
 
 The host was rather a character in his way. With ever}^ 
 disadvantage of a start, and retarded by more than one early 
 failure, by dint of energy, patience, and calculation, he had 
 contrived, whilst still in middle-age, to climb to one of those 
 high places in the mercantile heaven, which having attained, 
 an adventurer may thenceforth lie beside his nectar, smiling 
 at the toil and turmoil below. But Olympian idlesse would 
 have been irksome to Eichard Garratt. He was not a whit 
 ashamed of his business, and applied himself thereto at certain 
 seasons with the same cautious sagacity as heretofore ; but he 
 treated commerce as a master, not as a ’prentice now — taking 
 his pleasure when and where he would, and taking it, too, 
 right royally. He was quite aware of the weak points in his 
 own breeding, and earnestly desired to amend these. Erom 
 
130 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFI.Y ; OR 
 
 the coinmonpiace weaknesses of i\iQ parvenu he was singularly 
 free ; hut he affected — and did not scruple to confess it — the 
 company of men likely, directly or indirectly, to help him up- 
 wards in the social scale ; and contrived to minister to their 
 amusement — their profit sometimes — without ever truckling 
 to their caprices or submitting to contumely, however covert 
 or polite. A natural tact prevented him from presuming on 
 good nature or forcing on familiarity. 
 
 The ‘ swells,’ as he would call them, soon found out that 
 Mr Garratt was ready to meet his friends cordially on club- 
 ground without insisting on identifying himself with them in 
 all places and at untimely seasons ; and that he would cast 
 the bread of hospitality freely enough on the waters, without 
 expecting it to return in the shape of invitation-cards to the 
 houses of their mothers and sisters. So the circle of his ac- 
 quaintance widened daily, till it became quite as large as was 
 convenient. Men rather plumed themselves than otherwise 
 on being asked to one of the Sunday breakfasts in Charles 
 Street. In truth, they were very agreeable entertainments. 
 
 However vagrant in his other habits, it must be a strong 
 temptation — sport or business out of the question — that will 
 draw any thoroughpaced Englishman, possessing a fixed abid- 
 ing-place, many yards from his own hearthstone, fasting. And 
 in this case there was a very strong temptation. Eichard Gar- 
 ratt was a born gourmet^ though his taste had only of late 
 years been cultivated as it deserved ; neither was his chef un- 
 worthy of his large hire ; and the guests culled from different 
 sets, amalgamated as a rule very fairly. On a Sunday fore- 
 noon in London, few idle men, who are not churchgoers, have 
 anything better to do than to sit in judgment on the savour 
 of delicate meats and wines. Ho one at these entertainments 
 descended to tea — or to coffee, unless of the blackest, backed 
 by a chasse. 
 
 On the right of the host sat Lord Morecambe ; the intrepid 
 and insatiable traveller, who had thrust his ferret-nose into 
 more out-of-the-way corners of the earth than perhaps any other 
 man living. Exploring was his profession ; and he was just 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 131 
 
 home from Patagonia on a short furlough, recruiting for an 
 expedition which was to start from the southern shores of the 
 Caspian, and end — indefinitely. A pale, puny, parched per- 
 sonage ; and, like many others of his build, a voracious feeder. 
 Indeed, his appetite was his chief encumbrance on his wander- 
 ings ; supporting all other hardships cheerfully, he waxed 
 desperately despondent under famine. 
 
 l!^ext to him was Harry Polwarth— more at home certainly 
 on the boards than in the barrack-ground ; yet he was no car- 
 pet-soldier either, and none grudged him his brevet step after 
 Inkermann. He had been stage-manager to the Brigade for 
 years ; and each winter made a starring-tour through country- 
 houses where amateur theatricals were carried out on a grand 
 scale. 
 
 Eight opposite to him sat his subaltern and crony, and 
 butt to boot— -Terence Tiernan ; with the same bloom on his 
 round smooth pink face, and the same mystified look in his in- 
 nocent blue eyes, as when he first joined the battahon ; though 
 how he has contrived to preserve any outward signs of innocence 
 is wonderful indeed. Eather prone to take offence, as a rule, 
 he stands any amount of bullying from Polwarth ‘ like a 
 lamb and, in all respects, plays the faithful henchman to 
 perfection. 
 
 ‘ I’m awfully fond of Terry,’ the other once averred ; ^ I 
 wouldn’t travel about without his photograph for any con- 
 sideration. To look at it in the morning, quite picks one up 
 after a night spent in indifferent company. There never were 
 so many good qualities compressed into the same space of flesh 
 and blood; and — God never made such a fool !’ 
 
 Besides these, there were Jack Eaymond — most cheery 
 and urbane of vintners — who, having got through one fair 
 fortune in the exercise of boundless hospitality, is trying, not 
 unsuccessfully, to build up another by filling other men’s 
 cellars ; and Pierce Llewellyn, editor of the Scorpion ; with 
 two others whom you have met before — Eeginald Avenel and 
 Horace Kendall. 
 
 If you could assist invisibly at the assemblage of seven or 
 
132 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 eight of the cleverest men you like to name, brought together 
 for purely convivial purposes, do you think you would often 
 listen to sustained talk worth taking down? I fear Nodes 
 Arabrosiance are nearly as imaginary as Arabian Nights ; and 
 when they do occur, the ‘ crack ’ is generally three-handed, or 
 four-handed at the outside. Ihchard Garratt could discourse 
 sensibly enough on many subjects — with a lead ; but he rarely 
 took a decisive line of his own, much less attempted to cut 
 out the work for others. On the present occasion his guests 
 seemed to incline rather to the consumption than to the utter- 
 ance of good things ; and, though Polwarth was fonder of 
 chaffing than of eating as a rule, breakfast was half over before 
 he opened fire on his left-hand neighbour. 
 
 ‘ You don’t like those sweetbreads a la Monargue^ More- 
 cambe, I can see; for you’ve only managed half the dish. 
 You really should conquer your dislike to civilized viands : as 
 it is, you don’t take enough to support life. J^ever mind : 
 when I come into mine inheritance, and you come to stay with 
 me. I’ll kill a fat buffalo, and you shall have the hump all to 
 yourself. I dare say Garratt would have provided a bear- 
 haunch this morning, if you hadn’t taken him rather by sur- 
 prise.’ 
 
 ‘ They are both very good things in their way,’ the other 
 said seriously ; ‘ but you must be careful to bake the hump 
 under a very slow fire ; and the bear ought to be killed early 
 in the spring, before he gets lean. After all, I think the paws 
 are the best part of him.’ 
 
 ^ Tell us some more secrets of the cuisine sauvage,' the 
 other went on. ^ What’s the best way of dressing a guide, for 
 instance? En chasseur, I suppose? Don’t look modest about 
 it : you know very well you ate one when you lost your way 
 in the Dolichoschian Mountains.’ 
 
 Most of the men laughed ; but Tiernan made rather a wry 
 face, as he set his fork down without touching some asjgic 
 which he had just taken on his plate. 
 
 ‘It’s quite true, Terry,’ Pohvarth continued; ‘and they 
 read a short burial-service over the poor Iroquois before they 
 
133 
 
 BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 put liim down to roast, just like they do over sailors before 
 they give them to the sharks. It was very considerate of you, 
 Morecamhe ; I’ve always given you great credit for it. It 
 shows how, under most trying circumstances, a real Christian 
 can keep up appearances.’ 
 
 ‘ It’s very well to joke about it now,’ Morecamhe said, 
 frowning slightly; ^hut the real thing isn’t so comic. hTo ; 
 I never was in the strait of having to draw lots for a life ; hut 
 I don’t know what might have happened once, if we hadn’t 
 lighted, hy God’s mercy, on a lame deer, that was half dead 
 with famine itself when we got up to it in the snovL The night 
 before, the men looked at each other very queerly — so queerly, 
 that I see their eyes still sometimes vdien I have bad 
 dreams.’ 
 
 There was not a particle of wounded vanity in the speaker’s 
 manner ; only the gravity of a man remembering thankfully 
 his escape from great peril. Ho one laughed now ; and Pol- 
 warth, for a moment, looked contrite. 
 
 ^ You’re a game old bird,’ he said ; ‘ and we stay-at-homes 
 are not worthy to unloose the latchets of your moccasins. 
 Haven’t you done enough in your generation in search of the 
 Great Unknown '? I’d give something to see you settled once 
 for all. You wouldn’t be hard to please in a squaw ; and 
 More Court would be a comfortable wigwam^ if it was made 
 weather-proof.’ 
 
 ^ Well, there are one or two other places I want to see,’ 
 the other returned placidly, making steady play with some 
 Eeform cutlets the while. ^ .Besides, I’m too poor to mount 
 an establishment properly at home ; and though I don’t much 
 care where I sleep, I don’t know that I should approve of 
 roughing it under one’s own roof. I shouldn’t approve of my 
 wife’s roughing it, I’m quite sure.’ 
 
 ^ Too poor 1 ’ Llewellyn interrupted, shrugging his should- 
 ers. ^ What’s that got to do with it 1 You may take your 
 oath, your coronet has been fresh gilt already, at some time or 
 another. Why should you be nicer than your forbears '? A 
 plum taken in season, how good is it h And there are several 
 
134 
 
 BUEAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Golden Drops just now, aLout fit for plucking. What do you 
 think of Mary Welsted — goes about with Lady Mandrake'? 
 Jekyl cliristened her Maria Maggiore — not a bad name either. 
 She’s substantial enough, in all ways, to prop up a principality, 
 much less a j)eerage.’ 
 
 ‘ A cut above my mark,’ Morecambe said — ‘ morally, 
 financially, and physically. I don’t pretend to know much 
 about domesticities ; but I fancy any husband must sooner or 
 later be in a false position, who gives more than three stone 
 weight away. I’ve no idea of tying myself up yet, either for 
 pleasure or profit, unless I find a stray Peri somewhere between 
 the Caspian and Cashmeer.’ 
 
 Quite lately, by the merest chance, as if he had picked up 
 a purse in the street, Tiernan had discovered he had rather 
 a good bass voice ; and since then he had become a perfect 
 melomaniac — ready quidvis facile, ant pati, the better to cul- 
 tivate his organ. Kendall, of course, could be very useful in 
 this way ; and this was enough to account for their sudden 
 intimacy. 
 
 When the name of Miss Welsted was mentioned, Horace 
 had looked up quickly from his plate ; and as the last words 
 were spoken, he glanced across the table at Tiernan, who 
 nodded and smiled in answer. 
 
 ‘ What are you grinning at now, Terry '? ’ Polwarth asked. 
 ^ It’s a most extraordinary thing, that grave matters can never 
 be discussed in your presence without that indecent levity 
 breaking out.’ 
 
 ‘ I wasn’t grinning,’ the other retorted rather rebelliously 
 — he didn’t approve of his fin sourire being so stigmatized — 
 ‘I was only thinking that perhaps the Welsted Cup ain’t 
 quite such an open race as you imagine. How do you know 
 the entries aren’t closed already 1 Ask Kendall there : he can 
 tell you something about it, I dare say.’ 
 
 An awkward pause ensued ; for no one seemed inclined to 
 put the question into words, though several asked it plainly 
 enough with their eyes. At last Polwarth spoke. 
 
 M suppose Terry means we’re to congratulate you, Mr 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 135 
 
 Kendall, if he means anything at all ; that’s never more than 
 even betting. Eather sudden, isn’t it ? ’ 
 
 It was a perpetual chafe to Horace, that men who seemed 
 to he hail-fellows with all the rest of the world would persist 
 in addressing him formally. Eurthermore, there was sarcasm, 
 if not incredulity, in Polwarth’s tone ; yet he answered sweetly 
 and smoothly. 
 
 ‘ You won’t make me responsible for Terry’s indiscretion, 
 
 I hope ’ (Polwarth’s byplay on the stage was one of the best 
 points of his acting ; his start of surprise, and shudder at the 
 familiarity, were perfect). ^ What I said to him was in con- 
 fidence, to begin Avith, and didn’t go half so far as you infer. 
 Pm very good friends with IMiss AYelsted, I’m happy to say ; 
 but I don’t know that I should care to be more. She’s rather 
 an overpowering person, as Morecambe says ; perhaps she’d 
 be too much for my Aveak mind. Don’t you think so, my 
 lord '? ’ 
 
 The peer Avas a cosmopolite in the largest sense of the 
 Avord. He had the faculty of becoming promptly hand-and- 
 glove AAuth any felloAv-creature, utterly irrespective of race, 
 colour, or degree ; but he could assert himself pretty decisively 
 on occasion, as others besides Kendall had found out to their 
 cost. 
 
 ‘ I said nothing about Miss Welsted’s being overpowering. 
 I simply said she was above my mark ; it doesn’t follow that 
 she’s above yours ; and as to Avhat your strength of mind may 
 be equal to, I know absolutely nothing. I judge no man’s 
 character on short or slight acquaintance.’ 
 
 The taunt Avent right home, through the triple brass of 
 Kendall’s self-conceit ; but instead of teaching him caution, it 
 made him vicious. 
 
 ‘ A thousand pardons,’ he said with bitter humility, ‘ for 
 asking your opinion about Avhat couldn’t interest you. You’ll 
 remember it was not I who mentioned Miss Welsted’s name ; 
 I simply answered a direct question. I have a perfect right, 
 I presume, to disavow any present intentions in that quarter. 
 Indeed, to form any such, one ought to be quite fancy-free.’ 
 
136 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY: OR 
 
 The fatuous smile, and the still more significant sigh 
 rounding-off the sentence, were so intensely exasperating, that 
 more than one of his hearers felt a keen desire to arise and 
 smite the speaker on the cheek. Avenel, who sat next to him, 
 could not repress a movement of impatient dislike. 
 
 Kendall did not seem to notice the effect of his words, but 
 went on nibbling delicately one by one the grapes from a 
 bunch that he held in his left hand, leaning his elbow on the 
 table. The sleeve, loose after the fashion of that year, fell 
 back naturally from the wrist, leaving the armlet that you wot 
 of nearly bare. It may be that Tiernan desired to show that 
 his new intimate was a person of more consequence than the 
 rest of the company gave him credit for; or he may have 
 been prompted only by an ultra-Irish propensity to thrust in 
 an importunate oar just when rocks and quicksands were ahead. 
 
 ‘Fancy-freer he said, nodding his head again still more 
 sagaciously. ‘ How can a man be free at all, who goes about 
 manacled'? It’s a pretty ornament, too, and a .pretty idea. 
 Let’s have a look at it closer.’ 
 
 With a faint show of remonstrance, hardly masking covert 
 exultation, Horace stretched out his wrist over the table. 
 There, in bright relief on the dead gold, glittered the word 
 ‘ .Kina ’ — legible, as ever was record of female folly since the 
 days of Cadmus. Hot half, certainly, of those present guessed 
 at the story linked with the word : yet all, save one, guessed 
 that there was something base and boastful in the action, and 
 despised it accordingly. Even jovial Mr Garratt looked on his 
 guest with disfavour and some apprehension : he smelt the 
 storm a-brewing ; and this was the first time that quiet diges- 
 tion had not waited on appetite at his entertainments. Eut 
 Tiernan’s blundering head was fairly loose, and, utterly disre- 
 garding tlie warning frown from Polwarth, he floundered on 
 deeper into the mire. 
 
 ‘ Kina — eh '? Kot a common name, is it '? I think we 
 could put a surname to it, if we chose. Perhaps we needn’t 
 go far from K to find the other initial. I should like to know 
 how you came by it, though '? ’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 137 
 
 ‘ Stole ity, most probably.’ 
 
 If Eeginald Avenel bad wrought no notable good in his 
 generation, he assuredly deserved all the blessings that rest on 
 peace-makers. The first article of his creed was, that to float 
 on placid waters was absolutely essential to his personal com- 
 fort • and he had shown considerable tact, more than once, in 
 healing disputes that might have rankled into quarrels. The 
 most insolent and iniquitous of cabmen had never been known 
 to provoke him to anything beyond banter — courteous, if severe. 
 If a maroon had exploded in the midst of them, his friends 
 could scarcely have been more startled than by such an inter- 
 jection proceeding from him. 
 
 Kendall’s outstretched hand dropped on the cloth sharply, 
 as he faced round on the speaker, flushing to the roots of his 
 hair. 
 
 ‘ That’s meant as a joke, I suppose,’ he said, with rather a 
 lame attempt at a laugh. ‘ I confess I don’t quite see the point 
 of it; and I’ll ask you to spare me those jokes in future.’ 
 
 ‘ It’s meant as nothing of the sort,’ the other retorted ; ^ I 
 never was more serious in my life. A man who’s capable of 
 parading such a thing as that before half-a-dozen comparative 
 strangers, and, so to speak, thrusts his confidences down their 
 throats, is perfectly capable of petty larceny, in my humble 
 opinion. It’s a mere question of opportunity.’ 
 
 Despite the Provencal blood in his veins, Kendall was too 
 cunning to embroil himself, if he could possibly avoid it, un- 
 less the chances were heavily in his favour ; but no choice was 
 left him here. He rose up, pushing back his chair in great 
 heat and haste. 
 
 ‘ I didn’t come hereto be insulted,’ he cried. 
 
 ‘ Ko ; you came here to sing, after you had finished your 
 breakfast’ — Avenel interrupted, beginning to peel a peach 
 scientifically ; ^ so don’t strain your voice, whatever you do.’ 
 
 ‘ I — I tell you,’ Kendall gasped out, fairly hoarse with 
 passion, ‘ I could account- -nothing easier — for how I became 
 possessed of that armlet, if you had any right to ask for an ex- 
 planation.’ 
 
138 
 
 BTIEAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ‘ But I haven’t a right, you see,’ the other answered coolly ; 
 ‘ and if I had, I don’t know that I should care to press the 
 question. Single-handed testimony don’t go for much — under 
 certain circumstances.’ 
 
 Here the host interposed. 
 
 ‘ Look here : we’ve had more than enough of this. It’s an 
 unlucky misunderstanding from first to last. You’ll promise 
 me, both of you — I know you will — that this shall go no fur- 
 ther.’ 
 
 Avenel arched his handsome brows in genuine surprise. 
 
 ‘ My dear Garratt, are you dreaming 1 You talk like Pol- 
 warth, when he plays the heavy father. Hothing ever does 
 go further in these days. I had very slightly the honour of 
 Mr Kendall’s acquaintance before ; and that little I choose 
 henceforth to decline. I’m too sorry that I’ve broken up the har- 
 mony of the meeting ; and I’ll do penance now, by calling on 
 an invalid aunt. When I’m gone, you can listen to love-stories 
 as long as you like.’ 
 
 ‘ Ko ; don’t '//ou go, Avenel.’ 
 
 Richard Garratt was one of the most good-natured creatures 
 breathing ; and would have gone out of his way rather than 
 tread on a worm ; but, for the life of him, he could not help 
 laying an emphasis on the personal pronoun that would 
 have been significant to a duller comprehension than Ken- 
 dall’s. 
 
 ‘ 171 go,’ he said sullenly ; ‘ indeed, I’d much — much 
 rather.’ 
 
 Beyond the faintest of formal remonstrances from the host, 
 no attempt was made to detain him ; and Tiernan — who had 
 assisted at the scene with as much astonishment as if he were 
 utterly innocent of having provoked it — did not think it neces- 
 sary to bear his maestro company. 
 
 The after-breakfast talk in Charles Street was often pro- 
 longed into the afternoon ; but to-day no one seemed to have 
 energy enough to shake off the wet blanket that had fallen on 
 the company ; and the smoking-room was deserted a full hour 
 earlier than usual. 
 
BLANCHE ELLEESIJE’s ENDING. 
 
 139 
 
 Quoth Polwarth to his suhaltern as they walked away 
 together — 
 
 ‘ I tell you what, Terry ; we’ll have to take measures with 
 your music madness. I don’t so much mind being driven wild 
 at all hours of the day and night by your native wood-notes ’ 
 (they lodged in contiguous chambers) ; ‘but if your tongue 
 leads you into bad company, it’ll have to be sHt, and that’s all 
 about it. A pleasant sort of “ pal ” you’ve picked up lately — 
 a creditable sort of creature, to be Terry-ing you all over the 
 place, and making you his confidant. All that happened this 
 morning was more than half your fault. "What the devil did 
 you mean by trotting him out for a show ? Ar’n’t you thoroughly 
 ashamed of yourseif ? ’ 
 
 And the subaltern Avas constrained to confess that he had 
 indeed ‘ made a regular hash of it ; ’ and that ‘ Kendall had 
 come out in rank bad form ; ’ and furthermore, to promise that 
 he would not again entreat this tuneful person to a dinner on 
 guard. 
 
 CHAPTEE XYIII. 
 
 Avenel’s charitable resolve Avent the way of many other 
 good intentions. His invalid aunt waited in vain, that after- 
 noon, for the Arisit which Avas none of the least of her ‘ consol- 
 ations ; ’ for that devout lady — though she Avould have been 
 exceeding wroth had such an idea been suggested to her — did 
 in truth prefer the company of this graceless nepheAV to that 
 of more straitlaced relatives. Eegy Avent to his chambers, and 
 shut the door upon the outer Avorld, in a frame of mind very 
 unsabbatical and unsatisfactory. He was thoroughly discon- 
 tented, not only Avith the aspect of things in general, but also 
 with himself. In the first place he held it uiiAvorthy of a 
 literate person to lose his temper, under any circumstance 
 whatsoever, to the extent of speaking unadvisedly. Though 
 
140 
 
 BREAKING A BETTETIFLY ; OR 
 
 he had maintained a decent outward show of coolness, he 
 could not deny that his anger had passed boiling-point more 
 than once — a gross mistake, to say the least of it. But there 
 was worse yet. 
 
 Without wearing his heart actually on his sleeve, Avenel 
 was more truthful than most men who have lived his life. 
 His moral law was sufficiently elastic ; hut the saAung of a 
 woman’s credit was, in his eyes, about the only excuse which 
 could turn a lie into a venial sin ; and in such a strait he had 
 seldom been placed. How, this morning, if he had not spoken 
 a falsehood, it is most certain he had acted one. He pitied 
 Kendall no more than any other venomous creature on which 
 he had chanced to trample ; hut the fact of his having come 
 out of the encounter with flying colours did not make his 
 cause the stronger. As a mere question of justice, what right 
 had he to hold up the man as a vain braggart, not to be be- 
 lieved on his oath ; knowing all the while that, base as the hint 
 might have been, the other was only hinting at the truth ? 
 
 Avenel had seen that armlet before, in a certain jeweller’s 
 shop that he was fond of frequenting — having a great taste 
 for cunning goldsmith’s Avork. He had been first struck by 
 the device of the fetterlock ; then by the name embossed on 
 the gold ; and — hearing it was for Lady GAvendoline Marston, 
 Avho Avas expected to call for it herself — had bestoAved on the 
 damsel a Avaltz that same evening, Avith the express purpose of 
 questioning her. 
 
 ‘ It’s for Helen Tyrconnel,’ Hina said coolly, though her 
 colour flickered as she spoke. ‘ She’s my pet friend, you 
 knoAAq and she’s to be married next Thursday. Ho one but 
 her is to knoAV where it comes from. Kegy — you Avon’t get me 
 into a scrape by telling any one I hear sermons enough 
 about extravagance as it is ; and this one Avould be an awful 
 homily. I’ll keep a secret for you Avhenever you ask me — I 
 Avill, indeed.’ 
 
 A pretty Avoman’s confidences are not, as a rule, burdens 
 grievous to be borne ; and Avenel, though a philosopher in his 
 way, had never studied in the Stoic school. He considered 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 141 
 
 himself almost as one of the Marston family ; all the Platonic 
 devotion that he could spare was engrossed by Eose Mths- 
 dale ; and he would no more have dreamed of flirting with 
 Xina than with any other child-cousin. But she looked too 
 bewitching just then to be refused anything; and it would 
 have been too absurd for Avenel to have taken up his parable 
 against extravagance : so he gave the promise readily enough, 
 and had never given the matter a second thought since. 
 
 E^ow — with his real regret at the girl’s folly mingled a 
 twinge of injured self-esteem, as he remembered how easily 
 he had been fooled. Hoodwinking is not pleasant even when 
 performed by a mistress of falconry ; but it is more aggravat- 
 ing still to be blindfolded by a mere chit, who ought to be 
 busy with her broidery-frame, instead of meddhng with lures 
 and jesses. 
 
 Over all these things Avenel meditated, smoking sullenly 
 the while ; but, beyond a vague impression that it behoved 
 him to do something without delay, he arrived at no conclu- 
 sion. He generally found Mthsdale House within the limits 
 of a Sabbath-day’s journey ; and went straight thither on 
 leaving his chambers, purposing, if opportunity should serve, 
 to propound the difficulty to the Countess. 
 
 Of whatsoever shortcomings in respect to the Decalogue this 
 lady may have been guilty, she carried out thoroughly at least 
 one of its precepts — that of making the Seventh Day a day of 
 rest. The attractions must have been exceptional that would 
 have tempted her to dine abroad ; and not above a dozen 
 names were exempted from the general orders of ‘ hlot at home ’ 
 on Sunday. Her boudoir was nearly as full as it could hold, 
 according to Lady Eose’s idea, when Avenel entered — that is 
 to say, three besides herself were there assembled. Two of 
 these were men, pleasant to look upon and to listen to, or they 
 would not have been sitting wffiere they were ; and as it 
 chanced — for this was by no means a seguitur — no less eligible 
 as partis than as partners. The third personage was Gwendo- 
 line Marston. 
 
 Avenel knew the habits of the house well enough to be 
 
112 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 aware that a coterie such as this did not break up in a hurry ; 
 and saw no present chance of consultation with Lady Eose ; 
 however, if his interest in securing a tete-a-tete had been purely 
 personal, he never would have dreamt of sulking at its being 
 deferred. ETo thing could exceed the air of domestic comfort 
 with which he settled himself into his favourite corner. 
 
 The concentrated wit of all assembled there would scarcely 
 have furnished forth one brilliant conversationalist ; but they 
 were very pleasant in their own way, and relished their mild 
 jokes, and harmless repartees, quite as keenly as sager and 
 sourer people relish highly-spiced epigrams or venomous satire. 
 If the laughter was not very discriminating, it rang none the 
 less musically. 
 
 Lady Mthsdale was too indolent to take her proper share 
 in the talk ; but Nina more than made up for her sister’s 
 deficiencies. It almost seemed as if the girl had some pre- 
 sentiment of approaching danger, and guessed too from what 
 quarter the danger came. If she had meant beforehand to 
 coax Avenel into a good frame of mind, she could hardly have 
 laid herself out more assiduously towards that object, or, to 
 speak the truth, more successfully. Eegy was not so often 
 really amused, but that he could feel grateful to any one, male 
 or female, who purveyed him such entertainment. Before he 
 had sat there an hour, he said within himself : 
 
 ^ She shall have another chance, though she don’t de- 
 serve it.’ 
 
 And he resolved to bring Nina to confession, before be- 
 traying her delinquencies even to Eose Nithsdale. The oppor- 
 tunity presented itself sooner than he had reckoned on. Tea 
 was scarcely over, when Gwendoline said : 
 
 ‘ Will some one put me into a cab, and pack me off home at 
 once? I’m dreadfully late as it is. We have to dine at Eich- 
 mond — at seven, of all unchristian hours ! And the Buckhursts 
 are so awfully punctual.’ 
 
 ‘ You’ll walk home in about half the time,’ Avenel inter- 
 rupted ; ^ and I’U take care of you. I’ve over-stayed my time 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 143 
 
 liero too — considering wliat I have to do before dinner. 
 You’ll trust her with me so far, won’t you, Lady Eose 1 ’ 
 
 Lady JSFithsdale’s eyes opened rather wonderingly. She 
 was the least jealous and suspicious of mortals ; hut she was 
 not wont to see Avenel so ready with his offers of escort ; and 
 she was rather puzzled as to the nature of the business which 
 could call him. away from her boudoir, so peremptorily, on a 
 Sunday afternoon. She bit her lip, ever so slightly, as she 
 answered : 
 
 0 yes : I can trust you — so far. I don’t think either of 
 you will get into mischief, between here and Carrington Cres- 
 cent. What you’ll do afterwards — ’ 
 
 So those two went off together. When they were fairly 
 in the street, said Avenel : 
 
 ^ Have you heard from your pet friend lately, Mna h You 
 know who I mean, of course — Helen Irnham, nee Tyrconnel. 
 Do you know where she is now ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I haven’t heard very lately,’ she replied ; and once again 
 her colour flickered \ ‘ but I know she’s in Paris. They went 
 over before the Grand Prix, and won’t be back for another ten 
 days at least.’ 
 
 ‘ You think so 1 Then you’d be very much surprised, if I 
 told you that I met her at breakfast this morning — at a bache- 
 lor breakfast, too — in the Albany. Odd place to meet a bride 
 in- — wasn’t it ? Irnham’s an easy-going creature ; but I doubt 
 if he’d approve.’ 
 
 In a bewilderment that could scarcely have been feigned, 
 she stopped short, gazing up at him. 
 
 ‘ What utter nonsense you are talking ! What can you 
 possibly mean 1 ’ 
 
 CDon’t strike an attitude,’ he retorted. Wou can hardly 
 have learnt to be theatrical — already. I’m talking perfectly 
 good sense, though in rather a roundabout manner. You gave 
 that armlet to Helen Irnham, you know. Well : I met the 
 wearer of it, precisely at the time and place I have mentioned. 
 I recognized it directly. If I hadn’t, I and half-a-dozen more 
 
144 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 miglit have examined it at our leisure. It has changed owners, 
 perhaps you’ll say. No : I don’t think you will say that 
 though ; or that you will say that you don’t know now what 
 I mean. 
 
 Walking on by his side, she looked up again — very pale 
 this time, but without a sign of flinching. Her lips moved 
 before slie spoke aloud. An ear laid close against them might 
 possibly have caught three syllables — 
 
 ^ How could he 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ You’re quite right, Hegy,’ she said aloud. ‘ I’m not going 
 to tell you any more falsehoods. I know what you mean very 
 well. The bracelet has always been where it now is. I’m not 
 sorry for that ; but I’m very sorry that you have seen it, and 
 seen it — so.’ 
 
 She could scarcely ha^e gone on for the choking in her 
 throat ; but Avenel broke in here — 
 
 ^ You didn’t reckon on his parading it, then ? Why, those 
 novelettes you’re so fond of might have given you a better 
 insight into the jeune premier form. He didn’t steal it 
 after all h I’m rather glad I suggested the possibility, 
 though.’ 
 
 The fire, slumbering always in the depths of the Spanish 
 eyes, hashed out. 
 
 ‘ You said that, knowing all the while it must be a base, 
 cruel falsehood. Hoav dared you ^ ’ 
 
 ‘ There wasn’t much daring required,’ he said rather scorn- 
 fully ; ‘ and if there had been — though I don’t pretend to be 
 a champion — I’d have tried to screw my courage up to the 
 sticking-point, to stop the name of your father’s daughter 
 being made a shuttlecock for the amusement of such a com- 
 pany.’ 
 
 The girl laughed insolently. 
 
 ‘ My father’s daughters are infinitely obliged to you. Such 
 disinterested kindness is quite touching ; I don’t know what 
 we can have done to deserve it. Don’t you think the taking 
 care of Eosie’s reputation is about as much as you can 
 manage ? What is the disgrace if my name was coupled with 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 145 
 
 his — just as if he were not better — cleverer — dearer in all 
 ways — than the best of you ! ’ 
 
 Her passion moved him no more than if Lady Mthsdale’s 
 pet lory, which he was always teasing, had pecked him rather 
 sharply. 
 
 ‘ I wouldn’t take the passers-by into my confidence if I 
 were you, however proud you may be of your secrets. That 
 respectable couple nearly dropped their prayer-books, and 
 looked quite scandalized. Child, all your heroics won’t make 
 a hero of Mr Kendall. Troubadours are at a discount, even 
 in Provence, just now. I don’t abuse him, mind. I know 
 nothing of who he is, or whence he comes ; and, if what I’ve 
 heard is true, perhaps he couldn’t give us much information 
 on those points himself. But I know, that if he were all you 
 say, and more, he’s not a fit person to be flashing about gages 
 dJ amour — or dJamitie either, for that matter — from Gwendo- 
 line Marston. However, we won’t discuss the question any 
 farther. It isn’t likely we shall agree; and, as you very pro- 
 perly observe, it’s no concern of mine. I suppose it does con- 
 cern slightly your mother and father, though. We’ll refer it 
 to one or both of them, if you please.’ 
 
 She stopped short once more — luckily the street was nearly 
 deserted just there — clasping his arm with both her hands ; 
 so that, without actual violence, he could scarcely have stirred 
 from where they stood. The same terror was in her face ; but 
 the threat of betrayal worked far more powerfully now than 
 v/hen, two months ago, it brought her, outwardly at least, to 
 submission ; for, with the dread of being separated from him, 
 there mingled a vague apprehension of insult or injury immi- 
 nent over Horace Kendall. The big drops gathered slowly in 
 her eyes ; and there came into them the expression — at once 
 piteous and desperate — that may be seen in those of a deer 
 brought to bay on a crag’s-edge, where the sole chance of escape 
 from the hounds is a leap into air. An old, old simile that ; 
 but an apt one, nevertheless. Those who have ridden straight 
 from the find under Dunkerry Beacon to the finish on the 
 Channel cliffs, can bear witness that the first half of the parallel 
 
146 
 
 P.REAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 is no flight of fancy : the second, I fear me, will hold good to 
 the break of the Millennium, when womanhood shall have no 
 more sorrow. 
 
 ‘ You won’t do that, Kegy,’ she said at last in a faint voice ; 
 ^not just yet, at least. You’ll give me a week; well, then, 
 three days — just three days. I promise — I swear — I won’t 
 do anything rash ; and I’ll tell you honestly what I have done. 
 Of course you are right ; of course they’d lock me up rather 
 than let me see him ; and I’m so helpless : but I must, I must 
 tell him in my own way that it’s — that it’s all over.’ 
 
 To Avenel’s consternation — for under the most favourable 
 circumstances of time and place he dreaded a scene — she fairly 
 broke down here. How at that moment he regretted ever 
 having meddled at all, is not to be told. His first impulse — 
 rather a cowardly one, it must be owned— was to calm Hina 
 at any price ; but he really pitied her besides. 
 
 ‘ For God’s sake don’t do that ! ’ he said imploringly. ‘ I 
 don’t want to bully you, if you’ll only be reasonable ; or to get 
 you into a scrape either. I never told tales of man, woman, or 
 child yet. There, I’ll take your word, and keep your secret ; 
 but you’ll set all straight, like a good, sensible girl, won’t you '? 
 You’ll thank me for this one of these days.’ 
 
 As she dropped his arm, and moved on again, she smiled 
 up at him through her tears — a quaint, sad smile. 
 
 ^ Perhaps I may. I thank you now, at all events ; and 
 you sha’n’t repent trusting me, Eegy.’ 
 
 Hot another word was spoken till they reached Lord 
 Daventry’s door. As her escort was about to ring, Hina laid 
 her hand on his wrist. 
 
 ‘ Only one thing — you won’t do, or say, anything that 
 could hurt him '? ’ 
 
 Avenel prided himself, with great reason, on the evenness 
 of his temper ; but, for the second time that day, it was fairly 
 ruffled. The obstinacy, and wanton waste of solicitude, were 
 more than he could bear. He shook olf the little hand with 
 a certain roughness, and rang the bell sharply. 
 
 ^ I’m not in the habit of abusing people behind their 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 147 
 
 backs ; and Mr Kendall and I are not on speaking terms. 
 
 He walked away without further ceremony, leaving the 
 damsel planted somewhat disconsolately there. A lively 
 Eichmond dinner, I suppose, is rather the exception than the 
 rule ; but few of us have undergone such a penance as that 
 evening’s entertainment proved to Gwendoline Marston. 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX. 
 
 Morning in Kensington Gardens again : but mornings 
 follow, and resemble not each other. On such a day — for 
 it was not summer always, even in Arcadia — the Loving 
 Shepherd’s pipe could hardly have been attuned to sonnets, 
 nor would Daphne have shown much indulgence to his 
 lagging muse. Xot a break or gleam in the dull leaden sky 
 — not a breath of breeze to clear the murky air — not a whisper 
 from the sullen elms. 
 
 I think we hardly realize sufficiently the effect of atmo- 
 spheric influences in this curious climate of ours ; nor how they 
 affect persons to whom ‘ nerves ’ — in the common acceptation 
 of the word — are things of theory. Years and years ago, 
 when, during the decline of the P.E., there still were fights 
 without crosses, on the eve of a famous battle, I heard a 
 gladiator say, speaking of what the morrow would bring 
 forth : 
 
 ‘ I hope it’ll be gay weather. I’d chance the sun in my 
 eyes, for a real heartsome morning.’ 
 
 To the criminals pacing to and fro in the prison-yard for 
 a half-hour on their enforced constitutional, do you suppose it 
 matters nothing, whether the square patch of sky above be 
 bright or louring 1 There are days on which good news, how- 
 ever agreeable the surprise might be, would come to most of 
 us coloured with a certain inconsistency. 
 
 On this especial morning it is more than doubtful if 
 
148 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY I OR 
 
 Horace Kendall would have received the pleasantest in- 
 telligence gratefully or graciously. It was just twenty-four 
 hours since that breakfast-party in the Albany broke up. He 
 had been gnashing his teeth, so to speak, ever since, over the 
 recollection thereof. One of the attributes of natures such 
 as his, is a proneness to shift their own burdens on to any 
 other shoulders whatsoever ; and never, by any chance, to 
 blame themselves for any mishap or mistake, whilst it is 
 barely possible to throw the responsibility on friend or foe. 
 In Horace’s composition there were no such things as fine feel- 
 ings ; but, from mere personal vanity, he felt contumely quite 
 as keenly as many endowed with more delicate sensibihty. 
 If he had looked the matter fairly in the face, he must have 
 acknowledged that all that befell yesterday was the result of 
 his own Juanesque posing ; and that the display of the armlet 
 was no more accidental than any other planned stj^ge-trick. 
 But looking things, or people, in the face is precisely what 
 men of his stamp will not or cannot do. He hated his host 
 for not taking his part ; Tiernan, for the unlucky question that 
 provoked the debate ; each and every one of the assistants 
 thereat for being witnesses — not ill-pleased witnesses either, 
 he fancied — of his discomfiture-: most savagely of all, of 
 course, he hated Avenel ; but he would sooner have accused 
 Gwendoline Marston of bringing him to grief with her 
 romantic whims than imputed to himself a tittle of blame. 
 
 Yet if he were not troubled with self-reproach, Kendall 
 spent about as uncomfortable a Sabbath afternoon as can well 
 be conceived. He too went straight to his own rooms, and 
 did not stir forth till the evening ; when he was engaged to 
 dine out. It was a large party, made up of an exclusively 
 musical set. It was odds against any one there present hav- 
 ing been made aware of his misadventure in the morning ; 
 nevertheless, Kendall felt as if every glance that dwelt upon 
 him for more than a second’s space was either inquisitive or 
 derisive : when there was low talk and laughter at the farther 
 end of the table from where he sat, he grew hot at the sus- 
 picion that he himself furnished matter for the jest. He 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 149 
 
 could not well refuse to sing ; but one attempt showed so 
 plainly that his plea of not being in voice was no formal ex- 
 cuse, that the mistress of the mansion forbore to press him 
 further. Horace was right glad to get back to his own rooms 
 again. Intemperance was not among his vices ; but his night- 
 cap that evening would have fitted a much more seasoned 
 head ; and even this procured only feverish and broken 
 sleep. 
 
 Few men, indeed, reach their life’s end without having 
 cause to remember what it is to wake with the consciousness 
 that trouble is lying in wait just beyond the threshold of the 
 day. Most of us know only too familiarly that ‘ evil quarter- 
 hour,’ and the manner thereof : how there conies at first a 
 vague impression of something having gone very wrong ; and 
 how that Something looms nearer and larger, like the images 
 of the phantasmagoria, till it confronts us in full, it may be 
 in exaggerated, proportions. Certain adventurers, they say, 
 in the course of warfare with the world, become proof against 
 this, amongst other human weaknesses ; but, fortunately for 
 society, such mighty Adullamites are rare. A racking head- 
 ache did not improve the colour of Kendall’s morning medita- 
 tions. Hot without a misgiving of *what the post might have 
 in store, he reached out his hand for his letters. Only one, 
 as it happened, was of the least moment ; and was brief 
 enough in all conscience. 
 
 ^ At eleven, in the old place. You must he there. N.’’ 
 
 That was all. Nothing, one would have thought, to make 
 his hand shake as he read the note and cast it down be- 
 side him with an oath. With what, or with whom, he was 
 angry he himself could scarcely have told you : that curse was 
 not levelled at any one head in particular; but things in 
 general seemed going contrary ; and, with men of his kind, 
 blasphemy is the readiest panacea. 
 
 That the note had something to do with the occurrences 
 of yesterday morning, he felt sure. How could she have 
 heard of it, though? Avenel had told her probably — this 
 time the malison had a mark. If it were only Nina’s anger, 
 
IjO breaking a butterfly; or 
 
 lie could set that square easily enough ; hut suppose Lady 
 Nithsdale had been told too? This would complicate matters 
 considerably. It would come to Lady Daventry’s ears next, 
 and then — Well, he would hear the worst or the best of it 
 soon ; and there was not much time to spare, if ISTina was not 
 to be kept waiting ; which, under the circumstances, might be 
 hardly advisable. She might just as well have made it an 
 hour later, though. 
 
 Grumbling to himself in this wise, Kendall arose ; made a 
 careful toilet, though not quite so scientific as usual, — he had 
 become a thorough jpetit-maitre of late, — swallowed a cup of 
 coffee, more as an excuse for the cliasse than for its own sake ; 
 and reached the trysting-place a minute or so before the ap- 
 pointed hour. As he put his watch back after ascertaining 
 this, he saw Gwendoline Mars ton approaching. Kendall’s 
 perceptions, when his own interests or inclinations were not 
 immediately concerned, were not very keen ; but, as the girl 
 drew near, even he guessed that it was not only to upbraid 
 him that she had summoned him thither. Her head, instead of 
 being lifted in eager expectancy, as it was when they met 
 there before, was bowed dejectedly ; and her step, as she came 
 slowly across the grass, was liker a sick woman’s, than that of 
 a girl with Spanish blood in her veins 
 
 What has happened ? ’ Horace asked, as he took her hand 
 in both his own. He had intended to treat the matter in a 
 light, off-hand way ; but when it came to the point, his nerve 
 failed him. It was evident enough, from his manner, that he 
 divined the nature of her news. 
 
 ‘ Gan’t you guess ? Have you forgotten yesterday morning 
 already ? ’ 
 
 In her tone there was nothing of reproach or scorn, only 
 intense sadness : nevertheless, he dropped her hand at once, 
 and his countenance fell. 
 
 ‘ So you have heard of it — his version too — and you have 
 come to take his part now'? His conduct, of course, was 
 chivalrous, and all the rest of it ; and mine — ’ 
 
 ‘ You are quite wrong,’ she interrupted, always in the same 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 151 
 
 quiet, sad voice. ^ So little was told me, tliat I can only 
 guess at what was said or done ; and you would not say 
 that I took his part, if you had heard me speak yesterday. 
 That fetterlock was a very foolish fancy of mine, I know ; 
 hut I never thought that any one besides you would have 
 laughed at it.’ 
 
 ^ I never meant to show it. I can’t help it, if you choose 
 to make an unpardonable sin out of a mere accident.’ 
 
 His eyes were bent sullenly downwards as he spoke ; but 
 it needed not to look into them, to know that he was lying. 
 Some such conviction, perchance, was borne in upon Hina, 
 despite herself ; for she answered only the last words. 
 
 ‘ I have nothing to pardon, dear ; you have not sinned 
 against me. It was not because I am ashamed of caring for 
 you, that I begged you to be cautious. It was because I felt 
 there would be dreadful danger, if any one else were taken into 
 our secret. I didn’t hear who else besides Regy Avenel were 
 present ; but we are at his mercy, at all events. How you 
 know what has happened.’ 
 
 ‘Curse his insolence!’ he said viciously. ‘What right 
 has he to dictate to me, or to set himself up as your protector ] 
 He shall suffer for this somehow, by — 1 ’ 
 
 She shrank away from him now. 
 
 ‘ Hush ! I should hate to hear such words from you, 
 even if they could help us in the least. I don’t say he’s any 
 right to interfere ; but if he thinks he has, it comes to the 
 same thing. He won’t be frightened into silence, I’m very 
 sure. It was all I could do to get three days’ grace. He 
 won’t betray us till I’ve seen him again : he won’t betray us 
 at all, if I act, as he calls it, “ sensibly.” ’ 
 
 ‘ Sensibly ! That means giving me up for good and all. 
 Well, it’s a modest condition, and not hard to fulfil. That’s 
 what you are driving at, I suppose 1 ’ 
 
 As she gazed up at him her eyes brightened, not with the 
 gleam of quick excitement, but with the steady light of resolve. 
 
 ‘ So hard — that I think I would die before I would pro- 
 mise any such thing. We must have patience and faith. 
 
153 lillEAKING A butterfly; or 
 
 dear 3 that’s all. We must not meet again, except by accb 
 dent, for a long, long time. Indeed, indeed we have no 
 choice. I’ve not been very carefully watched, hitherto ; but, 
 if this were known at home, I should be simply a prisoner, till 
 they had made sure that we were parted for ever. You know 
 this as well as I do — don’t you, now 1 I’m miserable enough 
 as it is, without your being unjust and unkind.’ 
 
 He stood silent awhile, debating what he should answer. 
 A strong temptation just then assailed him; the temptation 
 to test his power over Hina there and then — to try whether 
 he could not induce her to cast in her lot with him at once, 
 by consenting to an elopement so soon as opportunity should 
 serve. He did not mistrust his own eloquence ; and she had 
 never looked so attractive as at this moment. To a man of 
 his vainglorious temperament, the notoriety of such an ad- 
 venture was in itself a strong inducement : nevertheless, he 
 forbore. Thinking over these things afterwards, he took in- 
 finite credit to himself ; yet pity or generosity had wonderfully 
 little to do with it. The safety of his own precious person, was 
 with Kendall the* chiefest of all earthly considerations. He 
 had a strong impression, that the Law might call his romantic 
 escapade by some uglier name, that would render him amen- 
 able to all manner of penalties. Turthermore, he argued 
 within himself, that he and his bride would have to feed al- 
 most literally on crusts till such time as it should please the 
 Daventrys to condone the offence ; and after all, now and 
 then, such monsters as parents indefinitely relentless, will 
 sometimes outrage dramatic proprieties. If the whole truth 
 must be told, there was in the background of his meditations 
 a certain figure — not a comely one, albeit a woman’s — whose 
 stout forefinger was first- raised in warning, and then pointed to 
 a goodly pile of money-bags. On the whole, he came to the 
 conclusion that the forward game was scarcely suited for his 
 resources ; and that the best policy would be to yield, as 
 gracefully as might be, to th.Q force majeure. Whilst he thus 
 reflected, his anger had full time to cool. The charlatan was 
 himself again, and fell into his theatrical mannerisms quite 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 153 
 
 naturally. His facial muscles were remarkably well-drilled ; 
 and his plaintive expression of self-sacrifice might have im- 
 posed on a keener critic than poor Gwendoline Marston. 
 
 ^ It was too had of me to speak so,’ he said, almost in a 
 whisper. ‘ But this is such very sharp pain ; and it has come 
 on me so suddenly. jN’ot to meet again for a long, long time ; 
 so long that we can put no limit to it now. Do you know 
 what that means — for me ? It means that the aim is taken 
 utterly out of my life ; and that I wander on henceforth with- 
 out hope that to-morrow will he brighter tlian to-day. It 
 means that I must not think of you as mine any more except 
 in my dreams ; that I ought not to wear this any longer,’ — 
 he stroked the armlet tenderly, — ‘ because, before I see you 
 alone again, some one else may have a better right to wear it. 
 It means all this. I don’t murmur or rebel : I would bear a 
 hundredfold more, sooner than bring any trouble on your head. 
 I will not even blame you if you forget me. Dor you will not 
 be like me ; you will often be tempted to forget.’ 
 
 It was a pretty recitative enough, and gracefully delivered 
 too. nevertheless not a few women, deeming the sentiments 
 something too sublime, and the periods something too neatly 
 turned, to have come straight from the heart, would have re- 
 quited the effort by a smile. But every word came to nina’s 
 ears with the golden ring of truth. The last tliree months, 
 measured by their influence on her character, might count for 
 years ; but, though she was a woman now in energy of purpose 
 and strength of mind, both to dare and to endure, she was in 
 many ways the veriest child still — ^just as prone to invest her 
 tawdry idol with all manner of god-like attributes, as when she 
 first bowed down before him. As she looked on Horace Ken- 
 dall, it seemed to her that she looked on the sublimity of de- 
 votion ; and the tears, that had gathered more than once dur- 
 ing the interview under the long dark lashes, began to rain 
 down fast. She bowed her face upon his arm ; murmuring as 
 she pushed the armlet back on his Avrist : 
 
 ‘ You Avill always keep it ; you will not forget 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I never aaTII. I never can.’ 
 
154 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 The spot of their meeting was well chosen. . The trunk of 
 a huge elm screened them from most passers-hy ; and on such 
 a morning there were few loiterers in the gardens. IN’everthe- 
 less, there is a time and place for all things ; and the cavalier, 
 even if the lady had lost her head, might certainly have re- 
 membered that the pose was such as ought only to be rehearsed 
 intra miiros, 
 
 Eut Horace took no heed of such trifles, as he launched 
 forth into a fresh tirade. Perhaps the girl’s passion was really 
 to some extent infectious ; but Kendall dearly bked the sound 
 of his own voice ; he was in the vein that morning ; and it was 
 not likely that so fair a chance of airing his eloquence would 
 soon again present itself. Moreover, though he judged it 
 politic not to put his hold on Mna to the breaking-strain, he 
 had no mind it should be loosened, except in his own good 
 time. So he poured forth a string of promises, consolations, 
 and endearments, much to his own satisfaction, and greatly to 
 his hearer’s comfort; for, whilst he was still in mid-career, 
 Kina lifted her head, half-smiling, as she dried her eyes with 
 an absurd little filmy kerchief, that never was meant for such 
 serious work as the stanching of tears. 
 
 ‘ Practising for private theatricals, I presume. Kina h Will 
 you present me to your dramatic friend '? ’ 
 
 As the words were uttered, the speaker unmasked himself 
 from behind the trunk of the elm. 
 
 Horace Kendall was fond of stage-effects, as you know. 
 Eut in his programme it was not set down that he should find 
 himseK face to face with Eaoul, Earl of Daventry. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 Some one — an eminent divine, if I mistake not — once 
 valued a thoroughly good temper at £500 a-year. If such 
 things were marketable, Lord Daventry’s ought to have com- 
 
BLANCHE ELLEBSLIe’s ENDING. 155 
 
 manded a fancy price. His had not been one of the level, 
 uneventful lives, that cause men to laugh and grow fat ; almost 
 all his pleasures, from youth upwards, had been more or less 
 fraught with danger, moral, physical, or financial ; and he had 
 generally indulged his fancy without counting the cost or con- 
 sequences. Nevertheless, few could say that they had seen 
 the peace of his great brown eyes troubled by impatience or 
 anger : as for fear — the Marstons, male or female, had not been 
 hampered by that weakness for some generations past. It was 
 quite a treat to see him go in to back one of his own horses 
 for a stake at a large race-meeting. The layers of odds knew 
 pretty well when Lord Daventry meant business ; and, before 
 he opened his mouth, would gather round him ravenously. 
 Amidst all the turmoil and uproar, there he would stand, a 
 perfect picture of repose ; reminding one of the beautiful sea- 
 birds that, in wild weather, may be seen rocking betwixt 
 purple billows. Through the clamour of many voices, hoarse 
 and shrill, you would catch sometimes his clear, quiet tones : 
 
 ‘ In hundreds 1 Yes, you may put it down again. — And 
 once more with you^ Mr Irons. — An even monkey to finish 
 with 1 Thanks, that will do ; no more.’ 
 
 And then he would close his book, and saunter off to look 
 at the race ; with less apparent interest in the result than any 
 man on the ground. He was not at all nice in the choice of 
 his company ; and, if he had any purpose to serve, would just 
 as soon be seen in earnest converse with a clever outsider as 
 with the most venerated of turf magnates ; but somehow he 
 seemed to have acquired the secret of touching pitch without 
 being defiled. He never dreamed of keeping any one, gentle 
 or simple, at a distance ; yet perhaps not twice in his fife had 
 he had occasion to repress insolence or familiarity. 
 
 ‘ I wish I’d your knack of keeping people in their places. 
 It’s all that infernal quiet manner, I suppose ; but it ain’t so 
 easy to master.’ 
 
 Thus would grumble Sir John Pulleyne — envious, and not 
 without cause ; for that blatant baronet, when he cursed jockey, 
 trainer, or professional, not unfrequently got to the full as bad 
 
156 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 as lie gave. Even at whist, the Earl never visited the most 
 atrocious fault in his partner more severely than hy a slight 
 shrug of the shoulders and a compassionate smile. Once — the 
 blunder was an exceptional one, and had cost him something 
 over two hundred sovereigns — he was heard to say reflect- 
 ively : 
 
 ‘ I’ve been at it now for about thirty years ; and I’ve come 
 to the conclusion that play rather tells against one than other- 
 wise.’ 
 
 But this remark was not made till the rubber had been 
 some time over ; and it was murmured too low to reach the 
 ears of the offender, h^either was he one of the ^ angels abroad 
 and devils at home,’ that seem to be less uncommon since 
 cigarettes and absinthe came in. His wife had always had 
 quite as miudi of his attention and society as she cared to 
 claim : though he never interfered with the actual management 
 of his family, he liked to have his children with him ; and, 
 when he had leisure, was always willing to minister to their 
 amusement. 
 
 Of all the unlucky coincidences in life, the most frequent, 
 certainly, is the unwelcome presence of the ‘ very last person 
 one expected to see.’ Lord Daventry’s presence here was 
 purely accidental. He had business to transact that morning 
 with a famous turf commissioner ; and, for reasons best known 
 to himself, had chosen to confer with this potentate at the 
 latter’s own house in Tyburnia. His nearest and pleasantest 
 way back from the interview lay through Kensington Gardens ; 
 and, as it chanced, it led him within a few yards of the try st- 
 ing spot. His friends were wont to deny that anything could 
 possibly surprise I) av entry ; but this opinion might have been 
 modified by whoso had read his thoughts when he first recog- 
 nized the female figure in the interesting group over against him. 
 It was a breach of delicacy, of course, to approach unobserved, 
 and to listen to sentiments never intended for his ears 3 but, 
 I think, few British parents, under the circumstances, would 
 have acted more chivalrously. 
 
 Being such a manner of man, you may guess that there 
 
BLA^XME ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 157 
 
 was notliing very awful in the demeanour of Mna’s father, 
 though his appearance did savour of the Deus ex macldna ; 
 hut, if he had descended from the clouds with all the attri- 
 butes of Jupiter Tonans, the pair before him could scarcely 
 have been more startled. Their first impulses of surprise 
 were thoroughly characteristic of the two. Horace stepped a 
 pace backwards; Mna drew ever so little closer to her lover’s 
 side. She spoke first, too ; though it was in a very faint, un- 
 steady voice that she named — 
 
 ‘ Mr Kendall.’ 
 
 The Earl lifted his hat. With whomsoever he was deal- 
 ing, he could not for the life of him omit any form of courtesy. 
 If, during the Reign of Terror, he had been forced to pass 
 through Sanson’s hands, when they first met face to face he 
 would not have failed to salute the headsman. 
 
 ^ One of the west-country Kendalls % ’ he said interrogat- 
 ively. ^ Ko That is the only family of the name with 
 which I’m at all acquainted. Ah, now I remember ! I have 
 heard of a Mr Kendall with a wonderful voice. Have I the 
 pleasure of speaking to that — person E 
 
 The pause before the last word was just long enough to 
 give it point — no longer. Horace’s scattered thoughts had 
 not rallied sufficiently to enable him to do more than bow an 
 assent to the suggestion. 
 
 ‘Exactly so,’ the Earl went on. ‘ This daughter of mine 
 seems to have a good deal of dramatic talent, and I suppose 
 you’re assisting her to cultivate it. W e’re infinitely indebted 
 to you, I’m sure. Kina, my dear, I think you’ve had about 
 enough rehearsing for one morning. You found yonr way 
 here alone, I presume, and I have no doubt you could find 
 your way home just as easily ; but there’s no necessity for 
 that. Will you be kind enough to sit down there ’ — he 
 pointed to an unoccupied chair about fifty yards off — ‘ till I’m 
 ready to escort you % I sha’n’t detain Mr Kendall tenminutes ; 
 but what I have to say to him I don’t choose you to hear.’ 
 
 Yery keen, according to the poets, are the perceptions of 
 hate and fear ; yet are they much keener than those of any 
 
158 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 true woman, when it is a question of pain, or peril, or even 
 discomfort, impending over the man who has the keeping of 
 her heart] What caused Nina to apprehend that her lover 
 might fare ill, if left unsupported to the tender mercies of her 
 urbane sire, would be rather hard to say ; but, having such a 
 misgiving in her mind, her first impulse follows as a matter of 
 course. The wound may be but skin-deep, and he for whom 
 it was incurred is not always cognizant thereof ; but wonder- 
 fully often, in the tragedies and comedies of this life of ours, 
 that scene is enacted which gave Kirkconnell Lea a name in 
 story. 
 
 ‘ It was all my fault, papa,’ the girl cried out : ‘ it was in- 
 deed ! ’ 
 
 The Earl smiled compassionately. 
 
 ‘ My dear Nina, I have no doubt that your first French 
 governess taught you that gui s' excuse^ .s' accuse. I didn’t say 
 any one was in fault. I only said, ‘ Sit down there till I am 
 ready to take you home. Will you do so at once ]’ 
 
 His steady eyes quelled the rising rebellion in Nina’s 
 breast. Very slowly and reluctantly, like one who yields to 
 the mesmeric will, she did as she was bidden ; she looked back 
 once over her shoulder ; and then her lips rather formed than 
 uttered the single word ^ Good-bye.’ The EaiTs glance fol- 
 lowed his daughter, till she sank down on the chair he had 
 pointed out. When he turned again on Kendall, his brow was 
 still smooth ; but the smile was off his face. 
 
 ‘ Now, perhaps you will explain the meaning of all this.’ 
 
 Kendall had expected some such interrogation for the last 
 five minutes, and was prepared to reply to it after a fashion. 
 He began a pretty set speech, wherein he was aware that he 
 was scarcely worthy, &c. The Earl cut him short before the 
 second period was fairly turned. 
 
 ‘ Ah, we’ll leave all that out, if you please. I prefer to 
 listen to that sort of thing from a stall in the third row. I 
 want a plain answer to a plain question. All clandestine meet- 
 ings have some object, I presume. What was yours this 
 morning ] ’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 159 
 
 Kendall was a craven to tlie marrow of liis bones; yet 
 something in the other’s manner goaded him into a show of 
 spirit. 
 
 ‘ My object?’ he said doggedly — ‘ The same object that 
 any man might own who loves a woman in truth and honour, 
 and hopes to win her in spite of some differences of station. 
 It may sound presumptuous, of course; but I have yet to 
 learn that I have any tiling to be ashamed of.’ 
 
 The Earl bent his head in quiet assent. 
 
 ^ I think you have a good deal to learn, Mr Kendall. 
 I’m obliged to you for coming to the point, though. Perhaps 
 the less said about truth and honour the better ; our ideas 
 are not likely to coincide. Mine are old-fashioned, I dare say. 
 The set I’ve lived with are not very straitlaced ; but they’re 
 plain people, who would call compromising such a mere child 
 as that one yonder little better than kidnapping. Ko : I’m 
 not prepared to say that there’s any particular presumption 
 about it. Intellect marches on so fast, that very soon any 
 man, within the franchise, will be entitled to ask any other 
 elector for his daughter. I suppose, hoAvever, the said elector 
 will retain, for some short time to come, the right of saying 
 ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ You are good enough to allow that there 
 exist some slight social differences between yourself and Lady 
 Gwendoline Marston. Never mind that. I’m speaking to 
 you now as if your birth and breeding were on a par. You 
 know best what your own resources and expectations are. I 
 don’t want to hear a word on that subject, for the simple 
 reason that neither now nor at any future time can it possibly 
 interest me or mine ; but before you think seriously of win- 
 ning any woman, gentle or simple, wouldn’t it be better to 
 consider how you are going to support her. Now, listen to 
 me. There’s a certain sum settled on my younger children, 
 of course ; but Lady Daventry and myself have the ‘ power of 
 appointment.’ Perhaps you don’t know what that means. 
 Well, I can teU you. It means just this : that I can prevent 
 any one of those children from being one shilling the better 
 by that same settlement during my life or after my death. 
 
160 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 1^0 w this power, in case of need, I intend to exercise to the 
 last letter. If a daughter of mine marries without my con- 
 sent, she is cut adrift from her family from that day ; I would 
 rather thenceforth help with my purse or my influence the 
 merest stranger, than her, her husband, or her children, how- 
 ever sore their strait might be. I shouldn’t waste breath in 
 cursing ; it would be much simpler to leave her alone to bear 
 her own burdens. Under the circumstances, so long as I 
 lived — and I have a very fair constitution — I don’t think the 
 connection ” could be turned to much account. I can’t 
 answer for Lady Daveiitry, of course ; but I have an idea 
 that her feelings would not be easily worked upon. You 
 have heard what I say — speaking for myself. I will never 
 alter or abate one syllable, so help me God 1 Are you in the 
 same mind still h ’ 
 
 In the same mind h ISTo, certainly not that ; but the precise 
 state of Kendall’s sensations at that moment could not be 
 easily set down in words. He was quite clever enough to 
 distinguish between vapouring menace and substantial warn- 
 ing. He acknowledged within himself that the man who 
 had uttered those words would be more likely to die than to 
 relent ; and — standing there with scarcely a wrinkle on his 
 white forehead, or a silver heck in his chestnut curls — Lord 
 Daventry looked provokingly full of vitality. Weighing the 
 certainty of heavy risk against the faint chances of remote 
 gains, the speculation was hardly such as to tempt a prudent 
 pauper, with his way to make in the world. Nevertheless, 
 Horace could not bring himself at once to relinquish it. To 
 begin with, Nina had strong attractions for him — social and 
 mercenary considerations apart. He knew that to many 
 others besides himself her face seemed very fair. There was in- 
 cessant food for vanity in the thought, that men who scarcely 
 favoured him with a careless nod, and who would have black- 
 balled him from head to heel in any ballot whatsoever, might 
 have laboured long to secure one of the smiles that for him 
 had ceased to be rare. He liked the girl’s wayward daring, 
 perhaps all the better because it contrasted so strongly with 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 161 
 
 Ills own cautious, calculating nature, rurtliermore, there 
 was working within him — though this, perhaps, he was 
 utterly unconscious of — the black acrid poison that, since the 
 AYorld was young, has leavened the ferment of so many re- 
 volts — the spleen of social inferiority. 
 
 Without some sort of gloss, that last sentence might easily 
 be misconstrued. I do not mean to claim for the ‘ blue blood ’ 
 immunity from meannesses ; or to assert that the guinea-stamp 
 is the best voucher for purity of metal ; or to deny that, set- 
 ting influence of circumstances aside, high and healthy im- 
 pulses are not as likely to be found in the gipsy-child, swaddled 
 in haybands, as in the daintiest porphyrogenete. If the pro- 
 phecies of the amiable ‘ Historicus ’ are to be fulfilled, we will 
 wush the working man good luck with his honour ; apjoending 
 thereunto the hope that his right hand will not teach him too 
 terrible things. I was not alluding just now either to the 
 peasant or artisan ; much less to those unhappy creatures who 
 seem predestined to ramp in the mire at the foot of the World’s 
 Ladder, with no particular interest in any schemes mooted 
 above that do not bear more or less directly on the subversion 
 of order or alteration of the penal code. Neither had I in 
 mind the vast middle class, taken as a wdiole ; but only certain 
 specimens thereof — people who, instead of doing their duty in 
 the state of life to which it pleased Heaven to call them, like 
 the honest men who begat them, are always wriggling up a 
 rinig higher, utterly careless as to how unsteady their footing 
 may be, or how their hands may be soiled in climbing — people 
 whose aspirations have furnished food for ridicule ever since 
 pencil of caricaturist or pen of satirist was wielded ; those who 
 brought into vogue, surely the most odious word that ever 
 sprang from a musical root — ^gentility.’ Mark this too: 
 wLerever it is a question of class jealousy, the envy of the 
 plebeian born and bred is the very milk of human kindness 
 compared to the malice of the parvenu. 
 
 For some time past, Kendall had kept steadily before him 
 one object — the securing a recognized position in what is called 
 Society. In the furtherance of this, there is scarcely any con- 
 
 M 
 
162 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 tumely from which he would actually have recoiled : hut par- 
 tial success only made him more keenly alive to slights and 
 repulses ; albeit many of these, perhaps, only existed in his 
 own morbid fancy. He was always tormented by the mis- 
 giving that his pretty little aifectations must seem to others, as 
 well as himself, like sham jewels set side by side with heir- 
 looms. The very type of the set that Horace hated and en- 
 vied about equally was before him now — languid, self-pos- 
 sessed, thoroughly at ease, and thoroughly determined to abate 
 not an inch of his vantage-ground. Overt insult, or coarse 
 abuse, would have been infinitely easier to endure than the 
 amenities he had just listened to. Kendall vowed to himself 
 that his adversary should not carry the matter quite so 
 smoothly through ; nevertheless, he answered with touching 
 humility, after an instant’s pause : 
 
 ^ My wishes would never change, even if I were forced to 
 give up hope. Do I understand that you require that Lady 
 Gwendoline and myself should be strangers henceforth — 
 strangers always — and that this can never be altered^ It 
 sounds very, very hard ; almost too hard.’ 
 
 The Earl drew himself up ever so slightly, and the fashion 
 of his countenance was changed. Even now there was no 
 anger in his eyes ; but the softness had gone out of them 
 utterly. 
 
 ‘ Unquestionably you may understand that much,’ he said ; 
 ^ but you’ll understand something more before we part. I 
 have been arguing on grounds of expediency so far, as if there 
 were no such things as social distinctions. As the argument 
 don’t seem to be convincing, we’ll take the other side of the 
 question — the kidnapping side. If you suppose for a moment 
 that I’m going to turn that poor child into a prisoner, or my 
 house into a gaol, to keep her safe from you, you labour under 
 such a mistake as few men make twice in a lifetime. You 
 have ample warning now ; it won’t be repeated. If, after this, 
 there comes any annoyance from you, directly or indirectly, by 
 word, deed, or letter — more than that, if I hear of your making a 
 good story out of any folly that you may have entrapped her into 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 163 
 
 already — Til stop it — not by fair means, but by foul. Eatlier 
 a hard sentence to construe, isn’t it h But the right of trans- 
 lation is reserved. We live in the midst of law and order, of 
 course, and the Coventry Act has been a dead letter this long 
 time past ; but, if they were communicative down at Scotland 
 Yard, they could tell you one or two curious stories about 
 East-ending.” I shall give you no further hints : the un- 
 known is always the most terrible.’ 
 
 Many men, finding themselves in Kendall’s position, would 
 have turned the tables at once in their own favour by laugh- 
 ing the menace to scorn ; but, by dint of making experiments 
 in corpore vili^ Lord Daventry had acquired a tolerably sharp 
 insight into the weaker and worse side of human nature. On 
 the present occasion it seemed he had gauged very accurately 
 the character with which he had to deal ; and his bolt was 
 not shot at a venture. It was evident that Kendall was 
 thoroughly frightened. His clumsy attempt at bluster would 
 not have imposed on a child. 
 
 ^ I — I’m not to be intimidated,’ he said in a thick, unsteady 
 voice. ‘ Are you aware, my lord, such threats are actionable ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Perfectly aware,’ the other replied placidly. ^ You can 
 lay an information if you like ; but I doubt if you’ll get any 
 magistrate to take it. I’ve got a reputation for good temper, 
 and I haven’t been in a quarrel since I left school. I doubt 
 still more if you came to harm hereafter — if your beauty were 
 spoiled in a street-row, for instance — whether you’d bring me 
 in as accessory before the fact. East-enders are too well paid 
 to peach. I can spare you no more time, I’m sorry to say. 
 You can think over all this at your leisure.’ 
 
 A man bold enough to set the Earl’s warning utterly at 
 nought could scarcely have failed to be impressed by the con- 
 trast between his dehonnaire manner and the purport of his 
 words. Truculence would have been infinitely less effective. 
 Such a contrast might have been seen at some of the banquets 
 in the wild old times, where none wore garb more warlike than 
 what is wrought in velvet, miniver, or lawn j but where, if a 
 guest stirred over hastily, an ominous rattle would have been 
 
 M 2 
 
1G4 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 heard and gray steel \yould have glimmered under rochet or 
 rohe of estate. 
 
 There was an awkward pause. Then Horace spoke with 
 some faint show of spirit; it was like the last melancholy 
 rullie of the drums when the garrison of a surrendered fortress is 
 forming to march out. 
 
 ‘ I have no wish to annoy any one, or to thrust my company 
 where it is not welcome. I would have said as much live 
 minutes ago. iN'othing I have done, my lord, justifies such 
 language as you have seen lit to use. I will pass my solemn 
 word not to communicate in any way with Lady Gwendoline 
 Marston without your knoAvledge or consent ; and I need hardly 
 say that her name shall never suffer through me. I j) resume 
 this will satisfy you ’ 
 
 Without going deep into decimals it would he hard to set 
 down the precise value at which the Earl estimated Horace 
 Kendall’s word ; hut he thought he had a more material security 
 against any future breach of the peace than that gentleman’s 
 own recognizances ; and it had always heen his policy to pro- 
 vide the hroadest uf bridges for a flying foe. ^ Kever pen 
 ’em, if you can help it,’ he was wont to say. So he answered 
 with edifying gravity, just as if he were accepting the most 
 substantial of guarantees. 
 
 ‘ Perfectly satisfied. And now, as we understand each other 
 thoroughly, and I happen to be rather busy to-day, I think I 
 shall wish you a very good morning.’ 
 
 And once more the Earl lifted his hat. The other returned 
 the salute mechanically without looking up ; then he stood 
 quite still, his hands crossed before him, and resting on the 
 handle of his walking-stick. A few seconds later Mna passed 
 him on her hxther’s arm ; and her piteous glance was unanswer- 
 ed, even if it was noticed, by those sullen eyes. 
 
 ‘ What did you say to him, papa ^ ’ tlie girl asked when 
 they had gone about a hundred yards. ‘ You ivill tell me, I 
 know.’ 
 
 Her lips were very white, but they scarcely trembled at 
 all. She was a thorough Marston ; and that family had a 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 165 
 
 knack of taking tlieir punishment quietly, in whatsoever shape 
 it might descend. 
 
 ‘ Well, there’s very little to tell,’ the Earl answered in his 
 airy way. ‘ I explained to Mr Kendall that there must be an 
 end to all this nonsense — utterly an end — and he perfectly 
 agreed with me.’ 
 
 ‘ He — perfectly — agreed — with you 1 ’ 
 
 The dull heavy syllables dropped out one by one. Then 
 her lips were pressed tightly together ; but she could not keep 
 them from quivering a little now. 
 
 Kaoul Marston was not devoid of natural affection, tliough 
 he seldom went out of his Avay to display it. He felt very 
 sorry for his little daughter, and very loth to add to her pain. 
 It cost him no small effort to answer her cheerily. 
 
 ‘ Of course he agreed with me ; and so will you, my dear, 
 when your foolish little head gets straight again. I hope it 
 won’t be so easily turned in future, or we shall have to send 
 you back to the schoolroom, and have that last Gorgon of a 
 governess back again. I’m much too old to turn detective, 
 and you’re too young to be turned into a prisoner at large. 
 jSTow you’ll just give me your word that there shall be no fur- 
 ther communication between yourself and Mr Kendall that I 
 don’t sanction — it’s no more than he has done already — then 
 all this shall rest a secret between you and me. I sha’ii’t even 
 tell my lady about it.’ 
 
 A real heroine would have avowed herself willing to be 
 incarcerated there and then, and to eat the bread-and- water 
 of affliction indefinitely, rather than resign her heart’s desires ; 
 but we do not often even read of such in the romances wliicli 
 profess to mirror modern society, and probably neither you nor 
 I ever encountered them in the flesh. Kina Marston was able 
 and willing to bear up her full share of the burden of the 
 battle ; but, now that her natural ally had signed terms of 
 surrender on his own account, she was not minded to fight to 
 the death — alone. It may be, too, that one of the misgivings 
 that she had never been quite able to smother as to the real 
 character of the man for whom she had risked so much, and. 
 
166 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 witli such poor return, came hack upon her just then. More- 
 over, you will remember she had come to the trysting-place 
 that morning with the settled purpose of saying ^ Good-bye.’ 
 She looked up bravely in her father’s face. 
 
 ^Let me write to him — ^just one little note — that he may 
 not think me cold and cruel ; and then I will give you that 
 promise, papa, and keep it too.’ 
 
 Gwendoline Marston’s parole was a very different thing 
 from Horace Kendall’s. A strong-minded parent would 
 assuredly have rejected that condition : perhaps it rather 
 strengthened Lord Daventry’s confidence. 
 
 ‘ I oughtn’t to listen to such a thing,’ he said half-grum- 
 blingly ; ^ I feel like an accomplice as it is. Well, you may 
 write just that once, and I trust you — do you hear me, Kina? 
 — I trust you not to write a word that either you or I need be 
 ashamed of hereafter ; and then all this shall be as if it had 
 never been. But there won’t be an end of it, as far as I’m 
 concerned, if I see you look pale and moping.’ 
 
 ‘ You needn’t fear,’ she said. 
 
 Glancing round first, to see that nobody was near — he 
 was exceeding circumspect in such matters — the Earl stooped 
 and kissed his daughter’s brow. If the compact had been duly 
 engrossed, attested, and signed, it could not have been more 
 effectually sealed. 
 
 That same evening Kina and Avenel met — in a crowd, of 
 course — but there was space and leisure enough to serve their 
 purpose. 
 
 ‘Well?’ Kegy asked, lifting those expressive brows of his 
 which did almost as much service as Burleigh’s nod. There 
 was bitterness enough still clinging about the girl’s heart to 
 make her feel triumph in being able to defy, at all events, her 
 self-appointed guardian. 
 
 ‘ Well? ’ she retorted. ‘ That means that you want a full 
 and correct account of all my sayings and doings to-day, on 
 pain of being brought before the judgment-seat if I refuse. I 
 do refuse, then ; and you can make the best or worst of it.’ 
 
 Avenel was really chagrined, and showed it. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE's ENDING. 
 
 167 
 
 ^ So you haven’t come to your senses yet ? And I so 
 hoped you would. I must speak to them at home, then : 
 God knows how I hate it.’ 
 
 He looked so pained that Mna’s enmity was disarmed. 
 He had meant kindly by her throughout, after all : she knew 
 that. 
 
 ‘ Ho, I’ve nothing to tell you, Eegy,’ she said ; ^ but you 
 needn’t go to papa nevertheless. He knows ever^dhing, or 
 nearly everything ; for he came up — quite by chance, I’m 
 certain — when I was talking to Mm this morning. It’s all 
 over — quite over. Papa’s satisfied about that, so I suppose 
 you’ll be. Don’t speak of it any more, please ; and take me 
 upstairs directly. I wouldn’t miss this walfcz on any account. 
 I’m just in the humour for dancing to-night. Can’t you fancy 
 it? ’ 
 
 And so the first romance of Gwendoline Marston’s life 
 died, and was buried — decently, if with no great pomp of 
 funeral honours. Well — when on such sepulchres there is 
 not written 
 
 Resurgam. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 ‘A THOROUGHLY Satisfactory place,’ said Yere Alsager. 
 
 A better epithet could not have been applied to Kenlis 
 Castle and its belongings. There was nothing either of savage 
 grandeur or soft luxuriance in the landscape ; but no one 
 would have thought of calling it tame, and it embraced most 
 of the best features of ordinary Scotch scenery. The top- 
 most peak of the long hill-ranges, stretching away till purple 
 faded into misty blue, was far from kissing heaven ; yet the 
 travelling of them was no mean test of wind and muscle. The 
 pines in the hanging woods were mere dwarfs, compared with 
 the ^ shadowy armies ’ that line Xorwegian or Alpine heights; 
 
1G8 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 but they made up a rich background, and a fence withal, 
 through which the north-east winds, though they strove hard 
 and often, could not force a passage. The loch, widening 
 gradually as it trended sea-wards, was scarcely a rifle-shot 
 across, over-against the castle ; yet its shores were broken by 
 more bays and promontories in miniature than are often found 
 in more imposing lakes : and in calm weather you felt as if 
 you could almost cut out the shadows of birch and oak resting 
 on the clear, deep water. 
 
 As for the castle itself, no one with proper ideas of comfort 
 would have wished to add a cubit to its size, or a year to its 
 age. Some additions to the original fabric had been made 
 from time to time — always in the same solemn granite, that 
 looks not much more hoary after the lapse of a century than 
 when fresh from the quarrying. However, for two gener- 
 ations, at least, the sound of mason’'s hammer had not been 
 heard there ; and the general aspect of the building was little 
 changed since Sir Dugald Kenlis, with his own hands, fixed 
 the last battlement of the central tower. 
 
 After the fall of the leaf, when the trees were bare and the 
 hill-sides bleak, and the loch fretted with foam, the castle 
 would doubtless look someAvhat sombre and eerie. At such a 
 season, without some strong antidote to melancholy or morbid 
 fancies, even a strong-minded sceptic might have caught him- 
 self speculating, oftener than was agreeable, whether it were 
 absolutely certain that the legend of the Brown Lady was such 
 an idle tale. For Kenlis, be it known, possessed a ghost, the 
 existence and occasional appearance of whicli could be attested 
 by several living witnesses — chiefly by a certain ancient ex- 
 housekeeper, who, in a cottage just without the demesne wall, 
 lived in much ease and dignity on her pension and peculations. 
 A pitiless Presbyterian was this ancient dame, and — on the 
 principle of truth being generally disagreeable — implicitly to 
 be believed. 
 
 But, with autumn weather overhead, and wealtli of 
 greenery all round, there was no excuse for such vain imagin- 
 ings ; and there w’as justice in Blanche Ramsay’s self-re- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 169 
 
 proaches when she called herself ungrateful and fanciful, and 
 a dozen harder names, for feeling so constantly out of spirits 
 there. Her first impressions of the place had been most 
 favourable ; and these, to a certain extent, had not worn off. 
 She liked water, and wood, and heather, to the full as well 
 as when she looked on them first, and while in the air she was 
 happy enough in her own quiet way ; but directly she came in- 
 doors a heavy weight seemed to oppress her that she could not 
 shake off, try as she would. She began to feel dull and chilly, 
 and disinclined to talk or even to move unnecessarily. 
 
 Very clever upholsterers, with carte hlanclie given them, 
 had refurnished the castle, and few appliances of modern 
 luxury were wanting there ; nevertheless, the interior was cer- 
 tainly somewhat gloomy. After sunset, even at this season, 
 Night and Echo would have their way in the long corridors, in 
 despite of frequent sconces and thick piled carpeting ; and, 
 when not a leaf was stirring outside, a breeze seemed always 
 soughing among the black timberwork of the vaulted hall. 
 Yet this could not account for it ; for her own special rooms^ 
 looking to the south, were airy and lightsome as she could 
 desire, and she felt it there just the same. To be sure, all her 
 arrangements hitherto had been on rather a tiny scale ; and, 
 when she first began to play the chatelaine, it was only 
 natural that she should feel somewhat over-awed. Domestic 
 cares or anxieties she had none ; for Eamsay had no small 
 economies, and would just as soon have thought of brushing 
 his own clothes, as of allowing his wife to trouble herself with 
 any matters falling within the house-steward’s or housekeep- 
 er’s province. Perhaps it might have been better if Blanche 
 had been forced to exert herself in some way that would have 
 kept her thoughts busy whilst she was alone : she w^as a good 
 deal alone at first, for business, chiefly connected wdth outlying 
 portions of the estate, had accumulated during Mark’s long 
 absence ; and during the week following their arrival at Kenlis 
 he w^as seldom indoors between breakfast and dinner. 
 
 On one of these afternoons, Blanche strolled down to the 
 loch-side, and nestled herself, with her novel, into a certain 
 
170 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 cosy nook tliat she had discovered in one of her earliest rambles. 
 There she sat, reading and day-dreaming in about equal pro- 
 portions — for the book rather bored her than otherwise — till 
 she was startled by a rustling in the birch-boughs overhead 
 that could not have been caused by the breeze, for the water 
 at her feet was smooth as steel. Before she could look up, 
 Mark had swung himself down from a jutting crag above, and 
 dropped lightly on the sand beside her. 
 
 ^ So this is your notion of doing the honours of Kenlis, 
 Bianchetta 'i Don’t you know that you ought to be sitting up 
 there in state to receive visitors "I These are the very first that 
 have called since we came into our kingdom. I’ve no doubt 
 the worthy creatures came famishing with curiosity to see what 
 Mrs Ramsay was like ; and lo^ they are sent empty away ! ’ 
 He threw a couple of cards into her lap, whereon was in- 
 scribed 
 
 Captain Irving. 
 
 Miss Irving. 
 
 Drumour. 
 
 ‘ I’m a true penitent,’ Blanche said. ^ If you’ll believe me, 
 the possibility of a morning visit never once crossed my mind. 
 Conceive there being a neighbourhood somewhere beyond our 
 hills ! I wonder what these people are like, Mark ; the name 
 sounds rather nice, doesn’t it ? ’ 
 
 ^ Don’t found pleasant conclusions on that,’ Ramsay said 
 with a laugh, as he settled himself on the rocky ledge on which 
 his wife Avas reclining. ‘ I know nothing about the Irvings 
 — I’ve a sort of notion they were away when I was here last 
 autumn ; at all events, they didn’t deign to notice graceless 
 grouse-shooters — but I dare say my fancy portrait won’t be half 
 a bad likeness. The father — a regular half-pay heavy,” with 
 an ancient War-Office grievance, always ready to be brought 
 in when he has said his say about Kirk and Session — shoots 
 with one muzzle-loader over slow setters ; and w^on’t allow that 
 any one but himself can tie a fly. The daughter — or sister, as 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 171 
 
 the case may he — of the bitter barmaid ” type, gaunt and 
 rather grim, wears good serviceable boots and a tartan petticoat, 
 and writes short tales with long morals for Family Journals. 
 Before you have been ten minutes in her company, she will 
 find out something about your ‘‘ state of grace,” Blanche, de- 
 pend upon it.’ 
 
 Mrs Eamsay shuddered slightly. 
 
 ‘ And you call that portrait-painting ? I wonder what your 
 caricatures would be like. E’ow, I’ve no doubt that they are 
 just what you said at first — very worthy creatures. It was a 
 great stretch of charity to drive out at all on such a sultry 
 afternoon. We shall appreciate it better when we return their 
 visit, I dare say.’ 
 
 ‘ I rather admire that we.” Is it absolutely necessary 
 that I should take part in the ceremony h I think I must stay 
 at home and look after Alsager, who comes to-night you know. 
 It wouldn’t be civil to leave him to his own devices quite so 
 soon.’ 
 
 ‘ How truly considerate ! ’ Blanche said demurely. ^ It’s 
 quite refreshing in these selfish days to find any one so alive 
 to hospitable duties. How I think that both you and Mr 
 Alsager, if you made a great effort, might possibly survive the 
 pilgrimage to D rumour. If you can’t, I think I shall defer 
 mine till the Brancepeths come next week. I’d give anything 
 to hear Queenie questioned as to her state of grace.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, we’ll see about it,’ Mark replied, picking himself 
 up leisurely. I haven’t the slightest doubt, when it comes to 
 the point, you’ll manage it your own way. Suppose we stroll 
 slowly home ; it’s too hot to hurry, and it must be close on 
 dressing-time. These long rides give one a savage appetite and 
 Isidor’s entrees are too clever to be kept waiting.’ 
 
 It was on the following morning that Alsager made the 
 remark recorded above, whilst he and his host were smoking 
 the after-breakfast cigar on the broad terrace-walk that ran 
 along all the western and southern sides of the castle. 
 
 ‘ Yes, it’s a liveable place enough,’ Eamsay acquiesced ; ‘ but 
 I’m happy to say there’s plenty of room for improvement 
 
172 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 still. I don’t seem to care for things that are absolutely 
 perfect.’ 
 
 ^ 'No, I shouldn’t think you did,’ the other retorted. 
 ^You’re not exactly a ‘‘character,” Mark; but I never saw 
 any one quite like you, all the same. No^v, if I’d been mak- 
 ing both ends of a pittance meet, so long — that’s just what a 
 thousand a-year is to a man of your tastes and habits — and 
 found myself one fine morning a Carabas, I couldn’t for the 
 life of me take it so coolly as you do. I think I should always 
 be calling my neighbours to rejoice Avith me, or making myself 
 ridiculous in one way or other, for at least another twelve- 
 month to eome.’ 
 
 ‘ The neighbours come Avithout being called — at least, a 
 couple of them have,’ Mark said ; ‘ I’ll tell you about that 
 presently, though. But you are Avrong there ; I don’t take 
 Avhat’s happened all as a matter of course : indeed, I Avonder 
 at it as much as I can AA^onder at anything.’ 
 
 ‘ Ah, it never rains but it pours ! ’ the other AA^ent on. ‘ I’m 
 not at all sure that your last stroke of luck Avasn’t as good as 
 the first. You don’t think I’d flatter you at this time of day ; 
 but I don’t knoAv Avhen I’A^e seen anything so nice as Mrs 
 Banisay. You ought to be too happy, Mark, that’s the truth 
 of it. If I Avere you, I’d contrive to drop something very 
 valuable into the loch occasionally, on that Greek tyrant’s 
 principle of throAving a sop to Fortune.’ 
 
 ‘ Poly crates, you mean. It Avasn’t such a very bright idea 
 either. They crucified him soon afterAvards — served him quite 
 right too, for fancying that he could satisfy the eiwy of gods 
 Avith a jeAveller’s toy. What AA^ould you have me throAv aAA-ay, 
 Vere Hot my Avdfe, I presume '? She’s about the only port- 
 able treasure I should care very much about losing — just now. 
 
 Alsager AAms not more malicious or envious than his felloAA^s ; 
 nevertheless, as he repeated the last Avords to himself, he laugh- 
 ed a little, inwardly. While the Avorld lasts he Avhose garden 
 is barren of herb, fruit, or fioAver, aatII not seldom console him- 
 self Avith the thought that a canker- Avorm may be coiled round 
 the root of his neighbour’s gourd. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 173 
 
 ‘ You Avere mentioning some neighbours just now/ Yere 
 asked, after smoking silently a minute or two ; ‘ Avhat of them 1 ’ 
 — ^ AYell, a Captain and Miss Irving left their cards yesterday, 
 and it’s a question of returning their call. Morning-visits in 
 desert-life are too absurd ; hut Blanche is so plaintive about 
 going alone, that I hardly like to send her. She’s cruelly out 
 of her element Avitli stiff, uncouth people, such as these are 
 certain to turn out. Would you mind very much going over 
 to-morrow afternoon ? AYe can make up a scratch team for the 
 break ; and, as they want putting together, they’d just suit you. 
 It’s a fair, hard road, I believe, and goes through some good 
 scenery.’ 
 
 ^ I don’t Avant bribing,’ the other said ; ^ I rather like the 
 idea than not. Hoav do you know that these are such rough 
 diamonds ? The country is fairly civilized hereabouts, and the 
 name don’t sound uncouthly. There Avas an Irving made a 
 great stir in Florence just before our time. Though domestic 
 duties are very elastic out there, I don’t think he could have 
 been a family man. To be sure Miss ” stands for sister as 
 Avell as daughter ; but it’s long odds against its being the same. 
 Y'e’ll see Mrs Eamsay through it to-morroAv anyhoAv. AYe 
 shall have a rare sail this evening if the breoze holds — a lead- 
 ing Avind both Avays — and we’re sure to pick up something 
 trailing.” ’ 
 
 The drive next day quite answered Eamsay’s Avarranty. 
 The ground Avas not such as most people Avould have selected 
 for the trial of a scratch team ; but Alsager Avas a thorough 
 Avorkman, of the ^ fast ’ school. He hustled his horses too 
 much, some critics said ; but he never let them get out of his 
 hand. Even the stubborn near leader Avas fain to realize at 
 last that he had not come out for his OAvn amusement that day ; 
 and settled doAvn doggedly to his collar up the last steejD slope, 
 in the valley beyond which lay D rumour.* 
 
 An exclamation of pleased surprise broke from Airs Eam- 
 say as they rose the crest of the hill. 
 
 ‘ Do pull up for an instant, if it’s possible, Mr Alsager ; I 
 didn’t reckon on such a vieAV as this.’ 
 
174 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ‘ Nothing easier,’ Yere said, as he brought his team up with 
 a long, steady pull ; ‘ they’ll he all the better for a breathing. 
 That’s Avorth looking at certainly.’ 
 
 It Avas one of the bits of scenery not uncommon in Scot- 
 land — AAdiich, lying out of the beaten track, are better known 
 to stalkers than to tourists — Avhere Nature has shoAvn what she 
 can do Avhen she sets her hand in earnest to landscape-garden- 
 ing. It would not have been easy to improve on the grouping 
 of cliff, wood, and water at Druniour ; though everything Avas 
 on a miniature scale — from the loch, that looked as if no gust 
 had ever ruffled it rudely, to the velvet laAvn, on which a few 
 gorgeous floAver-heds lay like jeAvels. The house itself Avas in 
 perfect keeping Aviththe rest — a Ioav, irregular building, abound- 
 ing in nooks and gables, and mantled in creepers to the base 
 of its quaint, twisted chimneys. 
 
 ^ Do half-pay officers usually live in such quarters, Mark ? ’ 
 Mrs Eamsay asked rather triumphantly. And her husband 
 AA^as fain to confess that his fancy portrait might not turn out 
 such a faithful one. 
 
 A feAv minutes later they had drawn up before the porch, 
 and had been informed by a very correct-looking man-servant 
 that Miss Irving was at home, and her father AAuthin call. 
 Blanche’s OAvn boudoir at Kenlis was not more dainty to look 
 upon than the drawing-room into Avhich the visitors were 
 shoAvn ; yet the furniture was not specially costly ; and, setting 
 aside some rare china, the nicknacks scattered about were more 
 valuable for their Avorkmanship than for their material. And 
 the mistress thereof — was she of the ^ bitter barmaid ’ type ? 
 Y ou sh all j udge. 
 
 A tall, very tall figure, and superbly developed ; yet so sup- 
 ple and delicately moulded, that even a rival would not have 
 A^entured to speak of it as ‘ fine ’ ; glossy nut-broAvn hair, rip- 
 pling loAV over a broad Egyptian forehead ; gray opalline eyes, 
 rather deeply set under strong arched brows, shaded by lashes 
 much darker than the hair ; a mouth too large to please an 
 artist, but to ordinary mortals, Avith its firm scarlet lips, and 
 teeth faultless in shape and colour, tempting past the telling ; 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 175 
 
 features of the subdued aquiline ; a complexion pale on the 
 surface, with subtle, faint rose-tints beneath, when you looked 
 more narrowly. Such was the signalement of Alice Irving, 
 cet, 22. 
 
 In the fashion of her dress there was nothing apparently 
 beyond the scope of ordinary waiting-maid’s skill ; but I doubt 
 if the high priest of the fashionable temple in the Street of 
 Peace, after an hour’s devout meditation, could have ordained 
 anything more suggestive than the foulard, which might 
 
 have been chosen to match her eyes. Her beauty was of that 
 peculiar stamp which is certain to provoke enmity and envy, 
 howsoever meekly it be used ; simply because other types, dif- 
 fering ever so much betwixt themselves, suffer almost equally 
 in comparison. Unluckily, it happens that women endowed 
 with this perilous preeminence seldom do use it wisely or well, 
 nothing could be qideter than her voice and manner ; but, 
 before her few simple words of welcome were spoken, Alsager, 
 whose ears seldom deceived him, thought within himself that 
 it would be worth walking more miles than they had driven to 
 hear that woman sing. 
 
 Mrs Kamsay, whose presence of mind was equal to most 
 social emergencies, was fairly startled by the apparition. She 
 thought, perhaps, like Christabel in the wood, 
 
 ’Twas fearful there to see 
 A lady richly clad as she — 
 
 Beautiful exceedingly. 
 
 Mark himself took the whole thing in his wonted matter- 
 of-course way, and did not even answer a meaning side-glance 
 from Alsager. 
 
 ‘Yes, Drumour is charming, even in winter/ Miss Irving 
 said, in answer to an admiring remark of Blanche’s ; ‘ at least, 
 I find it so ; but at this season every one is fascinated with 
 it. I have seen little of it lately : we’ve been abroad the last 
 four years, and the place was let. 
 
 ‘ Travelling abroad ] ’ Mark struck in. ‘ I have been such, 
 a wanderer myself, that it is strange we have never met. We 
 never did meet, I’m quite sure.’ 
 
17G 
 
 iniEAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 A faint smile showed that the subtle flattery of the last 
 words was not lost upon Alice Irving. 
 
 ‘ N’ot so strange,’ she said, ^ when you hear that our head- 
 (][uarters were at Darmstadt, and that I, at least, was almost al- 
 ways a fixture there. It’s not an out-of-the-way place, certainly, 
 and birds of passage often j^erch there for a single night ; 
 but I can hardly conceive any one lingering longer, without 
 strong and sufficient reasons, such as ours were. Everything 
 and everybody is so deadly-lively, from the Grand Duke 
 downwards ; and when one gets thoroughly torpid, even 
 Shakespeare in German won’t wake one up.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, I trust you are quite established here now,’ Mrs 
 Eamsay said kindly ; ^ and that’s not a very disinterested 
 hope. Ivenlis can’t have many such neighbours, and within 
 such easy distance too ; the drive is a mere nothing.’ 
 
 ‘ I’m sure I hope so,’ Alice answered ; ‘ but we’re the most 
 uncertain people. I thmk papa rather piques himself on mak- 
 ing no plans beyond the week. Ah, here he comes ; he will be 
 so glad not to have missed you ! ’ 
 
 There was little, if any, family likeness betwixt father and 
 daughter. Captain Irving’s figure was wonderfully propor- 
 tioned, and his features nearly faultless ; but it was diminu- 
 tive perfection, and the general effeminacy of his appearance 
 was heightened by an evident coxcombry of attire. He was 
 the sort of man that you could fancy, in case of sliipwreck, 
 appearing without a trace of disorder half an hour after he 
 had been, cast on a desert shore. He doffed a broad-leafed hat 
 of Pauama straw as he entered through one of the 0]3en 
 French windows ; and, as he crossed the light, it was plain to 
 see that either Time had dwelt very gently with his glossy 
 curls, or that Art had balked the old Avenger. 
 
 If there was little outward resemblance betwixt father and 
 daughter, their voices, at least, were remarkably alike. Both 
 had the same rich flexible intonations ; and you could fancy 
 Captain Irving’s white taper fingers straying over the keys of 
 an instrument, and worldng wonderful things thereon. His 
 manner was very quiet and gentle, though there was no lack 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 177 
 
 of warmth in his welcome ; and he settled himself down hy 
 Mrs Eamsay, with the matter-of-course ease of a man who, 
 rightly or wrongly, considers he has a prescriptive right to the 
 attention of pretty women. 
 
 Altogether, it was a pleasant quintette ; and the conversa- 
 tion, such as it \vas, did not flag a whit, till it was full time 
 to order the break round. 
 
 ‘ I suppose it’s no use asking you to shoot with us just 
 yet 1 ’ Mark said to his host as he rose to depart. ‘ A man’s 
 own birds have the first claim on him for a good week after 
 the Twelfth. But we shall be too happy, whenever you can 
 spare a day — or, better still, two days — sleeping at Kenlis, of 
 course ; and perhaps Miss Irving might be tempted to ac- 
 company you.’ 
 
 ‘ A thousand thanks,’ the other answered. ‘ I should like 
 it of all things ; but — it’s a very humiliating confession — I 
 haven’t fired a shot-gun for years. A little feeble fly-fishing 
 is my best attempt at fulfilling the Whole Duty of a Hieland- 
 man ; and all my ground, except one beat that supplies the 
 house, is let. I’ll drive Alice over one morning, though, in 
 time to escort Mrs Eamsay, if she chooses, to meet you at 
 lunch. Those are the only circumstances under wdiich I ever 
 take the hill. We’ll stay that night with pleasure. How time 
 passes ! I was an ensign and lieutenant wdien I slept at Kenlis 
 last.’ 
 
 And so it was settled. 
 
 A vote of confidence in D rumour and its tenants was 
 passed unanimously by the committee of three sitting in the 
 break ; but the homeward was more silent than tlie outward 
 drive had been ; and before the hanoino: woods of Kenlis were 
 in sight, one of those fits of depression that had vexed and 
 puzzled her so much of late began to creep over Blanche Eam- 
 say. They would not have seemed so unaccountable, if she 
 had thoroughly believed in presentiments. But her life hither- 
 to had been so free from storms that she had not learned to 
 read the meaning of the innocent-looking white flecks in a 
 cloudless sky ; and had never been forced to realize, that a 
 
 N 
 
178 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 small inner voice oftentimes speaks more sootlily than all the 
 prophets that, since the time of the Tishbite, have threatened 
 ‘Woe!’ 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 The men were scarcely alone together till they settled 
 down to their evening smoke. Then said Alsager : 
 
 ‘ It’s the Elorentine celebrity, after all, you may depend up- 
 on it. “ Xever shoots with a shot-gun ” — that’s likely enough ; 
 hut I dare say he could give either you or me a lesson with 
 hair-triggers. His pistol-practice used to he something mi- 
 raculous, if I rememher right ; and it pulled him through one 
 or two awkward dilemmas. It’s an agreeable surprise alto- 
 gether, isn’t itT 
 
 ‘ Very agreeable, particularly if the rest of the neighbour- 
 hood comes up to the first sample. That isn’t likely, though. 
 I’ve seen the father before — it’s a sort of face that dwells on 
 one’s memory ; it was at Baden, three years ago ; he was play- 
 ing fearfully high, with the luck dead against him. Xavaroff 
 used to point him out as the only Englishman who could lose 
 in real Eussian fashion. I quite understand their living at 
 Darmstadt now : it’s within hail of every hell in Germany.’ 
 
 ‘ How about the daughter’s faceP Don’t you think that 
 would be likely to stay by one too ? There has been, or will 
 be, the framework of a sensation-piece in that young woman’s 
 history, unless I’m much mistaken.’ 
 
 ‘ Too thoroughbred for the stage, I should say,’ the other 
 answered 3 ‘ and Darmstadt isn’t exactly a dramatic place. 
 It’s odd that she hasn’t married, though.’ 
 
 ‘ Odder still that she should not have got into some scrape 
 of one sort or another. There’s a quiet devilry in those eyes 
 that ought to take her far.’ 
 
 Eamsay shrugged his shoulders somewhat impatiently. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 179 
 
 ‘I’m not going to argue the point. You’re a scientific 
 oculist, Yere ; hut even science is wrong sometimes. I can 
 see nothing in Miss Irving hut a highly ornamental young 
 person, likely to make a pleasant companion for Blanche 
 whenever we’re alone here. 
 
 ‘ That of course,’ Alsager said with his low laugh — ‘ a per- 
 fect godsend for Mrs Eamsay in every way.’ 
 
 And all the while he thought within himself, half-com- 
 passionately, that it would have heen better for his hostess, a 
 thousandfold, to have found at Drumour a hard-featured, 
 harsh-voiced virago than such an one as Alice Irving. 
 
 Two days later, the Kenlis party was completed for the 
 present hy the advent of three fresh guests — the Erancepeths 
 and Colonel Yane ; and the following morning, being the 
 Beast of S. Tetrao, four guns were at work betimes, pairing off 
 on separate beats. Mr Erancepeth was a steady, methodical 
 performer ; but could not stand being hurried or flurried ; and, 
 setting jealousy aside, had a wholesome horror of long-striding 
 companions, like Alsager and Yane. With his host he felt a 
 comfortable certainty of being allowed to go his own pace and 
 pick his own shots ; for Eamsay, like many others who have 
 gone in heavily for the big game, was by no means keen in 
 the pursuit of feathered fowl, though he shot in remarkably 
 good form. When they ceased firing, the leisurely couple 
 were found to have contributed rather more than their quota 
 to a fair mixed bag of over two hundred head. 
 
 There was no luncheon-party that first day ; for La Eeine 
 Gaillarde was just tired enough by her long journey to incline 
 rather to a quiet lionizing of Blanche’s new home than to the 
 climbing of a hill-side on pony-back, even with the chance of 
 seeing a certain stalwart figure standing in relief against the 
 sky-line. She and Yane were ancient acquaintances, and might 
 have been familiar friends — to put it mildly — if in those days 
 the colonel of the Princess’s Own had had eyes or ears for the 
 service of any but Mrs Ellerslie. It was not in Laura Erance- 
 peth to bear malice, much less to pine over any discomfiture ; 
 especially if, as in this case, she had never seriously addressed 
 
180 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 lierself to tlie conquest. Certainly, she had no need to go 
 out into the highways and byways to recruit the ranks of her 
 adherents. jMevertheless her black eyes Hashed with pleasure 
 when she heard, on her arrival, who was expected hourly. 
 Yereker was about the last j^erson she had reckoned on meet- 
 ing at Kenlis, at least so soon. Of one thing she felt sure — 
 that Mark had invited him there, and was thoroughly safe in 
 doing so; and further, that if Yane should show signs of 
 better taste than heretofore, Blanche would not be likely to 
 interfere with their innocent amusements. 
 
 There was a good deal worth looking at within-doors at 
 Kenlis Castle ; but before luncheon Laura Brancepeth had 
 rambled through the whole of it alone, and had penetrated 
 into more passages and recesses than Blanche herself had ever 
 discovered. After luncheon, the two women loitered together 
 through the gardens and wood-paths beyond, till they en- 
 sconced themselves at last in that tempting nook by the loch- 
 side whereof mention has before been made. 
 
 ‘ I declare it’s the most perfect place I ever saw,’ La Heine 
 said in her hearty, genuine way. ‘ This is only the second 
 time I’ve been over the Border, it is true ; but I don’t think 
 it could be matched in Scotland. Blanche, don’t you love it 
 already 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes ; it’s quite charming,’ Blanche answered, after a 
 second’s hesitation ; ‘ and I like it, of course — who could help 
 liking iti But somehow I don’t think it quite suits me, 
 Queenie. You can’t imagine how languid and depressed 
 I’ve felt at times — particularly when I’m alone. I’ve been 
 a good deal alone since we came down. There were an in- 
 finity of things for Mark to look into all over the estate ; and 
 there’s a terrible creature — a factor they call him — who won’t 
 be denied. Perhaps the air is rather too relaxing.’ 
 
 ^ Absurd,’ the other retorted. ‘ The air’s simply faultless. 
 It has given me a fabulous appetite already.’ 
 
 Even while she spoke a light breeze ruffled the bright 
 water at their feet ; and the veriest hypochondriac must have 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 181 
 
 acknowledged gratefully the briny freshness it brought from 
 the open sea. 
 
 ‘ Mark says just the same thing,’ Mrs Eamsay answered 
 with a slight sigh ; ^ and you are both right, I’m certain. I 
 haven’t an excuse for moping either, now you’re come : in- 
 deed, I feel ever so much better since yesterday. We’ll take 
 their lunch out to the hill to-morrow. There are plenty of 
 available ponies, and you’ll enjoy the scramble. I shouldn’t 
 wonder if the Irvings drove over in time to go with us. 
 They’re our nearest neighbours — the only ones, indeed, that 
 have given signs of their existence — »quite a tro^LVcdlle in such 
 a wild country. The father looks like a statuette of white 
 Dresden, and the daughter — Well, I Avon’t describe her, 
 Queenie : but I think you luill be surprised.’ 
 
 ‘ Oh, I do hope they’ll come,’ Lady Laura said eagerly. 
 
 ‘ Fancy lighting on a pair of Phoenixes so far north ! It’s a 
 wonder that none of you mentioned the female bird, at all 
 events, sooner.’ 
 
 ‘ I had so many things to talk about, I suppose,’ Mrs 
 Eamsay said, blushing a little. ^ It’s dangerous to rest too 
 much on first impressions ; but I wish I was as sure of fine 
 weather to-morrow, as I am of your being just as favourably 
 impressed with the Drumour people as we were.’ 
 
 Then they fell to talldng of other matters, interesting to 
 themselves, but of no moment to the Avorld in general. 
 
 The next day was one of those that Scotland occasionally 
 produces, to confute the sulky Southrons who assert that 
 ‘ there’s no climate there, only cl — cl bad weather.’ The air 
 was so clear, that with a good glass you might almost have 
 counted the heather-sprays wLere they cut the sky-line. 
 There was just breeze enough from the north-west to prevent 
 sultriness and to help the setters, without any of the gusts or 
 flaws that make the jDacks lie uneasily and carry them when 
 once on the wing far out of bounds. Tliere was firing enough 
 to satisfy a glutton on both beats that morning ; and the luck 
 or skill on either side was so nearly level, that no man’s appe- 
 
182 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 tite was spoiled either by self-upbraiding or envy of his fellow. 
 Alsager halted for a second on the crest overlooking the hollow 
 where lunch was already preparing — the other party were half- 
 way down the ojiposite brae. 
 
 ^ Drumour is to the front, you see ’ (there had been specu- 
 lation on this point the previous evening). ^ I wish we had a 
 photographer here — with a painter’s eye, of course, to throw 
 in colour afterwards.’ 
 
 In truth, the group beneath them was worth reproducing. 
 The rich heather — crimson rather than purple just here — toned 
 down, instead of contrasting with, the bright hues of the 
 kirtles, peeping out below upper skirts kilted a la Lindsay. 
 The soberer tints were supplied by the plaids on which the 
 women reclined, and the neutral gray of Captain Irving’s 
 shooting suit. He leant against a rock a little in the back- 
 ground, in precisely the attitude that a sculptor would have 
 chosen as best adapted to display the points of his slight, 
 graceful figure. 
 
 The luncheon, of course, vfas a success, for — putting the 
 Irvuigs aside, who evidently came determined to be pleased — 
 everybody had more or less sufficient reason for being in spe- 
 cial good-humour. To begin with — seventy brace of clean- 
 killed birds, with scarcely a cheeper amongst them, is a fair 
 forenoon’s work for men shooting for their own amusement, 
 with no idea of newspaper renown or the puffing of their 
 moor. Mr Brancepeth, having differed in opinion from the 
 head-keeper as to the best way of beating the ground, had not 
 only carried his point, but afterwards proved himself to be 
 thoroughly in the right, to the conviction, if not satisfaction, 
 even of the stubborn official. Lady Laura, after some ■ sharp 
 hadinage at breakfast, had backed Alsager against Yane for a 
 fair stake in gloves ; and was now rejoicing over having 
 landed her bet by the yery short head of a single bird. Her 
 champion to a certain extent went shares in the triumph. As 
 for Yereker, he was thinking how much pleasanter it was to 
 lose in this fashion than to win — even with the probability 
 of being paid — at Yincennes or La Marche, and how differ- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 183 
 
 ently sounded Laura Brancepeth’s healthy merriment from a 
 certain hard, cruel laugh that he hoped to hear never again. 
 
 The last two months had wrought a wonderful change in 
 him, outwardly no lefes than inwardly. At his worst he had 
 never altogether lost his taste for the field-sports among which 
 he had been born and bred ; and he came hack to them now 
 with a keener zest than ever. His face would never look 
 otherwise now than battered and worn ; hut the haggard 
 fierceness which had deformed it was there no longer ; and it 
 was now quite possible to believe that those wdio had known 
 him long ago had not overrated his personal advantages. In 
 many respects he had waxed wiser of late, notably in this one. 
 He could eat of Mark Eamsay’s bread and salt \vith a clear 
 conscience ; for he coveted his wife no more. On that night 
 at the Bouffes there was worked a cure — sharp, complete, and 
 lasting. The ex-dragoon’s code of morality was rather vague; 
 but he had his own notions concerning equity notwithstand- 
 ing. He felt, somehoAV, that the Eamsays had held out their 
 hands to help him shorewards, when others would have passed 
 by and left him Avallowing in the slough ; and, since then, 
 the idea of troubling their domestic peace had never once 
 crossed his mind. He stood, quite firm, on the friendly foot- 
 ing now. When passion, such as his, is once slain outright, 
 it passes the skill of sorcery itself to put life again into the 
 evil dead. 
 
 Blanche herself was perhaps in better spirits that morning 
 than she had been since she lunched under the sandstone 
 rocks of Fontainebleau. The keen, pure mountain air had 
 produced a tonic effect already. Also she felt somewhat 
 elated at having accomplished a formidable feat successfully ; 
 for she was a timid horsewoman, and, though she kept her 
 tremors to herself, had seen great fear in the beginning of the 
 ascent. But misgiving lapsed gradually into implicit confid- 
 ence in the sure-footed beast that bore her; she began to 
 think that it was not so absolutely necessary she should al- 
 ways stay moping at home when her husband rode over the 
 hill ; and this in itself was enough to make her happy. 
 
184 
 
 BREAiaNG A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 The special cause of Mark’s contentment would not he so 
 easy to define ; hut that he was satisfied with the general 
 aspect of things Avas very clear. From his welcome of the 
 Irvings, you would scarcely have guessed that their acquaint- 
 ance Avas hut four days old. 
 
 Altogether a cheerier repast is not often partaken of ; and 
 an liour Avas nearly up before Mr Brancepeth — Avho in his 
 amusements iieA^er lost sight of a stern sense of duty — thought 
 of looking at his Avatch meaning^. 
 
 ^Yes, you’re quite right to call ^‘Time,’” Ea^msay said, 
 ansAvering the other’s glance of appeal; ‘hut it so happens 
 that Ave needn’t hurry. Cameron AA^ants us to try a drive, you 
 kiiOAV. Some of the men are left hack Avith the flags ; hut 
 it’ll take him nearly half an hour to get his heaters in line. 
 He has shoAvn me AAdiere to post the guns ; it Avon’t take us 
 ten minutes to get there.’ 
 
 ‘ Hoav lucky ! ’ Lady Laura cried ; ‘ it’s tlie very thing I 
 Avanted to see. I’d rather look at a partridge-drive than a 
 “hot corner” any day; and this must he tAvice as exciting. 
 We sha’n’t he in your Avay, Mr Eamsay, if we sit Avhere we are 
 told as still as mice. Henry Avill go hail for my good he- 
 haviour, I know.’ 
 
 Mr Brancepeth smiled sedately. 
 
 ‘ You couldn’t he A^ery mouse-like under any circumstances, 
 I’m afraid, Laura ; but I’ve never yet seen you spoil sport.’ 
 
 ‘ You Avon’t he the least in the Avay,’ Mark answered ; 
 
 ‘ indeed, to speak the truth, the drive Avas organized as much 
 for your amusement as for ours. It isn’t a long pull either up 
 to the stand ; though it’s rather steep in places.’ 
 
 ‘ Beyond Punch’s poAvers, I’m afraid,’ Blanche interrupted, 
 
 ‘ and so heyond mine. I never intend to part company ; I 
 don’t feel safe anywhere on the hill, as yet, off his hack. As 
 for Queenie, she’s a perfect Anne of Geierstein ; and I think 
 Miss IrAung is nearly as hrave.’ 
 
 ‘ I’ve quite forgotten my mountaineering,’ Alice said ; 
 ‘ hut I’m not in the least tired, and I OAvn I should like to see 
 the drive ; yet it seems so selfish to leave you here alone. Per- 
 
BLAXCPIE ELLEHSLIE’s ENDING. 185 
 
 haps you won’t be alone, though ; for, as far as I can see, papa 
 looks too comfortable to move just yet.’ 
 
 ‘ Infinitely too comfortable, my child,’ Captain Irving 
 said serenely. ^ I wouldn’t climb a hundred feet higher to 
 see a drive of golden eagles. I can’t promise to amuse Mrs 
 Eamsay ; but I promise to take all care of her till you return : 
 I suppose nothing more terrible than a hill-fox is likely to 
 come near us.’ 
 
 The rest of the party set off, making for the head of the 
 hollow. It was a steep and broken ascent, but nowhere an 
 absolute escalade ; and — with the exception of Mr Brancepeth, 
 who plodded onwards slowly and soberly, taking a line of his 
 own — not one of the climbers was fairly out of breath when 
 they reached a broad neck of table-land, with higher ground 
 on either side, about the centre of which the guns were to be 
 posted. There had been built across here a rude stone wall, 
 about breast-high, with loopholes through which the birds 
 could be marked some sixty yards ahead. When the four men 
 had alligned themselves under this at regular distances, they 
 nearly covered the pass. Brancepeth and Vane had the mid- 
 most stands, and to the latter of these went La Eeine 
 Gaillarde. She was going double or quits of all her winnings 
 on the event of this drive, and chose, slie said, to see with 
 her own eyes that the Colonel shot fair, without claiming 
 other people’s birds. The demoiselle seemed to be hesitating 
 under whose protection she should place herself, when Eam- 
 say said — 
 
 ' Will you come to my stand. Miss Irving 1 You won’t 
 see such good practice as if you were in Alsager’s, for my hand 
 is rather out for this work ; but I suppose I’m morally 
 responsible for your safety till I bring you back to your 
 father.’ 
 
 Judging from Alice’s face, the arrangement seemed to her 
 also the most natural one. ISTeither did Yere Alsager look a 
 whit discontented, as he moved away to his post ; indeed, he 
 laughed a little, as he muttered to himself — ■ 
 
 ‘ Moral responsibility ! — That’s rather a neat way of put- 
 
186 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 ting it. There’s no story in those eyes, is there, Mark ? I 
 wonder if you’ll say as much to-morrow. It must have come 
 sooner or later ; hut it’s hard lines on the other — that it 
 should come so soon — d — d hard ! ’ 
 
 And Yere hit off the end of a cigar with vicious emphasis ; 
 hut a minute later he was smoking tranquilly, and listening 
 with all his ears for the first ^ Mark over.’ 
 
 ^ You needn’t he a mouse just yet,’ Eamsay said, as his 
 companion seated herself on a hroad flat stone ; ‘ the heaters 
 can hardly have got round. And this is your first experience, 
 of grouse-driving, I believe h ’ 
 
 ^ My first of any kind of shooting. I’ve never yet heen 
 close to a gun when it was fired : so if I start you must not 
 he too scandalized. I’U promise not to scream. 
 
 ^ hTo, you won’t scream,’ he said. ^ I fancy your nerves 
 don’t often fail you. It’ll he rather deafening at first, I’m 
 afraid ; hut you’ll soon get steady under fire.’ 
 
 ^ One soon gets used to most things,’ she said with an odd 
 sort of smile. And then there was silence ; for a shout, harely 
 audible, gave warning that the drive had begun. 
 
 A few seconds later, even Alice’s inexperienced ears caught 
 a whirr and whistle of wings. 
 
 ^ They’re coming our line,’ Mark whispered, peering 
 through his loophole. ‘ Shall I shoot this time ? ’ 
 
 Her eyes flashed eagerly. 
 
 ‘ Shoot ? Of course ! How can you ask me ? ’ 
 
 Eleven grouse came sailing Ioav over the neck, right before 
 the wind, scarcely swaying their pinions, though they were 
 at top speed. When they were within fifty yards or so, Mark 
 showed his head and shoulders over the wall. The wary old 
 cock who led the pack, having no time to swerve, towered 
 upwards with a startled cry ; hut the best part of an ounce 
 of Ho. 5 breasted him as he rose, and he left his Hfe in the 
 air, though the impetus of flight carried him within a fathom 
 of the wall. Mark was equally lucky with his second barrel 
 — an easy cross-shot to the left. 
 
 ^ A good beginning,’ he said, smiling — not so much at 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLTE^S ENDING. 
 
 187 
 
 liis own success as at his companion’s satisfaction, for Alice 
 fairly clapped her hands in triumph — ‘ and you never even 
 :started, I do believe.’ 
 
 i . I — I forgot to be frightened,’ she said half-penitently. 
 
 ‘ Well, mind you don’t remember it next time. There are 
 more coming ; but to the centre guns. Ah ! I think Lady 
 Laura is not quite so mouse-hke as — you are. I’ve no doubt 
 she’s accountable for Yane’s only getting one barrel in, and 
 that when they had passed him.’ 
 
 For some moments afterwards, and indeed till the beaters 
 came up, the firing was so sharp all along the line that there 
 was no leisure for talking. Out of twenty-six grouse gathered 
 there and then, besides three more stone dead just below the 
 brow, Alsager — as Eamsay had predicted — claimed the largest 
 share. So La Eeine landed her paroli^ though Yane submitted 
 with a laughing protest. 
 
 ^ 1 do admire your idea of seeing fair,” Lady Laura. 
 How on earth do you expect a man to shoot, when some one 
 always offers to back the bird just as he’s covering it'? It’s 
 much more nervous work than standing opposite the pigeon- 
 traps with the Eing behind you.’ 
 
 ‘ You’re very ungrateful,’ she retorted ; ^ you ought to 
 thank me for furnishing you with excuses for all those misses. 
 Pearl-grays, six and three-quarters, mind ; and I have a weak- 
 ness for Melnotte.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, I suppose I’d better pay and look pleasant,’ the 
 Colonel said resignedly. ^ I only hope I shall live to see them 
 worn out ; but I decline to plunge any more.’ 
 
 Then they descended again into the hollow, where Mrs 
 Eamsay and Irving were reclining contentedly ; and the non- 
 shooting members of the luncheon-party started off home- 
 wards. Mark looked after them rather wistfully. If he had 
 followed his own inclination, he certainly would have struck 
 work there and then ; but he had a certain conscience in these 
 matters, and felt himself bound to see Mr Brancepeth through 
 the day. That methodical person had a great horror of any 
 alteration in the programme j and would have considered him- 
 
188 
 
 lUlEAKING A BUITERFLY; OR 
 
 self more than shabbily treated, if he had been left to finish 
 their appointed beat alone. 
 
 ‘ What do yon think of them, Queenie'?’ Mrs Eamsay 
 asked, as the two ivoinen came down-stairs together after 
 changing their walking-dress. ‘ Are they not quite as clever 
 and agreeable as you expected V 
 
 ‘ Eather more so,’ the other replied ; ‘ but I’m not quite 
 so wrapped up in them as you all seem to be. I don’t know 
 how it is, but I can’t look at either of them without thinking 
 of the old Scotch proverb, “ Eair and false.” There’s too much 
 gloss about the father C|uite to please me ; and the daughter 
 — ^handsome as a picture, I admit — is rather too much like 
 one’s idea of Cleopatra.’ 
 
 ‘Don’t be cynical,’ Blanche interrupted; ‘it isn’t like you. 
 I dare say they are just as honest as humdrum people, though 
 they have much more to say for' themselves. I Avas quite 
 sorry when you all came back this afternoon. You have no 
 idea hoAV amusing Captain Irving can be Avhen he chooses.’ 
 
 ‘AYell, you’d better go on Avith the flirtation,’ La Eeine 
 rejoined; ‘meaiiAvhile I’ll submit to be fascinated by the 
 Signorina.’ 
 
 Fascinated Lady Laura Avas not ; but, before dressing-time 
 came, she accused herself more than once of lack of charity in 
 her first impressions of Alice Irving. 
 
 It Avas in the evening, liOAvever, that Druniour achieved 
 its croAYiiing success. All the Kenlis party were more or less 
 musically inclined ; though perhaps only Alsager Avas tho- 
 roughly able to appreciate the vocal poAvers of the father and 
 daughter. One duet, especially, roused Mr Brancepeth him- 
 self into something like enthusiasm. The great draAving-room 
 Avas a trying place for singing ; but their voices, single or 
 blended, seemed to fill it Avithout an effort or the straining of 
 a note ; and a marvellous softness pervaded the rich volume of 
 sound. Lady Laura and Yane were as vehement in their ad- 
 miration as Blanche herself could desire ; and Alsager — him- 
 self no mean performer, and quite aAvare of the fact — did 
 homage, in his oAvn fashion, to superior talent ; for, though he 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 189 
 
 never left the piano after the Irvings came to it, he could not 
 himself be prevailed upon to utter a note. During all the 
 singing, Mark sate a little apart, shading his face with his 
 liand ; and, when it was over, paid his acknowledgments in 
 courteous commonplaces. But their glances met for two 
 seconds — no more — as he wished Alice good-night ; and the 
 lady’s rest was broken by no misgivings as to the completeness 
 of her triumph. She had been complimented on her voice, 
 ere now, by those whose favourable verdict carried with it 
 fame : but Eamsay’s look flattered her as she had never been 
 flattered before. 
 
 There are vanities and vanities, you see. Even in her 
 failings, Alice might have boasted — without any special cause 
 for thankfulness — that she was not as other women. 
 
 The smoking-room held four that night ; for Mr Brance- 
 peth, living by rule, seldom allowed his feet to stray into such 
 unhallowed places. As for Captain Irving — he ^ never 
 touched tobacco,’ he said ; ‘ but, keeping regularly late hours, 
 did not choose to risk his night’s rest by seeking it too early.’ 
 Before long the conversation turned upon play, apropos of some 
 recent Parisian scandal. 
 
 ‘ I’ve given up heavy wagering,’ Irving said ; ^ or rather, 
 it’s given me up. But, I own, I’ve missed my piquet dread- 
 fully since I’ve settled down here. I could have taught 
 Alice, for she’s quick enough to learn anything ; but I’m too 
 old to play for love. I don’t think I should ever have left 
 Darmstadt if Bernsdorff hadn’t died. You never knew him, 
 I dare say. He had a perfect passion for the game ; and he 
 won two hundred points of me — we played the Eussian rules 
 — within twenty-four hours of his end. He was the Grand 
 Duke’s favourite chamberlain, and a great loss to society in 
 every way ; but I doubt if any one regretted him as much as 
 I did. I’ve never slept ‘ on both ears ’ since. I should be 
 quite happy at Drumour if I had my parti. 
 
 ^ Then I hope you’ll be tempted to come oftener to Kenlis,’ 
 Mark answered, ringing the bell at his elbow ; ‘ you’ll always 
 find it here ; and the least we can do is to try to amuse you, 
 
190 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 after the treat you gave us this evening. It’s my favourite 
 game, and I used to fancy myself at it: I’ve no doubt you’ll 
 take the conceit out of me.’ 
 
 To Alsager, the change on Irving’s face was quite a study ; 
 and Yane too — not near so keen a physiognomist — remarked 
 on it afterwards. Listless languor had given place to hungry 
 eagerness ; yet, to do the man justice, it was not the eagerness 
 of greed, but rather that of the thoroughpaced gambler, to 
 whom losing at play is the second pleasure in life. bTot less 
 strange was it to mark how, by mere force of habit, while the 
 cards were being dealt, his face settled down again into statu- 
 esque calmness — only the eyes glittered still. 
 
 The match, to all outward appearances, was so even as 
 would have interested both, if they had been playing for 
 stamps instead of sovereigns. It was only a run of luck just 
 at last, that brought off Mark the winner of the odd game. 
 
 ^ I’m not a Croesus,’ Captain Irving observed, as he opened 
 his purse ; ^ but I should not grudge losing that, every night 
 for a week to come. You play, I think, a shade better than 
 Bernsdorff.’ 
 
 The other shook his head. 
 
 ^ I doubt if I could quite hold my own in the long-run ; 
 though I do think, between us, it’s very much a question of 
 cards.’ 
 
 ‘ I hope he will sleep well,’ Mark observed, as the door 
 closed behind Captain Irving. ‘ That estimable person has 
 ministered more to my amusement to-night than any one has 
 done for years past ; I’m rather tired, though. What do you 
 say to a regular driving day to-morrow ? The women would 
 like it.’ 
 
 ‘ Two of them would, no doubt,’ Alsager answered, ^ and I 
 dare say Mrs Eamsay wouldn’t mind. So the ^ moral respons- 
 ibility’ wasn’t too much for you to-day, Mark? I’m glad of 
 that. Considering how short a time you’ve been head of a 
 household, you take pretty kindly to your burdens. What 
 an organ she has, though ! I quite forget to look at the wo- 
 man, in listening to the voice.’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 191 
 
 ^ All ! you’re a fanatico' Mark said, not noticing tlie 
 thrust at himself ; ‘ that makes all the difference. Good-night, 
 and musical dreams.’ 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 The women certainly did like it, when the programme for 
 the day Avas propounded at breakfast. The ground to be driven 
 lay nearly opposite the castle, on the other side of the loch, 
 and it was easily to be reached by the help of the ponies sent 
 round to await them on the farther shore. Xevertheless, Cap- 
 tain Irving elected to stay at home, declaring himself not equal 
 even to that exertion. He had rather better health than the 
 majority of his compeers ; but his maladif appearance was 
 always a convenient excuse for laziness. The Aveather was per- 
 fect again ; and, before noon, the guns, Avith the fair spirits, 
 their ministers, were duly posted under stands built up of turf 
 and heather. Tavo of the pairs Avere the same as yesterday : 
 Mrs Kamsay was under Alsager’s charge. 
 
 ^ It rather Avent against my conscience to leave your father 
 at home alone,’ Mark observed to his companion as he made a 
 seat for her on a folded plaid ; ^ particularly after his good- 
 nature last night. It’s not often you find a man of his age so 
 Avilling to exert himself for other people’s pleasure. It was so 
 perfectly evident, too, that there Avas no vanity about it.’ 
 
 ‘ Xo, papa isn’t vain,’ Alice assented. Considering his 
 habitual courtesy, it Avas odd that Mark still so persisted in 
 ignoring her share in the performance,, and odder still that the 
 omission did not seem to disappoint her in the least. ‘ And 
 he’s generally very good-natured, though rather inclined to be 
 capricious. I have knoAvn him refuse to sing a note, Avhen 
 most persons Avould have been glad of the occasion for display, 
 and Avliere requests passed for commands. He Avas disinterested, 
 too, last night, for he could scarcely haA^e reckoned on his re- 
 
192 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ward so soon. I never asked him a question, I assure you ; 
 but I guessed by his face this morning that he had his piquet 
 before going to bed. Was I wrong T 
 
 ‘ Perfectly right. And perhaps you guessed, too, that he 
 left off a good winner ? ’ 
 
 ‘ hs^o ; my gifts don’t go so far. I have asked the question 
 of his face often ; and it has very seldom answered me. I am 
 afraid he would not he less grateful to you — or whoever it was 
 that made up his parti e — if he got up a loser. It was you, I 
 feel certain.’ 
 
 ‘ Eight again,’ Mark answered ; ^ hut why do you say 
 afraid 1 I rather admire the grand seigneur way of accepting 
 had luck, you know.’ 
 
 She smiled very sadly, and her head drooped a little. 
 
 ‘ I have good reason to say afraid.” We are too poor to 
 play the grand seigneur, either at home or abroad. I’m not a 
 bit ashamed of speaking frankly to you, Mr Eamsay, though I 
 suppose I ought to be. I have no idea what stakes you were 
 playing for last night — nominal ones, I dare say. It always 
 begins so. 
 
 Her head drooped lower and lower. 
 
 ‘ I don’t ask you not to tempt him to play deep — I’m sure 
 you wouldn’t do that — but I do beseech you — oh, so earnestly ! 
 not to be tempted yourself. Can you promise me this? You 
 can’t imagine what a rest it is to lie down at night not in fear 
 and trembling ; and I did hope for that rest here.’ 
 
 ^ I would promise a much harder thing,’ Mark answered, 
 bending over her. ‘ We only played for sovereigns last night : 
 the stakes shall not be increased if I can help it ; and I can 
 helj^ it, I feel sure. I always used to avoid high play under 
 my own roof, even in the old days ; and Captain Irving can’t 
 have much worse gambling sins to answer for than I, though 
 he may have more.’ 
 
 Her face as she lifted it was grave still, though not sad. 
 
 ‘ There are very, very few like him. I would almost as 
 soon — don’t ask me why — that he should lose as win heavily. 
 Gambling runs in the blood, like any other madness, I sup- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE's ENDING. 
 
 193 
 
 pose ; it runs in ours assuredly. If it had not been for the 
 law of entail, Drumour would have passed away from us long, 
 long ago. Did you ever read, or hear of, that horrible story of 
 a man setting his wife’s honour on a cast when he had no other 
 stake left, and losing — and paying ? Duncan Irving did all 
 this when he was in exile in Holland with Charles IT., and 
 added a double murder to the shame. The direct line ends 
 with us ; for my father has no child living but me : so perhaps 
 the curse will be abated. Let us drop the subject, please. 
 I’m so glad I had courage to speak out ; I shall feel quite safe 
 now both at Kenlis and Drumour. 
 
 ‘ Yes, you are quite safe with me,’ Mark said very quietly ; 
 nevertheless there was something in his look that brought the 
 colour out brightly on Alice’s cheek, and sent her eyes earth- 
 wards again. 
 
 Heither, so long as converse was permissible, was there 
 silence in the other stands, save in that one where Mr Brance- 
 peth sate with his loader — he still stuck to his favourite Pur- 
 deys — a saturnine Scot, whose garrulity was limited to ^ Mark 
 right,’ ‘ Mark left ’ ; or a gruff ^ Gude wark,’ after a peculiarly 
 creditable shot. 
 
 La Eeine Gaillarde and her cavalier were in great amity 
 this morning, and were talking of old Marlshire times quite 
 confidentially. 
 
 ‘What an utter fool I made of myself,’ the Colonel con- 
 fessed with great frankness ; ‘ and what a nice example I set 
 my youngsters ! It must have been great fun for you all to 
 watch me, though. Do you remember the meet at Pinker- 
 ton WoodD 
 
 ‘ I should think I did remember it. You quite spoiled 
 our hunting that day — ^Blanche’s, I mean, and mine — with 
 the fright you gave us. I have never looked at the Swarle 
 since without a sort of shiver. What became of The Plunger, 
 by-the-by h ’ 
 
 ‘ He went up to Tattersall’s with the rest,’ Yane answered ; 
 ‘ and I got a plaintive note soon afterwards from the man who 
 bought him, asking me Ijow he was to ride him. Cool that, 
 
 o 
 
194 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 wasn’t it h I wrote back that the brute only wanted humour- 
 ing ; but I didn’t give my horses characters for anything but 
 soundness. So she was frightened a little ] I shouldn’t have 
 thought it likely. Well, I bear no malice, God knows, to her 
 or her husband either. Perhaps it was for the best, after all. 
 If she had said “ Yes ” instead of hTo,” I should never have 
 suited her as he seems to do. They are perfectly happy ; 
 don’t you think so ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Wonderfully happy, if it only lasts,’ she answered rather 
 gravely. ‘ So you actually did propose ? I always guessed as 
 much, though I never could make that little wretch own it. 
 It’s pleasant to be able to talk over old times comfortably : 
 but we mustn’t chatter any more. If you don’t shoot quite 
 up to the mark, it won’t be any fault of mine ; my sympathies 
 are against the birds to-day.’ 
 
 Por the first time since his arrival Alsager found himself 
 alone with his hostess. He was rather glad of the oppor- 
 tunity of improving their acquaintance ; for his first liking 
 for Blanche had much strengthened of late, and he fancied 
 that the favourable impression was to a certain extent 
 mutual. 
 
 ‘Wouldn’t that make a good sketch?’ Vere observed, 
 after they had duly complimented the weather. 
 
 He pointed to a ravine on their right, widening into a glen 
 as it trended down to the loch, so that a broad strip of clear 
 water filled up the background. 
 
 ‘I was just thinking so,’ she returned; ‘but I can only 
 admire points of view, unluckily. It’s Very different with 
 yon, Mr Alsager. I’m sure you have not left your paints and 
 brushes behind you in the South. 
 
 ‘ They would be of little use here. I, too, can only admhe 
 still life. I never could accomplisli a landscape worth the 
 framing, and I can’t afford to spoil canvas. I can manage a 
 recognizable portrait now and then ; for I’ve a sort of knack 
 of catching expressions that please me, though I may fail in 
 bringing out the features. Bo you know, Mrs Bamsay, I 
 thought of asking you to indulge me with a sitting on the 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 195 
 
 first hopelessly had day ? The rain-gauge will come to its level 
 before long, depend upon it.’ 
 
 ‘ I’m very much flattered, of course,’ Blanche answered ; 
 ^ but it would be rather a waste of talent whilst such a much 
 better model is available.’ 
 
 Alsager smiled, as he followed her glance till it rested on 
 a figure in the extreme left-hand stand. 
 
 ‘You’re quite right ; it is a superb model for a master diL 
 -genre. Boulanger, for instance, would go leagues to paint her. 
 But I’m not a master — only a mild amateur, with more than 
 my share of professional whims. I said, if you remember, that 
 I could sometimes catch expressions that please me. I’m 
 not quite sure that Miss Irving’s comes into that category.’ 
 
 The wonder in her face was not affected. 
 
 ‘ What can you find to cavil at h I was quite struck by 
 the sweetness of her expression the first time we saw her ; 
 and it is a beauty that grows on you.’ 
 
 ‘ AYry sweet,’ he said, still smiling, ‘ and perhaps a little — 
 ever so little — subtle. At any rate, it’s beyond me. I could 
 listen to her — or, better still, to her and her father — for hours 
 with my eyes shut ; and it would be ungrateful to caricature 
 her. So, if you don’t condescend to sit to me, my brushes 
 will lie idle — no great loss, either, to the -u^orld in general.’ 
 
 Much of the coquettish leaven that had made Blanche 
 Ellerslie so dangerous lingered still in Blanche Ramsay. She 
 was pleased by the preference assuredly, and showed this; but 
 the next minute her glance reverted somewhat wistfully to 
 that group on the left. 
 
 ‘ Artists are not to be contradicted,’ she said ; ‘ so I sup- 
 pose you must have your Avay ; but I think that even Mark 
 would pity your taste. He omist admire her. I’m certain, 
 though he’s never fairly owned it yet.’ 
 
 It was a question, though not a direct one, and so Yere 
 interpreted it. Bor a little while he doubted within himself 
 whether those words \vere spoken in simplicity, or with a pur- 
 pose of entrapping him. Taking the charitable view, at last, 
 he answered quite frankly : 
 
lOG BREAKING A BETTERFLY ; OR 
 
 ‘ Yes, I fancy lie must admire her ; though I only speak by 
 conjecture. Mark is not expansive at any time ; and on the 
 present occasion I haven’t detected even a spark of enthusiasm. 
 He called me a fanatic only last night for speaking of Miss 
 Irving’s voice — well, not a hit more higldy than it deserved.’ 
 
 There was a long pause. Then Blanche said softly : 
 
 ‘ You are such a very, very old friend of Mark’s, Mr Alsa- 
 ger, that I can hardly realize you and I were strangers six 
 months ago. That is why I am going to ask you something 
 that you need not answer unless you like. Do you think I 
 make him really — thoroughly — happy ? 
 
 Yere Alsager had little charity for his kind to spare ; hut 
 if, without power to help or warn, he had been forced to watch 
 the hungry sea swallowing up, inch by inch, the rock on which 
 a fair woman lay sleeping, it is likely that he would have been 
 affected by some such thrill of compassion as he felt then, 
 looking down on Blanche Eamsay. Nevertheless, he answered 
 as cheerfully as if he saw no peril in the future. 
 
 ‘ Our oldest friends don’t carry windows in their breasts ; 
 hut, speaking according to my own light, I think you may feel 
 quite at ease on that point. You have read that old story of 
 Polycrates’ ring? Well, I actually suggested some such set-off 
 against good luck to Mark not a week ago, and his chief ob- 
 jection to it was, if I remember right, that there Avas nothing 
 he should miss sufficiently, except — his Avife.’ 
 
 A bright gloAV of pleasure possessed her face for a second 
 or tAvo. Then it grew pensive again, as she repeated under her 
 breath, 
 
 ‘ Not a Aveek ago ! ’ 
 
 Much to Yere’s rehef, ^ Mark over ! ’ came doAvn the Avind. 
 just then, and stopped the converse for the jDresent. 
 
 To chronicle the sport at length, if it did not savour of vain 
 repetition, Avould he pains thrown aAvay. To such as have ap- 
 proved them the sketch would seem colourless and faint ; to 
 such as knoAV them not, no Avord-painting Avould Avorthily set 
 forth the various delights — never quite, though so nearly the 
 same — of a clear August day so spent in Wildernesse. The 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 197 
 
 patient upward clinil) through, glen and corrie, till the last brae 
 is breasted and the posts attained — the rest just long enough 
 to steady the nerves again amidst great peace, which is not 
 stillness ; for there is never stillness on the moorland while 
 curlew and plover are awake, or the western breeze is stirring 
 — the tingle of the pulse at the first whirr of coming wings — 
 the self-approval when each shot is followed by a dull thud, 
 and through the smoke of the second barrel you look for the 
 crumpled heap of feathers that was a brave grouse-cock a 
 second ago — the comparing of notes after the drive is done, 
 when our elaborate defence of that palpable miss finds no 
 favour with a jury of our compeers, wdio will never allow that 
 sun or cloud could possibly have interfered in any aim but 
 their own — the nooning, in the shadow of a ‘ brindled rock ’ 
 within reach of the hill-spring that, where it soaks through the 
 moss, makes russet emerald — the conquest over a wolfish aj)pe- 
 tite and intense thirst, achieved with a view to straight powder 
 thereafter — then the leisurely walk or ride that brings us home 
 again ; when the last pipe is flavoured by a comfortable con- 
 sciousness of having done to death a certain number of one’s 
 fellow-creatures, in the merciful fashion that leaves few halt or 
 maimed. Looking back on such a day in after-time, from the 
 midst of work or worry, are you not prone to murmur 
 
 Quando ullum inveniem parem ? 
 
 It is sufficient to say that the drive was voted the com- 
 pletest success by every one concerned therein, either as actor 
 or spectator ; and that the wLole party returned in great spirit 
 to the castle, where they found the Solitary in a state of tran- 
 quil beatitude. 
 
 ‘ I’m ashamed to say how much I’ve enjoyed myself,’ he 
 said. ^ I like poking about old places above all things, and 
 I haven’t exhausted Kenlis yet.’ 
 
 Perhaps it was on this account that Irving needed so little 
 pressing to prolong his visit. After dinner they had music, 
 of course, of a more desultory kind than on the evening be- 
 fore j and there was a good deal of confidential chat — people 
 
198 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 2)airing off, much as they had done on the hill-side. Excite- 
 ment and unwonted exercise acting on a delicate frame may 
 fairly account for fatigue ; hut with, ail this given in, Blanche 
 wondered, as she laid her head on her pillow that night, why 
 she felt so very, very weary. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIV. 
 
 Quite half a century hack Mervyne was a seaport of high 
 credit and renown ; month hy month and year hy year forg- 
 ing gradually ahead of her rivals in the colonial trade, and 
 taking the wind out of their sails. Her merchants even then 
 were noted for hold enterprise ; alheit rash adventurers Vv^ere 
 the exception rather than the rule, and gambling in stocks 
 was no more in vogue there than French hazard. 
 
 In those days there dwelt there a certain hard-working 
 lawyer — James Welsted hy name — with sufficient ability to 
 keep together, without greatly adding to, the modest con- 
 nection he had inherited from his father. His opinion carried 
 some weight with it, even in matters not strictly professional ; 
 chiehy because, if he erred, it was sure to he on the side of 
 caution. In truth, if he had sometimes put the drag on 
 wheels rolling to ruin, he had quite as often hindered rapid 
 advance to fortune. Such being the nature of the man, it 
 may he supposed that no little wonder prevailed in Mervyne 
 when it was noised abroad that James Welsted had invested 
 all his savings — more than this, all the cash he could raise on 
 credit — in the purchase of certain waste-lands lying along the 
 farther shore of the estuary of the Mere. 
 
 A drearier-looking estate could scarcely he imagined. The 
 hungriest of cattle turned away from the rank, sour pasturage, 
 and from the brackish pools. A feeble attempt had been 
 made at establishing a rabbit-warren; but even the hardy 
 coney declined to colonize the wind-swept hillocks, with 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 199 
 
 nought sweeter than hent-grass to satisfy his cravings. One 
 or two small speculators had tried their hands at draining ; 
 hut, go as deep as they would, the ooze would soak through 
 and poison the crop before it could sprout. The wiseacres 
 shook their heads as they asked each other what James 
 Welsted could possibly expect to make of his purchase. It 
 was useless asking him that question ; for he could keep his 
 own counsel not less religiously than that of his chents. 
 Some of his intimates expressed their misgivings aloud, 
 whilst others bantered him on his proprietary ambition ; but 
 the lawyer listened both to ridicule and warning with the 
 same saturnine smile. Three years later he was, in outward ap- 
 pearance, the least astonished person in all Mervyne, when it 
 was discovered that every perch of those dreary marishes was 
 worth more than the richest meadow acre that ever was mown ; 
 inasmuch as the site was absolutely necessary for the promotion 
 of a gigantic dock scheme, just then set afoot by a pov\^erful 
 company, with the direct sanction of government. The drain- 
 age difficulties, which had exhausted the patience and the 
 purses of the puny capitalists who had hitherto tried experi- 
 ments here, were mere child’s-play to the engineers who had 
 already laid athwart Chat Moss a safe pathway for the ‘ reson- 
 ant steam-eagles.’ The water vfas soon taught to observe 
 order and method in its goings-out and comings-in ; the faith- 
 less friable soil was shovelled aside or crushed into consistency 
 by the mere weight of stone. And so the great work went 
 grandly on, whilst the Mervynites rubbed their eyes, scarcely 
 believing in the wonders wrought over against them ; much 
 as the idlers may have done when the morning sun shone on 
 the palace built for Aladdin by the cunning architects of 
 Jinnistan. 
 
 The wealth that thus flowed into the lawyer’s coffers, if 
 not absolutely colossal — he drove no usurious bargain Avith the 
 dock company — Avas large enough to make him at once a man 
 of mark ; for the days of fabulous speculation Avero not as 
 yet; and seldom, even on the Stock Exchange, were there 
 attempts to eimdate the coup Avhich, after Waterloo Avas Avon, 
 
200 
 
 BREAKING A B UTTERLY ; OR 
 
 made Eothscliild’s name scarce less famous than the Iron 
 Duke’s. At any rate, James Welsted was so content with his 
 gains that he never strove to augment them. Men, who had 
 keen used to pass him by as an honest humdrum plodder, 
 bowed themselves now before his shrewd foresight ; and be- 
 sought him to cast upon their enterprises the light of his 
 countenance. Without the shadow of risk, he might have 
 made tens of thousands by simply trafficking on his name. 
 Dut at none of those baits, however tempting, did he ever so 
 much as nibble ; and so what was added to his pile was only 
 the superfluity of income which remained over at each year’s 
 end. Sooth to sa}^, these savings rolled up apace : James 
 Welsted was none of those who become spendthrifts after 
 their beards are gray, and the woman he married somewhat 
 late in life had much the same homely tastes as her husband. 
 He gave up his profession at once — for he loved not labour 
 for labour’s sake — and, after due circumspection, once more 
 invested large moneys in land. 
 
 Kineton was a hne place, certainly ; but not large enough 
 to carry with it much territorial influence, and therefore, per- 
 haps, the better suited to Janies Welsted’s requirements. 
 Though he was neighbourly enough in all essential ways, he 
 never sought to take rank amongst the county magnates — as 
 he might easily have done, without fear of discouragement on 
 their part — and stood scrupulously aloof from politics. After 
 he had dwelt there a dozen years or more, his Avife died ; and 
 thenceforth his habits were completely changed. He was one 
 of those plain, practical people who never gain credit for deep 
 feelings ; but who, nevertheless, recover more slowly from a 
 home-bloAV than many sentimentalists who establish a claim 
 on our sympathy by dint of parading their mourning-weeds. 
 A stranger, walking by the widower’s side as he followed the 
 coffin up the aisle, would scarcely have guessed at the love 
 which had bound those two together. The haggardness of 
 his countenance might have been set down to long watching, 
 quite as much as to grief; and there were no tears in his 
 heavy, downcast eyes. But he never lifted his head or looked 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 201 
 
 the world fairly in the face again. His only child was 
 scarcely fourteen, so there was no absolute reason to drag him 
 into society. 
 
 Before four years were passed James Welsted had done 
 with his duties towards his neighbour, and had written up his 
 account with God. Besides sorrow for his dead wife, the old 
 man’s latter days were troubled with misgivings as to the 
 future of his orphan heiress. Of all the texts in Scripture — 
 and he was a simple, conscientious, if not a very earnest, 
 Christian — there were none that carried more thorough con- 
 viction to his mind than those which touched on the snares 
 encompassing the possessors of great riches. Nevertheless, it 
 must be owned that it was for his child’s worldly welfare he 
 was chiefly concerned. Bond as he was of her — proud, too, 
 in a certain fashion — he did not invest his daughter with 
 fictitious personal or mental attractions. He acknowledged 
 to himself, that the suitor who should seek Mary Welsted 
 Avithout a single mercenary motive Avas not likely to be found. 
 His long legal experience had taught him to estimate, pretty 
 accurately, the chances of happiness Avhere, on one side at 
 least, the marriage contract is signed in a purely commercial 
 spirit. HoAvever, such of these misgivings as he kept not 
 entirely to himself Avere confided only to the trusty friend 
 whom he appointed Mary’s chief guardian ; and there Avere 
 found in his Avill few harder conditions than he must needs 
 have insisted on had he lived to dispose of her hand. And 
 so — having to the best of his ability made his provisions, and 
 set his house in order — honest James WelstedAvent contented 
 to his rest. 
 
 Is there any older simile than that one Avhich symbolizes 
 man’s strength and Avoman’s weakness by the alliance of the 
 elm and the vine '? Perchance, years and years before the 
 battered hull carrying Hlneas drifted landAvards under the 
 lapygian Cape, singers dallied with the conceit, and maidens 
 smiled assent, nestling closer to the side of their Pelasgian 
 lovers. Every age since then must have furnished millions of 
 instances, Avhere a conversion of terms Avould have brought us 
 
202 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 nearer to the truth. Eiit they have become so multiplied of 
 late, that even the aspirants to the honours of the Eisteddfodd 
 would scarcely venture on the comparison. Putting aside the 
 professional advocates of woman’s rights — simply because they 
 represent womanhood no more than the Leaguers represent 
 Liberalism — female emancipation has spread so far already, 
 that it seems to me the best thing we can do, in presence of 
 these wise virgins and matrons, is to stand aside — proffering 
 neither counsel nor championship till they are absolutely re- 
 quired of us, and hoping that the Lemnian revolution may not 
 repeat itseK just yet. 
 
 A fitter representative of the Independent party than Mary 
 Welsted could scarcely have been found. As the helpmeet 
 of an ambitious business-man, she would have been thoroughly 
 in her right place ; and would have turned out, not only a more 
 useful, but a more agreeable, member of society. As it was, 
 her obstinate energy had nothing substantial to work upon ; 
 and, from mere lack of outlet, fermented sometimes angrily. 
 Her faults did not spring from badness of heart, or even from 
 any peculiar infirmity of temper. She was large-handed in her 
 charities, and spent the money of which, long before she came 
 to years of discretion, she had unlimited command, liberally 
 enough; though, even at that early age, she had very just 
 notions of the value of a pound sterling. She bore herself a 
 little imperiously sometimes, but never tyrannically, towards her 
 dependents, and had fewer caprices than most spoiled children, 
 nevertheless, it would have been as gross flattery to call Mary 
 Welstead amiable, as it would have been to call her beautiful. 
 
 She herself was quite conscious of this — painfully conscious, 
 too. Even strong-minded women, until their moral training 
 is perfected, are not always exempt from personal vanity ; and 
 it is often the last weakness that they vanquish. 
 
 Erom the time that she could distinguish good from evil, 
 Mary Welsted had seldom looked into her mirror without dis- 
 content and envy ; and as she passed from childhood, this feel- 
 ing was rather embittered than softened. The large clumsy 
 figure, that no device of millinery could refine ; the high, coarsa- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 203 
 
 complexion, that no combination of colours could tone down ; 
 the pale dull eyes that never brightened, even in anger — the 
 wealth, that wordd have enabled her to fill a gallery with 
 masterpieces of modern and ancient art, could not alter one of 
 these defects. She had her fair share of natural abilities ; but 
 none of the rare talent that often more than supplies the lack 
 of surface beauty. And so it came to pass, though neither con- 
 fessed it to the other, that both father and daughter asked of 
 themselves the same dreary question, ‘ is it likely that any 
 man will come wooing here in truth and honour % ’ and got 
 from their hearts the same dreary answer. 
 
 Eut as she could not fret herself thin, Mary Welsted was 
 much too sensible a girl to fret herself to death over any dis- 
 pensation of Providence. She had a capital constitution, and 
 a keen appreciation of the good things of this life. When the 
 year of mourning for her father had expired — and very sincere 
 mourning it was — she went forth into the world with a firm de- 
 termination to make the best of it. Her chief guardian was a 
 wise and prudent elder, able and willing to take excellent care 
 of his ward’s temporal concerns, but utterly unfitted to escort 
 her in society. Indeed, his name, so honoured on ’Change, 
 was scarcely known west of The Ear. 
 
 Lady Mandrake was the Welsteds’ nearest country neigh- 
 bour. She was a dame of stainless repute, and had married 
 off both her own daughters creditably. So to her care the 
 orphan heiress was committed, and she readily undertook the 
 charge. 
 
 There is not much perhaps of the ancient Eoman about the 
 modern fortune-hunter ; but Vespasian himself could not be 
 more philosophically indifferent as to the source of the golden 
 stream wherein he would slake his thirst. However, this par- 
 ticular Pactolus might have been traced to its fountain- 
 head, without aught being discovered to offend the most 
 squeamish nostrils. Even in point of birth there was not much 
 to quarrel with : Miss Welsted’s hither, and grandfather to 
 boot, were ^ esquires by act of parliament ; ’ and her mother 
 sprung, to say the least of it, from the haute bourgeoisie. So 
 
204 
 
 lillEAKIlSG A butterfly; OK 
 
 at the advent of the new heiress, there was such a stir amongst 
 the aspirants and their patronesses, as might have been seen 
 in old times on Amsterdam quays when some stately argosy 
 dropped anchor, hailing from Indian waters. Men who, in 
 the days when Lady Mandrake had daughters on hand, had 
 voted her evenings slow, and only lounged in there for a few 
 minutes as an act of penance or duty, took pains to make their 
 invitations sure, and never hy any chance were engaged else- 
 where. The dame herself was much too shrewd and worldly- 
 wise not to he sensible of the difference ; but it chafed her not 
 a whit. Her own brood v/ere comfortably settled in their 
 well-feathered nests, and she bore no malice to the stranger for 
 wearing more gorgeous plumage. She estimated the import- 
 ance of her position aright, and made good use of it, you may 
 be sure : there is always a certain satisfaction in being courted, 
 be the proxy ever so palpable. 
 
 In the course of her first season Miss Welsted was credited 
 with three distinct offers, one of which seemed perfectly un- 
 exceptionable : all three were declined quite as decisively as 
 was consistent with courtesy. There was a good deal of 
 republicanism in this young person’s composition ; and for 
 aristocrats, as a class, she had small veneration or liking, 
 though, socially speaking, she found them easier to get on 
 with than the scions of the plutocracy. But a partner for a 
 cotillon, and a partner for life, are two very different things. 
 She had no mind to enter a great family, where she might 
 expect such a welcome as a poor, proud German princeling 
 might accord to some potent Hebrew financier. She did not 
 fancy that the faults of her figure and face could be amended 
 by the wearing of a coronet or peeress’ robes ; and she thought 
 there were better investments than contingent reversions ever 
 so brilliant and proximate. If it must needs be a question of 
 barter, she was resolved at least to have her money’s worth in 
 the ample fulfilment of her own fancy. Moreover, by receiv- 
 ing nothing while she bestowed all, she had at least a chance 
 of securing gratitude, even if she failed in winning love. 
 
 Lady Mandrake — a stanch Conservative in all her ways 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 205 
 
 — had little sympathy with such Eaclical notions ; hut, even if 
 she had not been content to prolong her own pleasant respon- 
 sibility, she was too discreet to urge her charge into matrimony 
 generally, much less to compromise herself by advocating any 
 special suitor’s claims. Yet dark and overcast waxed the brow 
 of the august matron when, early in their second season, she 
 discovered that her heiress was no longer fancy free, and 
 guessed where the preference had fallen. 
 
 Miss Welsted was intensely fond of vocal music ; and 
 amongst her physical defects a weak, intractable organ was the 
 one she regretted most. Just before leaving town in the pre- 
 vious summer, she heard Horace Kendall’s voice for the first 
 time. It seemed to her that she had never listened to its 
 equal. Many others sang that night — he, not again : but 
 Mary Welsted went home with certain cadences floating in 
 her ears which haunted them long and often afterwards — 
 cadences of that wonderful love- song, all the more passionate 
 because there mingle in it so many notes of a dirge, the fare- 
 well of the doomed troubadour. 
 
 She was not one of those who, if a fancy cannot instantly 
 be gratified, straightway forget it and take up a new one. All 
 through the autumn and winter she kept one purpose steadily 
 before her — the becoming acquainted with Horace Kendall. 
 She came to town in the middle of the ensuing April, and 
 before the 1st of May they were almost intimate. 
 
 Kow, it might reasonably have been supposed, that further 
 acquaintance with Horace Kendall would have been the best 
 possible cure for the distemper of her fancy. The stage tricks 
 and mannerisms that might dazzle a romantic school-girl ought 
 surely never to have beguiled plain common sense like Mary 
 Welsted’s. There were his voice and face to be sure; yet one 
 would have thought, that something more than mere attraction 
 of eye and ear would have been needed to enthrall such a cha- 
 racter as hers. But the whims of even strong-minded women 
 are not to be measured by any rule, unless it be the rule of 
 contraries. Day by day the preference of the heiress for the 
 penniless adventurer — for such she knew Kendall to be — 
 
206 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 waxed stronger ; nor was she careful to conceal it. Whilst the 
 season was yet young, others besides Tiernan guessed that the 
 ‘ W elsted Cup was not now such an open race ; ’ and the 
 attendances at Lady Mandrake’s evenings fell off perceptibly. 
 
 The strangest thing of all was, that Kendall himself should 
 so far have manifested no great eagerness to profit by his van- 
 tage-ground. His wildest dreams of ambition could scarcely 
 have imagined a richer prize than that which seemed hanging 
 witliin his grasp — a prize, moreover, to which men worthier 
 tenfold than himself were known to aspire : yet he hesitated 
 to pluck it. Was it a cold calculation of the chances that 
 caused him to forbear ? Or is there in the old worn adage, 
 Nemo rejpente fuit turpissimus, some truth after all h Selfish 
 and treacherous and cruel as he was, there was, perchance, 
 enough of the red Provencal blood in the veins of Adele De- 
 shon’s son to make him hesitate betwixt such a scanty dowry 
 as Gwendoline Marston could bring, and the horn of plenty 
 held in the larger hands of the Loamshire heiress. More- 
 over, in the lighter scale there were cast the attractions of title 
 and ancestry — ahvays so tempting to the basely-born. So, for 
 a while, the balance swayed almost evenly. 
 
 Miss Welsted was as well aware of the state of things as if 
 Kendall had confessed it in so many words. Matters had not 
 yet come to such a pass betwixt them, that she could question 
 his actions, or indeed give any outward sign of jealous discon- 
 tent. But because she sedulously avoided even the mention of 
 her rival’s name, it is not to be supposed that, either waking or 
 sleeping, she ignored the other’s existence, or hated her a whit 
 less bitterly. Kendall was, as you know, forced to be very 
 guarded in his bearing towards Kina Marston ; but Mary 
 Welsted, shortsighted as she was, saw many things to which 
 the world in general was blind- and often, as she drove 
 homewards through the night by the side of her dozing 
 chaperon, angry tears wetted, without cooling, her aching eyes. 
 
 The heiress, as you will perceive, held undeniably strong 
 cards, but not absolutely a game-hand, unless properly led up 
 to. Such aid was rendered from an unexpected quarter, and 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLTE^S ENDING. 207 
 
 quite iindesignedly. Lord Daventry — liis eldest son being 
 yet of tender years — concerned himself not with the ^ good 
 things’ of the marriage-market, and perhaps had not so 
 much as heard of Miss AYelsted’s name. If he had been a 
 paid agent, he could not have forwarded her purposes more 
 effectually than he did on a certain morning whereof mention 
 has been made above. 
 
 A brave man who, either from force of circumstances or 
 consciousness of being fearfully in the wrong, has endured in- 
 sult vfithout resenting it, may, when the first bitterness is 
 past, bear no malice to his adversary ; but very seldom, since 
 the world began, has a coward forgiven the person that 
 wrought him dishonour, or even those who indirectly had art 
 or part therein. Therefore you may judge in v/hat frame of 
 mind Kendall left Kensington Gardens after his interview 
 with Kina’s father. All that day and evening, though he 
 went into society as usual, he brooded over it, till he came to 
 look on every one bearing the name of Marston as his natural 
 enemy. It was with no gentler feeling that he tore open a 
 note brought by the next morning’s post ; neither did his heart 
 soften a whit as he read. Thus it ran : 
 
 ' I ought to believe that these are the last ivords I shall ever 
 twite to you : yet I cannot believe it. They must be the last 
 for a long^ long time to come ; for I have jjromised. It is no 
 use struggling now : perhaps some day I shall not be utterly 
 helpless ; and then, if you still care, you shall see. You would 
 not loolc up as I passed this morning. Even if papa spohe 
 harshly — it tooidd not be like him if he did — you cannot pos- 
 sibly be angry with me. That would be too hard. I don't 
 think you ever guessed — perhaps it is as tvell you never should 
 guess note — how much I cared for you. 
 
 do so wish I could make you believe that, till I know 
 for certain that you have quite given me up, I shall never do or 
 say a single thing you need mind. It is very foolish : but I 
 can't help hoping still that, if we were both patient and true, 
 we might win the battle yet. At least, I mean to try ; and will 
 you not try too ? You must not speak to me if we meet, a,nd 
 
208 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 you must not answer this : it might make mme mischief. No- 
 thing that you can write would make me trust you more 
 thoroughly than I do ; and I would not fetter you with any 
 promises., even if I could. My fetter has brought had luck 
 enough already. I send you back the key. Don't throw the 
 poor thing aivay, though it got us into th is scrape ; hut look at 
 it whenever you want to he reminded of me. And noic, good- 
 bye, dear. I pray — so earnestly — that God ivill make and 
 keep you happy, even if I never hear you say “ Nina" again.' 
 
 He unlocked the armlet at once, and flung it from him 
 with a coarse laugh, very unlike that soft, subdued one with 
 which society was familiar. 
 
 ^ Patient and true ! ” — that’s a modest suggestion. So 
 I am to live a sort of anchorite’s life for the next four years, 
 on the offchance of her people’s changing their mind, or of her 
 being in the same when she comes to be her own mistress. 
 Pas si hete, mademoiselle ! We have had enough of child’s- 
 play and sentimentality. I have a much better game to play; 
 and I’ll play it out in earnest now, by G — ! ’ 
 
 Every word in that letter was natural, and came straight 
 from the heart ; yet every word in it was penned with infinite 
 care, in the earnest hope that it would plead for the writer in 
 the aftertime, when Gwendoline Marston and Horace Kendall 
 must before the world be strangers. Did it deserve to fare 
 better? Eor myself, I do not care to answer that question. 
 If damsels of high degree will derogate beyond reasonable 
 limits, perhaps it is as well they should be schooled somewhat 
 sharply. 
 
 Years ago I remember assisting at an agricultural meeting 
 in the Weald, which, after the serious toast-business had been 
 got through, resolved itself into a kind of harmonic meeting. 
 Late in the evening a big bass-voiced farmer obliged the com- 
 pany with a song that was evidently a special favourite. 
 Only the first out of some twoscore verses abides in my 
 memory : 
 
 ‘ Come, listen all unto my tale, 
 
 And ni tell ye how it began : 
 
lUANCHE ELLERSLTE S ENDIIsG. 
 
 209 
 
 It’s all along of a lady fair 
 That loved her serving-man.’ 
 
 Ill point of tune it was a very dolorous ditty ; but the de- 
 scription of the domestic felicity ensuing on the condescension 
 of the person of quality was cheerful in the extreme. The 
 stalwart Kentishmen smote on the board till the goblets 
 jingled again — applauding, as it seemed, the sentiment no less 
 than the melody ; but if, the next morning, it had been noised 
 abroad that the daughter of a neighbouring squire had eloped 
 with her father’s bailiff, I believe every man there present 
 would have wagged his head disapprovingly, prophesying all 
 manner of evil concerning the delinquents. 
 
 The wedding-garment made up of diverse fabrics, even if 
 it be becoming, is seldom lasting — ay, though the cloth-of-gold 
 be worn by so gracious a lady as the Duchess Mary, and the 
 •cloth-of-frieze by so proper a gallant as Charles Brandon. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXY. 
 
 ^ XoT wish to believe you ? Why, I would give half I am 
 worth — more than that — half my life, to believe ! ’ 
 
 Mary Welsted spoke these words with a passion quite 
 foreign to her steady, well-regulated temper. What liad so 
 moved her you shall hear. 
 
 Since Horace Kendall resolved within himself to put aside 
 ^ child’s-play,’ and to foUow up in earnest the better thing, he 
 had shown no lack of either tact or energy. Xot that there 
 was any great need of either. Mary Welsted was one of those 
 downright women whose likes and dislikes are not easy to be 
 misinterpreted ; and who, however humble in other matters, 
 are apt occasionally to usurp royal privileges, by doing more 
 than the passive share of courtship. She preferred Horace 
 Kendall to all the world, and was not a whit loth that all the 
 world — including, of course, the object of her preference — 
 
210 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 should he made aware of the fact. Whether that preference- 
 was wise or no, was quite another matter. She may possibly 
 have asked herself that question more than once ; hut for 
 some time past she had ceased to discuss it with herself, 
 much less with others. 
 
 It is not to he supposed that a model chaperon like Lady 
 Mandrake would approve, or even connive at, such a dere- 
 liction in social duty as she was now compelled to vvdtness 
 almost daily. hTeither did the august matron coniine her 
 protest to dumh-show ; hut, on one occasion, spoke her mind 
 pretty plainly. 
 
 ^ I am not thinking of money, my dear. If you had 
 decided on marrying poor Hugo Clermont, who is crihle de 
 dettes, and never can have more than three hundred a-year of 
 his own, I should not have heen surprised ; for you can per- 
 fectly well afford it, and you would have gained something 
 like a Position ’ (it was quite a treat to hear Lady Mandrake 
 enunciate this word), ‘ at all events. There is no need to look 
 into Burke to find out who the Clermonts are. But here — 
 good gracious ! — what do you, what does any one, know about 
 Mr Kendall, except that he is a clerk in the Eescript Office, 
 with a fine voice, and a presentable face '? If that’s all you 
 look for in a husband, I wonder you don’t choose Piorelli 
 from the Mesopotamian. His singing is infinitely better than 
 the other’s ; and he’s much better looking, to my mind.’ 
 
 Miss Welsted flushed angrily ; yet she chose to answer 
 only the first part of the diatribe. 
 
 ^ There is no accounting for taste, of course ; but I wonder 
 you could not suggest somebody more attractive than Hugo 
 Clermont — a creature vfith a head like a barber’s block, and 
 not five ideas inside it.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know how many ideas he may have,’ the elder 
 lady retorted ; ^ but he expresses them like a gentleman, at all 
 events, and that is more than can be said of Mr Kendall. 
 His affectations are the most palpable counterfeits ; it quite 
 fidgets me to watch him sometimes.’ 
 
 ‘ I never denied that Mr Clermont was a gentleman,’ the 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 211 
 
 other remarked : ‘ I never supposed a cousin of yours could 
 be anything else. Perhaps it is my fault that we can’t get on 
 together. It is only quite lately that I have mixed in good 
 society, remember. I dare say Mr Kendalls manner is not 
 perfect ; but it does not shock or fidget me. It is very true 
 that we know nothing about his family, and perhaps Burke 
 knows nothing either. Well, if I marry him, there will be 
 no one to patronize me ; that’s one comfort, and not a small 
 one either.’ 
 
 Lady Mandrake drew herself up majestically. She was 
 a just and upright person in the main, though somewhat of a 
 schemer, and throughout this affair had certainly been inno- 
 cent of nepotism. 
 
 ‘ I think you will regret that taunt about my cousin when 
 you are cooler. Miss Welsted ; I have scarcely deserved it. I 
 spoke according to my own ideas of duty. They are old- 
 fashioned, perhaps ; but I am not likely to change them. I 
 did not pretend to any authority over you : I am not your 
 guardian, and you are only under my charge so long as it suits 
 your pleasure. I ought to apologize, for having spoken to 
 you as if you were my own daughter.’ 
 
 Mary Welsted’s temper, although sufficiently obstinate, 
 was not rancorous. When she felt lierself in the wrong, she 
 was ready enough to confess it. 
 
 ‘ I am sorry already. Lady Mandrake,’ she said bluntly^ 
 ‘ and of course it’s I who ought to apologize. You have been 
 only too kind to me all along, and I am not going to quarrel 
 with you for telling me I am a fool. I dare say I am ; but I 
 can’t help it. Isn’t there a Pools’ Paradise somewhere or 
 other ? Perhaps they will let us in there ; and you will 
 come and see us sometimes, I know, though you do look so 
 grumpy about it. And now you are going to give me a kiss 
 and make it up.’ 
 
 The elder dame did not put back the olive-branch or re- 
 fuse the salute ; but, whilst she bestowed it, she grumbled 
 something under her breath about such infatuation being per- 
 fectly sinful. 
 
212 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ^ Well, tlie sin must rest on my own shoulders,’ Mary Wel- 
 sted said with a laugh, ^ and they can hear it.’ 
 
 As she s2:)oke she glanced, with a kind of quaint humour, 
 at the reflection of her own substantial person in the mirror 
 hard by. 
 
 Thus the course of courtship ran on smoothly enough 
 — so smoothly that Horace Kendall, with all his fatuity, was 
 sometimes surprised with the progress he made. It was 
 strange certainly that the set speeches, which, even in the ears 
 of such a romantic child as Kina Marston, did not always 
 ring true, should pass current with one whose sound common 
 sense verged on strong-mindedness. Kor, in very deed, was 
 Miss Welsted always, or even often, imposed upon. She 
 drank the poison — drank it greedily too — knowing it to be 
 poison all the while. It was the old story of the opium-eater 
 repeating itself, as it will do to the end of Time. The warn- 
 ing of all the doctors in Christendom cannot open the victim’s 
 eyes more thoroughly than they are opened already to the pro- 
 perties of the fatal herb : he knows better than you can tell 
 him what a price must be paid for each delicious dream ; and 
 yet it would be easier to keej) the wounded hart away from 
 the water-brook than to teach him to refrain. Kevertheless, 
 the heiress was not so entirely given up to her own devices, 
 but that she hesitated a little when she had to answer to a 
 direct question ^ Yea’ or ^Kay;’ and, when Mr Kendall be- 
 came plaintive about her not wishing to believe in the dis- 
 interestedness of his attachment, it was with a bitterness 
 savouring of self-contempt that she spoke the words set down 
 at the commencement of this chapter. 
 
 Kendall was not really much discouraged by this reply ; 
 but if his aspirations had been crushed decisively, his tone 
 and manner could not have been more tenderly reproachful. 
 
 ‘ Is it so impossible, then, for a poor man to be honest ? 
 Will you judge only as the world judges! I thought — I 
 hoped — ^you would judge differently. Surely it was cruel not 
 to have spared me this.’ 
 
 ^ There is no cruelty in the ca^e,’ she retorted in her ah- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 213 
 
 rupt way : ‘ on my side, at least, there have been no false pre- 
 tences. To the question you asked me just now I answer 
 ‘^Yes.” Wait, don’t come any nearer yet. Having said so 
 much, I say again that I would give half my life to feel quite 
 sure that if I had been portionless — ay, or not richer than 
 Gwendoline Marston — I should have heard you speak as you 
 have spoken to-day.’ 
 
 In the flush of success Kendall had risen to his feet, with 
 the evident intention of enacting all the forms of gratitude 
 suitable to the circumstances ; but that impulse was checked, 
 as you perceive ; and, as he stood still at a respectful distance 
 from his afflanced, his demeanour was scarcely that of a tri- 
 umphant lover. 
 
 ^ So you will half trust me in spite of worldly wisdom — 
 Mary'?’ (A slight pause made the word fall all the more 
 musically.) ‘ Whole trust will come in time, I know ; and I 
 will he patient till it does come. I am glad you mentioned 
 that name ; for if you have a shadow of suspicion in that quarter 
 henceforth it will he your own fault, not mine. I don’t deny 
 that I have admired Lady Gwendoline ; hut I declare, on my 
 honour, that I ceased to think of her before I ever thought 
 liopefully of winning you.’ 
 
 A dignified disclaimer, was it not, to he uttered hy the lips 
 of Adele Deshon’s soul Yery rarely, be sure, does even a 
 sensible woman see any outrageous absurdity in the self-assertion 
 of the man she loves, when it is made at the expense of her 
 own sex. Conquests for which Edwin would not gain credit 
 with the most simple-minded of his club intimates he may 
 parade before xingelina, in the comfortable assurance not only 
 of their being implicitly believed, but of their being retailed 
 afterwards, under the strictest seal of secrecy, to Angelina’s 
 select circle. And the odd part of it is, that it is not only the 
 lady-paramount of Edwin’s affections who is thus jealous of his 
 amative renown. Araminta, whom everybody said he jilted 
 so infamously, when she had finished bewailing her virginity, 
 or widowhood, as the case may be, seems equally anxious 
 to prove that his fascinations have been fatal to others be- 
 
214 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 sides her hapless self, and will resent incredulity quite as 
 fiercely. 
 
 Her suitor’s sultanesque pose did not strike Mary Welsted 
 as ridiculous. On the contrary, she felt more satisfied than 
 she had hitherto done that he was speaking truth ; and so per- 
 haps he was, or just so much of it as the Father of Lies would 
 choose for the seasoning of his subtlest falsehood. Kendall 
 was indeed definitely severed from Kina Marston, before he 
 seriously urged his suit to her rival. How the severance was 
 effected was, of course, beside the question. 
 
 ‘ Ceased to think of her ’ ^ 
 
 Why, even whilst he was gazing into the dull, iinexpress- 
 ive orbs, that after his most rapturous tirades scarcely bright- 
 ened, he remembered what a light and lustre used to fill the 
 superb Spanish eyes ; and even while he spoke of trust and 
 patience he remembered who wrote, so lately, ‘ Only be patient 
 and true.’ 
 
 Though she had fair intuitive powers. Miss Welsted guess- 
 ed at not one syllable of all this. And though the misgiving 
 that she was acting unwisely had not vanished entirely, she 
 had perhaps never felt happier in her life than when she 
 stretched forth her hand to her lover as he finished speaking. 
 
 It was an honest workaday hand, sufficiently white, but 
 without any pretensions to elegance, and scarcely to be com- 
 pressed into liberal ‘ sevens.’ These defects had never been 
 so palpable to Horace as when he stooped and pressed the mass- 
 ive fingers to his lips ; but he executed himseK bravely, and 
 held them there quite as long as was becoming. Kor was he 
 less successful in the achievement of the betrothal embrace, 
 which shortly afterwards ensued, nevertheless, when Miss 
 Welsted hinted that she would prefer being left alone, he ac- 
 cepted his dismissal very patiently, on the condition of their 
 meeting later in the evening ; and if you had crossed him on 
 his way homeward, you would scarcely have guessed that you 
 looked on the winner of the great prize in that season’s lottery. 
 
 The jDotent seniors who on summer afternoons congregate 
 in a special window of the Sanctorium are not prone to indulge 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 215 
 
 in idle gossip. The subjects there are for the most part such as 
 are likely to interest, on political or other grounds, men hold- 
 ing a stake in the country. The scandal and chit-chat of the 
 hour they leave to the smoking- and billiard-rooms, where is 
 found the lighter-minded leaven of that august society. ]^ever- 
 theless, on the following day, the Welsted engagement was 
 fully discussed at this conclave ; and Lord hlithsdale thought 
 the news of sufficient importance to warrant an inroad into his 
 wife’s dressing-room before dinner. 
 
 ‘ We need not have been anxious about Mna after all,’ he 
 observed ; ‘ Mr KendaK had much more substantial objects in 
 view, it seems, than a foolish flirtation.’ 
 
 The Lady Rose bit her lips, as if the intelligence only 
 half-pleased her. 
 
 ‘ More substantial, certainly, in every way. Well, some 
 people’s luck is quite provoking ; I have no patience with it.’ 
 
 Lord Mthsdale smiled ^gravely, ^ot particularly keen- 
 sighted in ordinary matters, he had begun already to interpret 
 his wife’s thoughts very accurately. 
 
 ‘ So you had designs on the heiress for one of your pro- 
 teges, Rosie ? I am sorry you are disappointed ; but it almost 
 serves you right. You should leave match-making to older 
 and wiser heads.’ 
 
 The Countess could not deny the imputation. She had 
 never yet mentioned the scheme to the person chiefly inter- 
 ested therein : but she had certainly speculated as to Avenel’s 
 chances of success, if he could be induced to lay serious siege 
 to the heiress. It was so pleasant to fancy Regy a million- 
 naire, and with such a perfect temper he was sure to make any 
 woman happy. She had laid quite a train of combinations 
 for bringing them, together ; and here were all these ingenious 
 schemes shivered as hopelessly as Alnaschar’s glass. 
 
 ‘ Hever mind what I meant,’ she said rather impatiently. 
 
 ^ If I am disappointed, I dare say I am not the only one. I 
 suppose one ought to pity poor Miss Welsted ; but I have no 
 compassion to spare for people I hardly know. I wonder what 
 Yina wiU say to it. I have not heard her mention his name 
 
216 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 lately, and I fancy they have very seldom met. I am to take 
 her to the Martindales’ hall to-night. Mamma is still nursing 
 her cold.’ 
 
 The season was thinning out ; hut the Martindales’ enter- 
 tainment was always crowded. Their rooms were perfect for 
 dancing, and their suppers something to eat, and not to dream 
 of afterwards. The drive thither from Carrington Crescent, 
 where Lady Mthsdale picked up her sister, was a very short 
 one. JS’evertheless, the Countess found time to say : 
 
 ^Have you heard the last piece of news, hTina? Miss 
 Welsted, the great heiress, you know, is engaged at last.’ 
 
 ^ Engaged ? k^'ot to Eegy Avenel hy any chance 1 ’ the 
 other asked in the listless way that had come over her of late. 
 
 ^ hTo such luck,’ the Countess retorted pettishly. ^ As 
 papa would say — a rank outsider, who ought never to have 
 been in the race. There, you would never guess. It’s your 
 friend — not mine, thank goodness ! — Mr Kendall.’ 
 
 Rose Kithsdale was the tenderest-hearted creature breath- 
 ing. She would not willingly have dealt to her bitterest 
 enemy such a stab as she now dealt to her pet sister ; but she 
 was utterly in the dark, you must remember, as to the state of 
 Mna’s feelings, and had no reason to suspect that she touched 
 anything more sensitive than a foolish fancy, cured long ago. 
 
 Gwendohne Marston reared herself out of the corner 
 where she leant, and sat for a few seconds quite upright, with- 
 out speaking. Then she said in a slow, measured voice, like a 
 child repeating a lesson painfully learned by rote : 
 
 ^ Horace — Kendall — and this is true 1 ’ 
 
 ‘Perfectly true,’ Lady Kithsdale returned indifferently.. 
 ‘Hugh brought it from the Sanctorium this afternoon, and 
 they don’t deal in canards there. A curious piece of luck, 
 isn’t it % Eut you needn’t look so thunderstricken.’ 
 
 A lamp flashed in just then on Kina’s wide fixed eyes ; 
 and, at the same instant, there flashed across Lady Kiths- 
 dale’s mind a vague suspicion of the truth — a suspicion which, 
 had it come a little sooner, would have made her bite her 
 tongue through rather than speak so carelessly 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 217 
 
 One word in the last sentence was not so ill-chosen, after 
 all. Walking along the conventional paths of society, with 
 no Asmodean advantages, we may he reminded now and then 
 of poor Duchess May, when 
 
 She stood up in hitter case, 
 
 With a pale and steadfast face ; 
 
 Toll slowly. 
 
 Like a statue thunderstrook, 
 
 That, though shiver’d, seems to look 
 Right against the thunder-place. 
 
 But, before Lady Mthsdale could put either pity or 
 penitence into words, Mna sank back into her corner again, 
 closing her eyes. 
 
 ^We shall see them to-night, I suppose?' she said quite 
 quietly. 
 
 And then Lady Mthsdale knew that, whatever sorroAv 
 might be lying at her little sister’s heart, there was no fear 
 that the world would be made ware of it. She did not answer 
 the half-question : but her hand somehow stole into hfina’s ; 
 and the ghd held it fast, as one who, even with some such 
 help, can scarcely master a paroxysm of pain. She was hold- 
 ing it so still, when their carriage stopped at the Martindales’ 
 door. 
 
 As she followed her sister up the staircase, she overheard 
 a whisper — ‘ Looks wonderfully handsome to-night.’ She 
 knew perfectly well for whom the remark was meant ; and 
 smiled a saucy smile, and lifted her haughty little head like a 
 thorough Marston. All know their motto — -Poinct Faillir. 
 
 As the sisters passed through the first door they came upon 
 Avenel, who was evidently waiting for them. 
 
 ‘ You are engaged to me for the next waltz, L^ina, remem- 
 ber,’ he said. 
 
 The girl understood him quite well ; and, as she took his 
 arm, looked up into his face gratefully. And Lady Nithsdale 
 did so, partly at least ; for she did not feel surprised, much 
 less vexed, at what, under any other circumstances, she would 
 have considered a breach of allegiance. 
 
218 
 
 lUlEAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 ‘ Are — are they here 'I ’ Mna asked almost inaudily, when 
 they had made some way through the throng. 
 
 ‘ Yes,’ he answered. And so they moved on slowly and 
 silently, till they came over against a group in the second 
 saloon, at which many glances had already been levelled. 
 
 By virtue of seniority. Lady Mandrake was the chief per- 
 sonage therein. The aspect of the worthy dame was de- 
 cidedly louring. She sate there ujDright and grim, with the 
 air of one determined to carry out to the letter a certain duty 
 without dissembling a distaste for it. Close to her stood 
 Horace Kendall, who had scarcely yet learned to bear himself 
 quite as becomes an accepted suitor. He had answered several 
 congratulations — for the engagement was now publicly an- 
 nounced — cleverly enough; nevertheless, he seemed nervous 
 and ill at ease ; and ever and anon glanced over his shoulder, 
 as if he expected something or somebody to appear. Last, 
 though certainly not least, of the trio was Miss Welsted her- 
 self. Even a partial friend must have allowed that the heiress 
 was not looking her best that evening. The last few days had 
 been full of excitement; and excitement on sanguine com- 
 plexions like hers tells very unbecomingly. Somehow, too, 
 lier dress — brilliant azure, trimmed with lace — ^rather seemed 
 to enhance than to tone down this effect. 
 
 ^ I can’t look at her, without humming The Eed, White, 
 and Blue,” ’ Harry Jekyl observed. And truly the parallel, 
 though malicious, was not inapt. 
 
 Seeing her chaperone execute a salute d la Commandeur — 
 Lady Mandrake on this especial evening was chary of even 
 such stony civilities — Miss Welsted looked up to see v/ho was 
 thus favoured ; and thus her eyes and Gwendoline Marston’s 
 met. The heiress was as self-possessed and self-reliant a per- 
 son as you could easily find ; but she certainly was not equal 
 to this occasion. She read, thorougMy well, the meaning of 
 the satiric glance that roved all over her own expansive figure ; 
 and she knew that the comparison was not drawn by herself 
 alone, betwixt her uncouth contours and the other’s lithesome 
 grace. Had she been on speaking terms with her rival, her 
 
BLANCHE ELLEESLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 219 
 
 position would have been less embarrassing. Anything, in 
 fact, would have been better than sitting there helplessly, con- 
 scious of growing hotter and redder every instant. 
 
 A disinterested bystander might have been provoked, if 
 he could have detected the passion working then within those 
 two women — each of them in their own way worthy of honest 
 love — and have realized for whose sake such passion was 
 stirred. ^N^evertheless, there was nothing strange in this. All 
 who have read King Lear will remember how the peace and 
 honour of two royal houses were woefully Avrecked, only that 
 the false, fair-faced bastard might be able to boast as he lay 
 a-dying— 
 
 Yet Edmund was beloved. 
 
 Kendall’s attention had been called off for a moment ; but, 
 turning his head as a person to Avhom he had been speaking 
 passed on, he saw the disturbance on the face of his be- 
 trothed and — its cause. To say, that he Avas put to con- 
 fusion, very faintly expresses Horace’s state of mind. His 
 cunning, or tact, if you like to call it so, could carry him 
 through any small dilemma ; but it Avas quite useless in an 
 emergency like this. He Avas quick-Avitted enough to compre- 
 hend the significance of Kina’s appearance, leaning on the 
 arm of the man Avho had so lately put him to open shame, and 
 to feel that there could no longer be peace, or even a holloAV 
 truce, betwixt himself and Lord Daventry’s daughter. More- 
 over, he saAV that Avenel Avas Avell aAvare of his embarrassment, 
 and relished it keenly. A desperate impulse, that he could 
 not afterAvards account for, prompted him to take a step for- 
 AA^ard, half stretching out his hand. A faint smile shoAved 
 that the gesture Avas not lost on Lady GAvendoline Marston : 
 then, Avith a slight bend of her slender neck, she glided aAvay 
 through an opening in the throng. 
 
 Ko cut direct could haA^e been half so galling as that cold, 
 quiet fareAvell. Yet fareAvells less bitter have been spoken on 
 the decks of outAvard-bound ships, by those Avho could never 
 hope to meet again on earth; ay, and on death-beds, by those 
 
220 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 who, unless the mercy of Heaven be boundless, could scarcely 
 liope to meet again in eternity ! 
 
 ‘You are a trump, Mnal’ Avenel muttered; ‘you did 
 that superbly.’ 
 
 She glanced up at him with the prettiest disdain. 
 
 ‘ Did you think I was going to scream, or faint, or amuse 
 all these people with a scene h Merci ! Did you not tell me, 
 not so long ago, that I was too young for stage tricks h I think 
 I am too young to wear willow either, even if wreaths were 
 not out of fashion. Didn’t they look happy h But if happi- 
 ness makes one look so hot and red, I think I should prefer a 
 little mild melancholy. I don’t wonder quite so much now 
 that Eosie found you intractable. Ah, you needn’t look un- 
 conscious ; I know what has been her pet scheme lately. She 
 certainly is overwhelming ! ’ 
 
 ‘ It will take a wiser head than Lady Eose’s to make my 
 fortune,’ he answered gravely. ‘ Though it’s very nice to be 
 schemed for, I should make a poor prince-consort for such a 
 tremendous royalty.’ 
 
 Hot a word was spoken afterwards that the whole world 
 might not have listened to. Her partners — comparing notes, 
 at Platt’s, far into the small hours — agreed unanimously that 
 Gwendoline Marston was in ‘rij)ping form’ that evening; and 
 Lady Hithsdale — watching her little sister, anxiously, for a 
 while — felt sure that no harm had been done beyond a heart- 
 graze, already nearly healed. Let us assume that they all 
 Avere right. If Ave can carry our OAvn burdens lightly, Avithout 
 stooping or staggering, there is surely no laAV that obliges us 
 to lay them in the scale, that busybodies may test their Aveight 
 to a grain. 
 
 As the croAvd closed in behind Avenel and his companion, 
 Kendal dreAV his breath hard, like a man relieved of some 
 choking pressure ; and, leaning over Miss Welsted, tried to take 
 up the thread of conversation Avhere it had been broken off 
 some minutes before. But that he spoke, and she listened, under 
 a certain constraint Avas perfectly evident. Lady Mandrake’s 
 voice had seldom sounded so pleasantly in Horace’s ears as 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 221 
 
 when, after a whispered conversation with her charge, she 
 asked him to call her carriage. 
 
 Soon afterwards he found himself in the smoking-room of 
 his club, listening to the comments, wondering or envious, on 
 the brilliant change in his prospects. Eut all this incense — 
 under the semblance of unconcern, he inhaled it greedily 
 enough, Heaven knoAvs — did not so possess Kendall’s brain, 
 as to bring placid sleep, or to baffle the busy mockers of 
 Dreamland. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXYI. 
 
 When the affianced couple met on the folloAving day, no 
 allusion was made by either to the rencontre of the previous 
 evening. Kendall, of course, was not likely to broach the 
 subject ; and Mary Welsted had tact enough to see that it was 
 best avoided. It was abundantly clear that no rivalry or inter- 
 ference was to be apprehended thenceforth from Gwendoline 
 Marston ; and, like a sensible woman, she Avas content to profit 
 by the present without raking up the past, nevertheless — 
 much, it must be owned, to Horace’s relief — it Avas evident 
 that she neither expected nor desired demonstrative love- 
 making j and their common future Avas discussed in an ex- 
 ceedingly matter-of-fact Avay. Whatever might have been 
 the heiress’s faults, avarice AA^as not among them; and, if 
 her OAvn Avishes could have been carried out, there Avould have 
 been little trouble on the point of settlements. But they Avere 
 only wishes after all. 
 
 Xearly a year had still to elapse before she would cease to 
 be a minor : Avhilst her Avardship lasted she could not, AAuthout 
 the consent of her guardian, dispose of the smallest portion of 
 her inheritance. According to the provisions of her father’s 
 Avill,in case of her dying unmarried before attaining her majority, 
 the entire property would pass to her nearest male relative — a 
 
222 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY: OR 
 
 Yorkshire clergyman, endowed with a small living and a large 
 family. The testator hardly knew his cousin by sight ; but he 
 knew him to be an honest, honourable man, such a one as 
 might be trusted with the responsibility of founding a family. 
 Though James Welsted had personally no ambition, he was 
 not minded to leave the distribution of his great wealth to 
 chance, or to risk its being dribbled away through many chan- 
 nels ; still less did he fancy the idea of its furnishing a piece 
 de resistance for endless legal banquets. 
 
 This state of things was new, not to say startling, to Ken- 
 dall ; and, though he listened with much outward complacency, 
 the skein of his thoughts was somewhat ravelled. 
 
 Under the circumstances, would it not be well to defer the 
 marriage some nine months, so that the settlements might be 
 drawn up in accordance with the heiress’s own liberal notions, 
 rather than trust to such concessions as might be wrung from 
 the stern probity of her guardian — a stiff customer to deal with 
 if report spoke truth 1 On the other hand was to be taken into 
 consideration, the danger of Mary Welsted dying in the inter- 
 val ; but, reviewing the robust proportions of his betrothed, 
 Horace decided within himself that the risk was by no means 
 a formidable one. On the whole, he thought he would prefer 
 to Avait. HoAvever, as unnecessary delay did not appear to 
 enter into the lady’s calculations, he could not decently suggest 
 such a thing ; and Avas fain to accept the position Avith the 
 best possible grace. The heiress Avas to have an intervieAv 
 Avith her guardian that same day, and after this, perhaps, he 
 would see his Avay someAvhat clearer. 
 
 ^ What does your mother say ? ’ Miss Welsted asked, all at 
 once. ^ You have written to her, of course.’ 
 
 Horace almost started. This Avas the very first time, since 
 he left the bosom of his family, that any one had alluded to a 
 single member thereof. Eut his confusion only lasted a 
 minute or so. 
 
 ‘ She is in the seventh heaven, of course,’ he ansAvered. 
 ‘ Hoav could it be otherwise ? I do Avish I had brought her 
 letter to shoAv you ; though you Avould have laughed at it, I 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 223 
 
 dare say. My poor mother has not quite forgotten yet that she 
 was bred in Provence, and her fondness for me amounts to 
 infatuation.’ 
 
 ^ No, I shouldn’t have laughed ; and I shouldn’t have con- 
 sidered her so infatuated as you do. I wonder whether she’ll 
 hke me '? I am not what is called a taking person,” I am 
 afraid; but I get on pretty well with some people.’ 
 
 Any other than Horace Kendall would have been moved 
 by the earnestness of the homely face ; but his heart turned 
 towards her not a whit more tenderly. Neither then nor 
 thereafter did one better impulse hallow, were it but for an 
 instant, his sordid greed ; yet, as you may fancy, not the less 
 profuse was his lip-gratitude. 
 
 Pie would not listen to her if she spoke so unjustly of her- 
 self ; but, before she had known his mother a day, she would 
 have no such misgivings. To make them acquainted was the 
 thing he most wished ; only he had scarcely liked to propose it. 
 If she would not think herself neglected, he would run down 
 to Swetenham to-morrow, and persuade Mrs Kendall to come 
 up to town for a week at least. She was a sad stay-at- 
 home ; but now she would gladly return with him, he felt 
 sure. He need not be absent twenty-four hours. 
 
 His distaste for the unlucky girl to whom he had plighted 
 his troth scarcely amounted to antipathy; yet he caught 
 eagerly at the first excuse for absenting himself from her 
 presence. Before they were riveted, the golden fetters began 
 to gall ; and as she laid her hand upon his shoulder, with more 
 of trust and fondness than she had hitherto shown, it was not 
 compunction at the lie he was enacting that caused him to 
 shrink ever so little from the caress. 
 
 ‘ That is a good, kind thought,’ she said ; ^ and I thank 
 you for it. I hope you will persuade your mother to return 
 with you ; but don’t hurry back on my account : I promise 
 not to think myself neglected. It will be time enough for 
 you to face this awful guardian of mine, when you return. 
 Perhaps Iris growl will be the worst part of him after all.’ 
 
 So, on the following day, the affianced suitor betook him- 
 
224 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 self to Swetenliam. The fashion of his reception there will 
 he easy to imagine. A quarter of a century’s sojourn in the 
 land of fogs and frosts, had not sobered down Adele Deshon 
 to the level of decorous British matronhood ; and she could 
 be passionate in her joys and sorrows still, on much lighter 
 provocation than now, when there was a jirospect of her 
 Prince Charming being installed in a statelier castle than she 
 had ever dared to build for him in Cloudland. She was half- 
 tempted to bribe the church-ringers to welcome her son with 
 the full strength of their chimes ; and was only restrained by 
 the fear that such homage might be displeasing to its object, 
 with the uncertainty of whose taste it was not safe to trifle. 
 
 Any one who could have assisted invisibly at the family 
 party, must have been struck by the extraordinary coolness 
 with which Kendall pere listened to the details of the rare 
 good fortune that had befallen his only child. The expression 
 of his cold, crafty fox-face could never have been mistaken 
 for sympathy ; and his small eyes twinkled rather with 
 malicious cunning than parental pride. Soon after dinner he 
 took himself off on some pretext or other, and left the other 
 two to savour their triumph. 
 
 The evening — a pleasant one on the whole — did not pass 
 without a slight difference of opinion betwixt the pair. This 
 arose on a suggestion of Mrs Kendall, that her son should 
 write and com^municate the brilliant change in his prospects 
 to the squire of Yernon Mallory, who was still in enforced 
 exile. 
 
 ‘ He has had notliing but worry of late, poor fellow,’ 
 Adele said with a sigh ; ‘ and I know he would be pleased at 
 the news coming directly from you. This is not the time to 
 forget what we owe him.’ 
 
 Men of Kendall’s stamp are usually prone to spurn the 
 ladder by which they have mounted ; and, when the bridge has 
 once carried them safely over, care not how soon it goes to 
 ruin and wreck. 
 
 ‘ You know best what your own debts amount to, mother,’ 
 he said sneeringly. ‘ A place in the Eescript Office, and an 
 
BLANCHE ELLEBSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 225 
 
 odd Imndred or two to start me, I think about express mine. 
 I don’t see why I should trouble myself about it. The news 
 * will read quite as pleasantly when it comes from you.’ 
 
 Adele bit her lip — a full scarlet lip still — and the colour 
 sank in her face, as she pressed her hand on her side. 
 
 ‘Don’t speak like that,’ she said in a low, tremulous voice. 
 ‘ It hurts me. If you w^on’t do as much on your own account, 
 surely you will not refuse to do it on mine 1 ’ 
 
 The other apparently did not think it worth while to pro- 
 long the discussion. 
 
 ‘Yery well: ITi see about it,’ he grumbled. And with 
 this concession his mother was fain to be content. 
 
 Early on the following day Dr Kendall required a private 
 interview with his son. What he had to say — short, and very 
 much to the point — possibly did more credit to his head than 
 to his heart. There are things so unutterably base that, 
 whether they occur in the course of fact or fiction, they are 
 best left unrecorded. Therefore the arguments with which 
 the doctor enforced his claim — not an exorbitant one, it must 
 be owned— to share in the advantages of the proposed alliance 
 shall have no place here ; specially as their nature may easily 
 be guessed. 
 
 In spite of Miss Welsted’s freedom from prejudice and 
 large democratic views, it is by no means certain how she 
 would have received a secret that Dr Kendall might, had he 
 chosen, have revealed. At any rate, Horace did not choose to 
 make the experiment ; and he would have purchased silence at 
 a higher price than was now demanded. That he long ago 
 suspected, and more than suspected, the ugly truth, is most 
 probable ; but this was the first time it had been placed before 
 him in its bare deformity ; and he went out of his reputed 
 father’s presence much in the condition of a drummed-out 
 soldier, who, callous to all other ignominy, still winces a little 
 whilst the smart of the branding lasts. 
 
 Ko very hard words had passed between the two. It was 
 a mere question of exchange and barter. The younger man was 
 not wont to waste his heroics ; and the elder, if you had flung 
 
226 
 
 BREAKING A BUITERFLY ; OR 
 
 a crown-piece at his head with a curse, would ’ have stooped 
 contentedly to pick up the coin out of the kennel. 
 
 hTevertheless, hardly any consideration short of necessity 
 would have tempted Horace to tarry another night under 
 that roof. He said as much to his mother, indeed ; and, if her 
 preparations had not been so simple, she would have made no 
 demur about their hurried departure after looking once into 
 his face. 
 
 The journey back to town was not, strictly speaking, a 
 blithesome one. Though Kendall made not the slightest 
 allusion to the subject-matter of the morning’s interview, his 
 sullen silence was significant enough, even without the scowl 
 that ever and anon shot from under his bent brows ; and 
 Adele’s flushed cheeks, and drooping eyelids, showed that 
 there was womanhness enough left in her warped nature to 
 make her feel ill at ease in the presence of her son, since she 
 knew him to have been made aware, beyond the possibility of 
 a doubt, of her ancient shame. 
 
 Kothing could have been more radiant than the demeanour 
 of the pair when, on the following morning, they had audience 
 of Miss Welsted. Certainly the latter need not have disquiet- 
 ed herself as to how she would be welcomed by her future 
 mother-in-law. Perhaps a person of more refined taste might 
 have been somewhat oppressed by Mrs Kendall’s ‘ gushing ; ’ 
 but the heiress rather liked it than otherwise. It had the 
 charm of novelty ; for her lot had hitherto been cast amongst 
 staid and steady people ; and anything that was overstrained 
 she set down to Proven9al enthusiasm. 
 
 So everything went swimmingly on. The formidable 
 guardian — though he evidently regarded *his ward’s choice with 
 no great admiration or favour — showed himself more tractable 
 than had been expected ; and, before a week had passed, 
 Horace congratulated himself on not having hinted at the pos- 
 sibility of delay in completing the contract. 
 
 Miss Welsted’s presence at Kineton for a while was for 
 many reasons desirable ; so she proceeded thither — escorted 
 by Mr Carden, her guardian, and her quondam governess, who 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 227 
 
 liad for some time past performed such, sheep-dog duty as it 
 was beneath Lady Mandrake’s dignity to undertake. That 
 excellent chaperon bade adieu to her charge with much 
 civility and kindness ; hut she did not precisely weep upon 
 her neck, as she would probably have done had the match 
 been of her own making. It was with a certain reluctance — 
 she was so hampered by engagements, she said — that she pro- 
 mised positively to be present at the nuptials, that were to 
 take place early in September. 
 
 Although Horace could hardly be said to miss his be- 
 trothed, the days ensuing her departure dragged somewhat 
 heavily. They were days of perfect liberty ; for the laziest 
 Sybarite would not have murmured at occasional visits to Lin- 
 coln’s Inn on such pleasant business. However, he regretted, 
 now and then, that he had resigned his appointment in the 
 Kescript Office so hastily. He knew himself to be no favour- 
 ite there, and did not flatter himself that the congratulations 
 of his former fellows would be very sincere ; but, if he had 
 got no sympathy, he would at least have kno^vn that he was 
 envied — no mean satisfaction : it was a capital lounging-place 
 too ; for the work was nearly always nominal. He had not 
 even his mother to talk to or to tease ; for Mrs Kendall left 
 town the day after Miss Welsted. 
 
 I'he general exodus was now in full progress ; and a more 
 popular man than Kendall would not seldom have been con- 
 demned to a sohtary club-dinner. As he walked home after 
 one of those dreary repasts, he felt inclined to quarrel with 
 the conventionalities which prevented him just now from 
 being a guest at Kineton. If the place were ever so dull it 
 would be his own, or virtually his own, very soon ; and the 
 sense of proprietorship would make his walks abroad there 
 rather pleasant. He was tempted to invent some decent pre- 
 text that might excuse his running down, if only for a day. 
 A httle solitude will work wonders sometimes, in forcing 
 domestic affections that otherwise would be slow in flowering. 
 
 A reading-lamp was burning in his sitting-room when he 
 entered it. He glanced carelessly at his writing-talde, where 
 
 q2 
 
228 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Ills letters were usually laid, to see if any had come hy the 
 last post. There were no letters ; hut there was — a telegram. 
 
 The feats of the electric battery stand, clearly, first and 
 foremost amongst the achievements of this wonder-working 
 century : nevertheless, I have great doubts whether the span 
 of human existence is net materially affected hy the addi- 
 tional strain on the nerves. Gamblers on the Turf or Stock 
 Exchange, or even perfectly legitimate speculators, doubtless 
 get used to it. They flinch no more before the dusky-yellow 
 envelopes, than others do before the blue-wove packets, 
 directed in a fair clerkly hand, that add so materially to the 
 merriment of each Christmastide. But nine ordinary people 
 out of ten will be sensible of a certain sinking of the heart at 
 first sight of one of these messages, the import whereof they 
 cannot guess — or guess only too truly. 
 
 ^ 111 news travel apace,’ was a proverb in vogue long before 
 Volta was born; and even now-a-days, when our ships come 
 in, our correspondents are content as a rule to advise us thereof 
 by post. It is only when they have a wreck to announce — 
 the wreck perchance of our very last venture — that they work 
 the wires with a will. 
 
 Kendall would have treated any possible disaster that 
 could have befallen his neighbour Avith a calm philosophy ; 
 but, when it was a question of his own misfortune, his sensi- 
 bilities were wonderfully keen ; and you would not have sup- 
 posed that a grain of stoicism was to be found in his whole 
 composition. He felt sick and faint as he took up the omin- 
 ous missive, and his hand shook as he opened it. This is 
 what he read : 
 
 Kineton, 5.30 p . m . 
 
 A fearful accident has happened. Come immediedely. 
 
 J. Carden. 
 
 Kot a word as to who was the sufferer ; but that was quite 
 needless. There was but one life at Kineton in which he had 
 any interest, and this life, he knew very well, was the one 
 imperilled, if not already ended. Poring over the paper in a 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 229 
 
 dull, mecliaiiical way, he became at last aware, from the date 
 of its delivery at the London office, that the message must have 
 arrived within a few minutes of the time when he went out 
 after dressing. If he had got it then, he might just have 
 caught the down-mad ■ now, it was impossible to start before 
 morning. 
 
 He had just sense enough to realize this : he realized little 
 more, as he sat there staring with haggard, vacant eyes. 
 Amongst all the feelings seething within him there was not 
 one with which an honest man or woman would sympathize ; 
 yet if any of you who read these pages have spent one of those 
 awful periods of enforced inaction, when your presence is 
 urgently needed at some tragedy being enacted elsewhere, you 
 may, perchance, hold even such a creature as this not wholly 
 undeserving of pity. The brandy that he drank in the course 
 of the night would have stupefied him at any other time : now, 
 it only steadied his hands enough to enable them to pack a 
 few necessaries that he must take with him ; for before his 
 servant, who slept out of the house, could come in the morn- 
 ing, Horace hoped to be miles away. 
 
 He got to the station somehow, and took the first train, 
 though it was one of the slowest, and reached Kineton little 
 earlier than the express starting two hours later. But motion, 
 ever so dilatory, was better than sitting still. When he 
 reached his destination at last, he found a dog-cart waiting for 
 him. 
 
 ‘ How is your mistress 'i ’ he asked of the groom standing 
 at the horse’s head. 
 
 Kendall’s voice was so husky, that the man had almost to 
 guess at the words ; but, knowing what the first question 
 would be, he had his answer ready. 
 
 ‘ Mortal bad, sir. We all hoped you’d ha’ come by the 
 night-mail. I ’most doubt if you will find her alive now. 
 You had better let me drive, please ’ — Kendall was fumbling 
 helplessly with the reins — ^ The mare’s a bit awkward till she 
 gets into your hands, and we haven’t a minute to spare.’ 
 
 The distance was not great, and the trotting mare did it in 
 
230 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 fair match-time ; but before they drew up at Kineton hall-door^. 
 Horace had heard all the details of the disaster. 
 
 Miss Welsted had gone out in her pony-carriage as usual. 
 The tiger, occupying the tiny back-seat, was a mere child : she 
 had no other attendant ; for the governess who usually accom- 
 panied her chanced to be unwell that afternoon. The ponies 
 were young and rather hot ; but she had driven them several 
 times before, and they had never shown any symptom of vice. 
 The flies had fretted them, perhaps, while they were standing, 
 for they pulled more than usual, even at starting ; but Miss 
 Welsted, being strong in the wrist and perfectly fearless, — 
 though by no means a scientiflc whip, — rather liked this than 
 otherwise. They were about half-way down the avenue that 
 led to the lodge-gates, when one of the Highland cattle feed- 
 ing in the park rose suddenly from behind a patch of fern, and 
 bolted across the road. The ponies gave a mad bound that 
 started every bolt in the fore-carriage, and the next instant 
 they were away. 
 
 The solitary witness of what happened afterwards, besides 
 being stunned at the time, was too stupefied with terror and 
 grief to give a very clear account of it. 
 
 ‘ His mistress did not seem much frightened,’ he said ; 
 and she never screamed out once. Eut, as they tore round 
 the last turn and came in sight of the lodge, he heard her say, 
 quite softly — God help us ! They are shut ! ” Then he 
 stood up and screamed with all his might, to open the gates ; 
 but the lodge-keeper ran out a second too late.’ 
 
 Perhaps the runaways could not have stopped themselves 
 then if they would. At any rate, they never slackened their 
 pace, but crashed full front against the bars. The shock 
 pitched the lad — a mere featherweight — sheer over the fence 
 amongst the garden-shrubs. When his senses came back, he 
 saw amongst the wreck of iron and wood — for the gates too 
 were shattered — one of the ponies stone-dead and the other 
 helplessly maimed, and his mistress in the lodge-keeper’s arms 
 -—lying white and still. 
 
 Mary Welsted was not dead ; though, when the doctor 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE'S ENDING. 
 
 231 
 
 saw her half-an-hour afterwards, he decided it to he a desper- 
 ate case of hrain-conciission, and all the science that was soon 
 summoned to her aid only confirmed that verdict. 
 
 Mr Carden met Kendall in the hall as he entered, and 
 beckoned him into the library. The old man’s face was very 
 sorrowful, and his eyelids, perhaps, were heavy with something 
 else besides a long night’s watch. His manner was infinitely 
 more cordial now than when, a fortnight ago, he went through 
 the forms of congratulation. 
 
 ‘ I pity you from the bottom of my heart,’ he said. ‘ It 
 may be some slight comfort to know that you have not come 
 too late, and that if you had come last night it woidd have 
 availed nothing. She has never spoken since, or even opened 
 her eyes.’ 
 
 ‘ Is there no hope ? ’ Horace asked faintly. 
 
 ‘ Absolutely none. Indeed, we ought to hope that the re- 
 lease will come speedily. You will know why, when you have 
 seen her. Will you come at once ^ ’ 
 
 They went up- stairs together. On the first landing Ken- 
 dall stood still, listening and trembling. 
 
 Down the corridor, from a room at the farther end, there 
 came a sound such as few can hear for the first time unawed 
 — a sound which, once heard, is not easily forgotten — a sound 
 more terrible in its monotony than any sharp, sudden cry — a 
 sound which, though it savours of both, is neither gasp nor 
 groan — a sound that forces us, in our own despite, to believe 
 that unconsciousness is not insensibility — a sound, perhaps 
 more significant than any other, of the prolonged agony of a 
 parting soul. 
 
 ‘ It has gone on so ever since she was brought in,’ Mr 
 Carden said, answering the other’s look of frightened inquiry. 
 ‘ They have tried trepanning without the shghtest effect. I 
 don’t wonder that you are overcome. It has tried us all fearfully.’ 
 
 Kendall paused a minute or two, and then spoke in a weak, 
 hesitating voice : 
 
 ^ If there is no chance of her knowing me, do you think 
 I had better — ’ 
 
232 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 3'he elder man’s face changed from compassion to contempt. 
 
 ‘ Do I think you had better go in at once ’ he said very 
 coldly. ^ Unquestionably I think so. You will act as you 
 think lit, of course. My duty was to bring you here ; and I 
 have done it.’ 
 
 Horace could not, for very shame, hang back. 
 
 ‘You — quite misunderstand me,’ he stammered out; and 
 so jiassed on, and in through the door standing ajar. 
 
 The room was darkened ; but, as Kendall entered, one of 
 the attendants drew a curtain partly aside, so that a thin 
 column of light streamed in on the death-bed. There was 
 nothing there very shocking to the eye. The fatal blow had 
 left little outward trace ; and, beside that terrible moaning, 
 she gave no signs of life ; this — the doctor, standing by the 
 bedside, whispered — was growing fainter and fainter. 
 
 Putting great force upon himself, Horace came near and 
 pressed his lips on the pale hands — motionless save for a 
 slight twitching of the fingers. Even at such a moment, he 
 could spare no tenderer caress for the woman who would have 
 given him all. Then he sat down apart, with his face buried 
 in his hands. 
 
 All those present, with the exception of Mr Carden, gave 
 him credit for natural emotion, and pitied him accordingly. 
 If they could have perused his thoughts, perhaps they would 
 not have been so liberal of sympathy. He was utterly crushed 
 by the suddenness and completeness of the blow ; but his re- 
 grets were almost purely selfish. Por the poor girl who lay 
 a-dying he felt much the same vague, careless compassion, as 
 a speculator would give to the labourers drowned by the flood- 
 ing of his favourite mine. 
 
 Minutes, under such circumstances, are not counted by 
 the clock. Though the silence, broken only by brief whis- 
 pers, seemed to Horace endless, it had not perhaps lasted 
 a quarter of an hour when the moaning grew perceptibly 
 fainter, and was succeeded by heavy, laboured breathing ; and 
 then the doctor said — speaking for the first time above his 
 breath — 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 ‘ She is going fast. ’ 
 
 The agony, if such it had been, had spent itself ; hut in 
 the last moments of life a faint gleam of consciousness seemed 
 to cross the poor dizzy brain ; for her eyes were half unclosed, 
 though it was evident that she recognized no one, and her 
 right hand groped feebly on the coverlid, as if it searched for 
 some other hand. 
 
 Mr Carden glanced over his shoulder at Kendall, who had 
 drawn near with the rest : then, seeing that Horace stood 
 helpless and irresolute, he bent down and took the quivering 
 fingers into his own. 
 
 And so, holding an honest man’s hand after all, Maiy 
 Welsted passed away, we may hope, into some better 
 abiding-place than the Fools’ Paradise whereunto she had 
 aspired. 
 
 Kendall’s first impulse, when all was over, was to escape 
 as speedily as possible from the scene of the disaster. It was 
 bitterly true that he had no business at Kineton now ; neither, 
 truth to speak, did Mr Carden seem specially anxious to detain 
 him. It was settled, as a matter of course, that Horace should 
 be present at the funeral ; and in the course of the same after- 
 noon he took his departure. 
 
 Certain half-hours cut a deeper notch in a man’s life than 
 the average of years will leave. Horace’s drive back to the 
 station was one of such. The soft summer breeze sweeping 
 through the tall elms of the avenue seemed to murmur mockery. 
 There was insolence in the aspect of the ample corn-lands, red- 
 ripe for the sickle, and in the greenery of the broad meadows 
 dotted thickly with fat kine. On all this, one day — and no 
 distant day either — he was to have looked as lord and master. 
 How did he look on them now '? His face was so far a tell- 
 tale that even the stolid Loamshire man, sitting by his side, 
 partly guessed at the colour of his musings : and was rather 
 inclined to rejoice than to repine, when the other dismissed him 
 at their journey’s end without any offer of gratuity. 
 
 ‘ He looked a precious sight more sulky than sorry,’ the 
 groom remarked afterwards. ‘ He’s a bitter bad devil, I reckon. 
 
234 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 If the poor missus had lived, she’d ha’ repented of her bargain 
 pretty often.’ 
 
 In very truth, it was long before Horace Kendall emerged 
 from that savage desperation which has tempted, or well-nigh 
 tempted, certain professing Christians to ^ curse God, and die. ’ 
 However, there is method even in the madness of some folk. 
 To the blasphemy our friend was fully equal ; but as for the 
 death — 
 
 In spite of such losses and reverses, it is probable that 
 this delicate plant will flourish when hardier and rioblex trees 
 are dust. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXYII. 
 
 The glory of autumn was waning in the western high- 
 lands. The rich contrasts of colour — for Wildernesse, like a 
 mere mortal, seeks ever by gorgeous apparel to dissemble her 
 decline — were giving place rapidly to sober russets and grays. 
 The wind swept keenly down the gullies with an ominous 
 whistle, and had had a skirmish or two already with the pines 
 in prelude to their winter battle. The loch was seldom calm 
 enough now to mirror birch or oak, and such shadows were 
 thinner where they fell. The grouse-cocks crowed defiantly 
 on the moorland ; for, standing erect, each on his own tussock, 
 all ear and eye, they might set at nought the wiles of the 
 fowler. A few chances in sheltered hollows where there was 
 still feeding-ground, or a long shot in rounding the shoulder 
 of a hill, were about all one could expect ; and it was a httle 
 too early for good cover-shooting as yet. At such a season a 
 man’s thoughts, unless he be very keen on sport, are apt to 
 follow in the track of the swallow. 
 
 Xow Mark Eamsay was by no means an inveterate gunner; 
 and, when his destructive duties had been duly performed, 
 one would have thought that his inclinations would have 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 235 
 
 tended southwards : but he seemed perfectly content to abide 
 at Kenlis. Once, when his wife ventured to question him as 
 to the probable time of their removing, he contrived to evade 
 a direct reply 3 and, though there was no impatience in his 
 manner, it was evident that he did not choose to be pressed 
 on the subject. 
 
 The castle party — speaking of those actually resident there 
 — was narrowed down to three. Alsager and Yane had gone 
 them several ways some time ago ; and a week later Mr 
 Erancepeth, too, had left on a tour of lowland and north- 
 country visits that would bring him home by leisurely stages. 
 Lady Laura was to have borne her husband company through- 
 out 3 but though, when her friend spoke of departure, Blanche 
 made no objection in words, the piteous pleading in her eyes 
 was quite too much for La Keine Gaillarde; who without 
 more ado cast her engagements to the winds, utterly setting 
 at nought the resentment of her ill-used acquaintance, and 
 making very light of her lord’s grumbling, 
 
 ‘ Don’t you pretend to be helpless,’ she said, ‘ but go off 
 and enjoy yourself like a man — or rather like a single man. 
 You don’t often get such a chance, you know. If you get 
 into any mischief — provided it isn’t very bad mischief — I’ll 
 try to forgive you.’ 
 
 Perhaps Mr Erancepeth was rather flattered at being still 
 considered capable of a peccadillo, or the very idea was too 
 much for his gravity. At any rate — soliitis risu tahulis — it 
 was amicably settled that Lady Laura should remain at Kenlis 
 till the Eamsays could escort her south. 
 
 La Eeine was by no means an exemplary matron. I do 
 not mean to imply that her sins, either of omission or com- 
 mission, would have brought her under the ban of any criminal 
 code 3 but with her reckless words and actions she very often 
 proved a rock of offence to her weaker sisters. As for the 
 strong-minded ones — the stones they had cast at her already 
 would have made a goodly cairn. Nevertheless, it is prob- 
 able that certain famous fanatics would have haggled a while 
 with their consciences, before completing such a self-sacrifice 
 
236 
 
 BllEAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 as slie now decided on unliesitatingly. She knew perfectly 
 well that, at most of the halting-places above mentioned, there 
 would be ample provision of the amusements in which her 
 soul delighted. She was sure to foregather there with more 
 than one of her special favourites 3 indeed, divers pleasant 
 plans had been laid already with a view to such meetings : 
 hardest trial of all — she knew that certain of her rivals, with the 
 advantage of a start and clear course, would make play, and 
 want some catching whenever she should take up the running 
 again. Yet she accepted quite readily the prospect of com- 
 parative solitude, without a chance of the mildest flirtation, or 
 of a break to the monotony of the days folloAving and resem- 
 bling each other, beyond an occasional scamper on the back of 
 a hill-pony, or a sail on the loch when the wind was not too 
 wild. 
 
 Laura took no credit to herself for all this. To stand by 
 a friend in need seemed to her the simplest thing in nature, 
 and not in anywise to be regarded as a penance, or even as an 
 exceptional duty. Yet, it seems to me that charities, less 
 worthy of record, have been celebrated in pompous phrase on 
 lettered tombstones. 
 
 Certainly, few could have looked in Blanche Eamsay’s 
 face without feeling that her need of support, if not of suc- 
 cour, was very sore. The melancholy which had assailed her 
 by tits and starts in the early days of her residence at Kenlis 
 liad fairly mastered her now, and seldom loosened its grasp, 
 strive or struggle as she would. But there was a cause for it 
 noAv — a cause that, ere this, has made braver and brighter 
 birds than this little Oriole sit moping with dull eyes and 
 plumage unpreened, whilst their mate was soaring through all 
 other tracks of air rather than the one which led nestwards. 
 
 To speak plainly — though she had not as yet made a con- 
 fidante even of Laura Brancepeth, Blanche had long ago con- 
 fessed to herself that she was jealous in real earnest. The 
 cause of that jealousy you will easily guess. 
 
 I have said that the actual residents of the castle num- 
 bered only three ; but, whether the Irvings could be con- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 237 
 
 sidered as non-residents, might fairly have been questioned. 
 Assuredly, much more of their time was spent at Kenlis than 
 in their own home ; and during the brief intervals of their 
 absence, it might have been remarked that some business 
 generally called away Eamsay on such distant expeditions, as 
 engrossed all the time betwixt breakfast and dinner. Once, 
 and once only, he had avowedly gone over to Drumour. He 
 went there alone, for a single night, to help to fill some game- 
 boxes that Captain Irving Avanted to send olf south ; but it is 
 to be presumed that the grouse Avere Avilder than usual, for it 
 Avas the third day before he returned to Kenlis. 
 
 Even in his hot youth, Mark had ahvays, to a certain ex- 
 tent, acted caute^ si non caste ; and he Avas still less likely to 
 parade his indiscretions noAV. Whilst conversing AAuth Alice 
 Irving, his voice rarely sunk beloAV its ordinary tone ; and 
 very rarely Avere the glances of either more expressive than 
 familiar acquaintance Avould Avarrant. He never pretended to 
 engross her attention, or seemed jealous at seeing it bestoAved 
 on another, nevertheless, a mere stranger, after being an hour 
 in their company, Avould probably have concluded that a sin- 
 gularly good understanding existed betwixt the two. There is 
 a subtle mesmerism in these affinities that, without being at 
 all contagious, makes others besides those directly influenced 
 by them conscious of their existence. 
 
 Laura Brancepeth — neither a stranger nor disinterested — 
 fully appreciated the state of things, and chafed under it 
 hourly ; but, with all her impulsiveness, she Avas far too Avell 
 versed in the world’s ways to interfere by Avord or gesture, or 
 to broach the subject till Blanche herself should think fit to 
 do so. Though she had rather a knack at travestying pro- 
 A^erbs, she had got that one about a tree and its bark pretty 
 straight ; and on more than one similar occasion had found the 
 benefit of acting thereupon. But, if it was occasionally pain 
 and grief to the friend to keep silence, hoAV, think you, did it 
 fare Avith the Avife 1 
 
 A dangerously deep game was being played up yonder, 
 and the players did not start on level terms. Comparing great 
 
238 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 things with small, any one who has often looked on at high 
 whist must have seen a parallel case scores of times. Do we 
 not know him — the light-minded gamester, utterly incorrigible 
 in the error of his ways, and proof against reproach or sar- 
 casm — who, having trusted once too often to his luck, accepts 
 the position quite hilariously, treating his own blunders as if 
 they were part and parcel of an elaborate joke 1 And we, the 
 bystanders, laugh with, quite as much as at, him, and think 
 ^ what a good loser he is! ’ contrasting his bearing very favour- 
 ably with that of his partner, who, it is evident, does not 
 relish the jest quite so keenly; for every point lost to them- 
 selves, or gained by their adversaries, is scored on that other 
 face — anxious enough when the play began. 1:^0 w, it does not 
 follow of necessity, that difference of temperament has any- 
 thing to do with this difference of demeanour. It may well 
 be that, as they walk homewards to-night, one man will con- 
 fess to himself — if he reflects at all — that the purchase of that 
 peacocky park-hack must be deferred, or that Coralie must be 
 balked of her latest whim in jewelry ; whilst the other will 
 be racking his brain, overstrained already, with reckoning up 
 the resources wherewith he may once again tempt Fortune. 
 And, if he be not quite case-hardened against remorse, he may 
 perhaps remember having heard long ago that ^ it is not meet 
 to take the children’s bread and cast it to dogs.’ 
 
 It was not of her own free-will, that Blanche Eamsay was 
 playing so perilously. Her position had been simply forced 
 upon her ; but it was none the less true that her very last stake 
 was now involved. Considering all things, her self-possession 
 and self-control were something wonderful. If the tie binding 
 her to Mark grew frailer daily, no fault of hers brought it to 
 breaking-strain. Peevish, or plaintive, or sullen she never was ; 
 and, if her face sometimes looked a little sad or weary, a gentle 
 word from him would always bring the light back again, 
 though it lasted not long. So much even he was fain to con- 
 fess — thinking over these things in the after-time. 
 
 As for Mark, he was simply following up his fancy, as he 
 had done a score of times before, utterly regardless of the distinc- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 239 
 
 tions between right and Avrong, faith and falsehood, cruelty and 
 compassion. It was his fancy so far — no more. In such a 
 nature as his, love, as honest men define it, had no more 
 chance of ripening than the golden grain scattered amongst 
 desert stones. He had not begun to dislike Blanche as yet, 
 and found her sufficiently companionable still, when he had 
 time to spare ; but such hours as were spent in the shadow of 
 Fontainebleau rocks, Avould never come again; and the soft 
 Avhite hand, that he was then so fond of toying with, AA^as 
 powerless now to keep him from straying. 
 
 What Alice Irving had at stake, would be hard to deter- 
 mine. It is possible indeed that she had not yet defined it to 
 herself. She Avas no novice at the game, that Avas clear ; and, 
 being conscious of the strength of her hand, was content to 
 play it warily without forcing the chances. With her demean- 
 our towards Blanche, La Eeine herself could not quarrel. Hot 
 a single act, or word, or look could fairly be called presumptu- 
 ous. She deferred in all things to her hostess, beyond what 
 may reasonably be expected from the meekest of guests ; and 
 if any point, hoAVSoever trivial, was referred to her decision, 
 she invariably withheld it till she was certain of not running 
 counter to the slightest Avish of Mrs Eamsay. And the other 
 paid her back in kind. Ho stranger, coming to Kenlis, Avould 
 have guessed that Alice Irving’s presence Avas less welcome to 
 its chatelaine than it Avas the first time she set foot therein. 
 
 So things went on with admirable surface-smoothness ; but, 
 go as smoothly as they Avould, the time came AAEen Mark could 
 no longer delay a move southAvards, especially as Laura 
 Brancepeth was Avaiting for his escort. He said as much to 
 Captain Irving one night, as they were finishing their 'partie. 
 
 The other shrugged his shoulders rather ruefully. 
 
 ‘ I’ve been expecting this, any time these three Aveeks. 
 You’re thoroughly right to go. I wonder at any one staying 
 here, after the fall of the first leaves, who isn’t shackled down 
 as I am. I should have liked above all things to spend this 
 AAunter in town Avith Alice — leaving her at Kenlis alone is out 
 of the question, of course — but I simply can’t afford it. The 
 
240 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 fat kine liave never mucli favoured our pastures ; and this is 
 one of our famine-years. I’d have strained a point or two for 
 her sake, if it had been possible. She’ll find the winter very 
 long, I’m afraid.’ 
 
 blow, this speech, coming from many people, would have 
 meant just this : ‘ I am very poor, and you are very wealthy. 
 If you happen to have two or three hundreds lying idle at your 
 banker’s, the proffer of a six months’ loan would come at this 
 juncture with peculiar grace ; and so neither our party, nor our 
 piquet, need be broken up.’ 
 
 Eut, like the Castihan beggar who will never overstep a 
 certain line in degradation, Alexander Irving, gambler and 
 profligate to the backbone, had his points of honour. On the 
 2 ) resent occasion he meant what he said, neither more nor less ; 
 and Eamsay, who had excejitional luck in steering clear of 
 gaiiclieries, knew his man far too well to think of suggesting 
 any such aid. He only said : 
 
 ^ I wish with all my heart you could have managed it ; it 
 would have been so 2^1e^^sant for all of us. Couldn’t you 
 venture on a short visit h Perhaps before long we could offer 
 you quarters. At the present moment we’re roofless in London, 
 you know.’ 
 
 ^ Don’t tem 2 )t me,’ Irving answered gravely. ^ If I’ve 
 learned nothing else in all these years, I’ve learned not to 
 trust myself. It wouldn’t be a short visit if I once got into 
 the old haunts, and among the old faces ; and, with my 
 habits, I would not accept quarters even under your roof. 
 Thanks for the notion all the same. If things should turn 
 out better than I expect, we may j^ossibly meet again before 
 long ; if otherwise, I dare say Alice and I will survive till you 
 come north again.’ 
 
 Then the subject dropped. 
 
 A word or two about that same piquet-playing will make 
 matters clearer. Mark had adhered fairly enough to the spirit 
 of his promise to Alice to abstain from deep gambling, and the 
 nominal stakes remained much the same as at the beginning ; 
 but a fiver on the rubber of three games had become by no 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLTE S ENDING. 
 
 241 
 
 means exceptional of late ; and they played, as often as not, 
 according to the Eussian rules, where every point scores. One 
 way or another, Irving’s winning balance had mounted to no 
 inconsiderable sum : it might be reckoned in hundreds now. 
 The luck had been tolerably equal ; but Mark was probably 
 right in giving his opponent credit from the first for superior 
 skill, and in predicting that it must tell in the long-run. The 
 superiority was not disagreeably manifest ; and it Avas ^still so 
 much a question of cards, that a shade of odds would have 
 tempted an ordinary backer to give choice. The subject of 
 profit or loss had never been touched on betwixt them till the 
 very last night. It was much later than usual when they 
 sat down, and their time Avas limited ; for though neither 
 affected early hours, it was their rule never to break far into 
 the morning. 
 
 ‘ Have you any idea how Ave stand ? ’ Mark asked as he 
 took up his cards. ‘ You keep a score, I believed ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes,’ Irving ansAvered ; ‘ I have done so for many years. 
 If my banking-book had been as regularly kept as my play- 
 account, it AAmuld have been better for me and mine. I can 
 tell you now, if you’ll Avait a minute. — I’m just two hundred 
 and eighty to the good,’ he went on, after adding up a page 
 of his carnet. ‘ I didn’t think it had been quite so much.’ 
 
 ‘ I thought it Avas more,’ the other said carelessly. ^ If 
 that’s the case, I have seldom had so much amusement for my 
 money — and instruction too, for the matter of that. I flatter 
 myself I have improved several points since our first trial of 
 strength.’ 
 
 ‘You don’t flatter yourself,’ Irving said. ‘There can’t be 
 a doubt about your playing better than you did at first ; and 
 you Avould play better still — ^you don’t mind me telling you — 
 if you AA^ere not quite so quick over your discard. I can afford 
 to give you that hint noAV, you see.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know about that/ Mark retorted. ‘ You’ve hit the 
 blot — that’s certain; and I’m obliged to you for the hint. 
 I’d rather it had come an hour later, though. Can you guess 
 why? Well: I was going to propose to you one rubber of 
 
 E 
 
242 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 three — a VAnglaise — absolutely the last for this bout : fifty 
 on the game, and a hundred on la belle* There’s too much 
 the double or quits about it, isn’t there 1 I don’t the least ex- 
 pect you to accept.’ 
 
 The same eagerness came over Irving’s face, and the same 
 gleam into his eyes^ as was remarked there when piquet was 
 first mentioned at Kenlis. He had none of the small mean- 
 nesses of the third-rate gambler ; and, when he erred, it was 
 never on the side of timidity. His principle was invariably 
 to pousser sa masse — only, unluckily for him, the mass was 
 as often his own as the banker’s money. 
 
 ‘ And why not accept % ’ he said in his softest voice. ‘ It 
 is no great plunge for me. At the very worst, I shall rise a 
 better winner than perhaps I have any right to expect ; and 
 if I win, in spite of the famine-year, there’ll be a little corn 
 ill Egypt.’ 
 
 ‘We’ll have fresh cards, then,’ Mark observed; and with 
 no more said on either side, the heavy rubber began. 
 
 Irving had it all his own way at first, and scored a game 
 without difficulty ; but the second was more evenly contested. 
 The luck seemed to have turned, for Mark scored ninety 
 against his adversary’s fifty-five, the latter being eldest hand. 
 A glance at his cards told Mark that there was a heavy point, 
 and in all probability at least one long sequence, against him. 
 Indeed, it might be the taking in of one card only would save 
 the game ; but that one would win it — ^the fourth queen. He 
 held an ace and king of difierent suits, so the quatorze must 
 needs be good. It seemed as though Irving’s hint had not 
 been lost : he pondered long enough over the discard at all 
 events. Then — ^laughing to himself a little contemptuously, 
 as men laugh at some trite jest or old-fashioned conceit — he 
 put down the queen of hearts. 
 
 The topmost card on his paquet was her sister of diamonds. 
 
 On Irving’s placid face there was, it must be owned, a 
 palpable anxiety as he began to declare. His hand was de- 
 cidedly strong : six cards, a quint to a knave, and a tierce- 
 major, made him twenty-four. Then he announced three 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 243 
 
 aces. He glanced sharply at his adversary, evidently not ex- 
 pecting them to pass unchallenged ; hut Mark only nodded ; 
 and now there was nothing to stop the pique, which made the 
 eldest hand game and rubber at once. 
 
 ‘ That was a near thing,’ the conqueror remarked, with the 
 slightest, the very slightest, tremor in his voice. ‘ The qua- 
 torze of queens was against me throughout. Is it possible, 
 that you didn’t go for it ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Quite possible,’ Mark answered ; ^ though I ought to have 
 done so, beyond a doubt, for it was my best chance. If one 
 could only guess what one was going to take in — I don’t know 
 that it would improve the game, though ; it’s pretty enough, 
 as it stands.’ 
 
 Whilst he was speaking, he liad taken up his discard and 
 mixed it into his hand ; shuffling the cards to and fro me- 
 chanically, like one whose thoughts are busy elsewhere. Then 
 he rose, and unlocking an escritoire, took some notes out of it, 
 which he laid upon the card-table. The other let them lie 
 there. 
 
 ^ You don’t care for your revenge, then ? ’ he said. 
 
 ‘ I have no right to ask it, for that was to be absolutely 
 the last rubber ; and if I had, I should waive it ; I should 
 only be following up a bad mine. Those unlucky queens 
 ought to be a warning.’ 
 
 With something like a sigh of relief, Irving folded up the 
 notes tenderly, and placed them in his pocket-book. 
 
 ‘ I think we shall not winter at D rumour, after all,’ he re- 
 marked, after a minute’s silence. ^ To-night has just turned 
 the scale. We shall be boarded and lodged at your expense, 
 after all, Alice and I.’ 
 
 Mark’s start of surprise was perfect. 
 
 A You don’t mean that ^ I didn’t grudge my losing it 
 before ; but, now, I think I seldom or never won to such 
 good purpose. There’s one thing I’m going to ask you. Will 
 you tell Miss Irving nothing of to-night’s doings, and not let 
 her guess how her winter in town was brought about'? It 
 would be a pity to spoil her pleasure, you know ; and that it 
 
244 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 will be pleasure, there’s little doubt. I don’t mind confess- 
 ing to you that, the lirst time she ever stayed here, certain 
 confidences passed between us on the subject of high play, 
 and that I received a certain warniim.’ 
 
 o 
 
 Captain Irving’s smile was full of indulgent superiority 
 
 such as might become a great philosopher, whose abstruse 
 pursuits are scarcely appreciated as they deserve by his kith 
 and kin. 
 
 'Poor Alice !’ he said. ‘Yes : she does torment herself 
 sometimes about these matters — as if self-tormenting ever 
 helped oneself or others. You’re quite right, thougli. There 
 are secrets — quite harmless of course — of which womankind, 
 ever so trusty or tractable, is not worthy : and this is one of 
 ’em. So about this last rubber — silence d la mort I ’ 
 
 After a little more converse of no moment, the two parted 
 for the night on the best possible terms. But Irving knew 
 only half the secret after all. He had all the worst faults of an 
 inveterate gambler ; he would have won a pauper’s last shilling, 
 with as little scruple or jDity as though it belonged to a mil- 
 lionnaire ; and he would push the advantage of skill to the 
 very verge of honour. Nevertheless — let us give the devil his 
 due — if he could have overlooked his opponent’s play during 
 that last hand, he would have cast down those notes that he 
 folded so complacently, even as Judas — a thought too late — 
 cast down the blood-money. Ay — more than this. If he 
 could have guessed at the motive prompting that curious dis- 
 card, it would have been no fault of his if Mark Eamsay had 
 not had an early opportunity of proving whether Yere Alsager 
 was right or wrong, in crediting those delicate white lingers 
 with some skill in the use of hair-triggers. 
 
 The Irvings departed after luncheon on the morrow ; for, 
 on the following day, Kenlis Castle was to be left till next 
 summer to the care of two or three Scotch servants, who, for 
 a sufficient ‘ con-si-de-ra-tion,’ were not afraid to risk an occa- 
 sional encounter with the Brown Lady. But, in the course of 
 the morning, Alice Irving found herself in a certain nook of 
 the south terrace, where — by the merest chance in the world 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 245 
 
 — Eamsay was smoking a contemplative cigar. She was radi- 
 ant with happiness ; for she had just heard from her father of 
 the change in their winter quarters. 
 
 ‘ I’m sure its all owing to you. Don’t deny it.’ 
 
 And her eyes said, better than the scarlet lips could have 
 done — ^ I thank you.’ 
 
 ^ I never deny pleasant imputations,’ Mark said with a 
 laugh. ‘ You may give me all the credit you can possibly 
 afford. I deserve a good deal : it was so thoroughly disinter- 
 ested of me, to try to persuade Captain Irving that neither of 
 you were quite fitted for an Arctic winter ! Is it treason, to 
 mention Drumour and winter in a breath iS^ever mind : it 
 can’t be helped. The die is cast now, and you must make the 
 best of it.’ 
 
 ‘ The best of it ! ’ 
 
 She spoke the words almost in a whisper ; but, as she spoke, 
 she glanced up once in her companion’s face. If Vere Alsager 
 had been near enough to look under the long sweeping lashes, 
 he would have been less hkely than ever to alter his ojoinion, 
 as to the ‘ quiet devilry ’ of the great gray eyes. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXYIII. 
 
 We have almost forgotten George Anstruther. Out of 
 such clay it is difficult assuredly to mould an interesting per- 
 sonage, either in real life or romance : nevertheless, as he 
 played rather an important part in this story, it will be better 
 to go back to him for awhile. 
 
 The outward perturbation in which you saw him last — 
 when he made haste to escape out of the sound of Blanche 
 Eamsay’s marriage-bells — passed away within the hour ; but 
 the methodical routine of his days was not taken up so easily 
 again. It is the same with all machines — alive or dead — 
 working in a deep groove. Hard as it may be to throw them 
 
246 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 out of gear, when this is once done effectually, it is harder yet 
 to set them hack on the track. For the first time in all his 
 life, Anstruther knew what restlessness meant. Certain tor- 
 menting phantoms haunted him — in his laboratory, where he 
 now worked only by fits and starts — in his hours of exercise, 
 ride as sharply as he would — and, most of all, when he lay down 
 and strove to force himself into sleep ; and sleep, when it came, 
 was too full of dreams to refresh or restore. Even at the 
 whist-table, his thoughts would go wandering far beyond the 
 outer walls of the Orion — sometimes beyond the sea. 
 
 The jar of his moral organization told on him physically 
 too. The fine regular appetite, that was the envy of all his 
 Indian comrades, began to fail ; and more than once, an 
 artistic dish sent back untasted gave the chef of the Planet 
 occasion to exclaim against insular ingratitude. Divers of his 
 acquaintance noticed the change, and decided that it was ^ a 
 case of liver ; ’ and that George Anstruther, after all, had not 
 fared so much better than other consumers of curry and 
 cayenne. He himself at last inclined to this view of the 
 question ; and after considerable reluctance and delay, con- 
 sented to a medical inspection. 
 
 The famous physician he consulted was a man of the 
 world as well as a man of science — perhaps, not a few of his 
 cures might have been attributed to a habit of considering 
 and prescribing for other than mere bodily symptoms of 
 disease. In the present instance he allowed that the liver 
 was partly at fault ; but it was not only on this account that 
 he suggested change of scene. A month in Switzerland, and 
 another at Wiesbaden, with one or two simple remedies, were 
 all he thought it necessary to prescribe. 
 
 Anstruther took both the advice and the physic patiently, 
 and went through the course of travel and the course of 
 waters with exemplary punctuality — feeling, all the while, 
 tolerably sure that neither would do him any material good. 
 In the first fortnight of his sojourn at Wiesbaden there cer- 
 tainly was an improvement ; and three or four Orionites, who 
 had come thither on a like sanatory mission, found liim quite 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 247 
 
 as ready as themselves to make up a rubber at club-points — 
 which those decent bodies much preferred to the meretricious 
 trente et quarante — and much readier to take exercise either 
 on foot or horseback. But, all at once, he seemed to fall back 
 again beyond the point from which improvement had begun. 
 There was no rational way of accounting for this ; unless a 
 packet of letters forwarded from England had anything to do 
 with it. As for the intelligence they contained — the whole 
 world might have looked over his shoulder as he opened 
 them and been none the wiser j though they included a brief 
 note from Blanche Eamsay, asking Mr Anstruther to spare 
 them a fortnight at Kenlis, or longer if he could contrive it. 
 
 Do you remember his behaviour some months before when, 
 walking in his garden, he first read that handwriting ] How 
 carefully he opened the dainty envelope % How he lingered 
 over the perusal '? How long he mused afterwards — frowning 
 the whiled Much after the same fashion he bore himself 
 now ; only that his feverish fingers did not entreat the note 
 quite so delicately. They rather crushed than toyed with it ; 
 and those few lines took thrice as long as the others in read- 
 ing : his frown too, as he sat a-musing, was heavier tenfold. 
 
 Hothing of all this was apparent in the tone of his answer. 
 His regret at being now forced to decline, and hope of being 
 more fortunate hereafter, were perfectly worded. If a fault 
 could have been found, it would have been that the courtesy 
 was a little too formal and cold. But, from that day, there 
 was a notable change in Anstruther for the worse. E’otable it 
 must have been ; for each and every one of the Orionist 
 clique was too much engaged in watching the state of his own 
 health to look very keenly after his neighbour’s : yet they all 
 observed and commented on it. 
 
 When the appointed time was spent, Anstruther drifted 
 listlessly back with the tide — setting homewards now. He 
 took Paris on his way, purposing to spend a week there ; but 
 by the third evening he was weary even to death of the noisy, 
 tourist-ridden city, and came straight to town by the night- 
 mail. 
 
248 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 The autumnal attractions of London to most people are 
 not powerful ; but Anstruther was independent of society — 
 or, at least, of all but a very minute portion thereof — so far 
 as his amusements went. He was really glad to find himself 
 within arm’s-length of his books and his crucibles again ; and 
 a faithful few — loving a square yard of green cloth better 
 than the widest prospect of emerald fields — mustered still in 
 the card-room of the Orion. 
 
 Gradually he began to slide back into the old ways ; before 
 he had been home a full month, he had found quiet again, if 
 not perfect peace, and for a while the current of his life flowed 
 on much as heretofore. If the tormenting phantoms had not 
 utterly vanished, they kept discreetly in the background for 
 the present ; but in most of these cases, once haunted is 
 always haunted : he knew very well that they were lurking 
 somewhere in the dark, and would appear once more at their 
 own time and season. 
 
 One murky afternoon — the November fogs came before their 
 time that autumn — Anstruther went down to his club at the 
 usual hour, and stopped on the steps to exchange salutations 
 with one of his familiars passing out : ‘ familiar ’ is the proper 
 term ; for no one, since Walter Ellerslie’s death, had the right 
 to call Anstruther ^ friend.’ This man — Thorndyke by name 
 — was amongst his closest intimates. Both were old bachelors, 
 leading a methodical sort of life, and respect for each other’s 
 skill, added to certain gastronomic sympathies, had bred a 
 kind of liking betwixt them. Anstruther was rather disap- 
 pointed at seeing the other’s face turned outwards : Mr Thorn- 
 dyke’s place at the whist-table could not easily be filled. 
 
 ^ You’re off early,’ he said ; ‘ some business, I suppose h ’ 
 
 ^ You are about right,’ Thorndyke retorted, turning up his 
 furred collar with a shiver. ‘ I haven’t a hundred steps to 
 walk ; but no man would go that far for his own pleasure 
 through this infernal fog. There’s something worth looking at 
 up-stairs, too — though its more in your line than mine ; for I 
 don’t appreciate piquet. There’s a fresh hand turned up this 
 afternoon — fresh to most of us at least, though he’s a very old 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 249 
 
 member. Did you ever hear of a Captain Irving — no Well, 
 he has just sat down to play nine games with Elanchmayne, 
 with hfty on the rubber. They are ancient antagonists, it 
 seems. I fancy the Viscount must have got a rare dressing 
 once or twice, or he wouldnT be so civil.’ 
 
 This famous card-room was not an out-of-the-way garret, 
 or a noisy ground-room — such as may be seen in other clubs, 
 where whist is subordinate to conviviality — but a lofty and 
 spacious presence-chamber, wherein brooded always a solemn 
 stillness, if not a silence that might be felt. Thick sun-blind- 
 and ample curtains repelled the garish eye of day, and after 
 dusk-fall the sad mellow light of shaded waxen tapers prevail- 
 ed. The wagering, though never desperate, was often deep ; 
 but bets were offered and accepted in a quiet mercantile fashion. 
 Winners betrayed no noisy exultation, and losers cursed not 
 their ill-luck — aloud. Light-minded strangers entering there 
 jocund with good cheer — the cellar of the Orion was proverb- 
 ial — had scarcely passed through those august portals before the 
 religio loci constrained them to tread softly and speak under 
 their breath ; and they issued forth, as a rule, in a frame of mind 
 befitting those who have sojourned for a space within the Tro- 
 phonian Cavern. 
 
 On the present occasion a couple of rubbers were going on, 
 neither of which had any special attraction for Anstruther ; 
 and he walked straight to the corner where a knot of spectators 
 were gathered round the piquet-table. Of the two players, one 
 you are well acquainted with ; the other was an oddity in his 
 way — a most disagreeable way, it must be owned. 
 
 There was not a shadow of reason or excuse, so far as any 
 one knew, for Lord Blanchmayne’s misanthropy. His con- 
 stitution was as tough as whalebone ; his fortune far beyond 
 his needs ; and he wms hampered by no kind of family duties 
 or cares. Yet he had never been known to waste kindly or 
 courteous word on man, woman, or child. He was a solitary — 
 partly by choice, partly of necessity : for his own order, wdien 
 the fact of Lord Blanchemayne’s confirmed celibacy was once 
 established, cared not to court his society ; and when, to suit 
 
250 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 his own purpose, he mingled with his inferiors, he never dis- 
 sembled contempt for his company. He was an adept at all 
 games of chance and skill, and a shrewd, though not an ener- 
 getic or eloquent, politician. But he would have been more 
 successful had he had a better opinion of the world in general ; 
 and some of his subtlest combinations went awry, simply 
 because he would not give his partners credit for common 
 sense or his adversaries for common honesty. Parcere devictis 
 was a maxim that even as a schoolboy he had learned to de- 
 spise ; but he was a good loser — the stake was of no sort of 
 consequence to him, and instead of bearing malice to any man 
 who fairly got the best of him, he rather respected such a one, 
 and treated him accordingly. His sallow, cross-grained face 
 does not lower a whit more than usual now, though the second 
 game has just been scored against him ; and with a kind ot 
 sullen admiration he growls out : 
 
 ^ You haven’t grown rusty in all these years — plenty of 
 practice, I suppose 1 I wish I could say as much for myseK ; 
 but bad play’s catching, and I don’t get many chances of im- 
 proving my game.’ 
 
 The side-blow was meant for certain bystanders who rather 
 fancied themselves at piquet. 
 
 ^ As far as practice goes, you must have had the advantage 
 in point of quality, if not in quantity,’ Irving answered, with 
 a glance round that took the edge off the other’s sarcasm. 
 
 ‘ I’ve been playing a good deal lately, it’s true ; in Germany, 
 first, with a real professor, who is gone, I’m afraid not to a 
 better world — Paradise, without piquet, woidd be Purgatory 
 to poor Bernsdorff — and lately in Scotland with a near neigh- 
 bour of mine — Mark Ramsay of Kenlis Castle — a fine player 
 too, though a little flashy. He’s in town now, and I shouldn’t 
 wonder if he were put up here. Does any one know him ? ’ 
 
 Blanchmayne grunted out a negative ; and it was evident 
 that the name had no interest or significance for any there 
 present — save one. 
 
 Anstruther started ; and, if you had watched his face nar- 
 rowly, you would have seen his brow contract and his lips 
 
BLANCHE ELLEBSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 251 
 
 ■brace themselves ; but he never uttered a syllable till the 
 ^artie was decided easily in Irving’s favour. During the buzz 
 of comment that ensued — the Viscount chose to defer his re- 
 venge — he accosted the conqueror. 
 
 ^ I never had the pleasure of meeting you before to-day. 
 When we’re better acquainted, I hope you’ll give me some les- 
 sons at piquet ; but, frankly speaking, that’s not my object 
 now. You said that the Eamsays are in town, I think h I 
 was not aware of it. Perhaps you can tell me where they are 
 staying? My name is George Anstruther.’ 
 
 ^ You flatter me,’ the other said with a little deprecating 
 laugh. ^ One 'partie don’t go for much : I’m more likely to 
 learn than to teach here. I remember your name quite well ; 
 for I heard Mrs Eamsay regret that she could not prevail on 
 you to come so far north. Luckily I can give you their ad- 
 dress. For the present they’ve got rooms at ’s.’ 
 
 In those days the renown of that famous Caravanserai 
 was scarcely limited by the frontier of civilization. Its an- 
 cient proprietor — an enterprising cosmopolitan, who, in the 
 pursuit of his profession, soared superbly above prejudice and 
 conscience — has gone to settle his own account, or found a 
 principality in some far-off clime ; and the place is changed — 
 not for the better, perhaps. But even now, few strangers ar- 
 riving there — hading from regions howsoever remote, of the 
 four continents — need be debarred from their national com- 
 forts and delicacies. Prayer-carpets are still provided at a 
 small extra charge, and a space on the house-top is especially 
 set apart for sun-worship. If the heir- apparent of the Can- 
 nibal Isles were sojourning there, I doubt not that filets de 
 garcon d la Perouse would be served at his table as often as 
 it pleased him — alway s provided that the prince were not ter- 
 rified by the figures set over against that dish of savoury 
 meat in the bill. 
 
 ‘ I thought of calling there on my way home ’ — Irving 
 went on — ‘ only to leave a message, though. Shad I give you 
 a lift so far ? ’ 
 
 Anstruther’s manner — especially with strangers — was al- 
 
252 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ways rather stiff and formal ; but it was unusually constrained 
 now, and he seemed to shrink back within himself, as if he 
 regretted having made the first advances towards conversation. 
 
 ' Thanks. I should be very happy, if I were not other- 
 wise engaged,’ he said ; ‘ but I can’t possibly call this after- 
 noon. I shall take an early opportunity of doing so.’ 
 
 The change in the speaker’s tone did not escape Irving — 
 very few things passing within his sight or hearing did escape 
 him. He thought there was something decidedly eccentric 
 about his new acquaintance ; but he simply bowed his head, 
 as if accepting the excuse. 
 
 ‘ Shall I mention that we have met, if I happen to see 
 Mrs Eamsay '? I think, from what I have heard her say at 
 Kenlis, she would be glad to know that you are in town.’ 
 
 ‘ If you — please,’ Anstruther answered, — this time with 
 marked hesitation ; and then turned away abruptly. 
 
 A4 very fair beginning,’ Irving mused, as he stepped 
 gingerly across the slippery pavement to his cab, and pulled, 
 up the Avindows. * I rather believe in auguries, and it’s as 
 Avell to start Avith something in hand. Elanchmayne Avas 
 quite right. His game isn’t improved since Ave met last : I 
 think I’ve got his measure. It remains to be seen Avhat the 
 others are like : it wouldn’t be safe to take his estimate of 
 them, that’s certain ; but Avith even paper I ought to hold my 
 OAvn. It strikes me, my losings to Eernsdorff Averen’t such a 
 bad investment. I’ll take odds, that same Anstruther knows 
 a thing or tAvo. I don’t fancy those modest people Avho are 
 so ready to take lessons, particularly Avhen they’re my canny 
 countrymen ; and there’s no doubt on which side of the 
 Eorder he Avas begotten. It’s a hard-bitten face : but how 
 queer it looked just noAV ! I believe he’d haA^e blushed if he 
 hadn’t forgotten the trick — and what made him stammer 1 
 It’s not his habit, evidently. Mrs Kamsay spoke of him as a 
 sort of guardian, if I remember right. Can there have been 
 any love-passages '? Absurd ! A d^autres^ mon bon' 
 
 A complacent chuckle suggested Avhat sort of comparison 
 he Avas draAving in his mind just then. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 253 
 
 Mrs Kamsay was not at home when he called ; so that 
 evening Irving had no chance of seeing whether her face 
 would have furnished matter for guess-work at the mention of 
 a certain name. 
 
 When Anstruther turned away after the colloquy recorded 
 above, he went first to one of the whist-tables, and stood 
 watching the progress of the game ; after a minute or two, as 
 if he had suddenly remembered something, he walked quickly 
 through the door leading into a smaller apartment used as a 
 writing-room. It was empty just then, as indeed was generally 
 the case ; for little correspondence was conducted at the Orion, 
 and ink was seldom used save for the drawing of cheques. 
 He sat down at one of the tables and took up a pen ; but this 
 was a palpable excuse for lingering there, for he never traced 
 a word on the paper before him. His thoughts were in a 
 strange medley, and he himself could hardly have told whether 
 they wxre more tinged with jpleasure or pain. 
 
 One thing was certain : the calm of the last few w^eeks had 
 been utterly broken up within the last half-hour. The phan- 
 toms that had kept aloof for a while were at their old mocks 
 again 'already, and they were clearer in outline now — more 
 like the reflections in a mirror of forms in flesh and blood. 
 So she was in London ; within reach — easy reach — of him 
 at that very moment. To-morrow — this very day, for the 
 matter of that — he might, if he chose, prove whether the 
 soft brown eyes had forgotten to look up pleadingly, and 
 whether the cool white fingers would still send the same 
 feverish thrill through his pulses as when they touched his 
 wrist on a certain afternoon. Was it well to make the trial ^ 
 Would it not be wiser to fly — ay, even to the uttermost parts 
 of the earth — while he could yet use his wings, than to hover 
 stupidly over the snare 1 He recognized with self-contempt 
 verging on self-loathing — nevertheless he did recognize it — 
 that he was being mastered by a passion utterly irrational, 
 hopeless, and guilty. Truth to say, it was not the guilt that 
 made him shrink and waver. 
 
 When George Anstruther’s character was first sketched, 
 
254 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 he was set down, as you will remember, as one self-respecting, 
 rather than God-fearing ; and when a monitor like self-respect 
 calms such a turmoil as was working within him, then llax- 
 withes will bind fire-brands. If he had been inclined to 
 boast that he had avoided hitherto gross or overt offence 
 against written law, he must needs have boasted himself as 
 one whom chance or circumstance has kept clear of the verge 
 of battle, rather than as one putting off harness smirched and 
 dinted by strife. He was virtuous — or what the world calls 
 virtuous — by habit rather than by creed ; and he had no sure 
 or abiding principle whereunto to cling when a fierce tempta- 
 tion dragged him down. 
 
 Since Phryne, laughing scornfully, shut her door in the 
 face of the poor philosopher who came a-wooing with the dye 
 fresh on his scanty locks, what a many right merrie jests 
 have been indited concerning the loves of elders ! Yet if the 
 records of crime throughout all nations and all ages were 
 searched narrowly, not many blacker pages would be found 
 than those whereon it is written what befell in the baffling or 
 the accomplishing of these untimely passions. 
 
 Young man’s love blazeth, and is done ; 
 
 Old man’s love burneth to the bone. 
 
 There is truth enough in that rude couplet to leaven a large 
 lump of Proverbial Philosophy. 
 
 The curled darlings, scarcely out of their teens, are prone 
 enough — Heaven knows ! — to waste a fair inheritance, and 
 dishonour an ancient name, for a harlot’s kiss or a coquette’s 
 smile ; and even the Barnwell tragedy repeats itself only too 
 often. But in sin and shame there is always a deeper depth 
 — well for us and our children that it is so — and the boy will 
 stand shivering and shrinking on the brink of the pit into 
 which the graybeard has plunged headlong at the beck of 
 waving white arms. Wild tales assuredly might have been 
 told of Antony’s youth ; but I doubt if, while his brow was 
 brent, he would have followed so fast in the wake of the 
 Egyptian galley while the sea-fight was swaying to and fro off 
 
BLANCHE ELLEBSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 255 
 
 Actium, or have set his breast so straight against his sword’s 
 point at the first rumour of Cleopatra’s suicide. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX. 
 
 ^ Perhaps we may meet again before very long.’ 
 
 So much, and no more, said Alice Irving, when she bade 
 adieu to her hostess at Kenlis. She did not deem it necessary 
 to set forth more definitely her father’s plans for the winter ; 
 and when Blanche a little hesitatingly answered, ^ I’m sure I 
 hope so,’ the latter did not dream the truth of her words would 
 he tested so soon. She counted, not unnaturally, on a brief 
 respite from the anxieties and suspicions that had harassed 
 her of late ; and when, on the fourth evening after their ar- 
 rival in town, Mark observed carelessly, * I met Irving in St 
 James’s Street this afternoon,’ her heart gave a painful throb, 
 and then sank within her. Had her thoughts been put into 
 words, she might have murmured, 
 
 ‘Hast thou found me, 0 mine enemy?’ 
 
 If she manifested no great pleasure at the intelligence, she 
 betrayed no vexation. You would have detected no sarcasm 
 in her placid reply : 
 
 ‘ Indeed ! I didn’t think they would have followed us so 
 quickly.’ 
 
 But as she lay awake that night alone, as was usual now 
 — for Mark, since he took to keeping late hours, occupied a 
 separate sleeping-chamber, on the pretext of not breaking his 
 wife’s rest — the tears rolled fast down her cheeks, and she did 
 not try to check them. She remembered how she had lain 
 awake musing once before — on the eve of her second mar- 
 riage-day. That was only a few months ago ; yet how far, far 
 off it seemed ! Her heart had fluttered then, but not pain- 
 fully, and she fell asleep smiling. Her smiles now were for 
 the world to see, and it was hard work to find them some- 
 
256 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 times ; certainly it was not worth while to force them for her 
 own behoof. And then, in spite of herself — for here she 
 strove hard to turn the current of her thoughts — she remem- 
 bered Oswald Gauntlet’s warning. Would he be glad or 
 sorry, if he knew that it had all, or nearly all, come true ? 
 A^ot glad, she felt right sure of that. Then she fell a-wonder- 
 ing where Oswald was just now. Perhaps he was in town, or 
 at Woolwich — much the same thing. Suppose she were to 
 Avrite a little note to his club, and ask him to call on her, just 
 once, for the sake of old times, letting bygones be bygones. 
 Amongst her conjugal confidences were not included the de- 
 tails of that last intervieAV in Craven Square ; but Avould 
 Mark be likely to object, even if he knew alU Blanche? 
 sighed drearily, as she acknoAvledged that she need have no 
 scruples on that score. She felt as if the sight of a kind, 
 familiar face, even though it should look on her at first some- 
 Avhat angrily, and the clasp of a strong, honest hand — not a 
 white^ womanly one, like Captain Irving’s — might help to 
 brace her nerves. There were substantial dangers enough 
 around her ; but she had begun to start at the merest shadoAvs 
 of late ; and, since she had no longer La Peine to lean upon, 
 the sense of isolation and helplessness darkened round her 
 hourly. Yes : she Avould certainly Avrite. To have settled 
 even so much, Avas some comfort ; nevertheless, she fairly cried 
 herself to sleep. 
 
 Before noon on the folloAving day the note Avas duly de- 
 spatched ; but the messenger brouglit Avord back that Major 
 Gauntlet was still abroad, that it Avas not ImoAvn when he 
 Avould return, and that, till further notice, his letters Avere to 
 be forAvarded to the Poste Eestante, Vienna. Mrs Pamsay 
 Avas bitterly disappointed. All that morning she had been 
 rehearsing, much to her own satisfaction, an imaginary scene 
 with OsAvald, and noAv it seemed likely to be deferred inde- 
 finitely. She could not possibly Avrite and ask him to come 
 back from Vienna. It AA^as provoking, to say the least of it ; 
 and in the first moment of vexation, I fear she spoke unad- 
 visedly with her lips concerning Commissions, and the War 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 257 
 
 Office to boot. Unless their lovers’ or their friends’ credit be 
 at stake, very few of our sisters are patriotic or Spartan 
 enough to submit without a murmur to their private arrange- 
 ments being thwarted by public duty ; and betwixt such su- 
 perior persons and our poor Blanche there was not a single 
 feeling or idea in common. 
 
 In this discontented mood, after making an utterly abor- 
 tive attempt at luncheon, Blanche was debating with herself 
 how she should get rid of the afternoon — none of her con- 
 tidentials were in town, and to general converse she felt by no 
 means equal — when Mr Anstruther’s card was brought up. 
 
 ‘ Certainly ; I shall be very glad,’ she said, in answer to 
 the query whether she would receive the visitor. 
 
 This was not merely a form of words. An old acquaint- 
 ance was not like an old friend, particularly such an old friend 
 as Oswald Gauntlet ; but the homely proverb about ‘ half a 
 loaf ’ applies to the petite-maitresse sometimes, no less than to 
 the peasant wench, and Blanche just now was not inclined to 
 be dainty. 
 
 This was where his meditations of overnight had led 
 George Anstruther. It could hardly be otherwise ; when such 
 a question is once debated, as a rule it is virtually lost. It 
 struck Blanche that he was somewhat altered since they last 
 met. He looked certainly gaunter and more angular, and 
 altogether more precise and formal, than heretofore. He was 
 carefully dressed, as usual ; but, abased as the man was al- 
 ready — at all events, in his own eyes — he was still above the 
 devices of elderly foppery, and chose that his face and figure 
 should remain as time and climate had left them. Mrs Eam- 
 say, it seembd, was quite content to take him as he was ; and 
 a more sanguine visitor would have been satisfied with the 
 warmth of her welcome. 
 
 ^ One is never really at home in an hotel,’ she said, after 
 the first greetings had been exchanged, ‘ even in the way of 
 receiving one’s friends ; but there are exceptions to all rules, 
 and the week would not have passed without my letting you 
 know our whereabouts. By-the-by, how did you find us out h ’ 
 
 s 
 
258 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 He answered the first part of her speech only by a stiff 
 bow. 
 
 ‘ It was at the Orion, an old-fashioned club I dare say you 
 never heard of. A Captain Irving mentioned Mr Eamsay’s 
 name. From what he said, I fancy he must have been 
 a constant visitor at Kenlis.’ 
 
 Had the room grown darker all of a sudden, or was the 
 fresh shadow on Elanche’s face '? 
 
 ‘ A very constant visitor,’ she said hurriedly. ‘ He was 
 our nearest neighbour, to be sure ; and anything like society 
 is at a premium in the far Horth ; but Mark and he have be- 
 come almost inseparable of late. They are both devoted to 
 piquet, you know.’ 
 
 She thought afterwards he guessed at her embarrassment, 
 and would have helped her out of it. 
 
 ‘ Quite enough to account for an intimacy, I think. It’s a 
 fascinating game, as I’ve found to my cost. Yes : it was as a 
 piquet-player your husband was first alluded to. Then I in- 
 troduced myself to Captain Irving, for the purjiose of finding 
 out if you were in town.’ 
 
 ‘ Then you cared to know ? ’ she asked, with one of the 
 shy eloquent glances that had helped to do much mischief in 
 old times. 
 
 Anstruther bore it bravely — at least, not a muscle in his 
 stolid, rough-hewn face stirred ; but the fingers that lay 
 crossed on his knee, were locked a little more tightly. 
 
 ‘ Undoubtedly I cared,’ he made answer. ^ I have not so 
 many friends that I can afford either to forget or neglect them. 
 I assure you, I often thought of you at Kenlis, and hoped 
 you were making the most of all that glorious weather. 
 There hasn’t been such a Highland autumn for years, they 
 tell me.’ 
 
 ^ Yes, the weather was perfect ; it is a pity you were not 
 with us to enjoy it. I hardly expected a refusal, I own. 
 Did you not give me a half-promise when you gave me — 
 this ? ’ 
 
 She drew out of the bodice of her high velvet dress the 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 259 
 
 amulet you wot of, with the fire-opal gleaming in the square 
 of dusky gold. 
 
 Anstruther’s cheek flushed for a second quite visibly, 
 though in the stiffness of his manner there was no change. 
 
 ‘ If I had given a whole instead of a half promise — and 
 even to that I don’t plead guilty,’ he said, ‘ I must needs 
 have broken it. I was working out my time at Wiesbaden. 
 I didn’t expect much of the waters luckily, or I should have 
 been disappointed ; but I thought them Avorth a trial. So 
 you Avear that trinket sometimes h It is highly honoured.’ 
 
 ‘ It’s silly to be superstitious, I suppose,’ she said ; ‘ but I 
 never pretended to be wise. I have great faith in talismans. 
 Don’t they lose their A^irtue if they are not always Avorn h 
 Have you been ill, then^ I had no idea you were at 
 Wiesbaden for health’s sake ; or I should not have accused 
 you of playing me false.’ 
 
 ‘ It Avas nothing worth speaking of,’ he rephed indiffer- 
 ently ; ‘ only the harvest of seed sown long ago in India. 
 But I cannot, to speak truth, congratulate you on the effects 
 of Highland air. Would it be impertinent to ask you that 
 same question h ’ 
 
 ‘ By no means impertinent ; my glass tells me the same 
 blunt truth every morning. I^o, the air certamly didn’t 
 brace me as it ought to haAn done. I think I never knew 
 what it was to be thoroughly tired before, Avith no sufflcient 
 exercise to account for it.’ 
 
 ‘ Had you a very large party to entertain ’ he asked ; ‘ be- 
 cause that is fatigue enough in itself, no matter hoAV pleasant 
 the society.’ 
 
 His cold gray eyes were steady, as a rule, rather than 
 piercing ; but noAv she Avas aware of a scrutiny in them that set 
 her on her guard. 
 
 ‘Hot at all a large party : only the Brancepeths and Mr 
 Alsager — these you know — and Colonel Yane, an old acquaint- 
 ance of mine and ]\Iark’s. To be sure, the IrAungs might 
 almost be reckoned in our party, for they were more at Kenhs 
 than at Drumour.’ 
 
 s2 
 
BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 2G0 
 
 ^ Captain Irving is married, then 1 ’ 
 
 Blanche only half liked the interrogatory, especially as she 
 suspected a purpose in it. 
 
 ‘ He has been a v^idower some years,’ she replied, with a 
 slight movement of impatience, as if she had had enough of 
 the subject. ‘ He has one daughter — a fascinating person in 
 every way. You can judge of that for yourself, if you’ll meet 
 them here at dinner to-morrow. It’s difficult to tempt you, I 
 know ; but, if you’re fond of music, when you have heard them 
 sing together, you w^on’t repent for once breaking your rule. 
 And we shall be such a small party — only six, with yourself.’ 
 
 Anstruther’s deliberation was long enough to have suited a 
 weightier question than the acceptance or refusal of a simple 
 dinner invitation. 
 
 ‘ Thanks ; you are very kind,’ he said at last. ‘ I’m 
 ashamed to say that the music is no great temptation to me. 
 Putting that aside, I shall be glad to dine with you to-morrow.’ 
 
 Blanche was really pleased. That his old-fashioned reserve 
 should have yielded to her first word, was a triumph in its way ; 
 though scarcely one on which she would have plumed herself 
 a year ago ; and it was a certain satisfaction to feel that the 
 virtue of persuasion had not wholly gone out of her. 
 
 ‘ That is prettily said,’ she answered. ‘ The bad habit of 
 always saying no ” is difficult to cure ; but your case cannot 
 be desperate yet. I shall reckon on you ; and if you fail me 
 this time, don’t expect to be forgiven.’ 
 
 ‘ There’s no danger of my failing,’ Anstruther answered, as 
 he rose to take his leave. ‘ A punctual eight, I suppose % 
 Don’t blame me if your party is spoiled ; a stranger coming 
 amongst intimates is apt to be a kill-joy.’ 
 
 ^ We’ll take our chance of that,’ she said. ‘ I wish I were 
 as sure that you wouldn’t be bored. Till to-morrow, then.’ 
 
 It does not at all follow that an interview should have been 
 disagreeable, either in anticipation or reality, because we are 
 sensible of a relief when it is over. There was not the small- 
 est necessity for Anstruther to have presented himself on that 
 day — or, indeed, on any other — before Mrs Eamsay. He had 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 261 
 
 taken some pains to ascertain where she was staying, and had 
 mounted those stairs entirely of his own free will : yet he de- 
 scended them with something like a lightening of spirit. It 
 may he that he had distrusted his self-command more than he 
 cared to confess to himself, and was proportionately inclined to 
 rejoice that it had carried him through without a stumble. 
 Yet, for all this, he despised himself not a whit less heartily 
 now than he had done when he first recognized his weakness, 
 and ceased to fight against it. He was not destitute of a grim 
 sense of humour ; and the ridicule of the whole position struck 
 him so forcibly, that twice or thrice as he walked through the 
 streets he could scarcely forbear laughing aloud. And this 
 man — you will remember — for a score of years past had 
 rarely rewarded any jest, spoken or written, with anything be- 
 yond a coldly appreciative smile. 
 
 ‘ I wonder what they’d say at the Orion,’ so his thoughts 
 ran, ‘ if they got an inkling of all this ? ^luch what I 
 should have said last spring, I suppose, if I heard that Blanch- 
 mayne had eloped with somebody else’s wife, or Thorndyke 
 had taken to the squiring of dames. They are neither of them 
 five years my senior, and I’ve no doubt they are twice as well 
 preserved. Does it make it any better, that I’m going down- 
 hill with my eyes open 1 Better ? A thousand times worse. 
 I know so well, too, the very uttermost that I’m likely to win 
 — a soft shy look, something like what I saw to-day ; or a 
 whisper — ^ You’re so very kind, Mr Anstruther ; I know you’d 
 help me if you could.’ WeU, and isn’t it enough — and more 
 than enough h J ust as if the thing that was George Anstru- 
 ther a year ago would not pass through fire for a lighter reward 
 than the lightest of these. Help her ? So I will, somehow ; 
 and perhaps without her leave or license. I half guess already 
 what has made her cheek so pale and thin. I’ll see my way 
 clearer after to-morrow ; hut if I would keep my wits about 
 me, I must keep this flutter quiet. I’ll have sleep to-night at 
 any price.’ 
 
 Mrs Eamsay, too, had her little meditation, all to herself, 
 after her visitor had departed. 
 
262 
 
 BTIEAKTNG A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ‘ There is one, at all events/ she thought, ‘ who likes me 
 as well as ever — I almost fancy, better than ever. It’s not a 
 very magnificent conquest to be sure. How Queenie would 
 laugh if she heard of it ! I wish she were here all the same: 
 I do miss her dreadfully. I am sure he guessed I had been 
 unhappy, and pitied me in his awkward way. It’s very un- 
 grateful to say so ; but I’d rather he hadn’t done either. 
 There are not above two or three people alive that I should 
 like to be pitied by — much less that I would ask to help me. 
 And, after all, how can any one help h Even I can only wait, 
 and hope against hope. Ah me ! It’s a weary world, after 
 all, and I used to think it such a pleasant one ; and to think 
 too how sad it would be to have to leave it before one’s time. 
 I don’t think so now. If I could have one wEole year just 
 like last summer, I’d be content to lie down quietly and 
 trouble no one any more — not that I’ve been any trouble to 
 Mark as yet. He ought to remember that, whatever happens. 
 Perhaps he does remember it, for he has never spoken un- 
 kindly to me yet. I almost wish he would sometimes ; any- 
 thing would be better than being put on one side in that off- 
 hand, good-tempered way. And how well-drilled she is too ! 
 Even Queenie — though I know she was always on the watch 
 — never could find anything to quarrel with ; but how do I 
 know what goes on when she and Mark are alone together, or 
 how often that happens ? He’s out the whole day long, and 
 it can’t be business that keeps him, for I don’t believe he’s 
 really begun house-hunting yet. There, there — I’m foolish 
 again. I’d better order the carriage before my eyes get red : 
 the air may cure my headache, if it don’t my heartache.’ 
 
 The dinner next day went off pleasantly enough. Putting 
 Anstruther out of the question, it was almost a family party : 
 the sixth guest was Yere Alsager ; and when people who have 
 lived for some space in the same country quarters meet for the 
 first time in town, they generally feel more or less domestic 
 for the moment. Anstruther said but little, and that little 
 chiefly to Mrs Eamsay, on whose right hand he was placed ; 
 but his presence was no constraint on the others ; and Mark — 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 263 
 
 who was invariahly courteous to each and every one of his 
 wife’s friends or acquaintance — soon put the stranger tho- 
 roughly at his ease. Prejudiced as he was against Eamsay, 
 and little inclined to appreciate mere outward graces, An- 
 struther was not thoroughly proof against the charm of the 
 other’s manner ; and, when the women had departed, he 
 moved — not unwillingly — into the chair next to his host’s. 
 
 ‘ I was rather disappointed in not seeing you at the club 
 this afternoon, Mr Anstruther,’ Irving remarked. ‘ They tell 
 me you rarely fail to put in an appearance there.’ 
 
 ‘ I had business that detained me,’ the other answered 
 rather hesitatingly — he had been so much out of the way of 
 conventionalities, that even an excuse came lamely off his 
 tongue — ‘ I shall take my lesson before long, rely upon it.’ 
 
 ‘ The lesson wdll be the other way, from what I hear,’ Ir- 
 ving said. ^ The Viscount allowed that you were acquainted 
 with the first principles of the game so you must be nearly 
 de la premiere force ; but that wasn’t w’hy I specially wished 
 to meet you. Eamsay’ s name was put up there to-day, with 
 Blanchmayne as his proposer, and I meant to ask you to 
 second him. I’d have done it myself, of course ; but I’ve been 
 at the Orion so rarely of late that I’m almost forgotten there ; 
 and you are as one in authority, I understood.’ 
 
 kTow, though Anstruther had small liking or esteem for 
 Blanche’s husband, the proposal would have been less dis- 
 tasteful coming from any other channel. Long judicial prac- 
 tice and natural keenness of perception, had made him no 
 mean physiognomist : at all events, he had got accustomed to 
 facial warnings, and to rest a good deal on first impressions ; 
 and these had rarely deceived him. He had not watched that 
 partie of piquet two days ago for nought. He had begun to 
 distrust from the very first those smooth delicate features and 
 glittering eyes, and guessed that sharp cruel talons could come 
 forth on occasion from the velvet paws. He would never, 
 thereafter, have met Alexander Irving in any relation of life, 
 where his own or a friend’s interest was deeply concerned, 
 without standing somewhat on his guard. In the very pro- 
 
264 
 
 ]}11EAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 posal that he, George Anstruther, should avouch Mark Eam- 
 say a good man and true, there was something that jarred ; 
 hut, issuing from that especial quarter, it sounded ominous and 
 unnatural. However, there was no real choice left him. 
 
 There are persons, doubtless — luckily their name is not 
 Legion — who, when replete with old wine and fat venison, 
 would decline — without sufficient cause, remember — to requite 
 their entertainer with such a slight service ; and depart, plum- 
 ing themselves on having discharged a social duty rather 
 cleverly. Eut Anstruther was by no means equal to such an 
 occasion : he hesitated just long enough to prevent the acqui- 
 escence being cordial, and then professed his willingness to 
 become Mr Earn say’s seconder, and forward his election in all 
 reasonable ways — disclaiming, at the same time, anything like 
 influence at the Orion. The obliged person noticed the hesi- 
 tation without guessing at its cause : it rather amused him 
 than otherwise, and did not in the least interfere with his 
 expressions of acknowledgment. Irving observed it too, and 
 being considerably mystifled thereby, gave the puzzle much 
 more thought than Mark had done. 
 
 ‘ What the devil was he boggling at 1 ’ said he to himself. 
 
 ‘ It’s just of a piece with his beginning to stammer the 
 other night, for no rhyme or reason. People with mysteries 
 have no business in society. He’ll bring about an imbroglio 
 somehow or other before all’s done ; see if he don’t ! Eut it’s 
 not likely to affect me or mine, that’s one comfort.’ 
 
 Alexander Irving remembered those last words — and with 
 cause — before all loas done. 
 
 Whatever his private fancies might have been, no sign of 
 suspicion showed itself on the surface ; and the flow of desul- 
 tory talk went smoothly on, till Alsager, whose love of music 
 amounted to a passion, suggested a move. Eoth father and 
 daughter were in superb voice that night ; and even Elanche’s 
 admiration was, for the moment, sincere. Eut to one man 
 there present — though he seemed to listen, in rapt attention, 
 with half-closed eyes — the rich melody was as the flowing of a 
 far-off torrent, without rhythm or distinguishment of sound. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 265 
 
 With all his vigilance — and neither eyes nor ears had for an 
 instant that evening been off duty — Anstruther had failed to 
 catch a look or word whereon suspicion might he grounded. 
 ISTevertheless, he had gained the first letter of the word which, 
 when fully formed, would unlock the secret. Over this he 
 pondered ; and as he drove homewards alone, he murmured, 
 half-aloud, 
 
 ‘ A blight on the fair false face ! I know now what makes 
 the other wan and pale.’ 
 
 CHAPTEE XXX. 
 
 When Captain Irving spoke of the current year as one of 
 financial famine, he rather over-coloured the state of the case. 
 That he was still suffering, as he had long suffered, from 
 chronic insufficiency of income was perfectly true ; for his life- 
 interest in D rumour was heavily encumbered, and never likely 
 to he otherwise ; and the sum derived from the letting of the 
 house and shooting was barely sufficient to cover household 
 expenditure, conducted on ever so modest a scale. Unless the 
 cards were kind, luxuries were out of the question. He had 
 grown accustomed to thus living from hand to mouth, and from 
 hour to hour, and perhaps did not altogether dislike it. He 
 was such an inveterate gambler, that increase of fortune would 
 only have led to playing for increased stakes ; so that a heavy 
 run of ill-luck might at any moment have reduced him to his 
 present ebb. 
 
 We all know how the Indian ‘brave ’ — of the Cooper type 
 — bears himself when, having lost his last horse, so that he can 
 chase the buffalo no longer, he sees the keg of fire-water empty 
 and his wigwam-walls bare of meat. He wastes no breath in 
 cursing or praying, but chooses some convenient spot for am- 
 bush, and will wait there patiently from dawn to evening, 
 and from evening to dawn — only tightening his belt some- 
 
266 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 times to choke the wolf within him — till the Great Spirit 
 shall see fit to send game within reach of his arrow. In 
 Irving, an epicurean hy habit and inclination to the tips of his 
 delicate fingers, there was a strong dash of this simple stoicism. 
 When he found that his resources were crippled for a time, he 
 accepted the position with perfect good-humour; making a 
 jest of privation and of the shifts that he was compelled to 
 resort to. Alice never complained, to he sure : that was a 
 great point ; and, on the whole, the wheels of their frail chariot 
 rolled on more smoothly than could have been expected. 
 
 Fortune had rather smiled than frowned on Captain Irving 
 of late, or he would not have been found that autumn at 
 Drumour, though there were sufficient reasons for his presence 
 there ; for the lease of the house and shooting had just expired, 
 and no eligible offer of fresh tenancy had been made, up to 
 the time when the absentee resolved to try what a spell of his 
 native air would do towards banishing certain ailments that 
 had begun to trouble him. He was not quite satisfied with 
 the way in which his interests, such as they were, had been 
 looked after there of late ; and though he would have laughed 
 the very idea to scorn, there abode with him, perchance, still 
 some faint tinge of the nostalgia which is found nowhere so 
 strong as in the Scot. Indeed, at first — though out-door 
 pursuits wxre entirely out of his line, and he set his foot upon 
 his native heath only under protest — it was rather pleasant to 
 loiter about the old haunts, and to throw a fly into the pool 
 out of which his first trout was landed, and to watch the sun 
 go down behind a hill that was, nominally at least, his own. 
 But, as the novelty wore off, Irving began gravely to misdoubt 
 the wisdom of his move from Darmstadt ; before the Kenlis- 
 Castle party appeared upon the scene, he had more than once 
 unmistakably regretted it. Afterwards it was different ; and 
 the autumn passed away quite as rapidly as he could wish : 
 but the prospect of a Highland winter was anything but in- 
 viting. nevertheless, acting up to his principle of ‘ what can’t 
 be cured must be endured,’ the Laird of Drumour had made 
 up his mind to be ice-bound ; and it was only the stroke 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 267 
 
 of luck mentioned above that induced him to alter his 
 plans. 
 
 Self was bound to stand first and foremost in all Captain 
 Irving’s calculations ; but he was not positively an unnatural 
 father. Though parental solicitude had really little to do with 
 his move southwards, he would never have dreamed of leaving 
 Alice in the ISTorth alone ; and in his choice of town-quarters 
 her comfort and convenience were certainly more studied than 
 his own. He was not a man of half-measures, and, before he 
 decided to winter in London, had sufficient in hand to make 
 petty economies needless. He had no notion of being cabined 
 in furnished apartments, or of testing his digestion by a lodger 
 cuisine. Three of the Drumour household — the cook, butler, 
 and Alice’s own maid — accompanied their master to town ; 
 and before the week was out, the Irvings were established in 
 one of the daintiest maisonnettes in Mayfair — ‘ absolutely 
 thrown away,’ according to the pathetic house-agent, at 
 twelve guineas a-week. 
 
 Captain Irving was very consistent in his habits, though 
 they were the reverse of what are usually called ‘ regular.^ 
 The time of his going to rest was rather uncertain, to be sure ; 
 about two A.M., rather before than after, would have been a 
 fair average. Trom that time up to noon the outer world, 
 with the exception of his valet, had no cognizance of or com- 
 munication with him. Punctually, or almost punctually, at 
 that hour he breakfasted in foreign fashion, and was choice in 
 his light wines. Unless she had some exceptional engagement, 
 which rarely happened, he liked Alice to keep him company 
 at this meal. It was not a heavy tax on filial duty, and it 
 was about the only one she was called upon to render. Of 
 the rest of the day she was free to dispose according to her 
 pleasure ; and a brougham, with a coachman warranted steady, 
 was at her service to carry her whither she would. Ho matter 
 what the weather, her father went forth soon after one, and 
 never by any chance put in an appearance again till close on 
 dressing-time. 
 
 Pirst, he drove, or, if the morning was exceptionally fine, 
 
268 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 sauntered, down to his club at the corner of Pall Mall, where 
 he usually met three or four ancient comrades who remem- 
 bered Alec Irving as Mevilish good company’ when they 
 were all beardless guardsmen together, and were quite will- 
 ing to chat with him now, in spite of the scandals that had 
 since attached to his name — scandals almost forgotten by this 
 time, even if they did not come within the social Statute 
 of Limitations. After lounging away an hour or so here, he 
 went about any business he might have on hand, such as a 
 visit to his banker’s ; but by three, or thereabouts, he generally 
 found himself opposite Lord Blanchmayne, or some other an- 
 tagonist of the like calibre, at the piquet-table. Thence he 
 returned straight home, just in time for a leisurely evening 
 toilet. This ceremonial he was never known to pretermit ; 
 and, whether he dined alone with Alice or in society, made 
 no sort of difference either in the process or the result. In 
 the former case he rather lingered than hurried over his re- 
 past, and dallied for at least twenty minutes with his coffee 
 and chasse ; but it was rarely much past ten when he bade 
 his daughter an affectionate good-night, and departed to his 
 club again. When they dined in society — which was seldom 
 — the brougham always left him at the Orion, after dropping 
 Alice at home. 
 
 It was a strange, lonely life for a woman in the prime of 
 youth and beauty ; for, with the exception of a maiden aunt 
 whom she could not endure, and a couple of cousins whom she 
 hardly knew, Alice had no relatives in town ; and, from hav- 
 ing sojourned so long abroad, her acquaintance scarcely ex- 
 tended beyond the people she had met at Kenlis. 
 
 But was it so certain that her life was lonely ? 
 
 Most parents, however much wrapped up in their own 
 pursuits, would have found time to ask themselves that ques- 
 tion, if not of others. But Alice had been so used to be left 
 to her own devices, and her father’s conscience had so long 
 ago ceased to prick him on that point, that perhaps it was 
 only likely that the existing state of things should seem to 
 both the most natural arrangement possible. What turned 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 269 
 
 Captain Irving’s meditations into a particular channel, on a 
 particular morning, it would he very difficult to say. It so 
 happened that he had won rather largely overnight ; but an 
 equally heavy reverse would not have accounted for his being 
 captious, or fretful, or inclined to disturb the peace of his 
 establishment. In this respect he was a model for better men. 
 Possibly some vision had disquieted him. Ho philosopher, 
 unless his digestion be faultless, can afford to laugh at dreams. 
 Howsoever this might be, it was clear that something was 
 amiss with Irving just now. He was unusually taciturn at 
 breakfast, and sent away one of his favourite dishes untasted. 
 If his brow were not precisely stormy, it was certainly over- 
 cast. Alice was not a whit alarmed by these unusual demon- 
 strations ; but rather curious as to their cause and meaning. 
 At last, glancing up from her Post, she asked her father, point- 
 blank, what he was thinking about. 
 
 ‘ I was thinking,’ he answered very deliberately, ‘ what a 
 pity it was your mother died so soon.’ 
 
 Alice opened her great eyes in wonder. Truly, to find 
 grapes growing on thorns, or milk flowing in a barren land, 
 would have seemed likelier than a gush of sentiment from such 
 a source. 
 
 ‘ Do you really think it a pity ? ’ she said placidly. ^ I 
 always fancied poor mamma was saved so much trouble. It 
 must have been a great loss to you at first ; but I thought you 
 had quite got over it.’ 
 
 The satire was quite sufficiently veiled for Irving to have 
 passed it by at any other time ; now, he winced perceptibly. 
 
 ^ I wouldn’t sneer if I were you, it don’t suit your style of 
 face ; besides, there’s no point in it, as it happens. It was 
 for your sake, not for mine, that I thought it was a pity. 
 Your mother was not a clever woman, but she would have 
 been about equal to playing duenna ; and, it seems to me, you 
 want one. How we are on the subject — what are your en- 
 gagements this afternoon '? ’ 
 
 ^ Hothing tremendous,’ she answered. ^ I think of going 
 to see the pictures at the Winter Exhibition, and then I shall 
 
270 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 pay a duty-visit to Aunt Caroline. She’s quite enough of a 
 bore as it is, without making herself out neglected.’ 
 
 ‘ Do you go to the pictures alone '? ’ 
 
 ‘ I go alone, certainly ; I believe Mr Eamsay will meet me 
 there. He has a marked catalogue, which will be useful.’ 
 
 ^ Very useful, no doubt. How, when did you see his wife 
 last 1 ’ 
 
 The dry semi-judicial tone of these queries puzzled Alice ^ 
 exceedingly, to say the least of it ; and her colour began to 
 heighten. 
 
 ^ I forget whether it was on Thursday or Triday : what 
 makes you ask '? ’ 
 
 ‘ Hever mind what makes me ask ; but answer me one 
 more question. When did you see him last Perhaps your 
 memory won’t fail you there.’ 
 
 ‘ I saw him yesterday,’ she said, with perfect composure. 
 
 ‘ It’s quite a new idea, papa, your taking so much interest in 
 my visits and visitors : I suppose I ought to feel flattered. 
 
 ‘ y ou may suppose I have some reason for it, at all events, 
 Alice, listen to me. I have a suspicion — only a faint suspicion, 
 mind — that there’s some fooling afoot between you and Mark 
 Ramsay. How, once for all — I won’t have it. There are 
 people who can carry off such things with a high hand, simply 
 by virtue of their position ; but we’re not strong enough to 
 muzzle the scandalmongers, and I don’t intend that half the 
 idle tongues in London should be set wagging at our expense. 
 
 I don’t know what they may do in America ; but I do know 
 there’s no country in Europe where a girl can carry flirtation 
 with a married man beyond a certain point without risking 
 her reputation. Do you understand me ; or shall I speak 
 plainer h ’ 
 
 The girl drew herself up haughtily. There was a strong 
 family likeness betwixt the two ; though in Alice there were 
 signs of an energy of existence — a vivida vis, as the Latins 
 have it — and of a quick energy that could never have belonged 
 to her father ; for, from his youth upwards, Irving’s demean- 
 our had been marked by a listless indifference — not only to 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 271 
 
 things in general, but to the matter actually in hand — and 
 this had told heuvily against him in his bygone fredaineH. 
 People would have it that he sinned, not from impulse, but of 
 aforethought ; and gave judgment accordingly. This outward 
 likeness was never so striking as when their faces hardened. 
 
 ‘Yes, I understand you,’ she said, low and distinctly. 
 ‘ There’s no need for plainer speaking. Married flirtations are 
 utterly unpardonable, unless — they are carried on with a pur- 
 pose. Conscientious scruples are always to be respected, of 
 course. I almost wonder, papa, that these didn’t develop 
 themselves eighteen months ago, in dear, dull, respectable 
 Darmstadt. There, surely, if anywhere, one would have 
 thought we ought to have been careful about the proprieties. 
 Wasn’t it rather imprudent to give Yladimir Hunyadi the 
 entree to our house at all sorts of hours h Perhaps I was 
 dreaming when I heard him talk about the wife he had left 
 behind in Hungary ^ That was in the early part of our 
 acquaintance to be sure ; he didn’t mention her often after- 
 wards. The poor Magyar ! I hope his grdfin was not very 
 unforgiving when he went back to confess that he was half 
 ruined.’ 
 
 ‘ He lost his money fairly,’ Irving said, without lifting his 
 eyes ; ‘ and he was an honest, hot-headed fool ; not a cool, 
 pitiless devil, like this last friend of yours. I have heard 
 enough about him, if you haven’t.’ 
 
 Her laugh was very musical ; but not altogether pleasant 
 to hear. 
 
 ‘ Lost his money fairly ; not a doubt of that : just as fairly as 
 he would have lost his life, if he had stood opposite you d la 
 harrier e. It’s only just, skill should correct luck, you know. 
 But, papa, that idea about “ this last friend of mine” is quite 
 imjpagahle. Perhaps it was I who proposed that we should 
 accept the first invitation to Kenlis, and proposed going there 
 each time afterwards, and started the idea of our wintering in 
 town instead of at D rumour % It’s very odd. I have been 
 labouring under the delusion it was just the other way. I 
 suppose you have heard all those dreadful stories about Mr 
 
272 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Eamsay since you came to town, and they will continue to 
 torment you till — till next August, let us say ; and you have 
 begun to ponder over them, since you found a better match for 
 you at piquet. Confess now — isn’t it so ? ’ 
 
 It was long since Irving had been so nearly on the verge 
 of a vulgar outbreak of anger : his face grew actually paler in 
 the effort he made to repress it. 
 
 ‘ Insolence isn’t argument, you’ll find ; and whether you 
 comprehend them or not, you’ll have to obey orders.’ 
 
 She answered gently, almost humbly ; yet there was no 
 submission in her eyes. 
 
 ‘ I don’t mean to be insolent, or rebellious either ; but, 
 papa, before you give your orders, wouldn’t it be as well we 
 should understand each other ] Surely it’s too soon — or too 
 late — for us to quarrel. Have you forgotten the compact we 
 made just a week after I came of age, when I signed away all 
 — it was little enough. Heaven knows — that I had power 
 over ? It was agreed then that I should be absolute mistress 
 of my own actions thenceforth, and that I might spend my 
 allowance and my time exactly as it seemed to me good. I 
 didn’t ask for any thanks then, because, I considered that I 
 got an equivalent for what I gave. I bought my freedom with 
 a price ; and it’s too much to expect me not to use my own, 
 or to abandon it so soon.’ 
 
 Her father’s face had grown darker and darker. 
 
 ‘ And you expect me to sit smiling and blinking, while you 
 walk straight to your shame ^ Curse your compacts ! They 
 wouldn’t hoodwink a county bench or a Elankshire jury. 
 Alice, you ought to know me by this time : I’m not given to 
 bluster. I’ll watch you both narrowly, and if I have reason to 
 believe that Mark Eamsay means foul play— whether you are 
 his accomplice or not — I’ll give him no more chance than I 
 would a mad dog at large. How you can act as you please.’ 
 
 Her courage was beyond that which commonly falls to the 
 lot of woman, and in presence of physical, or purely personal, 
 danger, many of the ruder sex might have envied her nerve ; 
 but she grew a coward now, all in a moment. Yes, she knew 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 273 
 
 her father only too well : she knew that in his delicate blue 
 veins flowed the bitter Irving blood, which, even within her 
 memory — to say nothing of worse deeds in the aforetime — had 
 broken out to deadly effect. She knew that, when he had 
 once passed the bounds of cool calculation, neither fear of God 
 or man would turn him back from the work whereto his hand 
 was set. It had always been so — in anger as in love — and 
 would be so again. But she was too wise to show one 
 sign of the terror that was mastering her ; and she looked 
 straight into her father’s eyes — lifted now — smiling. 
 
 ‘ We’re getting quite melodramatic. What a pity we have 
 no audience ! But that tragic pose was unnecessary, papa. So 
 you actually gave me credit for misplaced affection, and an un- 
 fortunate attachment, and all that sort of thing 1 How very 
 nice of you ! How, isn’t it barely possible that I might flirt 
 for a purpose of my own, instead of a purpose of yours 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t see what you’re driving at,’ he muttered, in a 
 much more placable tone, though. 
 
 ‘ Have you ever considered the position in which I should 
 be placed at your death '? I have. To be sure, I’m the person 
 most interested in the matter. I should be simply penniless 
 — that’s all : for every acre of Drumour is entailed, and, if the 
 cards ran ever so luckily, you would never leave a large bal- 
 ance at your banker’s. Wouldn’t it be a great satisfaction to 
 you in your last moments, papa, if you left me established for 
 life at Kenlis Castled You needn’t lift your eye-brows so 
 contemptuously : more improbable things have come to pass. 
 Mark Eamsay would marry me to-morrow, if anything hap- 
 pened to his wife. And I doubt if hers is a good life — cer- 
 tainly not so good as mine.’ 
 
 Irving was fairly dazzled, for the moment, by the light 
 that broke in upon him. He rose to his feet with a long low 
 whistle ; and then said softly to himself, 
 
 ^ The devil ! ’ 
 
 It was much as if a devout Catholic had crossed him- 
 self, invoking his patron saint — only different people have 
 different ways of expressing surprise. 
 
 T 
 
274 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 ^ And in the mean time — if there is a mean time ’ — he 
 said, after a pause — ‘ what do you mean to do ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I mean to take very good care of myself,’ she answered, 
 with a sauciness that became her infinitely — ‘just as I have 
 done for the last seven years. Don’t you think I am still 
 capable of it ] ’ 
 
 The father looked down upon the daughter with a be- 
 nignity beautiful to behold — such as might light up the 
 countenance of a pious parent gathering the first-fruits of 
 good seed sown in early days. 
 
 ‘ Yes : I really think you can be trusted.’ 
 
 And he dropped a kiss of peace lightly on her forehead. 
 
 ‘ J^o^y you’re sensible,’ Alice remarked, ‘ I don’t mind con- 
 fiding to you that Mr Alsager is to be there too this afternoon. 
 There’s safety in numbers ; and, if he’s not a very efficient 
 chaperon, he can point out what I ought to admire.’ 
 
 Her father’s good-humour was not to be ruffled again. 
 
 ‘ You little plague, why couldn’t you say as much at first 1 
 You’d have had your lecture, though, some time or another ; 
 so it don’t much flatter. Well, be prudent, and don’t give 
 the dowagers a chance ; you are too handsome to be let off 
 easily.’ 
 
 Irving went forth in unusually high spirits that day. Ho 
 had done with moral scruples long ago ; yet the talons hid in 
 the velvet paws would have sprung out none the less sharply 
 to punish attaint of Alice’s good name. Making a jest of 
 most things that good men believe in, he was specially apt to 
 mock at the virtue of womankind ; but in this one woman’s 
 power to walk unscathed amongst snares and pitfalls, he had 
 implicit belief. He was right — so far. 
 
 In those last two syllables, is struck the keynote of many 
 threnodies. If the sad old parable of the pitcher carried once 
 too often to the well applies sometimes to those who never 
 sleep or wake without whispering — ‘ Lead us not into tempt- 
 ation,’ how much more nearly ought it to touch those who 
 — save for certain forms of outward observance — might as 
 well have been born in Heathenesse ? Whether the vessel 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 275 
 
 was once moulded in coarse delf, or tawdry china, or porcelain 
 more precious than the ancient Myrrhine ware, matters hut 
 little, when there remains nought thereof hut a heap of 
 shards, unworthy a beggar’s gathering. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXI. 
 
 Days, and weeks, and months passed on, bringing little 
 outward change to any of the chief actors of this story. The 
 estrangement between Eamsay and his wife continued ; and at 
 last even the world began to remark that those two were never, 
 by any chance, seen together, except at some great dinner- 
 party, or other similar ceremonial. 
 
 They were established, long ago, in a furnished house, 
 ‘ adapted,’ to quote the advertisement, ^ to the most luxurious 
 requirements.’ But the great reception-rooms were never used ; 
 for Mrs Eamsay’s excuse of ‘ not feeling strong enough to en- 
 tertain on a large scale,’ was no false plea ; and Mark was not 
 likely to suggest any arrangement that would have necessitated 
 his presence at home. Blanche never complained, or in any- 
 wise took her husband to task for his neglect ; but, beyond a 
 certain point, she would not dissemble. Long before the 
 winter was over, she had ceased to affect anxiety to keep up 
 an intimacy with the Irvings. She received them at her own 
 house pretty frequently, and dined at theirs in return in due 
 course ; and on these occasions — or the still rarer ones when 
 they met on neutral ground — her manner was courteous, 
 without a spark of cordiality. Once, and once only, she had 
 expressed herself plainly on this subject. It happened thus. 
 
 There ivas a private concert to be given, at which, besides 
 other attractions, a famous cantatrice from. La Scala was to 
 appear for the first time in England. Eor one reason or 
 another, invitations were exceedingly difficult to obtain ; and 
 even to Mrs Eamsay, popular as she was, only two were vouch- 
 
276 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 safecl. By a very rare chance, Mark was lunching at home 
 when these arrived. 
 
 ‘ The second one’s in blank, I see,’ he observed, after 
 glancing at the card. ‘ How do you mean to fill it up, 
 Blanche It would he very good-natured of you if you were 
 to take Alice.’ 
 
 Even before they left Kenlis, he had begun to speak of 
 her thus. 
 
 ‘ Perhaps so,’ his wife answered composedly ; ‘ but I don’t 
 feel particularly good-natured this morning ; and Alice has so 
 many opportunities of amusement of one sort or another, from 
 what I hear, that I think she can afford to wait. Besides, 
 I’ve settled to take Ida Jocelyn, if I take any one.’ 
 
 An evil change came over Eamsay’s face. It only lasted 
 for a second, and its precise expression could hardly have been 
 defined. It was not so much anger as surprise, with perhaps 
 a little aversion, and a tinge of vexation — as though he had 
 whispered to himself : 
 
 ^ Tu me lo pagherai' 
 
 But this was what he said aloud, and he said it smiling : 
 
 ^ Of course you’ll do exactly as you please ; mine was the 
 merest suggestion. You can’t accuse me of interfering with 
 your arrangements ; but I think you’re more good-natured 
 than you take credit for, or you wouldn’t have gratified Mrs 
 Jocelyn. Next to her husband, she’s quite the greatest bore 
 of our acquaintance.’ 
 
 He had risen as he spoke, and was sauntering out of the 
 room, when Blanche called him back. 
 
 ‘ Wait one moment, Mark. I have never accused you of 
 interfering, and you must do me the same justice. It’s just as 
 Avell that you should understand that, if I hadn’t arranged 
 to take Ida Jocelyn, I should not have taken Alice Irving. 
 And, if at any time she should want a chaperone, she must 
 not reckon on me. My reason is very simple — I don’t like 
 her.’ 
 
 There was nothing in his face now but lazy astonishment. 
 
 ‘ Is it possible ? I fancied you got on so capitally together. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 277 
 
 I^ow, I rather like her, as it happens. If we ever have a dis- 
 cussion, Blanche, I hope it won’t arise from simple variety of 
 taste. May difference of opinion ” — I forget the rest of the 
 toast or sentiment ; hut it’s much to the same purpose. You 
 needn’t stand too much on the defensive. I don’t think 
 there’s much danger, in that quarter, of your being impressed 
 into chaperon-service.’ 
 
 And so Mark effected an orderly retreat — having certainly 
 not got the worst of the light skirmish, though Blanche stood 
 on the vantage-ground of one who, having been asked to grant 
 a favour, has declined for good and sufficient cause. A bolder 
 and wiser matron would doubtless have swooped down on the 
 opportunity, for the which she had watched all the time she 
 was circling so tranquilly. But this gentle bird had never 
 swooped on anything rougher than a rose-branch, and then 
 with no direr intent than resting there awhile, or, at the very 
 worst, pecking at a petal. If she had acted up to a stern sense 
 of duty, would it have fared better with her, then or thereafter 1 
 For myself, I doubt it. At any rate, the opening — such as it 
 was — was lost, and did not recur again for many a day. 
 
 The Eamsays spent their Christmas at Brancepeth Castle : 
 it was an engagement of some standing, and Mark could not 
 avoid it with any good grace ; nor, indeed, did he attempt to 
 do so. La Reine, though she had many guests to attend to, 
 found time to watch both husband and wife narrowly on the 
 first evening of their stay. Her bright eyes grew misty once 
 or twice, and her honest heart burned hotly within her, as she 
 saw how fearfully those few weeks spent in town had told on 
 the one, and how utterly indifferent the other was to the 
 change. It was with great difficulty that she kept her anger 
 in check, when her remark — ‘How very pale and ill Blanche 
 is looking ! ’ was answered by, ‘ Do you really think so '? I 
 hadn’t noticed it. A little tired with the journey, perhaps.’ 
 
 ‘ Journey ! ’ 
 
 That was all she said ; but the word was like a missile, and 
 she fluttered her fan till the sticks crackled again. If it had 
 been in the old times, when buffets were dealt by soft no less 
 
278 
 
 lUlEAKING A butterfly: OR 
 
 than by horny hands, I think there would have lighted on 
 somebody’s cheek, just then, rather a stinging salute. 
 
 Blanche herself owned that she felt weaker and duller 
 lately ; but beyond this she could not be brought to confession, 
 and Lady Laura had not the heart to press her. 
 
 ^ It’s no good talkiug over one’s ailments, I know,’ she said, 
 ‘so we’ll drop the subject altogether; and, while you’re here, 
 we’ll suppose you’ve nothing whatever the matter with you. 
 You shan’t have a moment’s worry if I can help it ; and I 
 mean to send you away in as rude health as it’s in your nature 
 to be — as if you could be rude, if you tried.’ 
 
 These sanguine expectations were not exactly realized ; but 
 Blanche’s state, both of body and mind, was doubtless im- 
 proved by the fortnight’s respite. Lor that brief space she 
 needed not to disquiet herself about Mark’s goings out and 
 comings in. There was truce to the jealousies and disappoint- 
 ments, not the less keenly felt because they recurred so incess- 
 antly ; and she even fancied — it might have been only fancy, 
 poor thing — that there was more of kindness in his manner. 
 It was the palest image, at the best, of the old devotion ; but 
 is not even a shadow a relief on a dead blank wall ? 
 
 Mark had never been very enthusiastic about field-sports ; 
 however, he took to them now with a will, and was seldom to 
 be found within-doors when anything was to be done afield 
 with a gun, or in saddle. But twice or thrice he lounged into 
 his wife’s apartment half an liour before dressing-time, and 
 chatted to her about the day’s performance. La Eeine always 
 knew when this had happened by Blanche’s appearance 
 when she came down to dinner ; and a comparative stranger re- 
 marked on one of these occasions, ‘ What a very variable face 
 it is ! She looked so wan and worn at luncheon, and to-night 
 she’s quite girlishly pretty.’ But old Marlshire acquaintances 
 shook their heads as they confided to each other, that they had 
 always thought Mrs Eamsay delicate. That clear white com- 
 plexion often went with heart-disease ; and she seemed so 
 strangely out of spirits too. 
 
 One day, when the hounds met wdthin easy distance. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 279 
 
 Blanche was driven to the meet by her hostess. Seyton of 
 Warleigh was the Master now ; and, as soon as the phaeton ap- 
 peared, he ranged up alongside to exchange greetings with its 
 occupants. 
 
 ‘ Why, almost the last time I saw you out,’ he said to Blanche 
 — ‘ the very last, I do believe — was that famous Pinkerton day, 
 when Eankshorough and Vane had their swimming-match. 
 Do you remember it, Mrs Eamsay ’ 
 
 Her answer was not very distinct ; and she drew down her 
 veil, as Seyton turned away, to hide some foolish tears. Yes, 
 she remembered it too well — how, just to pass the time, she 
 coquetted with Leo Armytage, and provoked Yereker Yane’s 
 jealous wrath; and how — a little frightened, hut scarcely re- 
 pentant — she had watched him ride down headlong on the 
 Swaiie. Was it possible that she was the same Blanche 
 Ellerslie who had played at cup-and-hall with men’s hearts ; 
 feeling just an idle interest in the game, and a certain pride in 
 her own skill ] Something of this, though not in so many 
 words, she hinted to her companion. That the comparison had 
 struck La Eeine too was evident, though she endeavoured to 
 answer jestingly. 
 
 ‘We have all grown older, and sadder, and wiser, of course. 
 Why, the Sahreur himself has got almost sober and staid ; and, 
 as for Leo Armytage, it was only the other day I heard he was 
 going to marry an alderman’s daughter with a fathomless cas- 
 sette. One ranges oneself, that’s all. 
 
 ‘ Don’t you think it’s possible to grow sadder without grow- 
 ing wiser ’ Blanche asked. 
 
 Lady Laura did not seem inclined to discuss metaphysics ; 
 for, instead of answering, she dropped her hand to her ponies, 
 which were beginning to fidget, and followed in the wake of 
 the crowd towards the cover, into which the hounds had just 
 been thrown. 
 
 It was a coffee-house sort of a day, with a bad scent and 
 short-running foxes ; but excellently well suited for hunting 
 on wheels. However, before lunch-time Mrs Eamsay looked 
 so tired and jpale that La Eeine turned back, and made the best 
 
280 
 
 BREAKING A BUiTERFLY ; OR 
 
 of lier way home. That same afternoon — almost for the first 
 time in her life — Blanche had something unpleasantly like a 
 fainting-fit. She rallied, however, quickly ; and made light of 
 it to Mark when he came to inquire after her on his return — 
 indeed, throughout the evening she seemed in rather better 
 spirits than usual. 
 
 One way or another, the fortnight passed only too quickly ; 
 but when it was over, Blanche would not hear of prolonging 
 their visit. She knew that her choice lay betwixt accompany- 
 ing her husband, and letting him return to town alone, and 
 did not hesitate. And so began again for her the same wear- 
 ing round of restless nights and unquiet days. 
 
 ‘ I never,’ said a sage matron in my hearing awhile ago^ 
 when the griefs of a mutual acquaintance were being discussed 
 — ‘ I never pity any one who is thoroughly inconsistent.’ If 
 you indorse this opinion — which, by-the-by, I did not venture 
 at the time to controvert — you will henceforth have little 
 compassion to spare for Blanche Eamsay in her troubles. 
 
 She had spoken, you may remember, with tolerable plain- 
 ness concerning Alice Irving ; and — making every allowance 
 for female mutability — it was scarce to be expected that, with- 
 in a month, she would entreat that young person to sojourn 
 as a guest beneath her roof. Under ordinary circumstances, 
 the invitation would ha^m been the most natural conceivable. 
 
 Captain Irving was one of those inscrutable people who, 
 having little or no ostensible business to occupy them, are 
 constantly being summoned away on urgent private afiairs. 
 Early in the spring it appeared that his presence was needed at 
 Paris — ‘ for a week or ten days ’ — he said vaguely : but it was 
 evident that the term of absence would be elastic. Whilst it 
 lasted, Alice must either keep house alone, or be committed 
 to the guardianship of the Aunt Caroline whom she disliked 
 so cordially. That disinterested regard for the young lady’s 
 comfort or convenience did not prompt Mrs Eamsay’s strange 
 offer — it was perfectly voluntary, remember ; for Mark never 
 hinted at such an idea — may fairly be assumed. The real 
 reason lay somewhat deep below the surface. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSIJE^S ENDING. 
 
 281 
 
 The instances are manifold, both in new and old times, of 
 those who have been so goaded and worked upon by the con- 
 sciousness of being menaced by a vague danger or followed by 
 an unseen foe, that instead of seeking any longer to escape, 
 they have turned in their tracks, and gone to meet the mis- 
 chief ; and this has been the desperation of cowardice, moral 
 or physical, as a rule 
 
 Perhaps you have read that rattling ballad — one of Thorn- 
 hury’s, if I mistake not — ‘ The Cavalier’s Eide : ’ 
 
 Tramp, tramp came on the heavy roan, 
 
 Pat, pat the mettled gray ; 
 
 Five miles of down to Salisbury town, 
 
 And just an hour to-day. 
 
 The godless gallant had the heels of the Eoimdheads, and 
 might have made good his escape without striking a blow ; 
 hut, says he — 
 
 They press’d me hard, and my blood grew hot ; 
 
 So I made me ready to turn 
 
 Just where whitest grew the May, 
 
 Where thickest grew the fern. 
 
 It was a merry bout, be sure — none the less merry that 
 ‘ Chestnut Kate ’ carried her master safe and sound into 
 Salisbury after all. But the sport is not quite so rare, when 
 the hunted creature comes to bay — not in anger or dare- 
 devilry, but because the sharp swift agony that will end all 
 seems easier to endure than the sickness of doubt and fear. 
 
 The illustration may seem strangely inapplicable to sucli 
 ‘ genteel comedy ’ as this has been hitherto : nevertheless, the 
 parallel does not altogether fail. That there was a danger, 
 and an enemy to boot, in the background, Blanche was right 
 well aware. She had never yet questioned her husband as to 
 where a single hour of his long absences was spent ; but, if 
 she had so questioned him, and he had answered truly, per- 
 haps she would have been brought not much nearer the mark 
 than she was brought by her own fancy. She was sufficiently 
 acquainted with Captain Irving’s habits to be certain that 
 during the afternoon Alice might almost safely reckon on going 
 
282 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 whither slie would, or receiving whom she would : but in that 
 ‘ almost ’ there was a slight safeguard — miserably slight, to be 
 sure ; yet the idea of its being removed was to Blanche simply 
 intolerable. 
 
 One thing must be clearly borne in mind : Mrs Eamsay 
 had never admitted to herself the possibility of there being 
 actual guilt in her husband’s intimacy with Miss Irving. 
 Though she had lived from girlhood upwards in an atmo- 
 sphere of coquetry, and, more or less, in a fast set, she had 
 never been brought into contact with anything much worse 
 than folly ; and her suspicions travelled more slowly than 
 those of the average of prudes. She thought that Alice was 
 daily and hourly stealing from her larger portions of Mark’s 
 love, or of the sentiment — no matter what —which she, 
 Blanche, had been too glad to accept in love’s stead. This 
 was all ; and it was more than enough to make her hate the 
 beautiful marauder with all the bitterness of which her nature 
 was capable. She had no brain for plotting or counter- 
 plotting ; but, with a certain shrewdness of reasoning, she 
 told herself that, as her guest, Alice would be less a free agent 
 than under her own father’s roof during his absence. Mark, 
 however little he might respect his moral obligations, had a 
 decided regard for his social ones ; and was likely to be more 
 guarded in his demeanour under his own roof than under any 
 other that could be named. It is not likely that any one of 
 these reasons will exempt our unlucky heroine from the charge 
 of inconsistency above mentioned ; but perhaps they may pre- 
 vent this, her act and deed, from being set doAvn as an insane 
 vagary. 
 
 The surprise that Alice could not conceal, when the in- 
 vitation came, seemed not to be purely pleasurable ; indeed, 
 she pouted her lip at first, as if the horizon thus opened to 
 her was not all rose-colour. However, she had not a shadow 
 of excuse for declining it; Captain Irving would not have 
 listened for one moment to such a thing. It was the very 
 arrangement for which he would have schemed ; and he could 
 hardly believe in such good-luck as that his opponent — for in 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 283 
 
 tliis liglit lie liad begun to consider Mrs Eamsay of late — 
 should play directly into his hand. It was one of his favour- 
 ite maxims, that it mattered little what a husband or wife did, 
 so that the other party to the marriage -contract took no overt 
 exception to the proceedings. 
 
 ‘ I shall go to Paris now with a quiet conscience,’ he said 
 to his daughter — as if he and his conscience had not come to 
 terms a quarter of a century ago. And she answered : 
 
 ‘Well, there’s some comfort in that, at all events,’ with 
 equal gravity. 
 
 Those two were so used to their masks, that, even when 
 alone, they did not often lay them aside. 
 
 Mark heard of the arrangement with much outward in- 
 difference. 
 
 ‘ It is very benevolent of you,’ he remarked to his wife. 
 ‘ I suppose you’ve thought better of what you said the other 
 day. You needn’t take her out more than you like, you know 
 — particularly if it tires you.’ 
 
 Blanche was really glad that he did not thank her. She 
 felt she deserved thanks so little, that she could hardly have 
 listened to them without a disclaimer. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 A WILD spring morning, with promise of worse weather 
 yet, in the keen wind-gusts and fierce rain-swirls — a morning 
 utterly abominable to those who are forced on their own or on 
 others’ business to be abroad ; yet not without its merits to 
 such as are permitted 
 
 Partem solido demere de die, 
 
 at their own fireside in idleness, or in pretence at industry. 
 So thought Vere Alsager, as — after dallying with a late break- 
 fast, and skimming two or three papers — he lounged in the 
 
284 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY I OR 
 
 same chair that he occupied on the eve of Blanche’s marriage ; 
 watching the smoke curl from his pipe with half-shut eyes, 
 whilst he debated whether he was equal to the labour of 
 putting a few finishing-touches to a crayon-sketch, to be ma- 
 tured some day into an oil-painting, if the Fates pleased. 
 
 A ring at the outer bell made him turn his head, mur- 
 muring : ‘ A dun, I suppose. He almost deserves to be paid 
 for venturing out in such weather ; but his pluck is likely to 
 be its own reward, I’m afraid. I hope he won’t give me the 
 trouble of explaining so much to him.’ 
 
 However, when the door opened, it was no commercial 
 face that appeared. Vere nodded lazily to the new-comer. 
 
 ^ Why, Mark, what brings you out so early ] You haven’t 
 become a man of business all of a sudden, have you ? And 
 you wouldn’t have come far out • of your way simply for the 
 pleasure of my valuable society.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know about that,’ the other answered, as he set- 
 tled himself into another arm-chair, v^/ You are as good com- 
 pany as anybody else^ when you take the trouble to talk ; and 
 almost any company, in such infernal weather, is better than 
 one’s own. I suppose I had something to say to you, though, 
 when I came out, if I could only remember what it was.’ 
 
 ' Don’t hurry yourself,’ the other said rather drily. ‘ It 
 will come, I dare say.’ 
 
 And for at least five minutes the two smoked on in silence. 
 
 ‘ What are you going to do this afternoon ] ’ Mark asked 
 at last. 
 
 ^ Well, I hardly know. It’s as likely as not that I sha’n’t 
 stir out at all till after dark. I’ve rather a drawing-fit on me 
 — at least, it was developing itself when you rang. It’s a bad 
 light, to be sure, but that don’t matter so much for crayons.’ 
 
 Eamsay bent his brows. 
 
 ‘ I^ot going out till dark'? That’s unlucky.’ 
 
 ‘ Why unlucky ^ ’ Yere inquired. ^ Did you want me to 
 go anywhere? Well, the symptoms of industry are not very 
 pronounced : I dare say I can manage it.’ 
 
 ^ I didn’t w^ant you to go anywhere in particular,’ the 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 285 
 
 other answered ; ^ hut I wanted you to he anywhere hut here, 
 for about a couple of hours this afternoon. I promised to 
 bring some one to look at the carvings, and the things I brought 
 from Italy, and all the rest of it.’ 
 
 Still, with his eyes half shut, Alsager smoked on. 
 
 ‘Miss Irving, of course,’ he said, after a moment or two- 
 ‘Ah, I shouldn’t wonder if she is a pretty good judge of 
 Italian art ; and you are perfectly well qualified to play the 
 cicerone. Eut whether I’m exactly fitted for the part you 
 want me to play, is another question.’ 
 
 Mark appeared to think the first suggestion not worth an- 
 swering, the inference was too self-evident j hut to the second 
 he was forced to reply. 
 
 ‘ What are you dreaming about, Yere ] I never asked you 
 to play any part, as you call it. I promised to show Ahce my 
 old quarters ; and I thought it would he pleasanter tete-a-tete 
 than en tiers. I couldn’t guess you would he so wedded to 
 your chimney-corner on this particular day.’ 
 
 Alsager’ s eyes were opened now ; and he faced half-round 
 on the speaker. 
 
 ‘ There are your quarters still. Don’t suppose I dispute 
 for a moment your right to go in and out and dispose of them 
 as you please ; hut as for disposing of me — Look here, 
 Mark, weTl play with cards on the table. I’ll go out this 
 afternoon ; for, of course, I have no more right to keep you 
 out of these rooms than to take up your library at Kenlis. 
 It’s as well we should understand each other, for the future. 
 It’s clear you’ve been counting on me to help you in this 
 affair ; and, last year, you would not have been far out of your 
 reckoning — but I’m not so sure about it now. You are going 
 to remind me of what passed here the night before you were 
 married. You needn’t. I remember it all perfectly well — 
 better than you do, perhaps. When I fancied it was impos- 
 sible you could ever want these chambers again, you said, 
 “ Highly improbable, certainly ; but as for impossible, it’s too 
 big a word for my dictionary.” It was a fair warning, I don’t 
 deny : and I don’t pretend to be taken by surprise now — or 
 
286 
 
 lUlEAKING A EUTTEJIFLY ; OR 
 
 that I have not been expecting this, or something like this, 
 for weeks past : but I don’t seem to like it a bit the better for 
 that.’ 
 
 Eamsay returned the other’s steady gaze with interest. 
 
 ‘ You have scruples, then I confess I wasn’t prepared for 
 this.’ 
 
 ^ I don’t suppose you were,’ the other retorted coolly. 
 
 ‘ It’s not a question of scruples, as it happens ; but simply of 
 taste — or of whim, if you like. I dare say there were few 
 pleasanter persons in Troy than Pandarus — somehow, though, 
 I don’t think I should have appreciated him, unless I had been 
 in love with Cressida — and I dare say the led-captain’s isn’t 
 half a bad business, when you get used to it. I wasn’t 
 broken in young enough, you see. You’ll have to look out for 
 some one else to be your house-steward here, Mark. The 
 present man isn’t strong enough for the place, that’s the long 
 and short of it ; and he’ll clear out at once without a month’s 
 warning.’ 
 
 Whatever Eamsay may have felt, he certainly kept his’ 
 temper admirably. 
 
 ‘ There’s no necessity for heroics,’ he said, ‘ or for un- 
 savoury comparisons either. I offered you these quarters 
 without condition ; and, if they have been any use to you, 
 you are just as welcome, up to this moment, as if you Avere 
 ready to help mo Avith your whole heart and soul. There’s 
 no need for you to clear out so suddenly. If I Avant these 
 chambers. I’ll tell you so — without the slightest ceremony — 
 you may depend upon it. We needn’t make a quarrel of it, 
 unless by your particular desire ; but I should like you to 
 ansAver me one thing, just for curiosity’s sake. We’ll suppose 
 that scruples have nothing to do Avith your squeamishness — 
 you quite misunderstood the help I wanted of you ; never 
 mind that — but I’m certain you are thinking of somebody 
 else besides yourself in all this. Who is it ’ 
 
 There Avere feAv redeeming points in the character of either 
 of those tAvo. Yet both Avere endowed, almost equally, with 
 a straightforAvardness of speech and action — attributable, pro- 
 
BI.ANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 287 
 
 bablj, to constitutional intrepidity — which saved them from, 
 descending to vulgar shifts and subterfuges. Alsager was not 
 a whit disconcerted by the point-blank question, though he 
 pondered for a second or two before he made answer. 
 
 ‘ You’re quite right. I am thinking of some one else — of 
 the only person, perhaps, that is really worth consideration. I 
 am thinking of Mrs Eamsay.’ 
 
 hTeither did Mark blench before the riposte that would have 
 staggered most men ; but his tone — albeit still not provocative 
 — was just a little sneering. 
 
 ‘You do Mrs Eamsay infinite honour. I dare say, if she 
 knew who was her champion, she would be almost as much 
 surprised as — her unworthy husband. May I ask you one 
 more question % Since when, have you felt this vocation to 
 succour the distressed and rescue the innocent h ’ 
 
 Alsager’s lip, too, began to curl. 
 
 ‘ If you mean by “ the innocent ” — Alice Irving, you may 
 make your mind quite easy there. I assure you that I don’t 
 take the faintest interest in her welfare, and I would not lift 
 my finger to warn her. If you want to know when I began 
 to pity your wife — to pity her so much, that I will have nei- 
 ther art nor part in working out more sorrow for her — I’ll tell 
 you. It was since it became quite plain to me that she was 
 dying by inches. That’s about two months ago.’ 
 
 A curious expression — or rather, a medley of expressions — 
 possessed Mark’s face. There was surprise, and a certain vex- 
 ation, like that of a man suddenly made aware that others are 
 cognizant of a secret he Avould rather have kept to himself ; 
 but Alsager always thought afterwards, that there mingled 
 with this a cruel, eager satisfaction. 
 
 ‘Dying? ’he said almost in a whisper. ‘You must be 
 dreaming. Why, I’ve never heard her complain once ; and I 
 don’t believe she’s ever seen a doctor since we came to town.’ 
 
 ‘ She’s not of the complaining sort,’ the other answered, 
 with his low laugh ; ‘ and I doubt if all the drugs of the 
 Pharmacy would do her much good ; unless they made her 
 sleep. But I believe that others have seen it, besides me ; 
 
288 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 and that she knows it herself. See now, Mark — I’m not given 
 to whining, and it sounds too absurd for me to he preaching 
 to you ; hut I do think it’s d — d hard on her, that she should 
 not have had one year’s grace before she was knocked out of 
 time. You wanted an ornament for your table — that was all 
 right enough ; but why on earth could not you have picked 
 out one that would stand careless handling, and wouldn’t 
 break when you tossed it aside 1 Poor little woman ! It seems 
 only yesterday that we were out driving on the hill, and she 
 asked me if I thought she made you thoroughly happy ; and 
 by way of answer, I told her what you had said about Poly- 
 crates’ ring. It wasn’t a lie then — at least, I suppose it 
 wasn’t.’ 
 
 ‘ And why should it be a lie — now ’ the other said dog- 
 gedly. ‘ You don’t suppose I wish the poor little woman ” 
 — as you call her — any harm. 'No ; it’s not come to that yet : 
 though it’s quite clear that I made a mistake, and took my 
 leap in the dark just six months too soon. We’re playing cards 
 on the table, to be sure ; but you would read my hand if I 
 didn’t show it. I don’t mind confessing that I’m fairly be- 
 witched — bewitched as I’ve never been since I was twenty. 
 Alice is not the least like any woman I have ever met. She 
 seems perfectly reckless at times ; and yet I don’t believe that 
 any man living would tempt her to go an inch over the line 
 she has drawn. Perhaps that’s why she can make me do 
 pretty well as she likes, already. I don’t know what will 
 come of it.’ 
 
 ‘ Your being in a hurry was not the only mistake,’ Alsager 
 observed. ‘ According to your own account, you thought of 
 marriage in the first instance as a political necessity. You had 
 much better have kept it on that footing. When private feelings 
 are mixed up with reasons of state, there’s certain to be a com- 
 plication. Why the devil did you take so much trouble to 
 win your wife’s heart ? That you did take the trouble is quite 
 clear : she’s not one of the gushing creatures that would give 
 theirs to the first comer. If you had taken things coolly from 
 the first, I dare say she’d have accepted mutual freedom quite 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 289 
 
 pleasantly. It’s impossible now. Yon don’t know wbat will 
 come of it — neither do I. I believe it’s a presentiment, as 
 much as anything else, that makes me so loth to meddle with 
 the whole business. Do you remember when we first talked 
 about her my wondering whether that girl had ever been the 
 heroine of a sensation story ? She will be yet, and of a bitter 
 bad one, too.’ 
 
 On a certain summer afternoon long ago — it was in old 
 Oxford days — I was riding with two others along the skirts of 
 Wychwood Forest, not disforested then, and we came sud- 
 denly on a gipsy encampment. The Zingara who accosted 
 us in passing was no withered beldame ; but a ^ nut-brown 
 maid,’ — a noted beauty, as we afterwards heard, among 
 the Eomany Eye. Hone had the heart to refuse the piece 
 of crossing-silver; and. our fortunes were told one by one. 
 Two of us were prophesied unto in terms little varying 
 from the usual trade jargon, and promised fair ladies, and 
 warned against our dark rivals, in due course. It is un- 
 necessary to say that both promise and warning impressed 
 us infinitely at the time, and have profited us materially 
 since. But over the third hand, the sibyl pondered much 
 more attentively. It may be that her seeming reluctance to 
 speak was a mere trick of the craft ; but I did not suspect 
 this at the time, — and I suspect it still less now. She must 
 have been a rare natural actress, if the wistful, almost pitiful, 
 look in her eyes was simulated • and her voice, too, seemed to 
 have lost much of the traditional whine. 
 
 ‘ My pretty gentleman ’ — he was a very pretty gentleman, 
 poor fellow, in those days — ‘ you mustn’t be angry with the 
 poor gipsy, if she talks as the Fates bid her ; and wiser than 
 me make mistakes sometimes — though not so often as you 
 think. You’ll have your heart’s wish often, and you’ll make 
 others’ hearts ache, for sure ; and for all you are freehanded, 
 you’ll never want for silver or for gold. But, my pretty gentle- 
 man, the line of life’s crossed deep and early — just for all the 
 world like mine is — and them that have that cross don’t often 
 wear gray hairs, or die in their beds. You won’t vslight the poor 
 
290 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 gipsy’s warning, because she can’t speak to the place nor the 
 hour. You have a bold spirit of your own, and a strong hand, 
 and a sharp eye ; but, for all that, don’t ye ride too far or too 
 fast.’ 
 
 She fell back, and let us pass without another word. And 
 I, looking into Nigel Kenward’s face, saw a sickly change 
 come over it — though when we were out of the gipsy’s hear- 
 ing, he laughed out loud. 
 
 ‘ I got my money’s worth, didn’t IV he said in his gay 
 rollicking tone, ^ and a little more than I bargained for. 
 Devilish odd things are coincidences. She could not have 
 guessed that I’ve dreamed, at least twice every year since I 
 could remember, that I had broken my neck in a “ crumpler.” 
 If her words come true, and either of you fellows meet her 
 again afterwards, stand her a sovereign for my sake — she 
 deserves it for the shot.’ 
 
 Now this man was absolutely ignorant of the meaning of 
 fear. In those days, not a few rode with more courage than 
 judgment ; but his dreams did not prevent him from aston- 
 ishing the rashest of us at times, when he was getting a beaten 
 horse over a stiff country. When his countenance changed, 
 as I have described, it had certainly nothing to do with 
 nerves : it was rather the natural surprise of one who hears a 
 feeling, hitherto confined to liis own breast, suddenly inter- 
 preted aloud. 
 
 The gipsy’s prophecy was fulfilled, almost to the letter. 
 Assuredly, more hearts than one were set aching, when, five 
 years later, we read in the Homeward Mail, that Nigel Ken- 
 ward had been picked up stone-dead, after a terrible fall into 
 a nullah. 
 
 The present was a somewhat parallel case. You may re- 
 member that, insouciant fatalist as he was, Mark Eamsay had 
 long been haunted by an impression that retributive justice 
 would one day, in some shape or other, overtake him. This 
 had never diverted him a hair’s-breadth from any one of his 
 purposes ; nor was it likely to do so now. Nevertheless, he 
 scarcely repressed a start, when Alsager’s random words set the 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 291 
 
 chord of that sombre fancy vibrating. He answered in a very 
 grave, gentle voice, without a symptom of resentment at the 
 other’s plain speaking. 
 
 ^ It’s more than likely you’re right ; hut it’s too late now 
 to draw hack, — and I wouldn’t if I could. We must ^‘dree 
 our weird,” as the auld wives say. But I don’t wonder at 
 your wishing to stand aloof — or blame you either ; and I don’t 
 hear malice for what you’ve said to-day. You needn’t trouble 
 yourseK to go out this afternoon, Yere. On arranger a. 
 Good-bye for the present. You can meet Mrs Eamsay with 
 a clear conscience at all events.’ 
 
 ‘ A clear conscience,’ Alsager mused, rather discontentedly, 
 when he was alone. ^ I wasn’t aware that I had a conscience 
 till quite lately ; and I don’t know that I’m enchanted by the 
 discovery. I wonder if the weather has anything to do with 
 these sudden accesses of virtue h I suppose I shall he found 
 preaching at street-corners next, or lecturing Young Men’s 
 Associations on continence. There’s no knowing what one 
 may come to in his old age. I’ve probably done rather more 
 harm than good this morning, — that’s a satisfactory reflection. 
 Saint Mark behaved better than I expected, certainly ; though 
 there was a queer look in his eyes when I talked about his 
 wife’s dying. Dying? So she is. There’s not a doubt 
 about it. I’m by no means certain it isn’t the very best thing 
 that can happen to her. On the whole, I think I’d better 
 look out for fresh quarters. It’s a bore, too, for these suit me 
 down to the ground ; hut I can’t stand living even rent-free 
 on sufferance, or — what’s nearer the truth — on false pretences.’ 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIII. 
 
 It is spring again — not spring only by the calendar, hut 
 spring in real earnest ; with a broad blue in the sky, and 
 westerly softness in the wind. There is shade now under the 
 
 u 2 
 
292 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 trees lining the Eow ; and the shade is not unwelcome for an 
 hour before, and after, noon. All the world — according to 
 the Court iTewsman’s definition of the term — is settled in 
 town for the season ; and in the long catalogue might be 
 found almost every name that has hitherto figured in this 
 story. 
 
 Major Gauntlet and his fellows in Commission were per- 
 functi officio at last ; and had laid before the War Office the 
 grapes gathered in Canaan. On the very night of his arrival, 
 Oswald found himself — as you may suppose — in the smoking- 
 room of the Bellona. 
 
 In the pre-Stephensonian era^ when cosy hostelries were to 
 be found all along the King’s highway, there hved an eccen- 
 tric noble, who was so fond of sojourning in such places, that, 
 when travelling home to ' the seat of his ancestors, he invari- 
 ably slept at an inn within three leagues of his own park- 
 gate. ‘ They are always glad to see me there^ he used to say. 
 
 .Now, without taking quite such a melancholy view of 
 things, it may fairly be presumed that a man of average popu- 
 larity, returning after a prolonged absence, is likely to meet 
 with quite as warm a welcome at his club as he can reckon on 
 elsewhere. Gauntlet’s popularity was much above the average. 
 He was rather a don in some respects, it is true ; and pos- 
 sessed a knack of utterly ignoring the opinion, if not the pre- 
 sence, of confident subalterns, which was disconcerting, to say 
 the least of it. But he had a frank, free way with him which 
 prevented even these repressed persons from taking more than 
 momentary umbrage ; and, if he did not carry his honours 
 very meekly, his self-assertion never trenched upon the swag- 
 ger. So there was a kind of stir in the smoking-room, when 
 his tawny moustache came floating through the doorway; 
 and he had so many greetings to answer, that it was a good 
 half-hour before he got into his favourite corner with a quar- 
 tette of familiars. 
 
 ‘ Well, what’s the last news h ’ Oswald inquired, as soon as 
 they were thoroughly settled. ^ Meriton, suppose you give a 
 short summary for the benefit of the stranger.’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 293 
 
 The man he addressed was a grizzled old artillery -surgeon 
 — slow, hut untiring of speech — who was always a safe draw 
 for the latest intelligence. 
 
 ^ There’s nothing to eptomize,’ he answered after a little con- 
 sideration ; ‘ or next to nothing. The land is barren, or else it’s 
 a backward season. I suppose you’ve heard that Helvellyn 
 went, over the Liverpool — he’s been going any time these six 
 months — and Carlyon’s wife has bolted with a Frenchman. She's 
 been going any time these six years. I don’t believe there’s 
 anything else that you won’t have read in Galignani ; but 
 everybody you know is in town, so you’ll be well posted 
 before long. By- the -by, I saw a very old friend of yours only 
 yesterday — Mrs Eamsay.’ 
 
 A huge puff of smoke almost hid Oswald Gauntlet, as he 
 replied : 
 
 ^ You saw Mrs Eamsay yesterday. And how was she 
 looking '? ’ 
 
 ‘ Looking devilish ill,’ was the reply. ‘ Gad ! I almost 
 doubt if you would recognize her. If her carriage had been 
 on the move, instead of in a block, and if I hadn’t remember- 
 ed the horses, I think I should have passed her : I wouldn’t 
 have done that on any account. I’ve known her since she 
 was a child ; and what a pretty child she was — what a pretty 
 woman too, for the matter of that. You’d hardly give her credit 
 for it now.’ 
 
 The three others who sat listening were rough-and-ready 
 soldiers — not endowed with any special tact or delicacy — but 
 each and every one of them chose to look anywhere but into 
 Gauntlet’s face just then. Yet his voice was quite steady. 
 
 ‘ I am very sorry for this. Do you think she is as ill as she 
 looks ] ’ 
 
 AYorse,’ Meriton answered sententiously. ‘ The voice is 
 quite as much a symptom as the pulse sometimes. There was 
 never much of a ring in hers ; but I never heard, it weak and 
 hollow till yesterday. That’s a rank bad sign. I’d half a 
 mind to ask her if she’d let me call and look after her, just for 
 old acquaintance’ sake — I prescribed for her when she was a baby 
 
294 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 — ^biit somehow I boggled over the words. The fact was, I felt 
 sure that neither I nor all the doctors in London would do 
 her much good. It’s mind more than body that’s ailing, unless 
 I’m much mistaken ; that’s how it began at all events : and 
 these atrophies — we’re bound to call them by a professional 
 name — heat the best of us.’ 
 
 ‘ What makes you think so ? ’ 
 
 The other lowered his voice a little ; though with the buzz 
 of talk going on all round, he was not likely to be overheard. 
 
 ‘Well — I only speak on conjecture, mind — I don’t think 
 that she made a wise choice in her second husband. ]S"obody 
 ever supposed that she was in love with poor old EUerslie ; but 
 if she was not happy, it wasn’t his fault, God knows ; and I 
 believe she was happy in a quiet sort of way. ISTow, if all tales 
 are true — they’re only vague rumours as yet — she does love 
 this one, and gets very little thanks for it.’ 
 
 We need not inquire too curiously into the meaning of tv/o 
 short syllables that were scarcely smothered in Gauntlet’s pon- 
 derous moustache ; but I fear they were set down, broad and 
 black, by a certain Eecorder ; and I fear, moreover, that each 
 of the four listeners said Amen to the evil litany. 
 
 That the spirit of partisanship should have shown itself so 
 strong in a place, where, if conjugal differences were ever discuss- 
 ed, the sympathy would generally be found on the marital side, 
 will not appear so wonderful when we remember that Blanche’s 
 surroundings — almost literally, from her cradle up to very lately 
 — had been more or less military. Her father and her hus- 
 band, though both martinets in matters of discipline, were well 
 liked by their comrades and subalterns ; and in both homes 
 her gentle and graceful influence had been appreciated — some- 
 what too thoroughly appreciated occasionally — by all those who 
 came to eat or to drink or to flirt there. But if those honest fel- 
 lows carried away a heartache, they took the fault — rightly or 
 wrongly — to themselves, and bore no malice to the fair cause 
 thereof in after-days. Even Harry Armar, you will remember, 
 when he lay a-dying, said, ‘ God bless her.’ Truly, I think 
 that, if the present question had come on for judgment before 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLTE’s ENDING. 
 
 295 
 
 a jury picked at random out of the Eellona, it would have gone 
 somewhat hard with Mark Eamsay. 
 
 ‘ Yes, it’s a hard case,’ Meriton went on, without noticing 
 the savage interjection, ‘ cruelly hard, if it is as I fear. I 
 don’t know much about these things ; for I haven’t got tired 
 of my own wife yet, and it’s close upon our Silver Wedding. 
 But I should have thought that a man, ever so blase and bad, 
 might have lived with that nice little thing, for just one year, 
 without wearying of her — and showing it. There — it don’t 
 bear talking of. Let’s change the subject.’ 
 
 Gauntlet seemed to be of the same opinion ; for he made 
 no effort to prolong the topic, and the chat thenceforth became 
 general ; but when Meriton, who Lept regular hours, rose to 
 go, Oswald rose also. 
 
 ‘ I’ll walk with you,’ he said. ^ You are in my line home, 
 and I feel sleepy after my journey.’ 
 
 When they were in the street, Oswald put his arm into 
 his companion’s, and slackened his pace into a saunter. 
 
 ‘ Meriton,’ he said, and his voice was not quite so steady 
 now, ‘ you and I have known one another for a good number 
 of years ; and it isn’t likely I should flatter you at this time 
 of day : but there are one or two points — not professional, 
 mind — on which I’d rather take your opinion than that of any 
 lawyer or parson. I want to ask you a couple of questions 
 now. The first is — Have any of those vague reports, that you 
 spoke about, coupled Mark Eamsay’s name with any woman’s 
 except his wife h ’ 
 
 ‘ It’s really as I said,’ the other answered. ‘ Tliere has 
 been no definite scandal; but they are very intimate with 
 some Irvings — county neighbours, I believe. Indeed, the 
 daughter was actually staying with the Eamsays a little while 
 ago, if she’s not there still ; and that same daughter is remark- 
 ably handsome — quite dangerously so, — there’s no doubt about 
 it. But it’s hardly charitable to jump at conclusions.’ 
 
 ‘ Charitable ! ’ the other returned savagely ; ^ we needn’t 
 trouble ourselves about charity when we’re discussing Mark 
 Eamsay. Well, you have answered me one question; now 
 
296 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 answer me another. Look here, doctor : you know pretty 
 well how it has been with Blanche and me. You know, or 
 ought to know, that I would have tried to make her my wife 
 long ago if I hadn’t been next door to a beggar. I didn’t like 
 to be a pensioner, even upon her. Whether she would ever 
 have said Yes ” is another matter — I never asked her. But 
 there’s something perhaps you don’t know. I’m not a saint, 
 and I’m not half as fit to die as I ought to be ; but, if I’d 
 only got an hour to live, there’s not a word that I ever spoke 
 to her I’d wish unsaid — that’s true, before God. But I don’t 
 know how long that would last, if I saw her often — as you 
 saw her yesterday. And so I am come to my second question 
 — Do you advise me to go and call there, or not ’ 
 
 In cases of conscience, John Meriton, if not an exceeding 
 wise, was a very upright judge ; and, whether he had to de- 
 cide for himself or for others, he laid down the law according 
 to his light, without fear or favour. He pondered awhile now 
 before he answered ; and, when he did so, it was hesitat- 
 ingly. 
 
 Wes ; I think, if I were you, I should call. She needs 
 all the strengthening that can be given her, poor thing ; and 
 perhaps the sight of a kind, honest face would be a better cor- 
 dial than any I could prescribe. And yours would be an 
 honest one, Gauntlet — honest to the end. I am inclined to 
 trust you more than you seem to trust yourself. I don’t say 
 that there won’t be temptation ; and I don’t say that many 
 men we call devilish good fellows wouldn’t drop to it : but I 
 do say that, if I thought you’d ever try to make things worse 
 there (and, bad as they are, they might be worse) I’d never 
 touch your hand again — unless it were to feel your pulse ; and 
 then I’d make pretty sure first that you weren’t malingering.’ 
 
 ‘Thanks.’ 
 
 That small word in Oswald’s lips meant a good deal. 
 Beyond a ‘ Good-night ’ they exchanged no other. 
 
 Les pauvres esprits se rencontrent sometimes, as well as 
 the finer ones. There could not possibly be any collusion 
 between the two ; and, as they were then a mile apart, even 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE\s ENDING. 
 
 297 
 
 mesmeric affinity of tlionglit could have nothing to do with 
 it. Yet you will observe^ that Meriton’s anticipations coin- 
 cided curiously with those that Blanche had indulged in when 
 she resolved on sending her note to the Bellona. 
 
 The next morning was so soft and sunny, that Gauntlet 
 thought it not unlikely he would find Mrs Earn say in the 
 double rank of sitters lining the Eow. Though he was not 
 the least apprehensive of a scene, he would somehow have 
 preferred their first meeting should take place under the pub- 
 lic eye. He saw scores of fair familiar faces, hut not the one 
 he was in search of ; and on more than one of these there was 
 a light of welcome in which many men would have been 
 tempted to bask for a while. But Oswald was in an ungrate- 
 ful, not to say ungracious, mood just now; and few of his 
 acquaintance got more from him than a word or two in pass- 
 ing. As he was leaving the Park, after a couple of turns to 
 and fro, he came upon a group on the skirts of the crowd, 
 that, if he had felt no special interest in either of the two 
 persons composing it, would probably have attracted his 
 notice. Indeed, the face and figure of the lady would have 
 attracted attention anywhere ; and her dress, in a quiet style, 
 was absolutely perfect. Who she was you may easily divine, 
 and also who was her cavalier. Gauntlet’s glance scarcely 
 rested on the pair for a second ; but in that second he amply 
 realized the dangerous beauty of which Meriton had spuken. 
 There was nothing erapresse in Mark’s demeanour as he leant 
 against the rail immediately behind Miss Irving’s chair, drop- 
 ping a careless remark occasionally. But that very careless- 
 ness would to some people have conveyed an idea of security, 
 and so Oswald interpreted it. The two men exchanged nods 
 — they were very slightly acquainted — and rather an odd 
 smile flickered on Eamsay’s lip, as he bent down to whisper 
 something to Alice which made her look up quickly. Oswald 
 guessed at once that he was the subject of the whisper ; and 
 partly, too, guessed its import. As you may suppose, his 
 feeling towards the speaker did not grow more charitable. 
 
 Prom the Park to the square where the Eamsays were 
 
298 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 residing, was but a stone’s throw ; and he found himself at 
 their door before he had time for further reflection. 
 
 When her visitor was announced, Blanche rose up from 
 the couch on which she was lying with a little startled cry. 
 As she stood upon her feet, Oswald fancied — it might have 
 been only fancy, of course — that he saw her totter. But there 
 could be no question whether the surprise was an agreeable 
 one or not ; for there was a flush of pleasure on her face, such 
 as had not been seen there for many a day. Whilst that flush 
 lasted, she looked so like her old self that Gauntlet was half 
 inclined to laugh at Meriton’s dismal forebodings ; but when 
 it vanished — and it did so vanish, even whilst he held her 
 hand — her pallor grew even more remarkable : the snow 
 never looks so deathly white, as instantly after the Alpen- 
 gluth has faded. 
 
 ‘ I thought you were never coming back,’ she said, as she 
 sank down wearily on the couch again. ‘ When did you re- 
 turn ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Only last night ; so you see I have lost no time in finding 
 you out.’ 
 
 The effort that it cost him to speak those few words cheer- 
 fully, none but those who have put the like force on them- 
 selves would understand ; for his big heart waxed faint within 
 him, as he looked on the ruin that the last few months had 
 made. 'No need to ask how it had been wrought — he knew 
 that right well. 
 
 ‘ How good of you to come so soon, when you must have 
 so many things to do, and so many people to see ! And to 
 come unasked too — that’s best of all.’ 
 
 ‘ Well, perhaps I ought to have waited for an invitation,’ 
 he said, with a poor attempt at a laugh ; ‘ but we’re too old 
 friends to stand on ceremony ; and there’s no one I want par- 
 ticularly to see — unless it is at the War Office. I must re- 
 port myself this afternoon. Hever mind my affairs, though : 
 they will keep. I want you to talk about yourself I am 
 afraid you have not been well lately, from what Meriton told 
 me.’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 299 
 
 ‘ The dear old doctor ! Yes, I saw him yesterday, and I 
 meant to have asked him if he had heard anything of yon 
 lately ; hut he went off in such a hurry, that I hadn’t time. 
 So he thought I was looking ilH Well, I can hardly tell you 
 what has been the matter with me. I never was very strong, 
 you know ; but I seem to have gone downhill very fast 
 lately ; and I don’t feel as if it was ii\ me to climb up again.’ 
 
 ‘ Don’t be so absurd. You have no business with such 
 ideas at your time of life. ISTow, I dare say you have had no 
 advice all this time. It’s just like you : you never would take 
 common care of yourself.’ 
 
 He spoke almost angrily ; but Blanche was not deceived 
 for an instant as to the feelings masked by the roughness of 
 speech. 
 
 ^ It seems like old times, when you begin to scold me. 
 Ho : I confess I have seen no doctor. I felt so perfectly sure 
 it would be waste of time and trouble.’ 
 
 The very echo of Meriton’s words. Ho wonder, if they 
 sounded in Gauntlet’s ears like the strokes of a funeral bell. 
 
 ‘ But you will have advice now — if it’s only because I ask 
 you so very earnestly 1 ’ 
 
 ‘ Don’t look so piteous about it,’ she said, with a faint 
 smile. ‘ You haven’t asked a favour from me for such ages, 
 that I am bound to grant you this one. There : I’ll see any 
 doctor that you like to send here, and I’ll promise to do as he 
 bids me. Are you satisfied now ? ’ 
 
 He took her hand — it lay as light as a snow-flake in his 
 broad, brown palm — and pressed it by way of answer. 
 
 ‘ Do you mean to give any account of yourself ? ’ Blanche 
 asked, when the silence was becoming awkward. ‘ You must 
 have travelled over half Europe, judging from the time you 
 have been away.’ 
 
 ^ Over most of it, certainly ; but there’s very little to tell. 
 You would not care for a lecture on fortification, I sujDpose. 
 I saw three or four reviews, to be sure — especially at Berlin 
 and Vienna — that the poor old general would have revelled in, 
 and that I think would have amused you.’ 
 
300 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ‘ That was the business part : I want to hear about the 
 amusements. You don’t mean me to infer that it was all work 
 and no play ? Is the Viennese waltzing as wonderful as it is 
 reported '? You must have appreciated that, at all events.’ 
 
 ^ It’s very good, but nothing miraculous, so far as I saw. I 
 can’t speak from absolute experience ; for — you will hardly 
 believe me, I dare say — I haven’t had a single spin of any sort 
 since I saw you last.’ 
 
 ‘ I can hardly believe you,’ Blanche said, with a gleam of 
 mischief in her eyes. ‘Fancy you as a wallflower ! Why, in 
 the old times, you used to think nothing of going a hundred 
 miles to a ball.’ 
 
 ^ Ah ! but it was in the old times, you see ; that makes all 
 the difference. One must draw the line of levity somewhere ; 
 and I drew mine when I was elected to the Emeritan. I be- 
 lieve, if any member of the club were to be found indulging in 
 a round dance, it would be a case for the committee at once.’ 
 
 She looked at him, still with that same faint smile, and 
 once again she read him thoroughly. She guessed quite well 
 what had kept his arm from encircling any woman’s waist 
 during all those months ; and why it was just possible that 
 Oswald Gauntlet never would breathe partner more. Long as 
 she had known, and well as she had liked him, she had never 
 till this moment rightly appraised the value of the heart she 
 had put aside — for what ? Even now there was not within 
 Blanche Eamsay a spark of what we, who are of the earth, 
 earthy, call love. E'evertheless, she felt half inclined, just 
 then, to lay her head down on the brave broad breast, and sob 
 herself to sleep, as she had done when she was a small spoiled 
 chdd. 
 
 Very absurd — was it not — that she should be moved by so 
 slight a sacrifice 
 
 Life is real, life is earnest, 
 
 as the poet very properly sings ; and thoughts ought not to be 
 wasted on treading of measures or twanging of viols. But we 
 are as God made us, and as the world has left us, after all — 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 301 
 
 not a whit better, or wiser, or stronger ; and, with many of us, 
 such trifles as these go far to complete the sum of weal or woe. 
 
 It is unnecessary to remark, that Mrs Eamsay did not com- 
 mit herself so ridiculously. On the contrary, she was sensible 
 enough to turn the conversation immediately to less dangerous 
 ground — such as the well- or ill-faring of their mutual friends, 
 &;c. — reserving, as she said, the right of questioning Oswald 
 hereafter as to his sayings and doings abroad. And so the 
 dreaded interview passed off, very much as Blanche had sketch- 
 ed it out in her mental programme, without a single embarrass- 
 ing allusion to her past or present domestic relations ; for 
 Mark’s name was never mentioned from first to last : but 
 when Gauntlet rose to depart, she as nearly as possible spoiled 
 all by breaking down. 
 
 ‘You’ll come again soon, very soon — won’t you? ’ she said, 
 holding liis hand fast. ‘ I am so lonely ! ’ 
 
 A whole chapter of lamentations and complaints would not 
 have been so piteously eloquent as that one sentence. It was, 
 in terrible earnest, ‘ the cry of the helpless and needy in their 
 distress.’ 
 
 ‘ I’ll come as often as you like,’ Oswald said, once more 
 forcing himself to speak cheerily — it was a harder effort than 
 ever now. ‘ Oftener than you like, perhaps. Yow, good-bye 
 for the present 5 remember your promise about the doctor ; it 
 vnll be claimed to-morrow.’ 
 
 The pent-up tears flowed apace when Blanche was left 
 alone. Nevertheless, she felt glad and grateful beyond words 
 for Oswald Gauntlet’s return. 
 
 As for him — this is what he muttered through his teeth as 
 he strode away, scarcely knowing whither he went : 
 
 ‘ Dying^dying of neglect ! And they want us to believe 
 in justice and mercy ! ’ 
 
 Better Christians than the poor horse-gunner, perhaps, have 
 sinned almost as heavily in thought when such a trial vexed 
 them sore. It is so much easier to recognize that we ourselves 
 are punished according to our deserts than that the penance of 
 those we love very dearly is merited. The maxim ‘ Whatever 
 
302 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 is, is right,’ dates from old time. It ought to guide us in rough 
 paths no less than in smooth, and others besides complacent 
 sinecurists are bound to respect it. It might have seemed to 
 many, that Blanche Eamsay was now only expiating the mis- 
 demeanors of Blanche Ellerslie. But if all jurists that ever 
 expounded points of law, and all the divines that ever taught 
 submission, had pleaded and preached to this effect till they 
 were hoarse, and if Oswald Gauntlet had patience to listen to the 
 end, he would still have reared his rebellious head and an- 
 swered — 
 
 ‘A lie!’ 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIV. 
 
 Amongst the many mansions that woke up to life with the 
 spring, Xithsdale House, of course, was numbered. The Count- 
 ess was there, and — if we may be allowed the expression — 
 ‘ all there.’ Indeed, before the marigolds were in bud, the 
 choir of her adherents had begun to chant in their hearts, if 
 not with their lips. 
 
 With everything that pretty bin, 
 
 Our lady sweet, arise I 
 
 And she answered blithesomely to the call. Country air and 
 gentle exercise had refreshed her wonderfully, and she came up 
 — as her racing friends would have expressed it — ^ in blooming 
 condition ’ for the season’s work. Earl Hugh had left his 
 home-farm and young plantations with less reluctance than 
 heretofore. He grew fonder of his dear little wife every day ; 
 and, though he could not enter actually into her favourite 
 amusements, it was such a pleasure to him to realize that she 
 was enjoying herself, that he began to think London not such 
 a wearisome place after all. A certain carefulness — not to say 
 smartness — was observable in his attire, which had hitherto 
 been of the homeliest. Indeed, some of his cronies at the 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 303 
 
 Sanctorium bantered him on this point ; and the Earl did not 
 deny, or seem to dislike, the imputation. 
 
 The Daventrys, too, were to the front again. Though the 
 duties of hereditary legislation sate very lightly on the head of 
 the family, he was generally to be found in his place about the 
 time of the great spring handicaps. If the winter recess had 
 done much for Lady Hithsdale, it had certainly done more for 
 her sister. The slender figure had acquired a richer roundness ; 
 and the girlish face a more decided character, without losing 
 any of its delicacy. The startled anxious look, that might have 
 been seen there often enough last summer, was never seen now 
 in the Spanish eyes. Of all the lights that shine over this 
 earth of ours, is there one that can compare with the dawn of fair 
 womanhood'? In this light, Gwendoline Marston just now 
 lived and moved. It was soon beyond dispute that she would 
 rank high among the beauties of that season ; and none ac- 
 knowledged the fact more than another old acquaintance of 
 ours. 
 
 The world had not gone particularly well Avith Horace 
 Kendall since the cup of wealth — not to say of happiness — 
 was dashed from his grasp so rudely. The life of an absolutely 
 idle man Avith small means, and feAV personal friends, is not 
 often enviable. He was not absolutely a pauper, it is true ; 
 but the loss of the small salary drawn from the Eescript Office 
 made a material difference to his income ; for, though that same 
 mysterious allowance AA^as still continued, he had had a hint — 
 conveyed in equally mysterious fashion — that it might lapse 
 at any time. This, added to a flourishing crop of small debts, 
 made the look-out ahead rather gloomy. But it was not only 
 as a profitable speculation, that he repented himself of having 
 lost Mna Marston. Watching her eagerly — and he never lost 
 an opportunity of so watching her — as she walked or sate in 
 the glory of her beauty, he was filled with regret and longing 
 Avhich, if not good and generous, were at least sincere. All that 
 there Avas of manhood in this man’s nature was waked at last 
 — and waked for his punishment ; and very often, 
 
 His own thought drove him like a goad. 
 
304 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 He did not find many distractions in society either. It might 
 have been part of his self-tormenting to imagine this ; but 
 somehow people were not so anxious now to invite him to their 
 houses as before, and the influx of invitation-cards was not 
 positively overwhelming. With Lady Longfield, for instance, 
 he was scarcely on speaking terms — to be sure, he had treated 
 his early patroness with such insolent neglect, when he was 
 in the zenith of his prosperity, that it was no wonder she 
 should be offended. In point of fact, it was not so. The 
 good lady was incapable of bearing malice against any one — 
 simply because she had not memory enough to cherish even an 
 affront ; but her pretty cage would only hold one hon at a time, 
 and it was fully occupied now by a distinguished foreigner, who 
 had come over from Hordland, with a head of hair like Absa- 
 lom’s, and a touch on the harp like that of Absalom’s sire. 
 She had forgotten Kendall’s existence — that was all : and per- 
 haps society had, to a certain extent, followed her example. 
 When a person with no substantial claims on its attention, 
 once loses the world’s ear, it is a chance, as every one knows, if 
 he gets listened to again. 
 
 So, by day and by night, Horace went about discontentedly 
 to each and every place where there was any likelihood of his 
 meeting his lost lo ve ; and when he did meet her what did it 
 profit him 1 Whether he looked plaintive or savage — and his 
 eyes were tolerably expressive, you will remember — he was 
 always answered by the careless salute, before which he had 
 winced, as he stood side by side with his betrothed to receive 
 congratulations on his triumph. Twenty times he had gone 
 forth swearing a great oath, that he would accost her and know 
 the worst of it ; and each time he had come back, without 
 having opened his lips, cursing himself as fool and coward. 
 When at last he did speak it was without premeditation, and 
 it happened in this wise. 
 
 It was at a garden-party at Fulham — one of the earliest of 
 the season ; and the hostess had invited quite as many people 
 as her grounds would comfortably hold. Kina was too bewitch- 
 ing that day. She wore the peculiar shade of blue which, beyond 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 305 
 
 all other colours, became her. She was in radiant spirits too ; 
 and, every now and then, you might hear her silvery laugh 
 trilling from amongst the little crowd that seemed determined 
 to beset her. Horace looked on and listened, till he waxed 
 wild ; and, while the fit was still upon him, it chanced that 
 Nina stood for a second quite alone. A waltz was just over, 
 and her partner had gone to fetch her something from the 
 huffet close by. She did not notice Horace’s approach, till his 
 voice sounded close behind her shoulder. 
 
 * Good-morning, Lady Gwendoline. You see I can’t keep 
 silence any longer.’ 
 
 She did not start : although the laughing light had vanished 
 from the face she turned upon him, there was neither anger 
 nor scorn there — only perfect calm. 
 
 ‘ And why not ’ she asked. ‘ Have you anything particu- 
 lar to say ? ’ 
 
 He put on his best expression of tender reproach. It was 
 wonderful, on Avhat small encouragement the man would grow 
 melodramatic : if he had been on his death-bed, unless dis- 
 traught with terror, I believe he would have tried for an 
 ^effect.’ 
 
 ‘ How can you ask such a question h Cannot you guess 
 what I would say? If you would only listen — Is pardon 
 utterly hopeless ? Ah ! Have you forgotten your last letter ? I 
 read it through daily.’ 
 
 She did start now, slightly — there was no denying it — 
 and her colour changed withal. 
 
 ‘ I have not forgotten it,’ she said, in a very low quiet 
 voice. 
 
 There was no time for more ; for just then Nina’s partner 
 returned, and Kendall fell back. He had tact enough to know 
 that, if he had gained any advantage, now was not the time to 
 press it. 
 
 ‘ I’ve made her answer me,’ he muttered ; ‘ that’s one point 
 scored ; and I’ve got over my d — d shamefacedness — that’s 
 another.’ 
 
 And he went home better pleased with the world in gen- 
 
 X 
 
306 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 eral, and himself in particular, than he had felt for a long while 
 past. 
 
 Howsoever sanguine may have been the expectation that 
 Horace founded on this incident, he certainly was not prepared 
 for a note that reached him by post the very next morning. 
 It contained one sentence only. 
 
 ‘ If you can call at Nithsdale House this afternoon, between 
 two and three, I shall be glad to see you,' 
 
 He turned the note over and over, as if he were not sure 
 that he read aright. There was no mistake about the hand- 
 writing — he could swear to that anywhere. Why, her last 
 letter — it was an odd coincidence, certainly — had reached him 
 under precisely similar circumstances of place and hour. He 
 fell into a hurly-burly of thought, quite bewildering. 
 
 What could be the meaning of this sudden relenting? 
 Was it possible that the cold indifferent demeanour had only 
 been a mask, whilst the wilful passionate heart was still more 
 than half his own, and that Nina had only waited for a chance 
 of being reconciled? Very possible, certainly. He would 
 have preferred seeing a little more emotion when he accosted 
 her yesterday ; but then she had always wonderful self-com- 
 mand, and plenty of pride, too. Doubtless, even now, much 
 special pleading would be needed to banish her bouderie. If 
 he could get her alone for a clear half-hour, he had no fear of 
 failing here. Of course, she meant to see him alone ; but why 
 at Nithsdale House ? Perhaps it was the safest — the only safe 
 place after all. Their last rendezvous in the open air had not 
 come off so successfully, as to tempt her to risk another such. 
 Perhaps she had enlisted her sister on her side : there was no 
 telling. Everybody said the Countess was a paragon of good- 
 nature — though he himself could never quite see it — and if 
 matters were once put straight again, they would run more 
 smoothly than ever. Einally, he came to the conclusion that 
 Horace Kendall was a very fascinating person, and fully de- 
 served all the luck that could befall him — only henceforth he 
 must throw no chance away. He spent the rest of the morn- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 307 
 
 ing in deciding on the line of argument that he meant to adopt ; 
 and he had got it tolerably well cut and dried when he started 
 to keep the appointment. 
 
 Despite all this, he did not feel quite so satisfied as he 
 stood under the portico of Mthsdale House ; and, as he 
 mounted the great staircase, his confidence oozed out, much 
 after the fashion of Mr Acre’s courage ; so that he came into 
 Mna’s presence in rather a modest and humble frame of mind. 
 She was waiting for him — alone, as he had expected — in the 
 first and smallest of the four reception-rooms that occupied 
 nearly the whole of that floor ; and the folding-doors leading 
 into the next apartment were closed. 
 
 She rose wp as he entered, saying, 
 
 ^ You are very punctual. I am glad you have come.’ 
 
 But her hand was not stretched forth to welcome him : it 
 only pointed to a chair, close to the sofa on which she had 
 been sitting. It was not quite the greeting he had reckoned 
 on ; and, somehow, the programme did not look quite so easy 
 as it had done three hours ago. As he sat down, he began to 
 speak hastily — as if afraid that, if he hesitated, his nerve, or 
 memory, or both might fail. 
 
 ‘ Could I do otherwise than come Cannot you fancy 
 how I have longed for this interview ; and how I had hoped, 
 almost against hope, that I should hear you say you forgave 
 me ? I was in utter despair last year — despair of ever being 
 able to come near you again ; and half-mad with anger too. 
 You would not wonder, if you had heard the words Lord 
 Daventry said to me that morning. If it had not been for 
 this, it would never have happened. You must know that my 
 heart had nothing to say to that unlucky engagement.’ 
 
 If her colour had only changed, or if her lip had trembled 
 ever so slightly, or if her eyes had flashed, even in anger ! But 
 cheek, and lip, and eye, were steady as steel. 
 
 ‘ I have nothing to forgive,’ she answered. ‘ There is no 
 use in forgiving dead people or things, I have always heard ; 
 and our past is dead long ago. You gave me a sharp lesson, 
 and it has not been lost on me — that’s all. If it pleases you 
 
308 
 
 BREAKING A butterfly; OR 
 
 to give papa the credit of all that was said or done after that 
 morning— very soon after, too — 1 dare say he would he content 
 to take it. I don’t want to hear about your engagement. I 
 was sorry — yes, really sorry — for your sake, and, still more, 
 for hers, that it ended so terribly. It was for quite another 
 reason that I asked you to come here to-day.’ 
 
 Was this quiet, self-possessed woman the same Ivlina Mar. 
 ston who used to flush and flutter under his glance, and shrink 
 before a sharp word 1 Kendall was bewildered. 
 
 ‘ Then what was the reason ] ’ 
 
 ‘ It is soon told. You spoke of a letter of mine yesterday. 
 I suppose you have it still — and there was an armlet too.’ 
 
 As his golden visions vanished faster and faster, his face 
 began to lower. 
 
 ‘ So that’s your game, my lady ’ — he said to himseK — ‘ to 
 get everything back that could compromise you, and then to 
 drop me quietly. Kot a bad game either ; but I’ll spoil it yet.’ 
 
 Nevertheless, he answered in his silkiest voice, 
 
 ‘ Yes, I have it safe ; and the armlet too — and every line 
 you ever wrote, and every flower you ever gave me. Is it likely 
 I should ever part with, or destroy, anything that links me to 
 you.’ 
 
 ‘ I don’t know about it’s being likely. I only know that I 
 sent for you here for the one purpose of asking you to give me 
 back — everything. ’ 
 
 His eyes grew cunning and malignant, and his tone almost 
 openly defiant. 
 
 ‘ I will not part with a scrap of paper, or a rose-leaf — to 
 say nothing of the armlet — while I live.’ 
 
 She did not seem a whit vexed or surprised : indeed, she 
 scarcely repressed an evident inclination to smile. 
 
 ‘ You can keep the flowers, if you have a fancy for relics. 
 It’s the other things I am anxious about — really anxious, I 
 don’t mind confessing it ; or I should not have sought this 
 interview. But I never quite expected that you would give 
 them back^ — for nothing. I know exactly how often I wrote 
 to you ; and, as you have kept every scrap, there should be no 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 309 
 
 difficulty about the letters. They can’t he worth much to you. 
 I^ow to me — with the armlet, of course — they would he worth 
 just £500. Will you sell them 1 ’ 
 
 Horace Kendall, as you know, was not troubled with 
 many of the finer feelings that hamper some people in their 
 pursuit of substantial advantages ; but he sprang up from his 
 seat now, with his cheeks all aflame, as if a buffet had lighted 
 on them suddenly. 
 
 ‘ Did you send for me here to insult me 1 ’ he stammered. 
 ^ It was base — cruel — unwomanly.’ 
 
 She smiled outright now. 
 
 ‘ I thought we had quite done with theatricals. Pray 
 don’t excite yourself unnecessarily. It is only a question of 
 buying and selling. There is no insult in a fair proposal. If 
 you won’t accept my terms, I am sorry for it. I’m afraid I 
 can’t raise them.’ 
 
 If wishes could wither, or kill, Gwendoline Marston’s 
 tenure of life and beauty would have been slight indeed, just 
 then. After the first passionate outbreak, Kendall had cooled 
 down almost instantly ; but his sneer was worse to look upon 
 than his scowl. 
 
 ‘ You are magnificent in your offers, at all events. It’s 
 rather an expensive whim, this last one of yours. Since 
 when have you become a millionnaire ? ’ 
 
 ^ Ah ! you doubt my power of performing what I pro- 
 mised '? Well, you have a perfect right to do so, and ought 
 to be satisfied.’ 
 
 Before he was aware of her intent, she had crossed the 
 room with her swift springy step, and opened the folding- 
 doors, beckoning to some one within. The some one was no 
 other than the master of the house himself Kow Lord 
 Kithsdale was not only kind-hearted and easy-tempered by 
 nature, but showed it in all his bearing towards his fellow- 
 men. Even on the Bench he had a way — as we have hinted 
 before — of looking at criminals, when it was not a case of 
 personal violence, much more compassionately and encourag- 
 ingly than was becoming in a Chairman of Quarter Sessions. 
 
310 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Perhaps not twice before in all his life had such an expression 
 been seen on his honest, homely face as it wore when he came 
 forward now, taking no sort of notice of Horace’s nervous 
 salutation. 
 
 ‘ Hugh ’ — Lady Gwendoline said — ^ I want you to con- 
 vince Mr Kendall, that the money we have been speaking of 
 will be forthcoming.’ 
 
 The Earl nodded to her kindly ; but when he addressed 
 himself to his visitor, John of Somerset himself could not 
 have quarrelled with the affability of his manner. 
 
 ‘ You can scarcely suppose,’ he said, ‘ that this interview 
 would have been allowed to have taken place here, unless 
 Lady Gwendoline Marston had previously consulted me, and 
 unless I had approved of its object. Why she took me, in- 
 stead of Lady Daventry, into her confidence, concerns no 
 one but ourselves. I decline, also, to discuss, for one moment, 
 the circumstances under which these letters and other matters 
 came into your hands. It is sufficient to assume, that Lady 
 Gwendoline desires to get possession of them — of everything 
 — and that she is prepared to pay a fair price for so doing. 
 My guarantee will probably be satisfactory ; besides, I have 
 my cheque-book here. It is for you to say, whether you 
 accede to our terms, or not. They will not be altered ; but 
 you can take time to consider them, of course.’ 
 
 Horace was almost choked by disappointment and rage ; 
 but his very passion gave him strength that he might other- 
 wise have lacked, to make an attempt at self-assertion. 
 
 ‘ I don’t want an instant to consider,’ he answered, with 
 great heat. ^ After the words that have been said here, I 
 should despise myself if I kept one thing that could remind 
 me of Lady Gwendoline Marston. All that pertains to her 
 shall be returned within the hour, and without a bribe. I 
 trust that you will both some day repent this insult — utterly 
 uncalled for and impossible to resent — that you have thought 
 fit to put upon me.’ 
 
 And so Horace Kendall made his exit from this our stage 
 — not so clumsily after all, if he did not precisely strut off 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 311 
 
 with an air. Let us hope that his small audience did not be- 
 grudge him his little effect. Lord Nithsdale watched him 
 depart, with a queer expression of dislike, dashed with 
 curiosity, such as might suit an entomologist who had just 
 lighted on some rare hut revolting specimen. As the door 
 closed, he turned to Nina. 
 
 ^ That’s well got rid of, at all events. We’ll send the 
 cheque directly we get your packet. It won’t be returned, 
 you’ll see.’ 
 
 She tried to smile up in his face, and to murmur a few 
 words of thanks ; hut it was a failure. And then Gwendoline 
 Marston did what, under the circumstances, was perhaps the 
 last thing you would have expected of her — she sat down, 
 and began to cry bitterly. But her tears were dry long before 
 the packet arrived, though it came punctually enough ; and 
 the messenger took back an envelope containing a slip of that 
 plain gray paper which on certain occasions is apt, more than 
 the most perfect picture, to wake ‘ the desire of the eye.’ 
 
 Horace Kendall cursed the giver freely, as he crumpled 
 the cheque in his hot fingers ; but he took special care not to 
 tear or destroy it ; and he would perhaps have been infinitely 
 disconcerted, if the envelope had contained a less practical 
 proof that he had been right in trusting to the other side’s liber- 
 ality. The £500, in figures, looked fair and round ; and the 
 subsidy would help materially to clear off a crop of ill weeds 
 in the shape of debt. Why should he trouble himself to be 
 generous to utter strangers — such as all connected with the 
 Marston name must henceforth be to him 1 If his feelings 
 had been hurt — cruelly hurt — there was the more reason for 
 golden salve. In fine, he pocketed the cheque ; and cashed it 
 without delay. 
 
 When Gwendoline Marston that night in her prayers 
 thanked God that she was free — quite free — she had as ample 
 cause for gratitude as ever had woman — be she maid, wife, or 
 widow — since Eve’s first orison. 
 
312 
 
 KIIEAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXY. 
 
 If a man overborne by any grief or pain — not the more 
 endurable because no outward symptoms can be discerned — 
 should go forth into a crowd to seek for solace, the chances 
 are, that he will return in a more discontented frame of mind 
 than that in which he set out — simply from realizing the fact, 
 how infinitely little his own sufferings affect the rest of the 
 world at its work or play. It seems very hard ; and it seems 
 quite as much so to those who would repel rather than solicit 
 verbal condolement, as to the tenderer natures who are not 
 too proud to be pitied or petted. Yet there is less reason in 
 this than in most human repinings : we might just as well 
 expect a darkening on the face of Xature, when our own mood 
 is gloomy, as on the face of Society. The children may com- 
 plain to their fellows that these have not danced to their 
 piping, nor wept to their mourning ; but we whose beards are 
 grown, if not grizzled, ought at least to have learned this 
 lesson — that it is not in the market-place we must look for 
 sympathy to lighten the burden or increase the joyaunce of 
 our day. 
 
 Suppose that, spent with hard struggling for life, we stand 
 on a sinking ship — why should it disquiet our friends ashore, 
 who, if a blast shriller than common should roar round the 
 gable, will only mutter, ‘ A wild night,’ and then finish their 
 wine with a keener zest ; or our warier comrades who, ere this, 
 have found safe anchorage under the lee of the black headland 
 we shall never weather '? Still more, how can it concern the 
 sea-folk down yonder h A fiercer storm than that in which 
 we are labouring would not trouble the silence and rest. 
 
 Where there is neither moon nor star, 
 
 But the waves make music above them afar — 
 
 Low thunder and light in the magic night. 
 
 Xay, if all tales are true, nothing that once was flesh and 
 blood sinks far below the central deeps ; and there is no fear 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE'S ENDING. 
 
 313 
 
 lest the mermaiden at her play should he frighted by any such 
 ugly sight as the corpse of a drowned man. 
 
 So the business and pleasure of this season went on, just 
 as if no story could have been written about any one in par- 
 ticular concerned therein. It was a summer, to be sure, some^ 
 what fruitful of misfortune. There was terribly heavy plung- 
 ing east as well as west of Temple Bar ; and certain disasters 
 caused the most careless of passers-by to stop for a second to 
 listen to the crash and watch the ruin. But when merchant- 
 princes met, haggard and careworn, in conclave, to discuss 
 whether, for the general credit’s sake, it were not better to 
 avert some great house’s downfall by private sacrifices — not 
 only of money, but of principle ; for the very indulgence 
 verged on a compromise of crime — the layers at the Corner 
 were not less busy, or the backers less bold. And when the 
 heir to a great name and fair estate was found with a bullet 
 through his heart after the St Maur handicap was won by a 
 dead outsider, the event was scarcely mentioned on Change, 
 and was instantly forgotten in the hubbub of the announce- 
 ment that Cacus and Co. had failed. 
 
 Without this preamble, you would probably have inferred 
 that the drama in which the Eamsays bore principal parts at- 
 tracted no sort of public attention : nevertheless the plot thick- 
 ened daily, simply because it was evident to any who cared to 
 watch it, that the last scene must be played out ere long. 
 
 The Brancepeths came to town rather later than usual; 
 but within an hour of their arrival La Keine was sitting with 
 Blanche. The change in her friend’s appearance that she had 
 noticed at Christmas struck her much more forcibly now — so 
 forcibly that she forgot all her prudent doctrines of non-inter- 
 ference, and freed her soul abruptly. 
 
 ‘ It’s no use, Blanche : I dare say I shall only make matters 
 worse ; but I can’t be a hypocrite any longer. It is being a 
 hypocrite, to keep on pretending to think there’s nothing the 
 matter, when you are fretting yourself to death under one’s 
 eyes ; and to pretend, too, that I don’t know what’s wrong. 
 Won’t you let me talk to you about it at all events, and make 
 
314 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 sure that I can’t help you in any possible way ? How I do 
 wish I could ! ’ 
 
 Lady Laura had nestled down on a low footstool, close to 
 the sofa on which Mrs Eamsay was lying ; and as in her 
 eagerness she pressed the other’s hand, she felt it grow cold 
 and tremble. ^Nevertheless, Blanche’s face lighted up a 
 little. 
 
 ‘Yes, I don’t mind talking about it — noWy Queenie. Do 
 you remember one afternoon in Craven Square, when you 
 wished me happy, and promised that if I ever confessed to 
 you it was otherwise, you wouldn’t answer with — “ I told you 
 how it would be”? You’ll keep that promise, dear, I know. 
 You wouldn’t be harder on me than Oswald Gauntlet, he has 
 never reminded me of his warning — ^he did warn me before it 
 was too late ; perhaps you guessed that — and I have hurt him 
 more than I vexed you.’ 
 
 ‘ Hard on you ? ’ Laura broke in, ‘ I didn’t think any one 
 could be — till lately. Even now, I don’t believe your husband 
 realizes the harm that has been done and is doing. Men^ 
 under certain circumstances, are so awfully blind ; even when 
 they don’t shut their eyes wilfully. Would you mind my 
 speaking to him — I don’t mean scolding, but speaking — I’m 
 not the least bit afraid ? ’ 
 
 The other raised herself on her arm, with an eagerness 
 closely resembling terror. 
 
 ‘ Don’t dream of such a thing, Queenie. I wouldn’t have 
 you do it for the world. You cannot possibly do any good ; 
 and you might do more harm than you can imagine. You 
 don’t know Mark, or such an idea would never have entered 
 your head.’ 
 
 La Eeine’s face expressed, pretty plainly, that a superficial 
 acquaintance with Mark Eamsay’s character was as much as 
 she cared for ; but she nodded, and seemed in no wise dis- 
 concerted at finding her first suggestion unfavourably received. 
 
 ‘ Do you think I might speak to — any one else ?’ she said 
 after a slight pause. 
 
 There was no need of an interpreter between those two, 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING.' 
 
 315 
 
 Blanche knew perfectly whom ^ any one else ’ meant ; and her 
 face actually flushed as she answered : 
 
 ‘ 0 Queenie, that would he worse than all ! I never had 
 much proper pride, as they call it. I would go down on my 
 knees this moment, to win from Mark one of the old kind 
 looks and words. But to her — ! If I heard that inter- 
 cession had been made for me there, I should die of the 
 shame.’ 
 
 Lady Laura hit her lip. It was not so much the rejection 
 of her good offices, as the consciousness of her own inefficiency, 
 that chafed her. 
 
 ^ I don’t think I should have exactly interceded : there are 
 so many ways of putting things. But perhaps you’re right, 
 dear. I’m too much of a blunderer to he trusted. Is there 
 nothing — absolutely nothing — I can do ] It’s so provoking to 
 be useless and helpless.’ 
 
 ‘ You can do a great deal,’ Blanche said, as she laid her 
 cheek against the other’s shoulder. ‘ You can come and sit 
 with me when you’ve nothing better to do. I’m not the least 
 like an invalid : but somehow I’ve got so dreadfully indolent 
 lately, that every afternoon, when I’ve been out for about an 
 hour, I always want to creep back here : then, if I rest till 
 dinner-time, I get through the evening tolerably well.’ 
 
 ‘Not an invalid ]’ the other interrupted impatiently. ‘ I 
 wonder what your doctor would call you. I suppose you’ve 
 gone through the form of seeing one by this time ^ ’ 
 
 ‘ Indeed I have,’ Blanche replied, with her faint smile. 
 
 ‘ Oswald Gauntlet made such a point of it the first time he 
 called, and he behaved so wonderfully well altogether, that I 
 couldn’t refuse him. And a very nice— motherly person I 
 was going to say — that same Dr Swinton is. He’s a wonder- 
 ful reputation, and yet I don’t exactly believe in him : but his 
 medicines are quite delicious ; and he’s a voice like an elderly 
 turtle-dove. You can’t think how soothing it is to hear him 
 cooing away close to your ear. I always feel sleepy after he’s 
 gone.’ 
 
 ‘Well, but what does he say is the matter with you?’ 
 
31G BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Lady Laura persisted. ^ He must have given a rational 
 opinion at some time or another.’ 
 
 ‘ It’s something about a sluggish action of the heart,’ 
 Blanche said placidly. ^ I’m sure I don’t know what that 
 means ; I should have thought that mine went fast enough, 
 sometimes — not always — to satisfy anybody.’ 
 
 ^ And what does he tell you to do, or not to do ’ 
 
 ‘I’m never to overtire myself, and to he amused as much 
 as possible without being excited, and to eat everything I can 
 fancy. ISTot a hard regimen, is it 1 And then he says I shall 
 he well very soon. Queenie dear ’ — here her voice sank, but 
 did not tremble in the least — ‘ I think the doctor’s right ; I 
 believe I shall be well — very soon.’ 
 
 For a minute or two after that Laura Brancepeth saw all 
 things through a mist, darkly. She did not trust herself to 
 speak of these things further that day ; and it was long before 
 she had courage to broach the subject again. 
 
 If Major Gauntlet did not fullll his threat of coming too 
 often, and never over-stayed his welcome, it was not for want 
 of making the experiment. As yet he had never encountered 
 Mark Eamsay in his own house. Twice or thrice they met 
 casually in society ; and, on one of these occasions, Mark said 
 a few polite words about the cheering effects of the other’s 
 visits on Blanche’s spirits. 
 
 ‘ I can always tell when you have been there,’ he concluded. 
 
 It did not seem to strike him that he himself had any 
 business ‘ there ; ’ or that he was expected to do anything 
 towards lightening his wife’s depression — though he ignored 
 it no longer. 
 
 Oswald felt much as Laura Brancepeth had done under 
 like circumstances ; and, as man talking to man, he found it 
 even more difficult to frame his answer fittingly. It seemed 
 almost intolerable to accept the cool careless w^ords of compli- 
 ment from the author of all the mischief that had been done, 
 and never could be undone ; and to be conscious the while 
 tliat the speaker was deliberately trampling under foot a gift 
 that, to that other, seemed priceless. He did contrive to mut- 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 317 
 
 ter some meaningless commonplaces • but thenceforth, he gave 
 INIark no chance of airing his courtesy. 
 
 Before any of the events recorded in the last two chapters 
 occurred, Alice Irving had ceased to be the Eamsays’ guest, 
 and had gone back to keep house for her father, who had re- 
 turned somewhat sooner from Paris than was expected. Dur- 
 ing her visit not a word worthy the recording passed between 
 her and Blanche. The gentle deference to her hostess and 
 utter absence of self-assertion which had marked the girl’s de- 
 meanour in the latter days at Kenlis were still unaltered ; and 
 her bearing towards Mark, in the presence of a third person 
 at least, was quite faultless. Their sayings or doings, en champ 
 clos, shall have no place in this story. A few — even if they 
 have not made novelettes their chief study — will be able to fill 
 up the blank page ; and to others let it remain a tabula rasa. 
 Licit and lawful love-making, perhaps, is not often brilliant in 
 reality ; and not many would have patience to read through 
 one chapter thereof reported verbatim : yet it is honest bread 
 at all events, if it be somewhat stale and flavourless. There is 
 little of the wholesome leaven in such converse as was likely 
 to pass betwixt Blanche Eamsay’s husband and Alexander Ir- 
 ving’s daughter. 
 
 That some such mutual understanding as has been hinted 
 at above — not the less definite, perhaps, because it had never 
 been written down or outspoken — subsisted between them, is 
 certain. Doubtless, Alice had grounds for reckoning on speedy 
 promotion, in the event of a death-vacancy. 
 
 How you will be good enough to remember, that in one of 
 our opening chapters it was set down that Eamsay was as far 
 removed from my own personal idea of a hero as it is well pos- 
 sible to conceive. Howsoever austerely he may be judged, it is 
 not his biographer who will plead extenuating circumstances, or 
 take exception to the verdict, nevertheless, I should like 
 you to realize that it is a man — perverted and depraved as you 
 will, but still a man, and not a monster — here described. It 
 may seem to some almost preposterous that such a compact 
 should exist at all — much less before the ink in the marriage- 
 
818 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 lines of one of the parties thereto had had time to fade. But 
 as to the fact, I fear one would not have to search far through 
 modern annals to find its parallel ; and, if witnesses were to he 
 called as to the mere probability, more than one name not yet 
 erased from visiting-lists, would be found on the subpoena. As 
 to the time — Well, there are other ways of reckoning this 
 than by the pendulum. 
 
 There is a weird old German story that tells how a student 
 once sold himself to the Tempter, for a price, in which length 
 of days was a chief item. How the rest of the juggle wms 
 wrought out matters not ; but this part of the bargain the Fiend 
 evaded by causing his victim every now and then to fall into a 
 trance, which lasted for years instead of hours, in some desert 
 place ; so that the dupe reached the extremest limit of man’s 
 existence, before he had lived half its span. 
 
 My brother, it might happen to you or to me — for it has 
 happened to our betters — without having given bond to 
 Sathanas, on awaking from a lethargy or a dream, which 
 seemed only to endure a few seconds’ space, to find all around 
 us barren and lonely, and ourselves wrinkled and withered and 
 gray. 
 
 Yet it is certain, that Irving had not been wrong in the 
 confidence that he reposed in his daughter — if a calculation, 
 evil and base at the best, be worthy of the name. However 
 closely Alice may have walked to the verge of crime, she 
 assuredly had not hitherto forfeited the right to boast that she 
 could take Very good care of herself. Mark had no doubt won 
 from her more than any honest man has a right to expect from 
 a woman who cannot bear his name ; but he was still more 
 than half-bafiled by a steady resistance such as he had seldom 
 or never before encountered. In this, perhaps as much as in 
 anything else, lay the secret of his being so bewitched as he 
 had avowed himself to Alsager. It was in his nature to wait 
 for ever, rather than abandon an object on which he had earn- 
 estly fixed his desire : but the struggle and strife told on him 
 outwardly ; and, had you perused his face narrowly, you would 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 319 
 
 have found divers lines and hollows that were not there last 
 autumn. 
 
 Blanche’s hearing towards her guest was perfect, too, in its 
 way. She no longer affected cordiality ; hut in the minutest 
 observances of all courtesy she never failed. The state of her 
 health was quite sufficient excuse for her not chaperoning 
 Alice abroad — even if the latter, during her father’s absence, 
 had not declined almost all invitations. Though the visit had 
 been suggested by Blanche herself, Captain Irving’s return 
 was doubtless a relief ; and on the day of Alice’s departure, 
 she felt as if a painful strain had been relaxed, and quite en- 
 joyed the reaction. 
 
 During Miss Irving’s stay Anstruther only called once at 
 the Eamsays’, and twice excused himself from dining there. 
 Upon the single occasion when they met, after their first greet- 
 ing, he scarcely seemed to notice Alice’s presence : only once, 
 just before he rose to take leave, he glanced at her askance. 
 His hack was turned to Mrs Eamsay, and Alice’s face was 
 averted for a moment ; else, perhaps, one or both might have 
 been startled — if not warned — by the malevolent meaning of 
 his eyes. 
 
 Anstruther had fallen much into his old habits again ; and 
 now not a morning passed without his spending two hours at 
 least in his laboratory. The only difference was, that now, as 
 a rule, he preferred to work alone ; whereas before he had 
 usually been assisted by his servant, Henry Prescott by name. 
 The man was neat-handed and intelligent ; and, besides, had 
 a natural fancy for chemistry — so much so that he was inclined 
 to grumble at his services being now so often dispensed with. 
 Also Anstruther had resumed his regular attendance at the 
 Orion. He had tried his strength at piquet against Irving 
 several times before the other went to Paris, and successfully ; 
 though the skill was so nearly balanced that there was no 
 question of ^ a lesson ’ on either side. 
 
 When Mrs Eamsay was left alone again, Anstruther found 
 his way to her house much oftener ; though his visits were 
 
320 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 btill scarcely frequent enough, for intimacy, and their convers- 
 ation never touched upon anything more interesting than the 
 ordinary topics of the day. He was not a brilliant talker, 
 certainly ; hut there was a dry shrewdness about his remarks 
 that not seldom made Blanche smile ; and before Gauntlet 
 appeared he was perhaps about the most welcome of her visit- 
 ors. Afterwards things were altered. Of course the two men 
 were bound to meet before long. On Oswald’s third visit, he 
 found the chair by Blanche’s sofa already occupied by Mr An- 
 struther. The latter did not take his leave immediately ; but 
 he moved from his place at once, as though aware that the new- 
 comer had a better right to it, and was unusually silent during 
 the remainder of his stay. More than once, when he thought 
 he was unobserved, his eyes peered earnestly from under their 
 shaggy brows into the martial face over against him ; but there 
 was no malevolence in them now — only a kind of wistful 
 curiosity. And as he so gazed, the outlines of a story came 
 upon him clear out of the shadow. 
 
 ‘ Ay, you love her dearly,’ he thought within himself ; 
 ‘ and you have loved her for half your life, I dare say — and 
 what have you got for it h A few sunnier smiles, and a few 
 softer speeches than the other fools — that’s all. And she likes 
 you better than the rest, no doubt ; and I would give a year 
 or two of life to be in your place now — though whilst she’s 
 looking up into your face, she’s whispering in her heart : 
 it was only-' Mark who was sitting there 1 ” And yet you 
 would not grudge her a drop of your heart’s blood. It’s a 
 brave heart, too — you didn’t get that Cross for nothing : I’ve 
 heard more than the despatches ever told. You’d ride with a 
 laugh on your lip into a place that to us poor civilians would 
 seem like the mouth of hell. But I’d do more for her than 
 you, after all. I’d do for her that which, if it were named in 
 your hearing, would take the colour out of your brown cheek, 
 and make your great strong pulse stand still. I will do it, 
 too ; and then we’ll see which of us stands nearest to her — 
 you or I.’ 
 
 These sombre meditations did not prevent JMr Anstruther 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 321 
 
 from expressing, witli more than his customary courtesy, his 
 pleasure at having been made acquainted with Major Gauntlet. 
 He did not seem much inclined to profit by the chance, though ; 
 for it was many a day before his gaunt figure darkened those 
 doors again. Blanche herself remarked upon it at last. 
 
 ^ I do believe he’s jealous of you,’ she remarked to Oswald. 
 
 ^ Some people are so exacting, they can’t bear to share even 
 their friends with any one. I’m half sorry you frightened him 
 away ; he’s rather amusing with his old-fashioned oddities.’ 
 
 The gunner twisted his moustache, somewhat superciliously; 
 as if he thought the subject not worth deep discussion. How- 
 ever — putting Laura Brancepeth aside, who, somehow, never 
 was in anybody’s way — he would have supported, with mucli 
 equanimity, the absence of any person — however agreeable — 
 that was likely to interfere with the tete-a-tete upon which he 
 had come to reckon almost daily. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXYI. 
 
 Captain Irving’s winter campaign in town stretched into 
 the summer. You may guess that it was both pleasant and 
 profitable ; or it would not have been so prolonged. He had a 
 good deal more than held his own at the Orion. Besides 
 Blanchemayne, who took his punishment like a glutton, and 
 one other, few cared to measure their strength against the 
 smooth, smiling champion, who seemed to have chained For- 
 tune to his chair. The second exception was George An- 
 struther ; and this adversary, after a while, Irving became not 
 over eager to engage. He was not precisely afraid, either of 
 the other’s skill or luck, albeit he recognized both ; and — being 
 superstitious, like all thorough-paced gamblers — was rather 
 troubled by a presentiment that he was fighting against 
 heavier metal. But this was not all. He had an absolute 
 dislike to sitting opposite the cold judicial eyes, that, whilst 
 
322 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 they dwelt on his own face, seemed to be searching for some- 
 thing of deeper import than points or sequences. Somehow 
 he felt certain that this man_, for some reason utterly inexplic- 
 able, bore him a grudge ; and Alexander Irving — who through- 
 out his life had set at nought enmities howsoever well 
 deserved — was strangely disquieted by this fancied animosity. 
 From one cause or another, he never played quite up to his 
 game against Anstruther, and this in itself chafed him sharply. 
 \¥hen a glimmer of the truth crossed his mind, it was un- 
 heeded. Even if he had suspected that Anstruther once 
 admired, or even loved, Blanche Kamsay — and he had long 
 since admitted the utter improbability of the hypothesis — he 
 would never have suspected him of partisanship now. 
 
 ‘ He must have got hold of one of those cursed stories, I 
 suppose,’ he said to himself. ‘ That’s what makes him look so 
 queer.’ 
 
 Indeed, there were stories enough and to spare abroad, re- 
 lating to Captain Irving’s youth and manhood, that might have 
 accounted for people — not specially scrupulous or sensitive — 
 looking on him rather queerly. However, in spite of occasional 
 hitches and checks, the sojourn in town turned out anything 
 but an extravagance ; and others, beside Mark Eamsay, con- 
 tributed to the free maintenance throughout the winter and 
 spring of father and daughter. So satisfied was Irving with 
 the result, that he thought he would let well alone. His wary 
 eye had detected divers indications lately of a turn in his luck, 
 and he resolved to be beforehand with it. 
 
 One morning at breakfast, without any previous notice of 
 his intention, he bade Alice be ready to return to Drumour the 
 following week. She received the announcement with perfect 
 indifference ; and when her father asked her with a sort of lazy 
 curiosity, ‘ Are you glad or sorry to go ^ ’ it seemed as if she 
 were speaking truth, when she answered, ‘Well, I hardly 
 know. On the whole, perhaps, I’m glad. I’m beginning to 
 get a little tired of the cohue, and of seeing the same faces so 
 often. Drumour will be quite lovely just now.’ 
 
 ‘ I suppose you will see some of the same faces again before 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 323 
 
 long,’ Irving retorted, with a slight sneer ; ^ meanwhile you 
 can be as pastoral as you please. I don’t know about Dru- 
 mour being lovely ; it certainly won’t be lively : but a little 
 lethargy will do neither of us any harm.’ 
 
 If Mark Eamsay was chagrined or surprised when he heard 
 of the intended departure, he dissembled extremely well. 
 When Blanche was told of it by Alice herself — Miss Irving’s 
 conventional calls had never been interrupted — she was fain to 
 turn her face away, lest it should betray her. She would 
 scarcely have felt so exultant, had she guessed at certain ar- 
 rangements that were made that same day : nor perhaps would 
 Mark’s equanimity have seemed so very wonderful, to any one 
 cognizant thereof. 
 
 The respite, whil^ it lasted, was even greater than that 
 which Blanche had enjoyed at Brancepeth ; but it lasted 
 hardly so long. The Irvings might have been gone some ten 
 days, when Mark appeared in his wife’s dressing-room one 
 morning, whilst she was making an attempt at a late breakfast. 
 He looked graver than usual, and frowned over some letters 
 that he held. 
 
 ‘ How have you slept, Blanche ? ’ he asked, just touching 
 her brow with his lips, before he sat down in an arm-chair on 
 the opposite side of the table to her couch. ‘ You look better 
 this morning.’ 
 
 Even that careless caress made her heart flutter and her 
 cheek glow. 
 
 ‘ I slept better ; and I feel almost brilliant this morning : 
 but what do those letters mean, Mark 1 Hothing troublesome, 
 I hope.’ 
 
 ^ Hothing terrible ; but decidedly troublesome. They seem 
 to have a knack of getting matters into a tangle at Kenlis, and 
 old Menzies has no head to unravel them. We shall have to 
 change our factor soon ; I think he’s getting past his work. In- 
 deed, he almost confesses as much. It vfas a sort of anarchy 
 in Sir Eobert’s time ; and they don’t relish the mildest form 
 of regular government. It’s a bore to be hampered with 
 business when we have a houseful ; and I should like to get 
 
324 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFJ.Y ; OR 
 
 cverytliing straight before the shooting begins. Our term her(j 
 expires on the last of July, you know ; but I must go down 
 much sooner than that — indeed, I think of starting by the 
 night mail to-morrow.’ 
 
 The soft eyes rested on him more steadily than searchingiy. 
 It seemed rather as if she were beseeching him not to deceive 
 her, than imputing to him any such intent. 
 
 ‘ It is troublesome,’ she said, ‘ and so very sudden too. 
 You know best what ought to be done, Mark, of course. I 
 could not start quite so soon as that ; but there is nothing to 
 keep me in town. I could join you next week — ^if you 
 wished it.’ 
 
 There was a piteous significance in those last words ; but 
 Mark never noticed it. He was only too content to see his 
 wife take things so quietly. He had counted on her submis- 
 sion ; but scarcely on such a placid acquiescence. 
 
 ‘ If I wished it ! ’ he answered quite cordially. ^ Of course 
 I wish it. The sooner you can come the better, Blanche : 
 Kenlis is much too large and eerie a place to make a comfort- 
 able hermitage ; and I fancy the change will do you good. 
 You certainly want bracing.’ 
 
 ^ Bracing.’ Yes ! she did want it cruelly ; but it was of a 
 land that never came on the wings of the purest breeze that 
 ever rustled through heather. Some such fancy crossed 
 Blanche’s mind ; yet, under the gleam of kindliness in Mark’s 
 manner, her face brightened. 
 
 ^ I have no trouble with household matters, so my pre- 
 parations will be soon made,’ she said. ^ I don’t know 
 whether the change will do me good ; but I shall like it. 
 Town isn’t lively, when one only sees one’s friends at home. 
 By-the-by — talking about one’s friends — have you settled who 
 are to be asked to Kenlis in August'?’ 
 
 ^ Ko : I have left that to you,’ he replied. ^At least, 
 nearly so. Alsager’s is the only name I’ll put down on my 
 own account. It’s no use counting on Yane. He’ll be 
 amongst the buffaloes about that time, from all I can hear. 
 Blanche, I want you to understand that you’ll j^ease me best 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 325 
 
 by inviting just the people that please yon best — neither less 
 nor more ; and there’s no reason why they should wait for 
 August. There’s very fair sea-trout fishing, and somehow or 
 other people are always amused at Kenlis, or seem to be 
 amused, which comes to much the same thing. Couldn’t you 
 persuade some one to escort you down ? There’s Gauntlet, for 
 instance : he can get what leave he likes. If he’s no other 
 engagement, I should think he would be charmed.’ 
 
 It was so seldom that Mark, of late, had shown any such 
 solicitude for his wife’s comfort, that the novelty ought to 
 have gratified if it did not surprise her. And yet Blanche’s 
 heightened colour sprang more from vexation than from any 
 other cause. She could not help asking herself whether it 
 Avas likely that, had the positions of the twm men been re- 
 versed, Oswald would have dreamed of consigning her to the 
 other’s escort ; and further, whether Mark himself would have 
 been so trustfully inclined, when he and she loitered under 
 the Bontainebleau oaks. It was with a certain constraint she 
 ansvv^ered : 
 
 ‘ I don’t know what Major Gauntlet’s engagements may 
 be ; but I can easily ascertain, and I’ll ask him to take 
 care of me as you suggest. I dare say he will be glad to do 
 so if he’s free. He’s one of the few people who like old friends 
 better than new ones, and don’t mind trouble. I should have 
 asked you to have found room for him at Kenlis, in any case, 
 this autumn. I should like the Brancepeths to come too, as 
 soon as they can manage it. And, ]\Iark, would you mind my 
 inviting Mr Anstruther] He’s really been very good-natured 
 in calling, and bringing me books, and in ail sorts of ways. 
 Though he declined last year, I think heTl accept this. I 
 know he’s not a favourite of yours : but he won’t be much 
 in your Avay ; for he never shoots, and keeps very early 
 hours.’ 
 
 M beg your pardon,’ Mark returned coolly; M have no 
 sort of antipathy to Mr Anstruther : indeed I rather admire 
 him than otherwise. Judging from the little I’ve seen at the 
 Orion, his whist and piquet are of the first force. Besides, 
 
326 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 it’ll be great sport to see him pitted against Irving ; and a 
 professor is an acquisition almost anywhere. Ask him, by all 
 means.’ 
 
 After this they spoke only of domestic matters of no mo- 
 ment ; and Mark departed well satisfied with the manner and 
 result of his interview. Blanche did not see him alone again 
 till the following evening, when he dined early at home before 
 starting by the north mail. 
 
 'Not many injured wives would have let slip such an op- 
 portunity of taking a delinquent consort to task, were it ever 
 so gently. But Blanche was not equal to remonstrance — much 
 less to rebuke. There are weaknesses which are unpardonable ; 
 and hers was one of such, no doubt. If any excuse could be 
 alleged for her supineness, it would lie in this. Not only, as 
 was aforesaid, did she hold her husband guiltless so far of ab- 
 solute criminality ; but a shrewder and bolder legalist than she 
 would have been puzzled to frame definite articles of accusa- 
 tion against either him or his accomplice : the guarded demean- 
 our of both — if it did not save them from suspicion — made 
 them nearly safe from impeachment. !Nleglect, Blanche might 
 certainly have complained of : but it is very hard to grapple 
 with a negative ; and her mignonne hands were not formed to 
 grapple with anything. If their tender clasp failed to detain 
 the truant, she could but fold them meekly, whilst she sat and 
 pined. The wiles of hght attack and simple ambushment, which 
 had helped her only too effectually to achieve the conquests 
 that she did not care to keep, had failed her utterly here ; and 
 when they so failed, she had no more science or energy in 
 reserve. 
 
 During the tete-a-tete dinner, though her eating and drink- 
 ing was the merest form, she seemed in better spirits than, 
 usual ; and alluded once or twice to the people at Drumour, 
 and the probability of Mark’s seeing them so soon, with per- 
 fect composure — mentioning also, almost triumphantly, that 
 she had secured Oswald Gauntlet’s escort for her journey in the 
 following week. When it was time for Mark to depart, he 
 came round to where his wife was sitting. 
 
ELANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 327 
 
 ‘ Well, good-bye, for tlie present, Bianchetta. Take care 
 of yourself, and follow soon.’ 
 
 And he meant to seal the adieu with just such a careless 
 salute as that of yesterday. Perhaps, unknown to himself, his 
 tone had softened ; or perhaps the pet name, seldom if ever be- 
 stowed of late, had its effect ; but, as her husband stooped 
 over her, Blanche turned towards him, and her arms were 
 wound round his neck, and his lips were drawn down to hers, 
 whilst she whispered, 
 
 ^ Kiss me once, dear — only once — in the old way.’ 
 
 A grain or so of remorseful pity clogged, just for a second 
 or two, the smooth working of the well-ordered machine that 
 served Mark Eamsay for a heart, as he did as he was bidden. 
 He did not grudge the caress, nor seek to shorten it. If it was 
 to be exchanged at all, it might weU be prolonged. 
 
 Scarce a year since, those two were made one as firmly as 
 God and man could weld them ; and yet, through all the 
 cycles to come, their lips will never be joined again. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXYII. 
 
 Mr Anstruther Avas the earliest arrival at Kenlis ; 
 for the Brancepeths could not move northwards till after Good- 
 wood, and Alsager was only expected on the eve of the 
 Twelfth. Judging from his demeanour during the first days of 
 his stay, the former personage was not likely to add much to 
 the conviviality of the party. He never fished, or rode, or 
 drove ; but seemed to prefer a solitary ramble to any other di- 
 version ; and Avhen he sat down to piquet at Mark’s special 
 invitation, it was evidently more to please his host than from 
 any special interest of his own in the game. He played, too, 
 in an odd absent way — not nearly up to his proper form. 
 There was a haggard look in his eyes ; and more than once 
 Blanche was struck by this when — with an instinctive feeling 
 
328 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFIA" I OR 
 
 tliat she was heing Avatched — she looked up and met them. 
 For the first time in their acquaintance, she was rather inclined 
 to avoid than to seek a tete-a-tete Avith Mr Anstruther ; and, 
 for a Aveek at least, there Avas little or no opportunity for such 
 a thing. Eut one day — the day before the Brancepeths’ arrival 
 — it could not Avell be avoided. 
 
 Mark had ridden out, as Avas his custom, alone immediately 
 after breakfast ; and Blanche had positively insisted on Major 
 (fauntlet’s profiting by a morning made for the destruction of 
 sea-trout. She almost regretted her self-sacrifice — loss of Os- 
 Avald’s company for six hours Avas nothing short of this — Avhen 
 she saAv that Anstruther did not seem inclined to start for his 
 usual ramble ; but loitered about like one Avho has no inten- 
 tion of stirring far afield. Watching him from her boudoir- 
 Avindow, she felt certain that he Avas making up his mind to 
 speak to her. 
 
 ‘ I Avish he’d make it up quickly, and get it over,’ she said 
 to herself, Avith something of her old petulance. 
 
 And it Avas chiefly Avith a vieAv to precipitate matters that 
 she left her OAAm room, and established herself in the library, 
 Avhich looked out upon the south terrace, Avhere the gaunt 
 figure Avas still pacing up and down. She Avas not kept long 
 in suspense ; she had scarcely settled herself on the sofa, Avhen 
 the door opened and Anstruther entered. He had evidently 
 not calculated on finding her — at least so soon — for he started, 
 and half dreAv backAvard, and advanced at last hesitatingly. 
 
 ^ I came to look for — for the second volume of Antedilu- 
 vian Remains' he muttered. 
 
 ‘ That ponderous book ! ’ Blanche ansAvered. ^ Couldn’t you 
 put off poring over it till a rainy day ? This one’s too delicious 
 to be Avasted. I’m ashamed of sitting indoors myself ; and, as 
 it is, i think I shall creep round the garden before lunch.’ 
 
 He sat doAvn, resting his elboAv on the table that stood be- 
 tAvixt them, and shading his eyes Avith his hand. 
 
 ‘The book doesn’t matter,’ he said absently; and I sup- 
 pose the day is tempting. I’ve hardly noticed it. I may as 
 Avell go out for my Avalk, after all. At any rate I won’t inflict 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 329 
 
 Biy company upon you much longer. Don’t be complimentary, 
 please. I know it isn’t genial company at any time — less than 
 ever now.’ 
 
 ‘ Why now 1 ’ Blanche inquired. ‘ Are you beginning to 
 suffer in the same way as you did last year % ’ 
 
 ‘ Likely enough,’ he answered, with a gruff laugh. ^ Such 
 tilings are apt to return, even wdien we think we are rid of 
 them — which I never did. Will you let me put my ailments 
 aside for the present, and ask about yours 1 Perhaps I have 
 less reason to say, Don’t think me impertinent,” now, than 
 when I put the question last. You haven’t grown stronger 
 since then.’ 
 
 jS^ot stronger, certainly,’ Blanche said, with an attempt at 
 cheerfulness ; ‘ but who knows what the Highland air will do 
 for me ? ’ 
 
 The long bony fingers clasping his brow contracted a little. 
 
 ^ It did you more harm than good last year, that same air. 
 Mrs Eamsay — I have given offence often enough in my life, 
 by being rough and plain of speech. If I’m to be unlucky 
 again now, I can’t help it. I mean what I say, and I never 
 forget what I say. Perhaps you’ve guessed that I’m going to 
 remind you of something I said not much more than a 
 year ago ; when I interpreted tlie letters engraved on that 
 trinket — you haven’t got tired of it yet. I said, you may 
 remember, that if you ever needed help, I should be ready to 
 serve you in other ways than as adviser or trustee. I think 
 you do need help now ; and — I am ready.’ 
 
 Blanche looked at him in utter amazement. Could he 
 possibly imagine that she — who to Laura Brancepeth had given 
 only a half-confidence ; to Oswald Gauntlet none — would lay 
 bare to George Anstruther the secret of her heart’s bitterness 
 A grain more pride would have made her answer haughty. As 
 it was, it was cold. 
 
 ‘ Thanks : you mean everytliing that is kind. But I can- 
 not see how you can give me help ; and I don’t know that I 
 need any.’ 
 
 The hand covering his face sank by degrees till it rested 
 
330 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 on the table ; but the shaggy brows still shaded the downcast 
 eyes. 
 
 ^ You do not see — you do not know,’ he said. ‘ I both 
 see and know. I see that, if it were not for one shadow over 
 your life, it might run on smoothly and brightly enough — 
 ay ! for years after I am dead and gone ; and I know this 
 shadow might be removed. There — I have not patience to 
 speak in parables — Blanche Eamsay, would not the world 
 look pleasanter if Alice Irving were out of it, or out of your 
 way ? ’ 
 
 Her nerves had never been very strong, and weakness and 
 fretting had unstrung them so of late, that a very slight 
 shock was enough to break them down. She was dreadfully 
 frightened now. It was not that she had a suspicion of the 
 real import of Anstruther’s words : her only definite idea was 
 that she had fallen on one of the cases of sudden and un- 
 accountable insanity, of which she had read and heard, and 
 was alone with a maniac. Looking up with this terror upon 
 her she met his eyes — lifted now for the first time — gleaming 
 with an eager malice. Blanche shrank back into the farthest 
 corner of her sofa, with a smothered cry. She knew after- 
 wards that she had answered quite quietly, and wondered to 
 herself; but, at the moment, she was scarcely conscicTus of 
 what she said. 
 
 ^ Don’t talk in that strange way, or look at me so strangely. 
 The world is well enough, with its lights and shadows as they 
 are. I have no wish to alter them. If you speak like that 
 again, I shall forget you are an old kind friend, and be very — 
 very — angry.’ 
 
 The effort almost exhausted her, and she broke down with 
 a gasp and a sob. Anstruther saw at once the effect of his 
 words — precisely the contrary of what he had intended — and 
 his first impulse was to undo this. He swept his hand 
 quickly across his eyes ; when they met Blanche’s again, 
 the evil fire had died cut of them, and they were colourless 
 and cold. 
 
 ‘ Pray don’t disturb yourself,’ he said in his most deliber- 
 
BLANCHE ELLEBSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 331 
 
 ate tones. ^ You have completely misapprehended my mean- 
 ing : but let that pass. My intrusion was quite unwarrantable, 
 and I ask your pardon for it humbly. I’ll promise never to 
 rejDeat the offence. It’s sufficient for me to know that you 
 don’t think fit to trust me. I ought never to have expected 
 otherwise.’ 
 
 The staid sobriety of his manner reassured her at once. 
 ‘ It was only his brusque awkward way of putting things, after 
 all,’ she thought to herself. He had meant to console her — 
 there could not be a doubt of it ; only she did not want con- 
 solation from that quarter. 
 
 ^ There is no offence,’ she said softly when her breath grew 
 steady again. ^ I ought to be grateful to any one who takes 
 an interest in my happiness, or unhappiness \ and I am grate- 
 ful, believe me. Eut there are some things one does not 
 talk about, even to oneself. The best way will be to forget 
 everything that has been said this morning. Will it not ? ’ 
 
 And she held out her hand stiU trembling. 
 
 ‘ Much the best way,’ he answered as he put it to his lips 
 in a dull mechanical way. The life and heat that were there 
 a few minutes ago seemed utterly to have gone out of the 
 man ; and as he rose up, his very limbs seemed to move 
 stiffly. 
 
 ^ It will be much the best so ; and now I’ll go for my 
 walk. I have done mischief enough for one day.’ 
 
 So, without listening to a faint contradiction from Blanche, 
 he departed. Though she called herself fool for having been 
 frightened at all, for a good while after she was left alone she 
 lay fluttering and quaking like one scarce awake from an ugly 
 dream ; and it was with great difficulty that she repressed a 
 temptation to indulge in a hearty crying fit. Such tempta- 
 tions were much too frequent of late, it must be owned. 
 When she was a little recovered, she rang and ordered her 
 pony carriage, and caused herself to be driven down to the 
 nearest point to the trouting-ground. In truth the fishermen 
 were found, so to speak, almost within hail. Mrs Eamsay 
 brought with her a much more elaborate lunch than had been 
 
332 
 
 BREAKING A RUTTERFT.Y ; OR 
 
 carried out in tlie spare creel ; and the two consumed it in 
 great comfort and amity— though the lady’s portion would 
 scarcely have overfed a canary. 
 
 Often and vividly in after-time will the memory of that 
 scene recur to Oswald Gauntlet. If he should live till his ears 
 wax dull, and his eyes dim, he will not forget the whisper of 
 the birches overhead ; or the glimmer of the loch through the 
 sweeping boughs ; or the velvet sheen on their moss carpet. No 
 wonder, if they lingered there till the best of a perfect fishing 
 day was w^asted. And though the gruft old keeper growled 
 under his breath ‘ It’s a sair pity,’ it was probably more as a 
 professional protest than because he thought the Sassenach’s 
 laziness unnatural. Perhaps before 
 
 Grizzling hairs his brain had cleared, 
 
 and before he had learned to value aright the ‘ worth of a lass,’ 
 Donald himself, at such a place and time, would scarcely have 
 been more keen. 
 
 When at last Mrs Ramsay thought it was time to return, 
 she did not affect to decline Oswald’s offer of escort. She had 
 no mind to trust herself alone at Kenlis again. R’evertheless, 
 she seemed c[uite to have shaken off her fright of the morning. 
 Indeed, her companion flattered himself that she was in rather 
 better spirits than usual ; and there w^as not a trace of con- 
 sciousness about her when she met George Anstruther at 
 dinner. I^either in the latter’s manner was there any visible 
 alteration from his usual stiff formality. 
 
 The Brancepeths arrived early on the following day ; and, 
 as soon as she could get Laura to herself in her boudoir, 
 Blanche confided to her as much as she could recollect of the 
 scene enacted in the library on the previous forenoon. La 
 Reine was a good deal puzzled, it must be confessed ; though 
 she would by no means allow that Blanche’s terror had been 
 anything but absurd. 
 
 ^ I ahvays fancied he was very fond of you, in a fatlierly 
 way. blot that I believe much in fatherly attachments. 
 They are very much like cousinly ones — a delusion and a 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 333 
 
 snare. I have no doubt he meant to entrap you into a confi- 
 dence ; only he mismanaged it rather clumsily. As for his 
 going out of his mind, he’s no more chance of doing that than you 
 or I, depend upon it. I don’t admit that disliking Alice Ir- 
 ving — supposing he does dislike her — is any proof of incipient 
 insanity. If it were, more than one of us will want the cami- 
 sole before long. For my part, I think the world would get on 
 capitally without her ; hut my thoughts don’t much affect the 
 question, and I don’t see that Mr Anstruther’s do either. 
 Lettres de cachet are out of fashion now-a-days — I’m not sure 
 that it’s altogether a blessing — can he he thinking of making 
 a raid on Drumour, and abducting her with the strong hand ? 
 Or stay — perhaps he mieditates marrying her in due form and 
 getting her out of our way legally. That would be something 
 like self-devotion ; wouldn’t it, dear h Of course, he wouldn’t 
 reckon — no man ever does — on a certain rejection.’ 
 
 Her reckless rattle was not altogether without a purpose ; 
 and it did indeed provoke Blanche to smile. 
 
 ^ I shall think yon mad, Queenie',’ she said, ‘ if you go on 
 in that strain. As to what he meant, I haven’t the slightest 
 idea : nothing, very probably, except to show that he was sorry 
 for me ; but — I didn’t like his eyes.’ 
 
 She shivered as she spoke the last words hesitatingly. 
 
 ‘ I don’t suppose any one admires them,’ the other return- 
 ed composedly. ‘ But he can’t alter his eyes, any more than 
 he can his nose, or chin, or any other feature in his face — and 
 some eyes have a trick of scowling whenever they want to be 
 expressive. It’s not so clear to me that I’ve been talking such 
 utter nonsense, after all. At any rate, Blanche, I Avon’t liaA^e 
 3mu torment yourself witli .any ridiculous fancies. I’m certain 
 you look a shade better than Avhen you left town. Oswald 
 Gauntlet must have taken great care of you on the journey — 
 and since. I really think I admire that man more than any 
 one I ever read of. It’s so nice to see him with his gentle 
 ways, and to remember that if he had his deserts, he would be 
 eoA^ered Avith crosses. And, of course — like all true devotion 
 • — it is unrequited. Often if I Avere to hold my tongue, he 
 
334 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 wouldn’t know that I was in the room. It’s very good of me 
 never to have a jealous lit.’ 
 
 ‘ You’re always good,’ Blanche said as she nestled closer to 
 her friend, ^ and so is he — you can hardly guess how good. 
 Yow let us talk of something else. You must have quantities 
 to tell me. Begin about your Goodwood party.’ 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXYIII. 
 
 A BAD look-out,’ said Yere Alsager, as he shut down his 
 window with a shiver, betimes on the morning of the Twelfth; 
 referring, you will understand, not so much to the landscape 
 as to the prospect of sport. The racks of cloud were drifting 
 in from seaward, broken here and there, but not brightened, by 
 
 Dreary gleams above the moorland. 
 
 By and by, perhaps, when the fractious wind had done moan- 
 ing, blinding mist would drive the keenest homewards ; but, 
 at present, there was not even this excuse for shirking. 
 
 ^ We’ll have the hill to ourselves, at all events,’ he mutter- 
 ed, rather sulkily, as he donned his frieze. ‘ There’ll be no 
 luncheon-foolery to-day.’ 
 
 It was not often, even in his thoughts, that Alsager did 
 the gentler sex discourtesy ; but he was in a misogynic — not to 
 say misanthropic — mood that morning. The state of the 
 weather did not altogether account for this. Yere had not 
 yet succeeded in laughing himself out of the weakness of pity- 
 ing Blanche Eamsay. The subject of their conversation on a 
 certain morning that you wot of, had never since been broached 
 betwixt him and Mark, and the two, to all outward seeming, 
 were just as good friends as ever : nevertheless, though he had 
 received no notice to quit, or even a hint at such a thing, Yere 
 had sought and found fresh quarters. He had not as yet occu- 
 pied them, but it was understood that he would return to his 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 335 
 
 old ones no more. On his arrival overnight, he had been very 
 much struck with the appearance of his hostess. So far from 
 seeing any such improvement as Lady Laura had fancied, he 
 detected a decisive change for the worse, htot only did 
 Blanche look paler and thinner, hut there was a sort of trans- 
 parency in her complexion — which even to an unprofessional 
 eye is of evil augury — and it was evident that the slight duties 
 of hospitality amongst intimates overtaxed her strength. 
 
 From the sofa where Blanche reclined, listening to, rather 
 than sharing in, the low causerie carried on by Lady Laura 
 and Gauntlet, Alsager’s glance turned towards another corner 
 of the same room, where Mark leaned over the back of Miss 
 Irving’s chair, commenting on, as it would seem, the contents 
 of a portfolio of Highland photographs that lay on her lap. 
 Alice and her father had arrived the same day on a week’s 
 visit. 
 
 Alsager, perhaps, spoke only the simple truth, when lie- 
 said that he would not have chosen the girl for a model. But, 
 if he had never been fascinated by her beauty, he had always 
 fully recognized it — never more fully than now. As she sat 
 so quiet and demure — rarely unveiling her dangerous eyes ; 
 still more rarely smiling with her rich ripe lips — the contrast 
 with the pale, listless figure over yonder, was as striking as if 
 she had seemed to exult insolently in her advantages. So it 
 struck one at least of the spectators. The cold cynic — not 
 greatly changed perchance, in the main points, from the man 
 whom all Florence cried shame upon yeai’s ago — was conscious 
 just then of a glow of honest, unselfish anger. Truly — though 
 she had fared ill in other ways, and though it helped not a 
 whit — this poor Blanche had the luck of awaking sympathy 
 with her sorrows in the unlikeliest quarters. 
 
 This is why the moroseness of Alsager’s morning mood 
 was not entirely to be attributed to a falling glass. Those 
 whom he met at breakfast seemed scarcely in blither humour. 
 There was only a quartette of them — all men, of course. Ho 
 one in his senses, who had no business abroad, would have 
 made acquaintance with such a day an hour earlier than usual. 
 
33G 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 However, there was no talk of staying at liome, or giving the 
 weather chance of clearing. J^othing hut rheumatism or Cim- 
 merian darkness would have kept Mr Brancepeth off the hill 
 on the Twelfth. Mark, though he shrugged his shoulders 
 very expressively, took the inevitaljle bore with his wonted 
 coolness ; and a soaking more or less mattered little to Gaunt- 
 let or Alsager. So they sallied out in pairs, as in the previous 
 year. 
 
 The sport was very much what might have been expected, 
 except that it lacked the excitement of finding the grouse wild. 
 Even tliat, nuisance as it is, would have been better than see- 
 ing them get up sulkily, and drop down Avearily, as if impressed 
 Avith a morbid suicidal idea that life Avas not Avorth flying far 
 or fast for. On the Avhole, it Avas dreary Avork — uphill, in 
 more senses than one — and the gillies themseHes A\^ere rather 
 glad Avhen, as the seA^eral parties met for lunch, the thick Avhite 
 mist Avreaths settled steadily doAvn Avith such evident intentio]i 
 of holding the ground till nightfall, that no one controverted 
 Mark’s suggestion that they had done enough for one day. As 
 it Avas, if the corry beneath them had not been easy and straight 
 traA^elling, they might have had some difficulty in groping 
 their Avay down to the loch-side, and finding the boats that 
 Avere to ferry them back. 
 
 Affirthern tAvilight comes late, as you knoAv ; but on this 
 afternoon, so far as the sun Avas concerned, it Avas a case of 
 dead-reckoning ; and by six o’clock, any one standing on the 
 terrace at Kenlis, might have fancied he Avas looking over the 
 Thames in November — rather than over a Highland loch in 
 August. If it Avas dark AAuthout, it Avas darker Avithin doors — 
 darkest of all, in a certain corridor, facing north, at the best of 
 times but gloomily lighted by narroAv AvindoAvs holding scarcely 
 more glass than stone. Like all the rest of the house, it Avas 
 comfortably carpeted, and the embrasures Avere all cushioned ; 
 yet it Avas not a place AAdiere anybody Avould be likely to linger. 
 The family pictures lining the Avails Avere not A^ery enticing. 
 No Avinsome dames or courtly caAMiers Avere to be found 
 amongst them. These austere, hard-visaged worthies AA^ere 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 337 
 
 evidently here in a sort of honourahle banisliinent, instead of 
 being actually buried in the lumber-room. 
 
 Nevertheless, the north corridor seemed to have certain 
 attractions for certain people at certain seasons. It was nearly 
 half an hour since Mark, passing through — quite accidentally, 
 of course — had found Alice Irving sitting in one of the afore- 
 said embrasures. In that same spot the two still sat ; speak- 
 ing but seldom, and when they spoke, seldom glancing at each 
 other, but gazing out always on the mist and rain. At length, 
 said Mark, after a steadier look in his companion’s face than 
 he had indulged in hitherto : 
 
 ^ Is it niy fancy, or is it this dreary half-light that makes 
 you look so pale, Alice'? You are not ill? Your hand is like 
 ice.’ 
 
 The words were simple enough : just such as a man in all 
 innocence might have spoken to any woman his familiar friend. 
 They were quietly uttered too ; and yet they breathed a tender 
 anxiety which, had they been addressed to herself, would have 
 made Blanche Eamsay’s heart leap for joy. They were sig- 
 nificant enough to Alice herself ; even without that other 
 eloquence of the fingers twined in hers. 
 
 She was not pale now ; but she shivered as she replied : 
 
 ‘ No ; I am not ill — perhaps I have caught a slight cold 
 — or, perhaps I have been moping till I have begun to stag- 
 nate. I wasn’t brilliant when I came down this morning ; for 
 I was stupid enough to have had a bad dream last night, and 
 not to forget it when I woke.’ 
 
 ‘A dream?’ said Mark, inquiringly. 
 
 A dream, of course ; how should it be anything else ? I 
 should like to tell it you, though. I thought I was here, in 
 Kenlis ; in a part of the castle I had never seen. It was a 
 gallery, something like this, only much — much — longer, and 
 the Avails, and ceiling, and floor Avere all of bare gray stone. 
 
 I don’t knoAv hoAV it Avas lighted, for there Avere no AvindoAVS 
 that I saAv, and no lamps anyAvhere ; but it Avas not dark, or 
 anything like dark ; for I could see the great door at the fur- 
 ther end. I felt somehoAv that I had no business there, and 
 
 z 
 
338 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 had lost myself ; but if I could only get to the door, and if it 
 were unlocked, I should find my way easily enough. Though 
 I tried to make haste, I could only creep along, and the 
 door seemed to grow further off and smaller ; but I got to it at 
 last, and it was locked — fast locked — or I could not stir it. I 
 was so frightened that I wanted to scream ; but I could only 
 just whisper '' Help !” Almost before I had spoken the word, 
 I heard a rustle like the rustle of a woollen dress outside, 
 and then a laugh — a low dreadful laugh. I wished — oh how 
 I wished ! — that I had let the door stay locked for ever, rather 
 than have called the Brown Lady ” to open it. I knew it 
 was she who had laughed, before I saw, as the door swung 
 ajar, the skirt of her dark robe. I fell forward on the flags, 
 hiding my eyes in my hands, for somehow I felt they would 
 be blighted if she looked upon my face ; but the next moment 
 I knew she was bending over me, and I heard her laugh again, 
 and say — don’t think I am romancing ; I can remember every 
 syllable — Ye’ve thought to save your bonnie face. Keek 
 in the glass when ye rise.” It was the agony of fear that 
 woke me then. At first, I lay panting and trembling — too 
 thankful to find it was only a dream ; but, as my breath came 
 back, I seemed to hear that same rustle of woollen stuff ; and 
 then, my room-door closing, very stealthily. At first I was 
 more frightened than ever, but then I said to myself, it was 
 just the sort of thing one would be likely to imagine after 
 such a dream. Presently I took courage to draw the curtain 
 and peep out. The door was fast shut, and everything — as 
 far as I could see by the lamplight — exactly as Julie had left 
 it ; and so she said, when I asked her the question this morn- 
 ing. It must have been a fancy, and a very foolish one too — 
 not half enough to account for my bad spirits to-day. I have 
 heard of people playing cruel tricks ; but this is the last place 
 on earth where one would fear such a thing.’ 
 
 ‘ The very last,’ Mark answered, frowning. ^ There’s not 
 a man or woman here capable of a vulgar practical joke — even 
 if they would risk the consequences. But how came you to 
 dream of such horrors ? I was not aware that you had ever 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 339 
 
 heard of that absurd legend, or that any one — except an old 
 crone or two — believed in it. However, all things considered, 
 I don’t wonder at it. ISTo ; it must have been pure fancy ; but 
 what with that and the dream, you may well look pale. It’s 
 been such a weary day for you, too, my Alice.’ 
 
 Her hand still rested in his, and she did not resist when he 
 drew her closer to his side ; nor reprove him for those two 
 last guilty words. She was in one of her reckless moods just 
 then ; and something else, besides mere depression of spirits, 
 had contributed to this. Alice was still sensitive in her pride, 
 if not in her conscience ; and Laura Brancepeth’s cold civility 
 had galled her all through that day keenly. It was so seldom 
 that La Eeine Gaillarde kept any one at a distance, that 
 reserve on her part was more significant than rudeness would 
 have been in such a woman as Lady Peverell. 
 
 ‘ Yes ; it was rather a dreary morning,’ she said with a 
 sigh. ‘ I’m very glad you were driven off the hill so soon ; 
 papa hasn’t shown to-day. You see there was no one at home 
 I cared for much — or, what is perhaps more to the purpose, 
 who cared for me.’ 
 
 Mark smiled. He had seen enough of these feminine re- 
 prisals to guess what Alice had suffered, and at whose hands 
 she had suffered it. 
 
 ‘ So they were not hospitable to you within-doors. I^ow, 
 who was in fault, I wonder h ’ 
 
 She drew her hand away, though he would still have de- 
 tained it — colouring deeply. 
 
 ‘ Eot Mrs Eamsay, you may be sure ; she’s* always much 
 gentler and kinder than — than — I deserve.’ 
 
 ‘ Then it was Lady Laura,’ Mark said, with a certain con- 
 tempt. ‘E^obody ever minds what she says or thinks. She 
 Avould not have been so warlike if she had a flirtation of her 
 own on hand. But she takes after Cleopatra in more ways 
 than in the swarthy cheeks and bold black eyes ; and now, I 
 suppose 
 
 It cbafes her that she cannot bend 
 
 One will ; nor tame and tutor with her eye 
 
 That dull, cold-blooded gunner. 
 
 z 2 
 
340 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Xever mind, Alice ; perhaps some day you’ll choose your own 
 (company at Kenlis ; and then you needn’t he troubled with 
 people who don’t care about you.’ 
 
 She rose up quickly. 
 
 ‘ Husli ! you know I never like to hear you speak so, and I 
 like it less than ever to-day. It will bring bad luck, if 
 nothing worse. How I must go : I’ve stayed too long. I 
 should not like to be missed down-stairs.’ 
 
 ‘ When it’s a question of proprieties, up-stairs or down-stairs, 
 or in my lady’s chamber, there’s an end of all argument. It’s 
 a pity you have over-stayed your time. Perhaps we had better 
 have kept the hill, after all.’ 
 
 She turned where she stood, and laid her hand on his arm ; 
 looking up at him with such a softness in her changeful eyes 
 as he had never seen there yet. 
 
 ‘ Unjust — unkind ! ’ 
 
 That was all she said : then her head drooped lower and 
 lower, till it rested on his shoulder. Mark’s arm girt her 
 waist ; and he ioo bent his head till his lips lighted on her 
 brow and there abode. 
 
 I by no means wish to enlist your sympathies for Alice 
 Irving ; but, in settling her sentence, certain things should be 
 considered. That she had acted cruelly and basely in steal- 
 ing — or in accepting, it matters not which — the treasure of 
 another woman’s life — more basely and cruelly still in found- 
 ing hopes on that other’s death— no casuist could dispute : 
 yet these hopes were not mercenary. To jDrevent her father’s 
 interference, she had caused him to believe that a calculating 
 ambition — rather than blind impulse — had guided her hitherto : 
 but it was not so. Had Mark been landless and nameless she 
 would still have been tempted — sorely tempted — to follow 
 him to the world’s end. This unholy love of hers was as sin- 
 cere, if it was not as abiding, as any that has been blessed at 
 God’s altar; and moreover, it was her first love. Strange 
 enough, was it not, that just the same miracle should have 
 been wrought in her case as in Blanche Pamsay’s, and that 
 both should have been wrought by the same hand And yet 
 
BLANCHE ELLEBSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 311 
 
 it was not so strange. We should know by this time that 
 Detur digniori is about the last device that should be borne 
 by celui qu'on aime. And then remember what Alice’s train- 
 ing had been. She had had no mother since she could lisp 
 the name. Left to run wild in her own fashion, she had been 
 kept ever since girlhood by her father’s negligence — if not by 
 his will — always within the glow of the furnace of temptation. 
 Perhaps she had fared better than many would have done, in 
 escaping hitherto — as she had, in very truth, escaped — without 
 any serious scar. If the smell of hre still clung to her gar- 
 ments, was it wonderful ? 
 
 This girl had had wonderfully little happiness in her life ; 
 perhaps, with all her faults, rather less than her share — so 
 little indeed, that some charitable Christians, if they knew all, 
 might have held that her resting there contentedly was not 
 absolutely an unpardonable sin. Eecovering her self-possession, 
 she withdrew herself from the half-embrace, and moved swiftly 
 away. Mark knew better than to attempt to detain her. 
 
 When he was alone, he turned again, pressing his forehead 
 against the glass and his hand against the stone mull ion, as 
 though he wished by the cold contact to quiet the fever in his 
 blood ; but when, shortly after, he sauntered into the library 
 where most of the others were assembled, you would have 
 judged from the slightly bored expression of his face, that he had 
 just had an interview with his factor. They had a great deal 
 of music that evening ; and one way or other, everybody was 
 so much engaged that a brief absence of Mr Anstruther’s was 
 not noticed by any one of the party. He was not away more 
 than a quarter of an hour, and returned just when Alice was 
 beginning her last song. It was an old Breton chanson, very 
 rude and simple in its melody, but with wild thrilling cadences 
 exactly suited to her rich flexible voice. The words matter 
 nothing — indeed they were in gKdois — but the burden of the 
 chant was ‘Farewell.’ 
 
 ‘ I do hope it will be fine to-morrow,’ Miss Irving said. 
 ‘ If it’s very bright and warm, could we not go out with the 
 lunch r 
 
342 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 She looked rather hesitatingly at Laura Erancepeth ; hut 
 the appeal was hy no means successful. 
 
 ^ You can do as you please,’ La Eeine answered. ‘ I shall 
 stay and keep Blanche company.’ 
 
 Alice bit her lip in anger — not more at the rebuff, than 
 because she felt she was colouring. 
 
 ^ Will you take me, papa ? ’ she asked. ^ Of course I can’t 
 possibly go alone.’ 
 
 ‘ And why not ? ’ Lady Laura inquired coolly. ^ Je n'en 
 vois pas la difficulte. Above a certain degree of latitude, cha- 
 perones are not required.’ 
 
 Irving did not like the turn of the conversation ; but did 
 not think fit to take up the glove in his daughter’s behalf just 
 then ; so he answered with his placid smile : 
 
 ^ Certainly, child, I shall be very glad to squire you — if it’s 
 anything like a day.’ 
 
 Then they separated for the night. 
 
 Laura Erancepeth, knowing what she knew, setting all 
 suspicion aside — owed little ‘charity to Alice Irving ; yet she 
 would never have spoken or looked so hardly, if she could 
 have foreseen what one hour would bring forth. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXXIX. 
 
 One of the pleasantest rooms at Kenlis, especially under 
 lamplight, was the smoking-room. It had formerly been used 
 as a second library ; but of its studious aspect there were few 
 traces now. A great trophy of Eastern arms hung over the 
 fireplace, and two or three bookcases of black oak were evi- 
 dently left there rather as garnish for the walls, than for any 
 studious purposes ; and in any of those lazy luxurious chairs 
 work would have been impossible. Anstruther and Irving 
 were playing piquet, and the other three men were discussing 
 the prospect of the morrow, and of the season — glancing from 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 343 
 
 time to time at tlie progress of the game, on which they had 
 bets. Mr Brancepeth was not among them, but in his own 
 chamber, already sleeping the sleep of the just. 
 
 Though they did not notice it much at the time, both Al- 
 sager and Gauntlet remembered afterwards how strangely An- 
 struther looked that evening. He had accepted Irving’s 
 challenge in that absent indifferent way to which reference has 
 been made before, and he had not spoken a syllable since, 
 beyond what was absolutely required in scoring ; but that vigil- 
 ant anxiety in his eyes was more remarkable than ever — only 
 be seemed to be watching, not bis adversary or tbe game, but 
 sometbing as it were in tbe distance. 
 
 The last hand was almost played ; for Irving, witb a dasb 
 of triumph in his courtly smile, was about to declare a point 
 and sequence that must needs have been decisive in his favour, 
 when be dropped bis cards and sprang to bis feet, as did every 
 man there jjresent — Anstrutber overturning tbe table as be 
 rose. 
 
 From overhead there came a terrible cry — sometbing be- 
 twixt shriek and wail — significant, not of physical torture 
 alone, but of utter despair — such a cry as the mere parting of 
 soul and body would scarcely wring even from tbe weakest — 
 such a cry as through Heaven’s mercy seldom startles tbe echoes 
 of this our earth, though it may be familiar to those of the 
 Place of Doom. In that awful utterance more than one who 
 heard it seemed to recognize a voice that had witched their 
 ears ere now with its glorious flood of melody ; and more than 
 one said within himself what Irving’s pale lips said aloud : 
 
 ‘ My God ! That was Alice’s scream ! ’ 
 
 Little as either of them liked the unhappy girl, as they 
 sprang up the stairs together, Oswald Gauntlet’s heart flutter- 
 ed faster than it had done in its baptism of fire ; and Yere 
 Alsager felt a quiver of the nerves — such as might affect one 
 forced against his will to witness some ghastly experiment of 
 surgery. 
 
 Tottering and stumbling as he went, Irving followed at his 
 best speed. The last to leave the room was George Anstrutber. 
 
344 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Dorc might have caught a fresh idea from his face just then. 
 This ]naii was already numbered amongst those who are tor- 
 mented — not before their time. Earn say himself was across 
 the hall before any of the others had left the smoking-room ; 
 but^ before he had mounted the first flight of the great oak 
 stairs, there were hurrying feet in the main corridor above, and 
 shrieks of women — not like the cry that had startled them but 
 now, nor uttered by the same voice — but rather of terror than 
 of pain. He knew well enough in what room the tragedy, of 
 whatsoever kind it might have been, was being enacted ; and 
 as he came to the half- open door, he met Laura Brancepeth on 
 the threshold. La Eeine looked fairly panic-stricken. 
 
 ^You mustn’t go in,’ she said, closing the door behind her. 
 ^ Don’t think of it : its too horrible ! Her maid and mine are 
 with her ; they will do all that can be done till a surgeon 
 comes. Where does the nearest live ? Send for him instantly ; 
 you can give no help here.’ 
 
 ‘ What has happened '? ’ Mark asked in a hard dry whisper. 
 He had to moisten his lips before he could accomplish even this. 
 
 In a very few words she told him. 
 
 Alice Irving was not given to cosmetics, nor was there 
 much temptation for such fraud. Paint or pearl-powder could 
 have done little for her clear complexion and delicate colouring, 
 and she could well afford to let them stand on their merits ; 
 but sometimes, especially in the autumn, when she was most 
 exposed to sun and wind, simply as a precaution against tan- 
 ning she would bathe her face and neck before going to rest 
 with milk of roses, or some such innocent lotion. Slie was be- 
 ginning to do this that night when her maid left her. Before 
 the liquid had time to dry, her cheeks and throat began to 
 smart and burn intolerably ; and in a few seconds they were 
 covered with aii awful eruption — like an aggravation of ery- 
 sipelas — that was not only skin-deep, but seemed to corrode 
 the flesh. She flung the bottle from her — it was smashed to 
 atoms where it fell — and sprang to her pier-glass : looking on 
 the reflection therein, she cried aloud in her despair, as she 
 would never have cried in her pain. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 345 
 
 Can you wonder at it ? It is well to prate and preach 
 about the worthlessness of surfoce beauty ; hut show me the 
 woman who, without one instant’s preparation, will accept the 
 change from fair to foul, from lovesometo laidly, unrepiningly, 
 and I will how before such a world’s-wonder as neither we nor 
 our fathers have known. 
 
 Though she kne^v it was hut a disguise that she could doff 
 in her own good time, even Medea could not complete, with- 
 out a pang, the hideous self-transformation that was to beguile 
 the daughters of Pelias ; when 
 
 she pour'd 
 
 Into the hollow of an Indian gourd 
 A pale-green liquor, wherefrom there arose 
 Such scent as o’er some poisonous valley blows 
 Where nought but dull-scaled twining serpents dwell. 
 
 Nor any more now could the Colchian smell 
 The water-mint, the pine-trees, or the flower 
 Of the heaped-up sweet odorous virgin’s bower. 
 
 But shuddering, and with lips grown pale and wan, 
 
 She took the gourd, and with shut eyes began 
 Therefrom her body to anoint all o’er ; 
 
 And this being done, she turn’d not any more 
 IFnto the woodland brook. 
 
 While Ea Eeine was speaking, and while i\Iark stared at 
 her as if he only half-realized her meaning, Irving came up 
 behind. The rest had suffered him to pass them on the land- 
 ing : Anstruther halted there ; and the others stood aloof in 
 the corridor. 
 
 ^ You will go in,’ Laura said, opening the door wide enough 
 to let the father enter, and shutting it again behind him. In 
 that brief instant Mark Eamsay heard and saw more than he 
 is ever likely to forget : he heard a deep hoarse moaning like 
 that of one choking in quinsy — he saw Alice Irving, grovelling 
 prone on her face as she had grovelled in her dream. 
 
 If, as they sate in yonder north window together, a jagged 
 rift of flame had shot suddenly out of the low clouds and 
 stricken down beside him the woman whose hand he held, 
 Mark would not have felt half so horror-struck and helpless as 
 
346 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 he now did. Yet, as he turned to give orders to one of the 
 servants, who were hurrying up by this time, about fetching a 
 surgeon instantly, his face w^as marvellously calm — only it 
 looked infinitely older. 
 
 ^ The rest of you go down,’ he went on. ^ This part of the 
 house must be kept perfectly quiet, and all the help that is 
 wanted at present is here ; unless — unless any one knows any- 
 thing of surgery.’ 
 
 Eather vacantly than with any apparent hope, as it seemed, 
 of its being answered, his glance wandered from Alsager to 
 Gauntlet, and rested at last upon Anstruther — standing still 
 on the landing. All shook their heads ; but Anstruther 
 averted his as he did so, and you might have seen the hand 
 behind him clutch the oak balustrade, as though, without 
 some such support, he would have staggered. Mark noticed 
 nothing of this ; but, as he turned away from the stairs again, 
 he saw Laura Brancepeth start forward from the doorway and 
 heard her say : 
 
 ‘ Blanche ! How could you be so rash ] You’re not fit to 
 leave your room — much less to be here.’ 
 
 The next moment he was looking at his wife — fascinated, so 
 to speak, in spite of himself, by her strange expression. There 
 had been a kind of horror a while ago even in Laura Brance- 
 peth’s bold eyes, and, considering the temperament of the two, 
 that this should have appeared in Blanche’s intensified was but 
 natural : but why should they betray a horror of remorse as 
 well as a horror of fear ? And why should they turn with 
 awful questioning towards George Anstruther’s still half-averted 
 face ? White, even down to the lips, as the lace on her dress- 
 ing-robe, Mrs Eamsay stood panting and quivering ; but she 
 never spoke till she drooped her head on La Eeine’s shoulder, 
 clasping her hands tightly round the other’s arm ; and only 
 that one ear caught the whisper : 
 
 ^ God help us ! I know what he meant now.’ 
 
 Laura started violently, and for a second or two she felt 
 fainter than when she first looked on the ruin within. But 
 the very perilousness of the situation — though she embraced 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 347 
 
 it not wholly — nerved her to an effort. Ead as things were, 
 she felt they might he worse yet. 
 
 ‘ Hush !’ she murmured swiftly. ^You don’t know what 
 mischief you may do.’ Then she said aloud, ' Let me take you 
 hack to your room, Blanche, while you can walk. It is mad- 
 ness to stay when you can’t help, and you know that every- 
 thing that is possible will he done. I don’t answer for keep- 
 ing my wits about me, if you are taken ill to-night.’ 
 
 Mark Eamsay’s gaze followed the two as they moved 
 slowly away. That he had some vague suspicions it was clear ; 
 but he was in that state of bewilderment which causes a man, 
 if he has any power of reasoning left, rather to mistrust than 
 rely on his first impressions. After a pause, he said composed- 
 ly enough, addressing himself to Alsager, 
 
 ^ I think you had better all go down. I will stay here till 
 Irving comes out.’ 
 
 Was it only minutes that Mark sat there, staring at the 
 door over against him, listening for a sound, ever so slight, that 
 should break the dead stillness Would it have been easier 
 for him to bear, if he had guessed that it was for his sake 
 Alice so wrestled with her agony, as not to moan once above 
 her breath since she knew him to be within hearing ? It is 
 satisfactory to reflect that every iota of the punishment meted 
 out to this man now had been thoroughly well earned. I am 
 not sure that there was not in his own mind, just then, a 
 consciousness that the retribution which, despite his fatalism, 
 he had foreseen, if not dreaded, had overtaken him at last. 
 But I am quite sure that such a consciousness did not make 
 him more inclined to bow to the chastisement, or a whit less 
 savagely bent on revenge to the uttermost on whoso had art 
 or part therein. His wife knew something of it, he felt sure ; 
 and, before the night was out, whatever she knew he would 
 know, or — 
 
 Before he had thought out the threat, the door opened, and 
 Irving came forth, his face wearing its courtly mask no longer, 
 but distorted with grief and rage. 
 
 ‘ Can you give no guess at the meaning of this devilry, or 
 
348 
 
 BREAKING A BUITERFLY ; OR 
 
 the author of it ? ’ he said lioarsely. ‘ The bottle’s smashed to 
 atoms, and the hell-broth spilled ; but I rubbed my finger on 
 the carpet where it was soaking. Look at that — and then 
 guess how Alice looks as she lies there.’ 
 
 On the smooth, white flesh there was a swelling like an angry 
 blain, and the inflammation was evidently spreading still. 
 
 ‘ Guess ? ’ Mark retorted, shrinking back as he spoke. 
 
 ‘ Do you suj:)pose if I could guess, I should be idling here 1 
 Eut we’ll not sleep till we have found out something. 
 That’s for ourselves ; but can nothing be done for her — no- 
 thing ’ 
 
 ‘ I^othing ; till the doctor comes,’ Irving replied. ^ Cot- 
 ton-wool dipped in iced water seems to relieve her, and they’re 
 trying that now. She’ll be in a raging fever before morning, I 
 suppose ; perhaps that’s the best thing that can happen to her. 
 I’ni not to go back till I bring the doctor ; and — and she beg- 
 ged of me so earnestly to take you down-stairs, anywhere from 
 here. You’ll come away, won’t you*? I’m going to my own 
 room till I’m wanted.’ 
 
 They parted at the stairhead, and Mark went straight to 
 his own apartment, where lights were always burning at this 
 time. He remained there perhaps twenty minutes, evidently 
 in deep thought. Then he went up-stairs again, and passed 
 along the main corridor without lingering for a second to listen 
 at the threshold of Alice’s chamber, and so came to a door 
 which he opened softly without knocking. It led into a room 
 — half dressing-room, half boudoir — where he found, as he had 
 expected, his wife and Laura Erancepeth. 
 
 CHAPTEK XL. 
 
 You may remember that in the early days of their ac- 
 quaintance, La Peine had decided that Mark Ramsay was not 
 so black as he had been painted. Eut of late she had come to 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 349 
 
 the conclusion that the original colouring of the fancy portrait 
 was about correct, and he was as thoroughly out of favour with 
 her, as it is possible to conceive. The reason was simple 
 enough. Her prejudices against Mark only vanished, when 
 she saw that he had both the will and the power to make 
 Blanche perfectly happy ; and, when he ceased to trouble him- 
 self about this, they returned with double force. But, for 
 every one’s sake, she took special care to conceal her dislike ; 
 and before the world they were the best possible friends. 
 With all this, the very last person that Laura would have 
 wished to see enter the room at that moment was Mark 
 Eamsay. 
 
 She had been trying her best to soothe Blanche ; telling 
 her that Alice’s injuries might, after all, be only superficial 
 and temporary — that, at any rate, they must have been caused 
 by some terrible mistake in the ingredients of the lotion — that 
 it was absolute insanity to impute such a crime to George 
 Anstruther. Blanche had listened, and seemed to wish to be 
 persuaded, perhaps because she was too weak to argue ; and 
 she was lying still now, with her eyes half closed, holding 
 Laura’s hand fast. She 02)ened her eyes when her husband 
 entered, and started up. 
 
 If you had seen Mark’s face just then, you would not have 
 wondered at her alarm : there was a fell louring there worse 
 than overt menace ; and somehow it was evident that he was 
 here with a purpose — and not a kindly one. It was to La 
 Heine he first addressed himself 
 
 ‘ I am sorry to disturb you ; but I want to say a few words 
 to Blanche alone. I won’t ask you to leave us for more than 
 ten minutes, or to go further than the next room.’ 
 
 Laura was sorely tempted to rebel. It seemed to her little 
 less than cruelty, to leave that weak fluttering creature to figlit 
 her own battle ; for one glance at Mark’s face had told her 
 that his errand was not of peace. But, unless there is matter 
 for the Divorce Court’s handling, it is very hard for any third 
 person to hinder a husband from a private interview wdth the 
 woman who has sworn to honour and obey him. Even La 
 
350 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 Eeine was constrained to yield to the force of circumstances ; 
 hut, as she rose, she kissed her friend, whispering, 
 
 ' There’s nothing to he frightened at, darling. I shall he 
 quite close hy.’ 
 
 Then she turned to Mark. 
 
 ‘ You will he careful, won’t you ? She has been so shaken 
 already to-night.’ 
 
 As she said this, there was a pleading, not often seen, in 
 her haughty eyes ; hut Earn say did not seem to notice either 
 the glance or the words as he opened the door for her to pass 
 into the sleeping-room heyond, and closed it behind her care- 
 fully. Then he came hack and stood gazing down at his wife 
 as she lay — always with the same darkness on his face — till 
 Blanche could hear the suspense no longer. 
 
 ‘What is it, Mark*?’ she cried out; ‘what have I done? 
 It is too cruel to frighten me so.’ 
 
 Was it possible that the hard icy voice that answered her 
 could ever have whispered ‘ Bianchetta’ ? 
 
 ‘ I do not know what you may have done — I do not say 
 that in your own person you have done anything. But I say 
 you can help to bring guilt home to others ; and this help you 
 will hardly refuse me. I have no time for paltering. Will 
 you tell me at once — not what you know — hut what you guess 
 about this affair?’ 
 
 She trembled in every limb, as she turned her face away, 
 till it was half hid on the pillows. 
 
 ‘ What can I tell you ? How could I guess ? 0 Mark, 
 
 it’s not possible you suspect any one here of having contrived 
 this fearful thing ? What earthly motive could there have 
 been?’ 
 
 She had risen up in her eagerness, and would have caught 
 his hand in both her own, but he drew back out of her reach. 
 
 ‘ I have come here to ask questions, not to answer them ; 
 but I will answer this. Yes : I do suspect — and more than 
 suspect. I have my choice between believing in a miracle, 
 and believing that this devil’s work was planned and wrought 
 by some one under this roof, motive ? Is it so unlikely, 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 351 
 
 that you should have found a friend shrewd enough to guess 
 that the spoiling of Alice Irving’s face would j^lease you, and 
 devoted enough — that’s the word, I suppose — to accomplish 
 it ? ’ 
 
 Soft and yielding as she was hy nature, and weakened more- 
 over by long illness, she would not let the insult pass quite 
 unresisted. 
 
 ‘ I have not deserved this,’ she said, more firmly. ^ What 
 right had any one to suppose that I should rejoice in such a 
 crime h And that you, of all people, should hint at it ! Ah, 
 Mark — ’ She broke down with a sob. 
 
 He laughed out loud ; and Laura Brancepeth within, hear- 
 ing that laugh, drew closer to the door dividing them. 
 
 ‘ Ho reason ? — Hot if they guessed that, for this year past, 
 there has been but one face in all the world for me — the face 
 that has been marred to-night ? The end sanctifies the means, 
 you know ; and what could be a holier end than bringing 
 husband and wife together again ? They put Dunstan in the 
 Calendar for searing a woman’s face with hot irons. Why 
 should they not do as much for your instrument 1 You will 
 not help him by equivocating, 1 warn you.’ 
 
 She was fairly roused at last. Did not George Anstruther 
 deserve threefold better at her hands than this man, who, not 
 content with neglect and treachery, must flout her with the 
 insolent avowal of his sin 1 W"hy should she give up a friend, 
 howsoever guilty, to the tender mercies of one who would not 
 show even the mercy of allowing her to ignore — or seem to 
 ignore — her wrongs ? She looked up at her husband — not 
 quailing or flinching now. 
 
 ‘ Such words, spoken by you to me, are simply cowardly. 
 I never sought your love ; but, since I accejited it, I have tried 
 hard to keep it — how hard, you know as well as I — and when I 
 thought I had lost it, I never reproached you. I only hoped 
 that God would have pity, and give it me back, or let me die. 
 And He has had pity ; for I believe I am dying, and I believe 
 you know this. You might have had patience a little longer: 
 but, if I were to live to grow old, you and I would be as much 
 
352 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 apart, from this minute, as if one of us Avere buried. There 
 need be no open csclandre unless you wish it : I care little 
 which Avay you decide. I Avill never knowingly see Alice 
 Irving again : yet no one can be sorrier than I am for this hor- 
 rible accident — I believe it is an accident — at least, I cannot 
 help you to any other conclusion.’ 
 
 Her voice never faltered once, though the darkness on 
 Mark Eamsay’s face waxed more malign Avith eA^ery Avord she 
 sjioke. He strode closer to the sofa, and caught Elanche by 
 the Avrist — not crushing it at all ; but holding it lightly in his 
 fingers, as if he only wished to fix her attention. 
 
 ^ So you Avon’t turn king’s evidence 1’ he said. ‘ Well, I 
 gave you the chance, remember. It’ll be time enough to settle 
 our conjugal relations Avhen to-night’s account is balanced- 
 XoAv, I’m going to deal Avith your champion. Perhaps he’ll 
 prove more tractable than his mistress. 
 
 The momentary excitement had passed off ; and fear — 
 not so much for herself as for others — began to master her 
 again. 
 
 ^ For pity’s sake don’t leave me so ! ’ she murmured. ^ You 
 are under some dreadful mistake — I can’t even guess Avhom 
 you are alluding to.’ 
 
 ‘ FTot fo George Anstruther, of course. Bah ! I thought 
 you Avere better at dissembling. Why, your eyes betrayed you 
 in the corridor, and your pulse betrays you noAV.’ 
 
 He flung her hand aAAny as he spoke, and turned to go ; 
 but Blanche caught him fast, and held him so that he could 
 not Avrench himself loose till she had slipped down before him 
 on her knees. She had no breath to speak ; but the agony of 
 her upAvard look ought to liaAn pleaded for her more effectually 
 than any prayer. All at once a change like death SAvept across 
 lier face ; and Mark, stooping, Avas just in time to catch her 
 before her head struck the floor. His OAvn face never softened 
 a Avhit ; but he laid the senseless form on the sofa as gently 
 as if he had still loved it ; raising his voice Avhilst he did so, 
 to call Laura Brancepeth. 
 
 As La Eeine advanced quickly, you might have seen that 
 
BLANCHE ELLERS LIE^S ENDING. 
 
 353 
 
 slie liad clone with intercession ; for her eyes dissembled no 
 longer her aversion and scorn. 
 
 ‘ So yon have killed her ! ’ she said low and bitterly ; ^ and 
 that is what you came to do. I half suspected it.’ 
 
 They had flung aside conventional courtesies, these two — 
 as men on the verge of mortal duel cast away cumbersome 
 garments. As Mark lifted his head their glances crossed like 
 swords. 
 
 ' I have clone no murder — as yet ; and what is more, Lady 
 Laura, I have used no poison-practice, which, considering the 
 fashion of the house, is perhaps remarkable. You’ll find Mrs 
 Eamsay has only fainted ; but I doubt if I can be much use 
 in recovering her. Idl send her maid here at once. You need 
 not fear my disturbing you any more to-night.’ 
 
 And so he went out. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLL 
 
 When Alsager and Gauntlet got back to the smoking-room, 
 both were too thoroughly unsettled to think of going to rest ; 
 and it was as well to watch there as elsewhere. There was no 
 clanger of their voices being overheard : yet it was under their 
 breath that they spoke of what had happened above. 
 
 ‘ It’s the most horrible thing I ever heard of,’ Oswald said; 
 ‘ and it’s so utterly inexplicable. There’s an infernal ingenu- 
 ity about it that don’t look like a servant’s trick. Her maid 
 is a Frenchwoman, to be sure ; but why should she have 
 borne malice — such malice too 1 ’ 
 
 Mulie’s perfectly devoted to her mistress, I believe,’ Yere 
 answered. ‘ Xo ; it was no servant’s work, you may be sure 
 of that.’ 
 
 There was a kind of intelligence in his face, that made the 
 other ask quickly — 
 
354 
 
 BREAKING A BIJITERFLY ; OR 
 
 ^ Then whose work was it ? You have a suspicion. I’m 
 certain.’ 
 
 ^ Scarcely a suspicion — only a vague idea which I should 
 be sorry to encourage. I don’t know that I ought to mention 
 it. Well, if there’s no further cause to justify it, you will 
 consider this unsaid. I’m more than half afraid Anstruther 
 knows more of this matter than he would care to confess.’ 
 
 ‘ Anstruther ! ’ Gauntlet repeated in profound amazement. 
 
 ^ What on earth makes you pitch on that harmless, old- 
 fashioned creature ? ’ 
 
 ‘ I’ll tell you,’ Alsager said, sinking his voice still lower. 
 
 ‘ Did you ever notice all those flecks and stains on his hands ? 
 I did, long ago, and wondered how they came there — for his 
 neatness in other respects is quite remarkable — till Mrs Eamsay 
 explained it by saying he was a great chemist. He spent half 
 his life in India ; and our poisoners are the merest bunglers 
 compared with the Easterns. They have all manner of damn- 
 able herbs and plants and juices out there, that we know 
 nothing of. The Begums, if I remember right, were often 
 quite as clever at disfiguring as in slaughtering their rivals. 
 You must have heard a dozen such stories yourself.’ 
 
 Gauntlet nodded his head. 
 
 ^ I see your drift now ; and there’s a shadow of circum- 
 stantial evidence, certainly. But there’s an absolute want of 
 motive — unless you hold it to be a case of malignant mono- 
 mania. We read of such things. There was a cure in Bel- 
 gium who used to poison the Communion wine.’ 
 
 Alsager looked searchingly at the other for some seconds 
 before he answered. 
 
 ^ An absolute want of motive % And you say this. I 
 confess you surprise me. Perhaps I ought not to have begun 
 such frank speaking ; but as it is begun, surely it isn’t worth 
 while beating about the bush. I believe you have known 
 Mrs Eamsay from her childhood. It is scarcely more than a 
 year since I made her acquaintance ; and yet I guessed, some 
 months ago, that all the grief which is wearing her life out 
 was caused by the face that has been spoiled to-night. Ay ! 
 
BLANCPIE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 355 
 
 And I guessed besides that yonder harmless, old-fashioned 
 creature, to do her a kindness or a pleasure, would execute 
 what neither of us would have nerve to plan.’ 
 
 Oswald Gauntlet leapt up from his chair, with a bitter oath. 
 
 ‘ And you dare to insinuate that Blanche Bamsay could be 
 privy to such loathsome work, or that it was to serve her that 
 it was done '? ’ 
 
 ‘ Sit down,’ Alsager said, with his rive sous cape ; ^ it’s 
 pure waste of chivalry. Insinuations are not much in my 
 line; and I’m just as incapable of imputing connivance in 
 such iniquity to Mrs Eamsay, as you are. Even if it had ever 
 been otherwise, I should have done her justice after what I 
 saw to-night. I wonder you didn’t see it too. You’re not so 
 sharp-sighted as I took you to be. You didn’t remark the 
 way she looked at Anstruther in the corridor, or you would 
 have thought, as I did, that her suspicions, at all events, went 
 straight to the mark, and had not far to travel. But there 
 never was such a horror on the face of any accomplice, ever so 
 remote, as was written then in hers.’ 
 
 ^ I beg your pardon,’ Gauntlet said rather confusedly ; ‘ I 
 totally misunderstood you. But if there was no complicity on 
 her part — and of course there was none — why should she 
 have suspected him more than you or me '? ’ 
 
 ^ Ah ! there I’m hopelessly at fault. Some vague threat 
 of his, perhaps, or even a look in his eyes, which she remem- 
 bered and interjireted when it was too late. I told you from 
 the first my clue was a very slight one, and it may snap at 
 any moment. I only wish it may. If Mark should get hold 
 of it, and follow it up, there’ll be worse work before morning 
 than these old stones have seen for many a day.’ 
 
 ‘ What do you mean 1 ’ Oswald asked with some im- 
 patience. ‘ Can’t you speak. plainer T 
 
 ‘There’ll be murder,’ the other retorted, — ‘neither more 
 nor less. That’s what I mean. I hope that’s plain-speaking 
 enough for you '? Well : we can only wait and see. On the 
 whole, this is a Twelfth that I shall not mark with a white 
 stone in my calendar.’ 
 
 2 A 2 
 
356 BREAKING A BUTTERFJA' ; OR 
 
 Then there ensued a long silence. 
 
 AYlien those two went down to the smoking-room, Anstru- 
 tlier betook liimself to his own chamber, which lay at the end 
 of a passage leading out of the main corridor. He locked the 
 door as he entered — so hastily, that the key was turned before 
 he Avas aware that he Avas not alone. Under ordinary circum- 
 stances his valet’s presence there would have seemed very 
 natural ; but Mr Anstruther at that moment desired solitude 
 above all things ; and he Avas about to bid the man depart 
 rather sharply, Avhen a glance at the other’s face checked and 
 changed his intention. 
 
 It Avas a countenance of the ordinary plebeian type — not 
 remarkable for intelligence, and rather good-humoured than 
 morose in its habitual cast ; but it Avas entirely transfigured 
 noAA^ by a strange expression of mingled cunning and fear. 
 The latter seemed at first to predominate ; for it Avas some time 
 before he managed to answer his master’s question as to Avhat 
 lie Avanted. 
 
 ^ I Avant to speak to you,’ he said at last, ‘ about — about — 
 my oAvn matters ; and about — something else.’ 
 
 He jerked his thumb towards the main corridor. There 
 Avas a significance about the gesture, Avhich, no more than the 
 omission of all form of address, Avas not lost upon Mr Anstru- 
 ther. His broAvs, contracted already, Avere bent a little more 
 lieaAuly ; but there was no other sign of emotion as he sat 
 doAvn rather wearily, and in his curtest manner bade the man 
 say out his say, and be quick about it ; for he Avanted to be 
 alone. 
 
 ‘ The sooner the better, as far as I’m concerned,’ the other 
 retorted. It Avas quite evident that be Avas too frightened to 
 be civil, and had been providing himself Avith Dutch courage 
 to boot. ‘ I’ve come to give you AA^arning — no month’s notice, 
 or nonsense of that sort. I Avish to go at once ; and I mean 
 to!’ 
 
 ‘ Is that all 1 ’ Anstruther asked indifferently. ‘ There 
 need be no difficulty about it. I suppose you knoAV your oAvn 
 mind, though you have been drinking.’ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 357 
 
 ‘ jS^ot all — nor half all,’ the man rejoined with a scowl. 
 Anstruther was not popular with his inferiors, and perhaps 
 the valet was not sorry of a chance of venting some suppress- 
 ed spleen. ‘ I mean to have something more than m_y wages 
 and my fare hack to town. hTow, you’re going to say that I 
 haven’t a claim even to that much in law. Damn your laAv ! 
 I wonder what the LaAV would think of such work as you’ve 
 keen doing to-night h ’ 
 
 Always in the same indifferent manner, Anstruther an- 
 swered. 
 
 ‘You mean to imply that I am accountahle for Miss 
 Irving’s accident '? ’ 
 
 ‘ Imply '? ’ Prescott snarled. ‘ Yes ; I do “ mean to imply.” 
 Do you suppose I’m fool enough to speak as I have now with- 
 out proofs. Ah ! proofs enough to bring you to the gallows, 
 if it’s a hanging matter ; and if it isn’t, it ought to be. Would 
 you like to know what they are'? Well: bad as you are, 
 you’ve a right to look at your goods before you buy ’em. I 
 began to suspect there was something up, when you got so in- 
 fernally close, and fond of working alone at the chemicals. It’s 
 a pity you never thought of locking the shop up when you 
 left it. I used to ferret about there when you were out riding ; 
 and one day I came on a vial hid up in a corner, half- full of a 
 curious whitish liquor with hardly any smell ; but what there 
 Avas, was unlike anything I had ever smelt before. I just Avet- 
 ted the tip of my finger Avith tlie stopper, and I thought I’d 
 had enough of experiments for one day — I dare say you guess 
 Avliy. I put the vial back, and I didn’t see it again for ever 
 so long, though I’ve looked for it often enough. But I could 
 SAvear to the smell again anywhere ; and so you’d find, if you 
 Avere to go Avith me into the poor young lady’s room yonder.’ 
 
 ‘ A link of evidence, certainly ; biit only one, and not 
 enough to convict.’ 
 
 Anstruther spoke Avith the discrimination of a man accus- 
 tomed to Aveigh testimony, and Avith no other interest in the 
 case than that Avhich an upright judge might feel. 
 
 ‘ Ah ! but suppose it’s not the only one ! ’ the other Avent 
 
858 
 
 BREAKING A BETTERFLY ; OR 
 
 on, in malignant triumph. ‘ Suppose I’d noticed how queer 
 you looked, and how your hand shook when you were dressing 
 to-night, and suspected something was coming off, — though 
 I’d clean forgotten the bottle '? And suppose I’d been in this 
 room somewhere between nine and ten, and hearing your step 
 in the passage, had hidden behind the window-curtains, and 
 seen you take something, devilish like that same vial, out of 
 the despatch-box that has no key except the one you wear ; 
 and that I’d watched you leave the room and come back in 
 live minutes or so, with a queerer look on your face than ever, 
 and push into the heart of the lire something that cracked and 
 spluttered — lucky the day turned chilly, wasn’t it 1 — and then 
 pretty nearly empty that pocket-llask — you, who are so mealy- 
 mouthed about a drop of liquor, too ! Just suppose all this — 
 and then say what you think of the case. I’d bet you’ve hung 
 men on less. 
 
 Still not a muscle in George Anstruther’s face moved ; but 
 there came an expression into his eyes, that made Prescott re- 
 solve to keep henceforth at least the width of the table betwixt 
 them. 
 
 ^ The evidence is strong,’ he said ; ‘ and you are quite right 
 in supposing that in my time I’ve been satisfied with less. 
 Tliat’s nothing to the point. If this case should come into 
 court, my line of defence would be very simple and easy. I 
 should afiirm that, finding you in my room drunl^ and insolent, 
 I dismissed you on the spot ; and that you had trumped-up this 
 charge to revenge yourself. The testimony of a discharged 
 servant is usually sifted rather severely. It would come to a 
 question of character, after all. There has never been a whisper 
 against mine : you know best if your own would bear rigid 
 looking into ; from what I have heard of your antecedents, I 
 should say — not. I don’t say that I should wish it to come 
 into court. You want hush-money, of course ; but you had 
 better take all this into consideration in fixing your terms.’ 
 
 Prescott bit his lip sulkily. He was not altogether pre- 
 pared for the case assuming this complexion, and he could not 
 deny that it was a probable one. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 359 
 
 ‘ I don’t know about my evidence satisfying a jury/ he 
 grumbled. ^ Mr Eamsay here is the nearest magistrate ; and 
 it’s more than likely it would satisfy him.’ 
 
 It was a random shaft, but it told far beyond the expecta- 
 tions of the archer. Whether it was that some natural instinct 
 warned George Anstruther of the deadly peril in which he 
 would stand if thus confronted with Mark Eamsay ; or 
 whether_, having nerved himself to endure a distant, though 
 perhaps certain penalty, he shrank appalled from swift and 
 instant retribution, would be hard to say. For myself, I in- 
 cline to the latter interpretation. There are numberless in- 
 stances of hardier criminals than he being utterly cowed, by 
 the news that the days of grace betwixt them and their doom 
 were shortened to hours. Be this as it may, his countenance 
 had lost its judicial coolness, and his voice shook with some- 
 thing else than anger, as he required the other to ^ name his 
 price at once without further paltering.’ 
 
 ‘ It’s worth five thousand — well worth it,’ Prescott replied 
 doggedly ; ^ but as you’re not made of money, and I want it 
 in a hurry, we’ll say four. If you’ve not got it at your bank- 
 er’s, you can get it fast enough in London ; and you would 
 leave this to-morrow anyhow. I’ll go with you so far, for the 
 look of the thing ; but the other thousand wouldn’t tempt me 
 to stop the month out in your service — no, nor hardly to brush 
 your clothes again.’ 
 
 Though for mere greed this man was willing to connive at 
 crime, he spoke those words with a loathing palpably sincere. 
 Amidst all the turmoil raging within him, Anstruther was 
 sensible of a sharper pang, as he felt that even such a creature 
 as this had a right to shrink from him now. 
 
 ‘ You shall have your money,’ he said, speaking with an 
 effort. ‘ You’ll trust me till I can raise it, I presume '? ’ 
 
 ‘ Yes : I’ll trust you. You daren’t break faith with me ; 
 and I beheve you are honest in your way. I’d give something 
 to know what set you on this game.’ 
 
 ‘ Will you go now ? ’ 
 
 That was all Anstruther said ; and the words came indis- 
 
BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 3G0 
 
 tinctly througli liis hands that covered his face, as he rested 
 his elbows on the table : the valet was only too glad to find 
 himself safe outside in the j^assage, with his object attained. 
 Long after his dejiarture Anstruther sat motionless in that 
 same position. At length he rose, and unlocked the despatch- 
 box to which Prescott had alluded. From this he took out a 
 tiny silver tube — like the porte-couleurs used by artists — which 
 lie dropped into his pocket, and then resumed his former atti- 
 tude. 
 
 It was not till the door opened again that he lifted his 
 head. 
 
 Was it worth while to have endured the agony of abase- 
 ment — to have bought shameful safety with a bribe — to have 
 been made the mock of his OAvn hireling — only to be set face 
 to face with ]\lark Eamsay before the night was out h 
 
 CLIAPTEE XLII. 
 
 With the average of mankind — to womankind the aphor- 
 ism scarcely applies — audacity, or even coolness, under pecu- 
 liar circumstances is very much a question of experience. 
 
 There flourishes even now down in the West, a certain 
 divine, eminent in learning, piety, and charity, who became 
 more famous than ever from the manner in which he bore him- 
 self in time of sore trial. The town in wdiich he ministered 
 was visited by one of those epidemics that are scarcely less 
 dreadful than the ancient Plagues. At last there was such a 
 panic in the place, that all, who could by any means escape, 
 fled therefrom ; some even of the doctors came reluctantly to 
 their duties, if they did not absolutely shirk them. Xow the 
 good parson not only put far away from him all temptation — 
 and temptations were not lacking — to quit his post ; but 
 laboured more strenuously than ever. Late and early he might 
 have been found with a countenance, if not cheerful, always 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 3G1 
 
 serene, in such fearful straits as were Aaron’s, when lie swung 
 the censer of atonement in tlie wilderness of Paran. 
 
 When at length — partly by fever, partly by fatigue — he 
 was brought so low that all, himself included, believed his 
 hours were numbered, he waited for death, they say, not less 
 composedly than he would have waited for sleep. Two or 
 three years later, this same divine was involved in a terrible 
 railway accident, from which he escaped comparatively unhurt ; 
 though his situation for some time was critical in the ex- 
 treme. He preached a very eloquent sermon afterwards, where- 
 in he described his own sensations at length ; and a more 
 beautiful illustration of submissive trust in Providence could 
 hardly be conceived. He was not apt to vaunt himself ; and 
 perchance, by some mysterious process of thought, had come 
 to believe that he had in very truth felt what he described. 
 Nevertheless, according to the testimony of ej^ e-witnesses, 
 during that period of peril he did nothing but wail and babble 
 incoherently — being Tandy distraught with fear. 
 
 As the strongest antithesis to this godly jierson, take Cecil 
 Grantley. He would fly, like a timid hare, from the vicinity of 
 the mildest form of scarlatina ; and, when he joins in the ‘ 
 suit,’ requires much priming before he will negotiate a sheep- 
 hurdle. Not long ago, he got into a very awkward scrape, 
 the nature of wliicli matters not. Up to a certain point he had 
 to deal with feminine adversaries; and, thus far, his trepidations 
 were simply pusillanimous. Suddenly a fresh personage ap- 
 peared on the scene — a most truculent jiersonage, too : but 
 Cecil brightened up directly. 
 
 ‘It’s all right now,’ he said. ‘ We’ve got a man into tlie 
 wrangle.’ And thenceforth he carried the thmg with a high 
 hand. 
 
 Now George Anstruther jierhaps was not, physically or 
 morally, more of a coward than his felloAvs ; but in the even 
 tenor of his life he had hardly ever been proved by anything 
 like personal danger. In those days — it was before the Mu- 
 tiny — ‘ the gentle Hindoo ’ seldom belied his character. Por 
 many years, the Indian judge had been surrounded by people 
 
362 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 who would no more have dreamed of menacing him, even in 
 gesture, than of insulting a statue of Siva. A canter along an 
 indifferent road was about the roughest exercise he had ever 
 indulged in : he considered the honour of the first spear by no 
 means worth the risk of broken bones ; and would go a mile 
 round, sooner than scramble across a moderate nullah — let 
 alone leaping it. Excitement of any sort he considered un- 
 wholesome and irrational — the excitement of peril most irra- 
 tional of all. Whdst his villanous scheme was still in the 
 germ, he had counted the cost and resolved to pay it ; and 
 when he grew too familiar with the idea to shrink from the 
 purposed atrocity, he never lost sight of the probable conse- 
 quences to himself. He knew that the mere fact of his pre- 
 dilection for chemistry woidd be sure to attract suspicion 
 sooner or later : and moreover, though difficult, it might not 
 be impossible for an analyst to determine from what precise 
 region the venomous ingredients must have been brought. 
 Alsager’s surmises were right. It was during his sojourn in 
 India that Anstruther had obtained these. He had indeed 
 confiscated them, after they had been employed in a similar 
 disffgurement. 
 
 He had taken all possible precaution, to be sure ; and, with 
 average luck, the chain of circumstantial evidence linking him 
 with the crime must needs be weak. At first, he thought he 
 had prospered beyond his hopes ; for, though he was last to 
 enter the corridor, he was there soon enough to hear Laura 
 Brancepeth speak of the broken vial. There was little fear of 
 analytical tests after that. Then had come the blow which 
 had put all his calculations to the rout. It had never entered 
 his head, that stolid William Prescott would be shrewd 
 enough and patient enough to play the spy — and play it to 
 such fatal purpose. But, though taken by surprise, he kept 
 his self-possession admirably till he heard that threat — it was 
 only half-intended as a threat, after all — about Mark Eamsay. 
 
 It was not the magistrate he dreaded ; but the man, who, 
 if half the tales were true, had trampled under-foot written 
 and unwritten laws, on less provocation than this, ere now ; and 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 363 
 
 who would scarcely he less scrupulous in working out his re- 
 venge, than he had always shoAvn himself in working out his 
 desire. It was this which made George Anstruther accept 
 extortion without bargaining ; and it was this which sent such 
 a shiver through his blood, when he looked up and saw who 
 stood on the threshold. 
 
 With eyes A\ude open and vacant, like a sleep-walker’s, he 
 stared at his visitor, as the other closed the door softly, and 
 turned the key, and then came nearer, till he stood just where 
 Prescott had been standing awhile ago. There was nothing 
 positively alarming in his face : it was scarcely so lowering as 
 when he entered his wife’s dressing-room ; but it was even 
 more set. Por perhaps half a minute, Mark watched in silence 
 the workings of the other’s countenance : they would have 
 told him enough, if his suspicions had slumbered till now. 
 Then he said with a strange quietness : 
 
 ‘ You can guess why I have come here V 
 The first syllables of Anstruther’s reply were scarcely in- 
 telligible ; but the last were uttered more distinctly. 
 
 ^ I cannot guess. Has — has it anything to do with the — 
 the — accident of this evening h ’ 
 
 ' Everything to do with the — accident : we’ll call it so for 
 the present. You remember I asked in the corridor just now, 
 whether any one knew anything of surgery ; and you shook 
 your head like the rest. Perhaps you were taken by surprise, 
 and hadn’t time to think over your resources. It may be hours 
 before the doctor comes, and every second may be precious. 
 Chemists, such as you are, often carry about strange drugs 
 with them ; and, if you have no drugs, you have knowledge. 
 They say all poisons have an antidote. Is there none to this h ’ 
 Anstruther could hardly believe his ears. Was it pos- 
 sible that the person he so dreaded had not come to accuse 
 or condemn, but only to ask for such succour, as any man 
 has a right to expect from the stranger sojourning within his 
 gates h But the first flush of glad surprise was checked by a 
 cold seuse of helplessness — by a feeling that, though the door 
 of escape stood wide, he could not pass through. 
 
‘JGi PillEAKING A I3UTTEKFLY; Oil 
 
 It is not too niiicli to say, that George Anstruther would 
 liave given up almost anytliing, short of his heart’s blood, to 
 have had the power of undoing his deed. Eear of the conse- 
 quences, doubtless, chiefly swayed him ; hut there was a tinge 
 of remorse too, howsoever hiint : moreover, a dreary conscious- 
 ness that his crime was futile, and that not one doit of the 
 price for which he had sold himself would ever he paid, had 
 crept over him since, yonder in the corridor, glancing up once 
 sidelong and stealthily, he met the horror of Elanche Eamsay’s 
 eyes. It was not to he. He knew right well that though, 
 besides the risk of fever, there was little danger of life from 
 his devilish drugs, their effects were past the art of healing ; 
 and time would never efface, even if it should faintly mitigate, 
 the hideous scars. The face that was so dangerous yesterday 
 never again would wake passion or envy. For Alice Irving 
 there would he no more place amongst fair women henceforth, 
 than there is for a lazar amongst his kind. Though he dared 
 not avow all this, he dared not speak contrariwise. 
 
 ‘ I would gladly help you,’ he said — ‘ most gladly. Eut I 
 liave small skill in such matters, and I might do more harm 
 than good in advising. The}^ have tried cold applications, I 
 suppose '? That ought to give temporary relief, and I trust the 
 surgeon will he here very soon.’ 
 
 Mark’s gaze dwelt on the speaker, still rather earnestly than 
 threateningly. 
 
 ‘ Are you quite sure you can suggest nothing h Mind : I 
 ask you this — knowing that mere medical skill Avill avail little. 
 ITiink again. It is a question of life and death.’ 
 
 The keen perception that had served Anstruther well in 
 ordinary matters quite failed him here : from that strange 
 <|uietness of Mark’s manner, he drew encouragement when he 
 ought to have drawn warning. 
 
 ^ I do not know what others can do,’ he said, with a certain 
 haughtiness ; ‘ hut I am quite sure that I can do nothing. If 
 I had any doubt on the subject, I should not have wanted 
 asking twice.’ 
 
 ^ I’ll give you one more chance,’ Mark said, speaking very 
 
BLxVXCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 3G5 
 
 low. ^ iS^'ot for your own sake ; but for hers who lies yonder. 
 I know as well who has done this deed, as if I liad watched 
 you drop in the poison. Don’t waste time in denial — it may 
 be shorter than you think — but listen to me. If you can hold 
 out any certain hope that what has been done can be undone 
 — quite undone — you shall go forth from this house harmless ; 
 and you shall never be troubled more by me or mine ; and, if 
 you bear me any grudge you may set your foot on my neck 
 now, if you please. Lying won’t help you. I’ll look into 
 your eyes while you answer.’ 
 
 All his terrors came back upon Anstruther like a wave in 
 reflux ; yet he, too, felt that lying or evasion would be useless. 
 He spoke like the possessed of old time, whose utterances were 
 not after their own will, but according to the spirit within 
 
 them. 
 
 ‘ Her life is safe : I can give no other hope.’ 
 
 ]\Iark breathed long and deep, as gymnasts do jireparing 
 for some great feat of strength or skill. 
 
 ‘ Then half my errand is done. I came to seek help here, 
 as I would have sought it in Hell, if I had known the road 
 there ; and I would sooner have given the Devil my soul, than 
 you your freedom, in exchange : but I tcoiild have given it. 
 There was something else though. If there was no help to be 
 wrung from you, I came — to kill you.’ 
 
 Mark Eamsay’s voice was a proverbially pleasant one. 
 There was nothing jarring in the tone of those last three words. 
 If an actor had delivered them on any stage, the house w^ould 
 have murmured, justly enough, at a good ^ point’ being spoiled. 
 A very quiet reading, even of Hamlet, rarely succeeds. But 
 
 then, you see, it was a singularly select audience to which 
 Earn say was playing, and he did not trouble himself to study 
 effects. In sober truth, there was a savage earnestness there, 
 that could never have been conveyed by the thunderous de- 
 clamation that rends a passion to tatters ; and so the solitary 
 witness interpreted it, as he sprang up with a white terror on 
 his face, glaring round him in a wild hopeless way. Yes — 
 hopeless : for, whether by chance or design, Eamsay had 
 
;]66 
 
 BREAKING A BETTERFLY ; OR 
 
 moved during the last two seconds, so as to stand directly be- 
 twixt the other and the fireplace, where, putting weapons of 
 defence out of the question, the one hellrope hung. 
 
 There was little chance of a shout bringing timely succour ; 
 and, even if it had not been so, there was manhood enough 
 left in the old civilian, to make him loth to cry aloud for help 
 against a single unarmed enemy. Indeed, the physical odds 
 against him were not so great. He had the advantage in 
 height and weight, and probably in strength, if not in 
 activity ; and, though his gaunt frame had waxed thinner of 
 late, it had not become bent or emaciated, and there was a 
 tough, wiry look about it still. But there was no question of 
 physique here. A thirsty eagerness for the struggle on the 
 one side, was opposed to shuddering reluctance on the other ; 
 and, had you seen the two, you would no more have doubted 
 as to the result, than if you had watched a panther crouch- 
 ing for his spring on a buffalo. 
 
 ‘ You — you are mad !’ Anstruther gasped out. ‘ Have you 
 forgotten that — that your life is forfeit, when you’ve taken 
 mine ? ’ 
 
 The other broke into a ghastly laugh, and drew ever so 
 little nearer — very slowly ; it seemed as though he saw the 
 terror he inspired, and savoured it as part of his vengeance, 
 
 ^ Forgotten ? Ho : I have forgotten nothing. What you 
 have done is no hanging matter — what I’m going to do is — 
 that’s as clear as day. It’s only a sort of suicide after all ; 
 and it’s a pleasanter way than knotting one’s own noose. 
 You’ll have made clean work of it between you — you and 
 yonder wife of mine.’ 
 
 A passion, with which animal fear had nought to do, rang 
 out in Anstruther’s cry. 
 
 ‘ My God ! Is it possible you suspect your wife of having 
 art or part in this ? See — I speak as if I were on my death- 
 bed. By all my hopes of mercy, she’s as innocent as any of 
 heaven’s angels. You shall — you shall — believe me.’ 
 
 ‘ I believe you,’ Mark answered. ‘ And she’ll have the 
 benefit of her innocence — if that’s any consolation to you. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE'S ENDING. 
 
 367 
 
 If rd time to think about such trifles, perhaps I might 
 wonder what has made you so zealous to serve, and so anxious 
 to shield her. We’re past all that — now.’ 
 
 And even as he spoke, he drew nearer ; and the hungry 
 glitter brightened in his eyes. 
 
 The bitterness of death comes not always just before the 
 death-pang ; and those who tottered and stumbled at the 
 entrance of the Dark Yalley, have been known to walk 
 steadily enough when they were far within the shadow. So 
 it was now with George Anstruther. Whether it was the 
 mere energy of despair that sustained him, or whether the 
 generous impulse, prompting his last intercession, abode with 
 him still — no one will ever know. But, assuredly, he did not 
 die a coward. 
 
 ‘ I loved your wife,’ he said, speaking quite firmly. ^ Does 
 not that account for all ? I loved her that day when you and 
 I first met. I’ve loved her since — so well — that I repent to- 
 night’s work no more than if I’d set my heel on an adder in 
 her path. I love her now — so well — that I’ll save her, in 
 spite of you, from the shame of having married a felon. You 
 thought I was afraid of death 1 So I was : but it was of 
 death in your fashion, not in my own. Before I knew you 
 were coming, I was ready, with — 
 
 He felt in his. pocket ; and, with the quickness of thought, 
 drawing forth the tiny silver tube, crushed it betwixt his 
 strong white teeth. 
 
 With a spring like a wild cat’s, Mark Eamsay cleared the 
 distance betwixt them ; but his fingers griped a throat that 
 never felt the pressure ; and of the two bodies that crashed 
 on the floor together, the life was in only one. 
 
 The fury of baffled revenge mingled with a natural horror 
 in the survivor’s face, as he shook himself clear of the corpse 
 and arose. As he grew calmer, he began to debate with him- 
 self what was to be done. After two or three minutes spent 
 in dee]3 thought, he walked to the door and unlocked it, and 
 then rang twice or thrice violently. Hot for one instant, 
 while he waited there, did he avert his gaze from the corpse ; 
 
^68 
 
 EilEAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 and, not for one second, did liis eyes alter their expression of 
 hate and loathing. Two or three servants came liurrying up — 
 Prescott foremost. It was to this man Ramsay addressed 
 liimself. 
 
 Your master has taken poison. He took it too suddenly 
 for me to stop him ; though, of course, I tried. He took it, 
 to save himself from being arrested for the crime that was 
 done here to-night. 
 
 The valet was too utterly prostrated by the annihilation 
 of his golden dreams, to do more than repeat, ^ Poisoned 
 himself !’ 
 
 ^ There’s no doubt about it,’ Mark replied. ‘ There’ll be 
 some sort of inquest or inquiry, I suppose ; and it wiU be well 
 for you — and you — and you — ’ he glanced from one to the 
 other of the servants — ‘ to take notice of — this.’ 
 
 Shuddering and shrinking, they followed the direction of 
 his finger. It pointed to the silver tube still crushed betwixt 
 the clenched teeth. Human help was so palpably useless 
 that no one thought of rendering it ; and all followed Ramsay 
 out of the room in silence. 
 
 ‘ Speak as little about this as can be helped ; or, at any 
 rate, speak low. And keep this door locked till the doctor 
 comes,’ Mark said to Prescott. ‘ He can go in if he thinks 
 jDroper, after he has visited Miss Irving.’ 
 
 Then he walked slowly away, whither you will presently 
 see. 
 
 ‘ What a fool I was to trust him ! ’ the valet muttered to 
 himself disconsolately. 
 
 And this — setting aside exclamations of wonderment 
 amongst his acquaintance when the news was bruited at the 
 Orion, and the self-congratulations of the successor to his 
 pension — was the only funeral oration pronounced over a 
 man who in his time had filled high places with honour ; a 
 man whose word was as his bond, and whom Walter Ellerslie 
 had trusted like a brother. If not a model of Christian 
 charity, he had seldom wilfully or wittingly broken God’s 
 laws, or hurt one of God’s creatures, till the night when — 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 369 
 
 having sinned heavily in both- wise — he died nnrepenting. 
 
 Finis coronat opus. The dullest schoolboy has that by 
 heart before he has got half-through his rudiments ; but 
 sometimes wise elders will be very near the End, before they 
 are assured whether the Crown will be one of shame or glory. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 It was in truth only a fainting-fit into which Elanche had 
 fallen a while ago ; but it lasted long, and when she partially 
 recovered, her senses seemed to be wandering. Her first in- 
 telligible words signified a wish to be left alone again with 
 Laura Erancepeth ; so the maid was dismissed, to wait in the 
 sleeping-chamber till she should be required. 
 
 ‘ How you mustn’t excite yourself, dear,’ La Reine said. 
 ‘ And whatever you do, lie still for the present.’ 
 
 ‘ Lie still ! ’ Elanche moaned. ‘ How is it possible 0 
 Laura, if you knew — if you knew — ’ 
 
 ‘ Eut I do know,’ the other retorted in her impetuous 
 way. ‘ It’s not hard to guess, that your husband’s furious at 
 what has happened to-night, and came to vent his wrath on 
 you. That’s so like a man, and especially like a husband : 
 even Henry does it sometimes, though he’s rather afraid of 
 me. He didn’t say it was your fault, I suppose '? ’ 
 
 ^ Xo,’ Elanche murmured. ^ He didn’t say it was my 
 fault, though he said many cruel words — such as I could 
 never forget, even if I forgave them. Eut, Queenie — he sus- 
 pects the same person that I did, and I think he is gone there 
 now. What will happen to us all ? ’ 
 
 La Reine looked somevdiat blank at this, though she 
 made shift to answer carelessly. 
 
 ‘Happen to us? Xothing worse than has happened 
 already, you may depend upon it. Mark knows better than 
 to bring such a charge against one of his guests on mere sus- 
 
 2 B 
 
370 
 
 3311EAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 picion — more than suspicion there could not he. If he were 
 mad enough to do such a thing, Mr Anstruther would not 
 condescend to plead guilty ” or not guilty,” but leave the 
 house at once. It’s the only thing he could do. Every one 
 will be going to-morrow, as it is, I should think — except me, 
 of course. I shall stay till I take you south.’ 
 
 Her assumed cheerfulness had small effect. It could not 
 bring back the light on Elanche’s face, nor stiU the tremors 
 that shook her almost incessantly. 
 
 ‘ You don’t know Mark,’ she panted. ^ I never knew him 
 myself before to-night. I wish — yes, I do wish — that I had 
 died yesterday. 'No : I’m not wandering, Queenie — nor 
 dreaming. If one could only wake, and find all this was a 
 dream ! I feel that some worse horror will happen yet ; and 
 it will be all — all through me.’ 
 
 Laura Branoepeth’s wits were good serviceable ones, not 
 easily to be scattered ; but they were getting into sore con- 
 fusion. It was useless to argue with Blanche in her present 
 state ; and yet, if she could not be pacified, serious harm must 
 needs ensue. 
 
 ^ What can I do, dear 1 ’ she said half-despairingly. ^ Shall 
 I call in Wright to take care of you, and go and find Mark 
 and bring him here 1 Anything’s better than your torturing 
 yourself so.’ 
 
 Eor the first time since her swoon, Blanche opened her 
 eyes, and fixed them on her friend eagerly. 
 
 ^ Ah, if you could do this, Queenie — if — if you were not 
 afraid — ’ 
 
 ‘ Afraid ! ’ Laura retorted in supreme scorn. 
 
 But her dauntlessness was not put to the j)roof — at least, 
 in the way she had intended ; for, as she rose up to call in the 
 maid from the adjoining chamber, the door of the dressing- 
 room opened, and Eamsay entered once more. 
 
 It was recorded long ago that the best point in Mark’s rare 
 personal beauty was the soft richness of his colouring. This 
 would certainly have never been noticed now, for the colour 
 seemed to have faded in some strange way out of his eyes and 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 371 
 
 lips, and his clear olive cheeks looked sickly and wan, hut the 
 malignant lowering was no longer on his face : he only looked 
 intensely weary. He did not speak till he came quite close 
 to the two women, and then it was in a subdued tone. 
 
 ‘ I did not mean to disturb you again to-night ; but I have 
 no choice. Something has happened since I saw you last.’ 
 
 La Eeine had risen, and stood betwixt husband and wife, 
 holding Blanche’s hand fast, as though she would have shield- 
 ed her from some bodily harm. 
 
 ‘Good heavens ! what is it *? ’ she cried out angrily. ‘ Surel}" 
 we have no fresh disasters to hear of? ’ 
 
 ‘ Why not ? ’ Mark answered, still in the same slow dehber- 
 ate voice. ‘ Would you call it a disaster, if the author of this 
 crime had been discovered, and made confession ? ’ 
 
 Laura’s hand was wrung till she could scarcely bear the 
 pressure, as Blanche started up with a piteous wail. 
 
 ‘ Mark ! Mark ! You will — ^you will — ^liave mercy ? ’ 
 
 He never blenched before that agony : indeed, you might 
 have fancied there hovered round his lip the shadow of a 
 smile. 
 
 ‘Are you interceding for George Anstruther? You may 
 spare your breath. A priest’s prayers might help him now — 
 if priests can help the dead.’ 
 
 Cruel as this man was by nature — tenfold crueller now in 
 the bitterness of half-slaked revenge — I believe, had he guess- 
 ed at the effect of his words, he would no more have uttered 
 them — in that shape — than he would have driven a knife 
 straight to his wife’s heart then and there. Had he done so, 
 it would scarce have been quicker work. 
 
 AVhilst the last syllable lingered on his lips, Blanche stood 
 upright on her feet, clasping both hands tightly on her side-, 
 and staring at him with wild ];iaggard eyes. Then a change — 
 other than he had seen there lately — such a change as can 
 come but once on any human face — swept across hers ; and she 
 sank back on the couch with a long gasping sob. Her hands 
 dropped idly down, and she lay quite still. 
 
 The old physician’s prophecy had come true ; though not 
 
 2 B 2 
 
372 JiREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 in tlie sense in which it was spoken ; and sooner than he had 
 reckoned on. It was ^ well ’ with Blanche Eamsay at last. 
 
 What passed during the next quarter of an hour Laura 
 Brancepeth could never distinctly recall. Perhaps she did 
 not care to tax her memory too closely. She had a hazy im- 
 l)ression of having poured forth a torrent of iqDbraiding, and 
 of Mark’s having listened — gazing at her always in the same 
 dreamy way — as though her bitterest words stung him neither 
 to remorse nor anger. He must have made her understand 
 somehow that, howsoever accountable he might be for the short- 
 ening of the frail life just ended, George Anstruther’s blood 
 was not actually on his head ; but how he did this, she could 
 never recollect. She remembered the maid’s rushing in, and 
 then out into the corridor to seek for help ; and she remember- 
 ed that a certain relief mingled with her terrors, when she 
 found herself watching the corpse alone. 
 
 When Laura Brancepeth shall come to the hour when, for 
 her soul’s sake, it will behove her to be in charity with all 
 men, one name, assuredly, will be excepted from the amnesty. 
 Yet perhaps it is as well she never knew that Mark Eam- 
 say went straight from her presence into that of Alice’s father. 
 
 To give Irving his due, no disaster of his own would have 
 brought such dejection on his face as possessed it whilst lie- 
 sat brooding over that which had befallen his daughter ; but 
 natures such as his, are more often hardened than softened 
 by any great sorrow ; and, as he looked up and saw who it 
 was that entered, his brows contracted gloomily. If he did 
 not hold Mark accountable, as it were, in the second degree, 
 for Alice’s calamity, it had, at all events, occurred under his 
 roof, and this was quite sufficient to make the sight of him 
 unwelcome just now. 
 
 ‘The doctor is come, of course'?’ Irving inquired, with some- 
 thing in his tone which signified that, without some such ex- 
 cuse, the intrusion Avas unAvarrantable. 
 
 ‘ Ho ; he has not come yet,’ Mark replied ; ‘ but it was 
 needful I should see you at once. You asked me, an hour ago, 
 if I could give no guess as to the meaning or author of the 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE S ENDING. 
 
 Devil’s-work yonder. I could guess at neither, then ; hut 
 hoth are known to me noAV. That’s what I’ve come to tell 
 you. Be patient a minute,’ he went on, as Irving rose up 
 Avith such a fell menace on his face as would he hard to de- 
 scribe — ‘ I must say out my say, once for all. I’m not going 
 to deny that the scandalmongers might have found fault Avith 
 my intimacy Avith Alice ; and I’m not going to prove to you 
 that it Avas innocent, at this time of day : if you had thought 
 otherAAuse, I should have -heard of it long ago. It’s sufficient 
 to knoAv that some people looked on her as my Avife’s Avorst 
 enemy ; and that this thought was uppermost in George An- 
 struther’s mind, when he mixed his poisons to-night.’ 
 
 ‘You knoAV all this,’ the father said in a savage Avhisper. 
 ‘ And you mean to hold your hand, and ask me to hold 
 mine ? ’ 
 
 ‘ Wliat Avould you do '? ’ said Mark Eamsay drearily. 
 ‘ They are hoth dead.’ 
 
 Irving staggered a full pace hackAvard, Avith a dreadful 
 question in his eyes that to save his life he could not then 
 have put into Avords. The other laughed — much as he had 
 done Avhen he ansAAwed Anstruther. 
 
 ‘ You think I killed them '? I don’t Avonder. I did mean 
 to kill Mm ; hut — curse him ! — he Avas too quick forme. She 
 died five minutes ago, in a heart-sj^asm.’ 
 
 ‘ Tell me more,’ Irving said under his hreath. 
 
 The first horror had left him, and all the pity he had to 
 spare Avas engrossed hy his oaaui daughter. ^Nevertheless, it 
 Avas Avith an aAve such as he had never knoAvn, that he listened 
 to the brief story of Avhat you have just read — such an awe as 
 the toughest sceptics have felt Avhen the air around them Avas 
 heavy with death. But ahvays in his mind the thought Avas 
 uppermost of Iioav, on the first hour of their meeting, he had 
 conceived a vague dislike and apprehension of George Anstru- 
 ther ; and hoAv, in his folly, he had said, ‘ He cannot harm me 
 and mine.’ 
 
 Moreover, though he himself AA^ould have scoffed at the 
 idea — or, at the most, Avould only have admitted fatality — he 
 
'37-i BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 was overborne by a strange sense of helplessness : by a con- 
 sciousness that all these rough-hewn ends had been shaped by 
 other hands than those that first fashioned them — perchance, 
 by the hands of Him who said, so many ages go, ‘ Vengeance 
 is Mine/ There is a weak point in almost all infidelities ; and 
 many, before atheism was put to the last crucial test, have cried 
 in their hearts — if not aloud — Vicistl, GalilcBe ! 
 
 What were Alice Irving’s thoughts when she heard how 
 swiftly and completely she was avenged '? It was one of her 
 attendants that brought the news. The woman was too 
 frightened to speak coherently ; but Alice divined all the 
 tragedy as completely as if it had been enacted before her eyes. 
 
 The evil calculation had come right to the letter. Her 
 life had outlasted — perhaps was likely far to outlast — her 
 rivals ; and what did that jirofit her 1 She kneiv, not less 
 surely than if a hundred surgeons had sentenced her, that her 
 beauty was marred, not for a season, but for evermore ; she 
 knew, not less surely than if his own lips had uttered the 
 bitter words, that, thenceforth, pity was the uttermost she 
 could expect from Mark Ramsay. Though his love, in spite 
 of the guilt that loaded it, had been so precious to her, she 
 had always recognized it as a passion strong chiefly in its 
 sensuousness, and one that would prove unstable as water 
 under such a trial as this. There was the stale formula of 
 consolation — ^ They might be friends still.’ Friends ! Alice 
 almost gnashed her teeth as she thought what a horrible 
 hypocrisy such a pretence would be, betwixt herself and the 
 man who that day had kissed her brow. She felt the print 
 of his lips yet, amidst all those burning pains. 
 
 Moreover, though her conscience had slumbered of late, 
 she was not so unsexed as to be proof against natural remorse. 
 She knew that both the lives lately sacrificed might be re- 
 quired at her hand — well nigh as justly as though she had 
 wittingly dealt the deathblow — and that she must carry to her 
 life’s end that load of blood-guiltiness, with never a break of 
 feverish or guilty happiness. 
 
 Amongst the mysteries of theology with which it is not 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 375 
 
 fitting the laity should meddle, the doctrine of Penance may 
 surely he reckoned. Perhaps pain, not self-inflicted or vo- 
 luntary, may not much avail to atone. ^Nevertheless, wise 
 and good men have held that the punishment of any misdeed 
 whatsoever must needs he finite, though with the measure 
 thereof, we, who are ^ shapen in wickedness,’ have nought to 
 do. If they have not erred, Alice Irving must needs have 
 expiated, that night, some portion of her mortal sin. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLIV. 
 
 The smoking-room lay at the extreme end of one of the 
 wings of the castle, and it was too remote for any sound from 
 the other parts of the house to penetrate there — unless it 
 were such a cry as had startled its occupants an hour ago. 
 The servants, who were cognizant of Anstruther’s death, 
 obeyed orders, and discussed it only amongst themselves and 
 stealthily. 
 
 Xeither of this, nor of the other tragedy, were Alsager or 
 Gauntlet made aware till the door opened, and Eamsay ap- 
 peared. There were no signs of passion on his face — only 
 that weary look of exhaustion. And yet both guessed, before 
 he spoke a word, he had blacker news to tell than any they 
 had already listened to. 
 
 ‘ Is she much worse ? ’ Alsager asked. 
 
 ‘You mean Alice Irving P Mark replied, after he had 
 filled and drained a great goblet of iced water. ‘ Xot that I 
 know of. When last I heard of her she was in rather less 
 suffering. But I have heavy news for you. Anstruther has 
 committed suicide, after confessing himself the cause of her 
 disfigurement. I was present ; but not near enough to pre- 
 vent him. The poison did its \vork quicker than a bullet. 
 There — you needn’t waste pity on such a hound as that : there’s 
 worse behind. Not a quarter of an hour ago, I broke the 
 
376 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 news to Blanclie. I did it as cautiousl}^ as I could, and Lady 
 Laura was there with her ; hut her fright brought on a si^asni 
 of the heart, and she died almost instantaneously.’ 
 
 ‘ Lead ! ’ 
 
 The word broke from the lips of both simultaneously ; but 
 in the one case there was only the shock of surprise, in the 
 other there was the crisis of a strong heart’s agony. And as 
 Gauntlet covered his face with his hands, he groaned aloud. 
 
 Lor months past he had seen the end coming nearer and 
 nearer, and he had known that nothing short of a miracle 
 could avert or perhaps much delay it ; but, now that it had 
 come, it seemed to him like some hideous nightmare. He 
 could not realize at first that the delicate mobile lips, whose 
 smile when it lost its mirth did not lose its pleasantness, were 
 now still and set • or that the eyes, which had never looked on 
 him unkindly, were lustreless and dim ; or that the voice, which, 
 when he last heard it, had stirred his pulse not less power- 
 fully than in the old days, was dumb for evermore. When he 
 did realize all this, there began a struggle in Oswald’s breast, 
 such as must needs leave traces long after it is ended ; and 
 he was beset by temptation the like of which he had never 
 encountered. It was no other than a longing to add another 
 crime to the catalogue of that night — black enough already — 
 if indeed it were a crime : to grapple Mark Eamsay’s throat 
 as he would have done any other felon’s, and to exact of him 
 life for life. 
 
 Lor then, assuredly — even if he grew more charitable in 
 the after-time — he held this man no less accountable for the 
 death of the woman whom he, Oswald Gauntlet, had loved so 
 dearly, than if the murder had been wrought by a downright 
 brutal blow. It was because he loved her so dearly that he 
 refrained himself. If Blanche’s name must indeed be mixed 
 up in this sorrowful and shameful story, it was not for him to 
 add thereunto another ghastly chapter. Had she been living 
 still, her wan hand would have been surely raised to warn 
 him from reprisals, and he would surely have obeyed the 
 beckon. So — now as then — let her have her will. But, al- 
 
BLANCHE ELLEKSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 877 
 
 l)eit lie prevailed in wrestle over the devil that fought savagely 
 within him, he prevailed not so far as to endure Mark’s pre- 
 sence. When he rose up, it was with averted face ; and their 
 eyes never met, as he walked out of the room silently and 
 swiftly. 
 
 The other two kept silence likewise for a full minute after 
 the door had closed behind Gauntlet, till Eamsay broke it 
 impatiently. 
 
 ‘ What are you thinking of h I’d rather hear you speak, 
 than watch you stare.’ 
 
 ‘Is it worth Avhile to ask E the other said. ‘If my 
 thoughts ever mattered much, it’s rather late in the day to 
 ask for them. Besides, if I were to tell you, it might only 
 breed a quarrel, and somehow I don’t feel up to that. We 
 had best let ill alone. After all, I’ve no right to judge you.’ 
 
 ‘ I understand. You write down every item of what has 
 happened here to my account. You are not unjust, I dare say.’ 
 
 There was a helpless depression in bis manner, that moved 
 the other to answer less harshly. 
 
 ‘ I don’t know that. The fatalists — I’m more than half a 
 fatalist — would say you were only an instrument. If it is so, 
 I’m selhsh enough to be glad you were picked instead of me. 
 Mark, I’d have changed places with you pretty often within 
 the last two years : I wouldn’t do that to-night ; and I wish 
 the night was over, with all my heart and soul.’ 
 
 ‘ Do you think to-morrow will be any better ? ’ Mark 
 asked wearily, ‘ or the next day, or the next ? Do you re- 
 member what I said wlien we talked it over in my chambers 
 We have “ dreed our weird ” with a vengeance. You’ve never 
 asked me how it all happened. I’d rather tell you and get it 
 over, though I’ve told it once already. ’ 
 
 As Alsager listened to much the same story as Irving had 
 heard, it was evident that his interest in the first catastrophe 
 did not go beyond wonder and curiosity. He was not in the 
 habit of scattering his sympathy broadcast ; and George An- 
 struther’s suicide moved him very little more than if he had 
 read it in the public prints. 
 
378 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 ^ That was a devilish narrow escape of yours/ he remarked 
 coolly, when he heard how Mark’s murderous intent had been 
 anticipated. ‘ It was a very natural impulse, I’ll allow ; hut, 
 at our time of life, we ought to have got beyond such things ; 
 and so you’d have thought, when you found yourself in the 
 dock. I doubt if they’d have brought it in even manslaughter ; 
 unless I^evis had tried you. It’s very odd I should have 
 always suspected him. I told Gauntlet so, and he wouldn’t 
 have it, at first. I wonder what he thinks of it now — or of 
 anything else, for that matter ? I never saw any man more 
 thoroughly knocked out of time. Go through with it : it’s no 
 use halting when you’ve got so far.’ 
 
 Eut as Alsager listened to the details — still more brief — of 
 the second calamity, the hard cynicism vanished from his face ; 
 and, when all was told, he drew a long breath very like a sigh. 
 
 If it was over so quickly, she could not have suffered 
 much,’ he said. ‘ I’m glad of that, poor thing. She had her 
 share of it before. That was the time to pity her ; and I did, 
 and told you so. It’s absurd to pity her now. Do you know, 
 Mark, I believe in many more things than people give me credit 
 for 1 I like to fancy that she’ll find a pleasant berth somewhere 
 — a real pleasant one — such a long way off from yours and 
 mine. Heart-complaints are curious things, and hers might 
 have killed her without any meddling of yours. Perhaps 
 that’s the best way of looking at it.’ 
 
 The other shook his head, as though putting aside the 
 crumb of comfort, if it was so meant. He made no answer ; 
 and then again silence ensued. At last said Alsager abruptly : 
 
 ^ What do you wish every one to do '? I don’t think Lady 
 Laura will move before the funeral. I’ll stay too, if I can 
 help you. Whatever you’ve done or left undone, you’ve stood 
 by me pretty stanchly since that morning in Florence ; and 
 I’ll see you through this, even if we cry Quits 1 ” after- 
 wards.’ 
 
 Seldom — perhaps never — had any man seen such an eager, 
 beseeching look in Mark Kamsay’s eyes as glistened in them 
 then. 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 379 
 
 ‘ For God’s sake, don’t go ! ’ he muttered hurriedly. ' I’m 
 so nearly heat as it is — much more than I was after that jun- 
 gle-fever. I rather prided myself on my nerve : I shall never 
 do that again.’ 
 
 ‘ That’s settled, then,’ the other answered, with his wonted 
 composure. ^ I stay. And now — how about the Irvings '? ’ 
 
 Mark started, just as he had done once before when Alsa- 
 ger set a chord in his musings tingling, and from just the same 
 cause. Amidst all the turmoil through which he had lately 
 passed, be sure he had found time to ask of himself that 
 question more than once. Alice had gauged very accurately 
 the length and breadth and depth of his love ; no more life 
 lingered in it now, than was in the corpse of his wife up-stairs. 
 It was the spectral semblance of love that he had to face hence- 
 forth ; a man of his temperament had better, tenfold, be haunted 
 by any ‘ dull mechanic ghost ’ than by such an one as this. 
 He had not yet confessed as much to himself ; and he certainly 
 was not prepared to confess it to even such an old friend as 
 Alsager. Nevertheless, he shifted his posture uneasily as he 
 answered. 
 
 ‘ The Irvings — '? They must stay here for the present, of 
 course. She could not possibly be moved in her present state ; 
 though, if that dead dog did not lie, her life is in no danger.’ 
 
 ‘ They must remain here for the present, naturally,’ the 
 other persisted ; ‘ but afterwards — ’ 
 
 Yere had not any intention of tormenting ; yet compassion 
 for Blanche Eamsay was still strong enough within him, to 
 make him watch with some satisfaction the other’s embarrass- 
 ment. 
 
 ‘ Afterwards ! ’ Mark retorted peevishly. ‘ Didn’t I tell 
 you my nerve was gone for the moment 'I ’ 
 
 It was a relief at least to one of those two, when a servant 
 came into the room to say that the doctor had arrived. 
 
 Mr Brancepeth was one of those whose very existence, in 
 time of great emergency, their fellows are apt to ignore : no 
 one, from first to last, had thought of rousing him. But, far 
 in the inght he was waked from a placid and not unstertorous 
 
380 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 slumber by a light touch on his shoulder, and by a warm drop 
 falling on his brow. Without being intrepid, he was a very 
 self-possessed person ; nevertheless, during his first waking 
 moments, he felt a slight tremor as he doubted whether he 
 saw a vision or no. That white, tear-stained face ought rather 
 to have belonged to the Brown Lady who was said to walk at 
 Kenlis, than to his gay, daring wife. But it w^as Laura, and 
 no other, that stood sobbing there — so utterly broken down, 
 that it was some time before she could give any rational 
 account of what had happened. To say that her husband was 
 horror-struck faintly expresses the state of mind in which he 
 was thrown. It 'was not only the intrinsic blackness of the 
 events themselves that affected him so strongly. If they had 
 occurred in a sphere of life removed from his own, and they 
 had been brought before him in his official capacity, he would 
 have met them with magisterial calmness. But the fact 
 of their having been enacted under his very eyes — though 
 those eyes chanced to be closed — and of all the actors and suf- 
 ferers therein being his own intimate acquaintance, if not 
 familiar friends, seemed to him to involve such an awful in- 
 congruity, that for the moment he was fairly unhinged, and 
 was almost as incoherent in his questions as Laura was in her 
 answers. 
 
 ^ow it is possible that some who read these pages may 
 jDartly indorse the opinion of Mr Brancepeth ; and consider 
 such passions and calamities as have been just narrated well 
 suited to mediaeval melodrama, but singularly improbable in a 
 modern country-house, entirely inhabited by members of the 
 upper ten thousand. 
 
 The objection does not sound hypercritical. Yet, when 
 there is fever or venom in the blood, it matters but little 
 Avh ether its colour, as it ran in health, was of imperial purple 
 or of murky red. Turthermore — I will take leave to suggest 
 that we are in no material respects much politer than our 
 nearest neighbours beyond seas ; and that, before all things 
 went awry, Choiseul-Praslin held no mean rank amongst the 
 ancient names of France; and that the tragedy wherewith 
 
BLANOHE ELLERSLIE'S ENDING. 
 
 381 
 
 Europe rang from west to east was wrought just twenty-two 
 years ago. 
 
 A very heavy heart that night was Laura Brancepeth’s ; 
 hut it would have been heavier far, if the last thought on her 
 mind before she sank into a feverish sleep of utter exhaustion, 
 had not been, that — prosy, and precise, and grotesque in some 
 points as he might be — it was an honest — honourable man, at 
 least, that lay beside her : ay, and that — with all her reckless- 
 ness — she had never said or done aught that need shame him. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLY. 
 
 The doctor who had been summoned to Kenlis was a fa- 
 vourable specimen of a countrj^ practitioner ; and, wdien he was 
 walking the hospitals, had been rather celebrated for nerve and 
 cleverness in the accident- ward ; but the case he had now to 
 deal with was far beyond his skill ; and though, after hearing 
 the nature of the calamity, he had come provided with divers 
 lenitives and emollients, he could only succeed in mitigating 
 the torture Alice Avas still enduring. With respect to a per- 
 manent cure, he could hold out little more comfort than An- 
 struther had given. Those fearful seams and scars Avere surely 
 indelible ; and even though the sight might be saved, there 
 Avas little chance that the beautiful gray eyes Avould ever regain 
 their lustrous softness. As a matter of form, Avithout the 
 faintest idea of being useful, he visited the scenes of both the 
 other catastrophes. He Avas tolerably callous, both from habit 
 and temperament ; but it Avas not Avithout a certain emotion 
 that he laid doAvn Blanche Eamsay’s hand, after searching for 
 a pulse in vain ; and it Avas not Avithout a certain relief that 
 he closed the door again on the corpse of the suicide. 
 
 EeAv at Kenlis Castle, either gentle or simple, closed their 
 eyes that night in more than brief broken sleep, and all were 
 glad to see daybreak, though it broke but gloomily. 
 
382 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 Laura Brancepetli was up and dressed betimes. It was not 
 that she had anything special to do ; but when once awake, 
 she could not bear to be still. She did not think of leavino* 
 lier rooms, and had just been trying to swallow some slight 
 refreshment, when her husband, who had risen still earlier, 
 came in. 
 
 ‘ I didn’t mean to disturb you ; but Major Gauntlet is so 
 very anxious to see you, I could not refuse to ask whether you 
 were equal to it. If you are, I do think it would be a kind- 
 ness.’ 
 
 ‘ Certainly I will,’ she said ; ^ and I am not a bit surprised 
 at his Avishing to see me.’ 
 
 A few minutes afterwards Gauntlet entered alone. His 
 face Avas very pale, but perfectly composed, as Avere his A^oice 
 and manner. 
 
 ^ You Avill guess that I should not have intruded on you at 
 such a time without a purpose. I have come to ask you a 
 great kindness. I do not ‘think you Avill refuse it, though if 
 you should do so, I shall not take it in ill part. Before I leave 
 this place — and I do so Avithin the hour — I should like to see 
 7^er just once ; and I Avant you to go with me as far as the door. 
 Wait — don’t decide till you have listened a minute longer. 
 If I had ever spoken one word to her who is an angel now, that 
 could shame her where she is gone, either in jest or seriously, 
 I would not ask you this. Ah — I see you belieA^e me without 
 an oath ; but, if I SAvore it on my deathbed, perhaps the Avorld 
 Avould only half believe. What has happened here will be 
 more than a nine-days’ wonder ; and the scandalmongers Avon’t 
 leave a blank in their romance if they can help it. I would 
 not have one stone cast at her on my account. They may say 
 I loved her — so I did, God alone knows how dearly — but they 
 can hardly say that I meant dishonour, if my last visit to her 
 is sanctioned by the kind woman who Avas her nearest friend.’ 
 
 The earnestness with which they Avere uttered made the 
 simple words almost eloquent ; and Laura Brancepeth’s heart 
 gloAved as she held out her hand frankly. 
 
 ‘ I do believe you ; and I never hesitated from the first, 
 
BLAMCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 383 
 
 tliongli I am glad you spoke to the end. I will come with 
 you at once.’ 
 
 So those two went together — treading softly, though on the 
 thick carpet their steps made no echo — to the door of the 
 chamber where the remains of Blanche Eamsay lay 3 and 
 Laura stood and watched without, whilst the other went in, 
 closing the door behind him. Through that door it is not 
 needful we should follow. 
 
 Many years ago, walking after nightfall through the streets 
 of a town in i^orthern Italy, I came upon an open porch 
 through which poured a hood of light from many tapers. On 
 a couch, just withinside — in an attitude, not of death, but of 
 sleep, for the head was propped up by a silken pillow — lay a 
 corpse — the corpse of a young fair woman ; there was a bright 
 garland on the deftly-braided hair, round the neck a golden 
 chain, and on the waxen arms and hngers jewels not a few. 
 I have looked upon some grewsome sights since, but never on 
 one that shocked me so thoroughly. I thought then, and I 
 think now, that of this earth’s pomps and vanities, the least 
 pardonable are funeral parades. Whilst the world lasts, cere- 
 monials will endure ; and when great men fall in Israel per- 
 haps there needs must be lyings-in-state. Yet those of lowlier 
 degree may well hope for peace and privacy on their bier, if 
 they have found them not elsewhere. Even in a marionette- 
 show, it is well to cover decently, if not reverently, the face of 
 the puppet-corpse. 
 
 The minutes that she watched seemed to La Eeine almost 
 endless ; yet probably not ten had elapsed when the door 
 opened again, and Gauntlet came out. His countenance Avas 
 not more disturbed than it had been when he entered ; but, as 
 he closed his lips quickly after a vain effort to speak, eA’^en 
 under his thick moustache they could be seen quivering and 
 trembling : deathly cold those same lips felt when, a second 
 later, they were pressed on Laura’s hand in grateful farcAvell. 
 Heither could she repress a slight shiver, as she guessed A^Eere 
 they had caught their chill. 
 
 That silent leave-taking was the only one that Gauntlet 
 
384 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY; OR 
 
 exchanged with any soul at Kenlis. He walked straight from 
 that spot out into the open air ; leaving word, as he passed 
 through the hall, that his servant was to follow him with the 
 carriage that was to take them to the nearest station. Heither 
 did he turn his head or look backward, till Kenlis Castle was 
 hidden from view. 
 
 It was long before Laura Brancepeth could muster courage 
 to enter the chamber at the threshold of which she had been 
 watching ; but, having once entered, she was in no haste to 
 leave it ; and when she did so, it was with a calm on her spirit 
 which was not after violently disturbed. 
 
 The master of Kenlis shut himself up in his own apartment 
 after an interview with the doctor, and would see no one but 
 Alsager ; to the latter fell the direction of all funeral arrange- 
 ments. Only on one point did Mark interfere, but there he 
 was stubborn. Yere’s suggestion, that it might stifle scandal 
 if Anstruther’s body was allowed to remain where it lay to 
 await the necessary inquiry, he utterly set at nought, and was 
 scarcely induced to grant the shelter of a disused outbuilding. 
 The other went so far as to hint, that there might be difficulty 
 in finding bearers willing to carry forth the ghastly burden ; 
 for, putting superstition out of the question, the servants were 
 fairly demoralized by the events of last night. The next 
 minute he repented of his caution ; and was haunted long after- 
 wards by the expression on Eamsay’s face as he made answer. 
 
 ^ You had better find them soon, as you are so squeamish 
 about scandal ; or — I’ll cast the carrion out with my own 
 hands.’ 
 
 After this one outbreak he relapsed into sullen silence ; 
 and when advertised of Gauntlet’s abrupt departure only 
 shrugged his shoulders, as if to imply that it was just what 
 he had expected, and did not concern him in the least. YYt, 
 in the midst of this apathy, he seemed to be waiting for 
 something — not with any eagerness or impatience, but with 
 the expectation of one who knows sooner or later it must 
 come. 
 
 Though she was anything but robust in appearance, Alice 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 885 
 
 Irving must have possessed an exceptionally good constitu- 
 tion. Her system had so far resisted a shock that would have 
 shattered many athletic ones, that she had kept her conscious- 
 ness throughout ; and, as the pain abated, it seamed as if she 
 might even escape the serious dangei of fever ; neither was 
 her strength materially prostrated. The fingers only of one 
 of her hands were injured where they had touched the sponge 
 scarcely soaked in the lotion ; and she could use her hand 
 perfectly. Her sight was not at all affected, though her eyes 
 had suffered somewhat from the inflammation around. So 
 when she begged to be allowed to write a short note, the doc- 
 tor who remained in attendance objected only faintly; indeed, 
 he thought the risk thus incurred would be less than that 
 of the irritation and anxiety which might follow on pro- 
 hibition. 
 
 This is what Ahce Irving wrote, and what a few minutes 
 later Mark Eamsay read : 
 
 ‘ They say my life is safe, and I am glad — or I ought to 
 he glad, I am so little fit to die — hut there is still danger of 
 nervous fever. While I am sure of my senses I loill write ; 
 jyerhajps I shall he quieter tohen it is done. Before you opened 
 this note, you guessed it came to say good-hye — not good-hye 
 for a little while, or for so many months or years — hut forever 
 and ever. 
 
 ^ It is not an easy icord to lorite, and it does not make it 
 easier that we have both well deserved what has come upon us. 
 Yes, upon us ; for I know that your sufferings, in another 
 way, are not much lighter than mine. I am not, and never 
 shall he, a good Christian. It teas a sin to listen, as I have 
 listened, to much that you have said ; yet I scarcely repent it 
 even note. Nevertheless I know — and you know — that if I 
 coidd have foreseen, the least fearful of the consequences, I 
 never should have listened. Even if I loerre the same Alice 
 that stood hy your side yesterday, I hope — I cannot he sure, 
 hut I do hope — that I should still he able to say that, of my 
 own free will, you and I shall never meet again. If no judg- 
 
386 
 
 BREAKING A imiTERFLY ; OR 
 
 ment had fallen upon me^ there never could have been happi- 
 ness for us two after last night, 
 
 ‘ If you ever cared for me at all, you will help me now. 
 For pity's sake do not prevent my going home as soon as I can 
 he movel — to lie here is loorse than the burning. And do not 
 let your eyes rest upon me, even for a second — that I could not 
 bear. 
 
 ‘ And noio we ivill go our several ivays. In spite of all, I 
 loill believe yours will not always be dark and lonely. As for 
 me, I shall at least never again have to fight with temptation ; 
 and I trust the time yet may come udien, without blasphemy, I 
 may pray God to forgive us both, and to bless you alioays. 
 
 ‘A. i: 
 
 In a strange medley of emotions, Mark pondered over the 
 almost illegible lines. The ensuing horrors had not abated 
 the bitterness of the wrath and disappointment, aroused in 
 him by the first disaster; nevertheless, the beauty that had 
 bewitched him seemed already a thing of the past; and, 
 though he chafed savagely over the loss thereof, he coveted it 
 no longer. He had worked himself into such a dread of an 
 interview with Alice, that the certainty of its being deferred 
 indefinitely, if not for ever, was an intense relief. There was 
 no pain or peril that this man would not have incurred in 
 pursuit of his heart’s desire ; but he shrank, like the merest 
 coward, from the slightest annoyance that must needs be 
 profitless. Selfishness in this man was sublimed. If he 
 could have followed his strongest impulse, he would have set 
 a hundred leagues that night betwixt himself and Kenlis ; 
 and would have tried on the morrow, whether somewhere on 
 earth there could not — even for such a blow as that which 
 had smitten him — ^be found anodynes. 
 
 His meditations, whatsoever they were, were brief; and 
 his answer certainly was not long in penning. 
 
 ‘ You are far stronger than I if you can hope ; and far 
 braver, if you dare to look forwards or backwards. But you 
 shall have your will, now and henceforth, neither less nor more 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE’s ENDING. 
 
 387 
 
 than you should have had it yesterday. Our luays shall lie 
 apart — whilst it pleases you. Only remember this. Whilst I 
 have strength and sense left, wherever I may he, if you say 
 “ Comef there is nopoioer short of miracle shall hold me bach 
 from you an hour I 
 
 Was the curtness of the farewell designed in kindness or 
 in cruelty Were the words when they were written sincere, 
 or designed to lie'? How often Alice Irving asked those 
 questions of herself, in the dreary aftertiine, may hardly he 
 imagined. She seldom dared wait for her own heart’s reply 
 — much less put the douht to the proof. 
 
 But, perchance, Mark Eamsay may yet have to answer 
 them in a Court, where casuistry has never yet availed, and 
 where the stuhbornest criminal has never yet declined to 
 plead. 
 
 CHAPTEE XLYI. 
 
 With the fortunes or misfortunes of Blanche Ellerslie, it 
 is fitting that this tale should end. Heither, concerning the 
 events immediately connected therewith, is much more to he 
 recorded. 
 
 Into one only of the catastrophes that had occurred at the 
 Castle, inquiry was made. Mrs Eamsay had notoriously so 
 long been ailing, and there was so little mystery about the 
 manner of her death — especially as it happened in Laura 
 Brancepeth’s presence — that they forbore to disquiet her fur- 
 ther. With no pomp, yet with all decent observance, they 
 laid her in the family vault, under a great whispering birch- 
 tree. And, let us hope, she rests there not less peacefully 
 because none of her kith and kin sleep near ; for never before, 
 within man’s memory, had any strange coffin been lowered 
 amongst those bearing the name and scutcheon of Kenlis. 
 
 2c 2 
 
o88 BllEAKING A UUTTEKFLY; OH 
 
 With George Anstrutlier it was dilferent. To the circum- 
 stances of his death one witness only could speak ; and from 
 this one he got no more mercy dead than he would have met 
 with living. If Mark Eamsay did not stoop to exaggeration, 
 that he extenuated nothing is most sure; and, albeit his 
 testimony was delivered with perfect calmness, more than one 
 of his hearers were aware of a scarcely suppressed rancour. 
 One of these — a shrewd old tacksman — put into words the 
 thought, that was probably in the minds of more than one of 
 his fellows. 
 
 ‘ He was ower quick for ye h ’ quoth David Anderson — 
 repeating Eamsay’s words. ‘ Aye, man ; I misdoot, there are 
 twa sides to that. It was written, that there suld be murder 
 in this house the nicht ; but, that it wad be self-murder, was 
 nae sae sure. Gude save us a’ ! The Auld Enemy has been 
 richt busy here ; and, aiblins, mair souls, than his that lies 
 streekit yonder, hae fallen intil his net.’ 
 
 But those who were bold enough to impute malice to the 
 laird of Kenlis, imputed not to him false-witness. Indeed, 
 his evidence, even if it had not been amply corroborated by 
 that of the surgeon, bore too palpably the stamp of truth to be 
 set aside. 
 
 Had the inquest been conducted according to ‘ crowner’s 
 quest law,’ some charitable jurors — insisting on the utter 
 absence of motive in Anstruther’s first crime — might possibly 
 have prevailed with their associates, so far as to bring in a 
 milder verdict of insanity. But the procurator-fiscal was a 
 stern elder of the Kirk ; and would have held such misplaced 
 leniency little less than compounding with felony — not to say, 
 making an actual compromise with Sathanas. If crime had 
 been wrought in high places, the more reason it should be 
 fittingly branded, and not be wrapped up delicately. In fine 
 — over George Anstruther no burial service was read, and few 
 of those dwelling in or near Kenlis know the place of his 
 sepulture. 
 
 When all these things were reported in town, the post- 
 humous disgrace attaching to their comrade caused greater 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIE^S ENDING. 
 
 389 
 
 scandal at the Orion than all the other horrors. Even an 
 Orionite could not be considered exempt from mental aberra- 
 tion, any more than from any other ill to which flesh is heir. 
 But to the steady, ’sponsible bodies preponderating there — 
 who, when they plunged, did it too methodically to ruffle the 
 surface of propriety — it seemed incredible that an associate, 
 whom they had been used to revere as a club authority 
 (Anstruther was actually on the committee at the time), should 
 even after his decease have lain under felonious taint. 
 
 ‘He must have been mad,’ they agreed almost unanim- 
 ously. Many had noticed, though they had never chosen to 
 mention it till now, a very queer look in his eyes ; for a full 
 year past, there had been a strange abruptness in his man- 
 ner ; and — there were fewer who could remember this — occa- 
 sional signs of weakness in his play. 
 
 ‘ Insanity ? Of course it was,’ Lord Blanchmayne growled. 
 ^ Any decent English jury would have brought it in so. And 
 that would have been the result of the inquiry yonder, if it 
 had been held over a shopkeeper ; but there’s no such d — d 
 democrat as your Free-Kirk deacon. He never misses a 
 chance of snapping at a gentleman, alive or dead.’ 
 
 Truly — so far as devotion to any form of doctrine, estab- 
 lished or disestablished, was concerned — the Viscount might 
 be presumed to speak impartially. 
 
 But, besides him, there are not wanting some, who still 
 consider George Anstruther to have been an ill-used person, 
 and rather a victim of appearances, or of misconception, than 
 morally criminal. 
 
 Before either the funeral or the inquiry took place, the 
 Irvings had returned to Drumour. The doctor, knowing 
 nothing of the under-currents at work, but judging simply 
 from what he saw on the surface, decided that there would be 
 less danger in a removal, than in the strain to which Alice’s 
 nerves must needs be subjected if she remained on the scene 
 of her disaster. Her strength still kept up wonderfully ; and 
 she walked to the carriage that was to take her home without 
 faltering or tottering; but, as she passed out through the 
 
390 
 
 iniEAKING A bltterfly; or 
 
 groat gloomy liall, there broke from under the triple veil that 
 fell to her waist, one dreadful sob— scarcely less piteous than, 
 the first wail of her despairing agony. 
 
 Rumours — though only vague rumours — of the truth, had 
 got abroad amongst the servants at Kenlis ; and they liked 
 their dead mistress too well, to have any kindly feeling 
 towards Alice Irving. Nevertheless, not one of the few who 
 saw her depart, withheld from her some compassion. Mark 
 Ramsay was not among these ; nor was he even made aware 
 of the precise time of Irving’s departure. 
 
 The subject had not been broached betwixt the father and 
 daughter : yet both were equally aware that, after that even- 
 ing, they would set foot in Kenlis no more. The former 
 assented at once to the removal ; and made no attempt to 
 take any leave of his host — contenting himself with a verbal 
 message to the effect, that he would not intrude himself on 
 the other till after the funeral. 
 
 Irving was indeed more crushed by this blow than by any 
 which had yet reached him — not so much, perhaps, on account 
 of its weight, as of its exceeding strangeness. The more he 
 l)ondered, the less he saw his way through the future. It 
 seemed to him, that to be constantly in presence of such a 
 calamity as had befallen AHce, would be more than he could 
 endure. You must remember that this man, without being 
 in the least sensitive, was wonderfully fastidious : to look on 
 any physical deformity whatsoever, was to him — although he 
 might have no special interest therein — more disagreeable 
 than listening to music played out of tune. Yet he never 
 dreamed of separating himself from his daughter. To this 
 man’s selfishness, you see, there were limits. However, he 
 gave no outward signs of these misgivings 5 and, then and 
 long afterwards, he behaved with a tact, if not tenderness, 
 that would have done credit to a more perfect parent. 
 
 Throughout that autumn and the ensuing winter, those 
 two remained at Drumour. In the spring they went abroad 
 again, and have not since returned thither. 
 
 Drumour has been leased for a term of years to a wealthy^ 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 
 
 391 
 
 Glaswegian, who — having no more eye for the beauties of 
 nature than for the points of a picture — looks on the place as 
 a mere shooting-lodge, and neglects it accordingly. The lawn 
 has lost its soft velvet sheen, and the parterres glisten no 
 longer like plaques of ruby or turquoise enamel ; and the 
 creepers, that used to twine lovingly around Alice’s casement, 
 flaunt or trail at their own will or the caprice of breeze and rain. 
 
 But, desolate as the house may be, it is bright and cheer- 
 ful compared to the castle you wot of, hard by. At Drumour 
 at least there are signs and sounds of life sometimes — though 
 of a rough boisterous sort ; whilst at Kenlis, there broods 
 always a stillness worse tlian the stillness of death — the still- 
 ness of a curse. 
 
 The moors were caught up directly they appeared in the 
 market ; but, if residence at Kenlis had been thrown in, it 
 would have hindered rather than advanced the hiring — for a 
 very simple reason : the place has such an evil name now, 
 that, if a tenant could be found hardy enough to inhabit it, it 
 would be next to impossible to find a household to minister to 
 him there. There is nothing more infectious than superstition ; 
 and the sceptical Southron serving-man, who has once suc- 
 cumbed to terrors — visible or invisible — is more helplessly 
 subdued than the most credulous Highland crone. The 
 Brown Lady may roam at will through the echoing corridors ; 
 and, it is whispered, that now she ‘ walks ’ not always alone. 
 Strange things are reported to have been seen and heard by 
 those who stayed behind — after the departure of the last 
 guest that will tarry there for many a day to come — to set 
 the castle in order. The natives, who, under the supervision 
 of the old housekeeper mentioned above, were left in charge 
 to keep the furniture from falling into decay, sleep without the 
 walls, and perform their duty always betmxt dawn and sun- 
 set. Scarce one of them, even at high noon, would be bribed 
 to go down the dark passage, at the farther end of which is a 
 room fast locked and barred — the room, wherein George 
 Anstruther escaped out of Mark Eamsay’s hands, to fall into 
 those of a mightier if not a more merciful judge. 
 
392 
 
 13KEAKIXG A BUTTERFLY ; OR 
 
 As for the JMaster of Kenlis, though he has wandered 
 since far and v/ide, he has never v/andered home. It is this 
 constant restlessness that is the most remarkable change in 
 the man. He was always fond of travelhng ; but he . had 
 taken it heretofore in the same listless, easy-going way that 
 marked his pursuit of all other amusements : now — he seems 
 incapable of abiding more than the shortest space in any one 
 spot. The anxiety to be gone^ is not in any way affected by 
 the liveliness or dulness of the place of sojourn. After his 
 first year — during which time no one knew much of his 
 movements — he has not affected to shun society — that is, 
 foreign society ; for England and he have been strangers since 
 the events recorded above. And Society, outre mer^ receives 
 him amiably, if not cordially. He had been unhappy in his 
 conjugal relations, of course ; but what else could be expected 
 in a land where the sale of wives is scarcely obsolete ? The 
 same thing would apply to so many milors ; and, if Mark’s 
 story was a little worse than those of others, it might be 
 imputed to his having a little less than his share of Erittmnic 
 phlegm. 
 
 Does he himself look so lightly on his path ? 
 
 That is a question no one can answer — not even Yere 
 Alsager. Indeed, though there is nothing like enmity, overt 
 or covert, between the two, they have seldom been seen to- 
 gether since they parted at Kenlis ; and no man or woman 
 now is supposed to be in Kamsay’s confidence. Keither can 
 it be known whether he would have had the courage to keep 
 the promise conveyed in his last letter to Alice ; for she has 
 never written to say ‘ Come ; ’ and, I think, never will. 
 
 Probably, this thread has been plucked out for ever from 
 the web of Eamsay’s life. Yet in the plucking forth, the 
 whole fabric was frayed and tangled past the mending. The 
 woman whom he swore to honour and cherish, he remembers 
 only with vague self-reproach and compassion, and a regret — 
 not altogether selfish — that she ever crossed his path; but 
 the woman whom to love was dishonour, and whose shame he 
 meditated, though he accomplished it not, he remembers with 
 
r.LANCHE ELLEIISLIe’s ENDING. 393 
 
 a bitterness that none of the distractions he has not scrupled 
 to seek have yet effaced. It may he, that Ermengild von 
 Adlersherg’s pupil has not yet wrought out his full tale of 
 misdoing ; hut assuredly there are certain stings, which pierce 
 sometimes, sharply enough, through the hide of liis cruel 
 philosophy. Perhaps — with one solitary exception — there 
 are none living who wish it otherwise. 
 
 Eamsay and Alice’s father have met once only — at Baden. 
 Both doubtless would have avoided the encounter, had it> 
 been possible ; but to the latter it seemed especially unwel- 
 come. His courtesy was of the coldest, and his answers to 
 the other’s inquiries of the briefest. He simply said that 
 Alice was as well as she ever would be, and then changed the 
 subject decisively. Irving’s face was not in the habit of tell- 
 ing tales ; nevertheless, Mark was not deceived for a moment 
 as to the state of the other’s feelings towards himself. 
 
 Eamiliarity with Alice’s calamity had not made Irving 
 hate less the man, but for whom it would never have been : 
 he hated him moreover — though perchance he himself would 
 not have acted otherwise — for having since then stood aloof, 
 making no tender of reparation. It was for his daughter’s 
 sake alone that he kept back some bitter words that were just 
 on his lips. Irving did not mention that meeting when, after 
 his gambling bout, he went back to the place of Alice’s 
 retreat. They lived at Baden during the winter ; but, before 
 the earliest visitors appeared, they retired to a quiet hamlet 
 far up the SchwartzAYald ; where, even yet, the peasantry 
 have not ceased to look wonderingly after the graceful lady 
 whose face has never been seen unveiled. 
 
 We will leave them there. 
 
 La Eeine Gaillarde has not abdicated her sovereignty; 
 but, if her laugh rings out joyously at times, it rings not so 
 often as heretofore. She has never quite shaken off the 
 weight that settled down on her spirits that terrible night at 
 Kenlis. Some of her many friends like her the better for the 
 chastening of her reckless mood. Chiefest among these is 
 Major Gauntlet. Oddly enough, even the scandal-mongers 
 
394 
 
 BREAKING A BUTTERFLY : OR 
 
 liave forborne to cavil at tlieir intimacy ; yet there is a secret 
 betwixt those two of which the world knows nothing, and of 
 which they themselves seldom care to speak. It may be, that 
 the big brave heart will be open some day to receive with due 
 honour one worthy to be enthroned there; but, thus far, 
 Oswald has never whispered in any woman’s ear, even such 
 words as he was not ashamed to speak aloud to the wife of 
 Mark Eamsay. 
 
 Lady Nithsdale is as light of heart and foot as ever ; and 
 still lures her husband to follow, at a respectable distance, 
 along the flowery paths it pleases her to tread. And Eegy 
 Avenel is still her prime minister, and celibate. 
 
 Though Mna Marston keeps her maiden name, she will be 
 Mna Hampton, they say, before the summer is out ; and, 
 though a few may envy, not many hate her for having drawn 
 a quaterne in the matrimonial tombola. 
 
 You will scarcely be interested in learning, that Horace 
 Kendall has had no chance of repeating the bold stroke for 
 fortune that he missed so narrowly. The mysterious allow- 
 ance with which he started in life lapsed long ago ; soon after 
 the news came home that his godfather, Yernon of Vernon 
 Mallory, had gone to his rest, or — unrest. He is reported to 
 be studying hard in Italy now, with a view to turn his voice 
 to substantial account. With professional attractions thrown 
 in, he may yet emulate Camille Desmoulins before all is done. 
 
 In this weak, erring world of ours, the desiderium tarn 
 cari capitis is not always measured by intrinsic worth. Often 
 to the wisest and most virtuous, even after their decease, 
 more justice is done by strangers, who knew them only by 
 repute, than by those who knew them familiarly. 
 
 In ancient time there lived a pious person, who, having 
 walked long before the Lord in stern uprightness, was duly 
 canonized. Concerning the new-made saint a man scarcely 
 less pious, though less austere, thus expressed himself : 
 
 ‘ Let us intercede yet more earnestly for the peace of the 
 <lead, now that he hath gone among them.’ 
 
 ^Yhen Lady Peverell is removed to a better — it can scarcely 
 
BLANCHE ELLERSLIe’s ENDING. 395 
 
 “be a liiglier — sphere, I think not even amongst the children 
 she ha-s dragooned into helplessness, or goaded to rehellion, 
 nor amongst the poor who have eaten the acrid bread of her 
 ■charity, will he found regrets, so lasting and sincere, as were 
 Avasted — if you Avill have it so — on frail faulty Blanche 
 Ellerslie. 
 
 Though the loss left its mark on none so deeply as on 
 Oauntlet and Yane, there are others besides — not more given 
 to the melting mood — avIio never remember Avithout bitterness 
 the progress of her punishment ; and Avho never see, AAuthout 
 a sinking of the heart, the years bring round the day on Avhich 
 the ‘ grace-blow ’ Avas dealt. 
 

 ■'ir. 
 
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 SELECT LIBRARY OF FICTION, 2 /" PE R VOLUME. 
 
 YOUNG SINGLETON. 
 
 BY TALBOT GWYNNE. 
 
 Author of “ The School for Fathers” 
 
 ‘‘Mr, Talbot Gwynne has made a considerable advance In ‘Young Singleton’ 
 over his previous fictions. In his present story he rises into the varied action, the 
 more numerous persons, and the complicated interests of a novel. It has also a 
 moral j being designed to paint the wretched consequences that follow from envy 
 and VdLmty.”— Spectator. 
 
 “ Power of description, dramatic force, and ready invention, give vitality to the 
 story.'^’ — Press. 
 
 ROSE DOUGLAS. 
 
 A SCOTCH MINISTER’S DAUGHTER. 
 
 “ There is a charming simplicity pervading this story which it is refreshing to 
 meet with. It has been written by one who has studied humanity in its every day 
 garb and carefully noted those lights and shades of character which are the 
 characteristics of a quiet country life.”-— Literary Gazette. 
 
 THE EVE OF ST. MARK. 
 
 A ROMANCE OF VENICE, 
 
 BY THOMAS DOUBLEDAY. 
 
 “ ‘The Eve of St. Mark ’ is not only well written, but adroitly constructed, and 
 interesting. Its tone is perhaps too gorgeous j its movement is too much that of a 
 masquerade 5 but a mystery is created, and a very lovable heroine is portrayed.*’ — 
 Athenaum. 
 
 COUSIN STELLA 
 CONFLICT. 
 
 OR, 
 
 By the Atctkor of “ Violet Bankf 
 
 “ An excellent novel, written with great care } the interest is well sustained to 
 the end, and the characters are all life-like. It is an extremely well-written and 
 well-conceived story, with quiet power and precision of touch, with freshness of 
 interest and great merit.” — Athenaeum, 
 
 HIGHLAND LASSIES. 
 
 BY ERICK MACKENZIE. 
 
 “ ‘ Highland Lassies * deserves to be a successful novel, for It is one of the most 
 spirited and amusing we have read for a long time. The interest is sustained 
 without flagging to the very last page.” 
 
 

 
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 SELECT LIBRARY OF FICTION, 21 - PER VOLUME. ’ 
 
 THE WHITEBOY. 
 
 A STORY OF IRELAND. 
 
 BY MRS. S. C. HALL. 
 
 “ Full of vivid descriptions, life-like sketches of character, dashes of genuine 
 Irish humour, with occasionally scenes exhibiting the strong passions and affections 
 of the Irish people, drawn with exceeding energy and power.” — Atlas* 
 
 “Indisputably Mrs. Hall’s best novel.” — Athenaum. 
 
 THE OGILVIES. 
 
 A NOFEL. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY,” “jOHN HALIFAX,” ETC. 
 
 “ The Book is charming. It is written with deep earnestness and ^/ervaded by 
 a noble and loving philosophy j while, in giving form to her conceptions, the 
 writer evinces at once a fine and subtle imagination, and that perception of minute 
 characteristics which gives to fiction the life-like truth of biography. 
 
 THE 
 
 BACHELOR OF THE ALBANY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF “ MY UNCLE THE CURATE.” 
 
 “ The ‘ Select Library of Fiction ’ is enriched with that capital novel, ‘ The 
 Bachelor of the Albany.’ We are glad to meet with it in a cheap form .” — Weekly 
 News. 
 
 f 
 
 NEVER FORGOTTEN. 
 
 BY PERCY FITZGERALD. 
 
 “ In ^ Bella Donna ’ he has produced a remarkable but repulsive sketch. In 
 ‘ Never Forgotten ’ he has elaborated a picture which has many merits, and in 
 which the most prominent figure deserves very high praise. The character of 
 Captain Fermor is an original creation, and deserves to be studied. , . . Mr. 
 
 Fitzgerald’s hero bears no great resemblance to Mr. Trollope’s Crosbie. . . . 
 
 Crosbie is a commonplace man of society. But Fermor’s is an exceptional cha- 
 racter : his figure stands out in prominent relief from the crowd of walking 
 gentlemen of fiction. . . - The minor characters are for the most part 
 thoroughly life-like, Liller Brett is a capital sketch j Hanbury forms another j 
 and so does Sir Hopkins Pocock. Lady Laura, too, is excellent, and there is grim 
 humour about the description of her last struggle. Indeed, the story is full of 
 humour, and there is real nature in it also.” 
 
 SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, AND AT THE RAILWAY STATIONS. 
 
 'L . i ^ i <r — ~ % - ft i n — ■ % 7^ - ^ " ("j— 
 
i ^p;]»^'*^^a 5ii |r^ i^i ?!^ u»|Hfriffj i Lj»^fs 3 ^ "g gO tf* 
 
 SELECT LIBRARY O F FICTION, 21 - PER VOLUME. 
 
 DOCTOR THORNE. 
 
 BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 “The fact that this is the loth edition of this popular and delightful story Is a 
 proof of the favourable reception that it has met with amongst the novel-reading 
 public. It is very rare in these days of rapid production that a work of fiction 
 meets with such abundant success. We are not surprised at it, for there is a great 
 charm in the manly honesty, the perseverance, the indifference to professional 
 etiquette, and above all, in the affection of the doctor, for his niece Mary Thorne, 
 which must make him a favourite with every reader. Then Mary Thorne is a 
 heroine of the right stamp, courted and beloved, in spite of all aristocratic surround- 
 ing influences, by young Gresham, of Greshamsbury, and in spite of the doubt 
 that hangs about her parentage. The two young people are models of faithfulness, 
 and in the end everything comes right as it should come .” — Western Dally Mer- 
 cury, 
 
 t i* 
 
 
 JACOB BENDIXEN, THE JEW. 
 
 BY MARY HOWITT. 
 
 “This tale has the fascination and the value of a glimpse into a most strange 
 world. We heartily commend the novel.” — Athenaum, 
 
 AGATHA’S HUSBAND. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF JOHN HALIFAX,” OLIVE,” ETC. 
 
 “One of Miss Muloch’s admired fictions, marked by pleasant contrasts ©flight 
 and shade — scenes of stirring interest and pathetic incidents. The theme is one of 
 touching interest, and is most delicately managed .” — Literary Circular, 
 
 MISS MACKENZIE. 
 
 BY ANTHONY TROLLOPE. 
 
 “ It is the union of fertility, readableness, and consummate cleverness, which 
 makes us in gaping wonderment abound when we take up ‘ Miss Mackenzie.’ 
 On careful perusal we find it excellent: in Mr. Trollope’s quietest tone of 
 humour.” — Globe, 
 
 ^ SOLD BY ALL BOOKSELLERS, AND AT THE RAILWAY STATIONS. 
 
 8 
 
TI.JSLEY BROTHERS’ 
 
 TWO-SHILLI 
 
 To be had at eve^y Railu 
 
 in tht ^ 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOI9-URIANA 
 
 12 049087502 
 
 Bl cljtvespoare. By the Author of ' Guy Livingstone/ 
 The Ad veil Lures of Dr. Brady. By W. H. Rus- 
 
 SELL, LL n. 
 
 Not V/isely, but Too Won'! By the Author of 
 
 ‘ Cometh uy as a Flower.’ 
 
 Sans Merci. By the Author of ‘ Guy Livingstone.’ 
 Recommended to Mercy. By the Author of 
 
 ‘ Sink or Swim 
 
 The RQipk Ahead. By Edmund Yates. 
 Maurice Dering. By the Author of ‘Guy Living- 
 
 stor.e.’ 
 
 The Waterdale Neighbours. By Justin 
 
 McCarthy. 
 
 The Pretty Widow. Bv Charles Hr Ross. 
 
 Lf iss F crrestor. By the A uthor of ‘ Archie Lovell.’ 
 Black Sheep. By Edmund YaTes. 
 
 Barren Honour. By the Author of ‘ Guy Living- 
 
 Stone/ 
 
 Sword and Gown. By the same Author. 
 t| The Dower-HouSe. By Annie Thomas. 
 
 The Savage-Club Papers (1867). With all 
 
 the Original Illustrations. Also the Second Series, for 1868. . 
 
 Every-Day Papers. By Andrew Halliday. 
 Breaking a Butterfly. By the Author of ‘ Guy 
 
 Livingstone.' 
 
 TINSLEY BROTHERS, 18, CATHERINE ST., STRAND.