THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 II.
 
 The Transgression of 
 Terence Clancy. 
 
 BY 
 
 Harold Vallings^ 
 
 Author of " The Quality of Mercy!' etc. 
 
 "Good thoughts (though God accept them) yet towards men are little 
 better than good dreams, except they be put in act."— Bacon. 
 
 In Three Volumes. 
 Vol. II. 
 
 London : 
 
 Richard Bentley & Son, 
 
 Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen. 
 
 1893. 
 
 (All rights reserved.)
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HEN Simon found himself, after some 
 hours of fierce striding over the moor, 
 at the door of that famiHar workshop, his 
 observatory, the first outrush of rage and 
 despair had passed over ; he had reached 
 the stage when the mental faculties begin to 
 clear, to measure the dimensions, and test 
 the weight, of what at first seemed a huge 
 formless bulk of trouble filling up the universe. 
 He had got far enough away from the ugly 
 thing to be able to realize its shape and size, 
 
 VOL. II. 21
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 to become aware that the world had not 
 ceased to revoh^e, although the main hinge 
 of his own life had given way ; that he was 
 not even a man especially selected by Fate 
 for the heaviest burden it could impose, but 
 merely one on whom the most natural and 
 ordinary of all disappointments had befallen. 
 His logical habit had begun to assert itself, 
 though his heart was full of wrath and bitter- 
 ness. 
 
 On his workshop table he found a letter, 
 sent off by Nell in the morning, awaiting 
 him in company with several others, for, 
 when proposing to spend the whole evening 
 at Moor Gates, he generally arranged to 
 have his second-post letters awaiting him at 
 the observatory. 
 
 This letter was, in substance, the one 
 which Nell had written and torn up several 
 times lately ; its perusal was to Simon like 
 the feel of cold iron. 
 
 True, he was by this time beginning to
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 realize how his own blindness had contributed 
 to the disaster ; to admit frankly that his 
 fatuous throwing of Clancy into such close 
 relation with Nell was the achievement of 
 an unthinking fool ; even to force upon his 
 own recollection the frankly spoken diffidence 
 with which she had first accepted him. But 
 there remained the bitter fact that all the 
 affection he had lavished upon her had 
 warmed her heart no whit, that her letter 
 was nothing but a prisoner's cry for liberty, 
 that the very kindness and sympathy which 
 she lavished upon the world at large were 
 denied to himself. He felt that he had 
 deserved something better than this cutting 
 note from Nell, and could as yet make no 
 allowance for her distracted condition. Some 
 day, perhaps, he might make a different 
 summing up of the matter as between Nell 
 and himself; at present he could only en- 
 courage the demon of jealousy to enter his 
 mind and take full possession.
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Against Terence Clancy he felt a resent- 
 ment that grew deeper as thought added 
 itself to thought. For months he had been 
 concerning himself about this man's prospects, 
 seeking opportunities for him, making friends 
 for him ; had raised him from drudging 
 poverty to something like affluence, had 
 been to him a friend and a brother — and 
 Terence had requited his benefactor with 
 this ignoble treachery. 
 
 Henceforward Simon resolved to be a 
 cynic of the cynics ; he felt that his attitude 
 towards human nature would pass from one 
 extreme to the other, that he was now hover- 
 ing between his old fatuous optimism and 
 an acrid pessimism which time would justify 
 and encourage. If Terence, whom he had 
 always thought so frank and honest, so 
 warm-natured and guileless, so incapable of 
 the least meanness — If Terence Clancy, his 
 own familiar friend whom he loved, could 
 practise such subtle perfidy as this, what
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 must be looked for from the general ruck of 
 those around him ? ''In whatsoever direction 
 I turn," thought Simon, in his wrath and 
 gloom, " some like discovery will await me ; 
 I will trust and believe in no man in future, 
 not a soul, but accept the simple truth that 
 self-interest is man's only motive and care." 
 
 So he went on brooding by the dim light 
 of his turned-down lamp, while all the morbid 
 fibres of his character, silent hitherto for 
 want of the touch of Misfortune's finger, 
 awoke and made mournful music. He was 
 entering upon a new quest, bent upon an 
 eager search for human depravity, schooling 
 himself to expect it of every one, resolved 
 to delve it up and feast his eyes upon it 
 everywhere. 
 
 When he had sufficiently hugged to him- 
 self his new discoveries, and darkened his 
 heart as much as his mood required, he 
 glanced through the rest of his corre- 
 spondence.
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 One note furnished him with just the kind 
 of news for which he now felt himself to be 
 craving. It was a hurried scrawl from 
 Frank Nelson, the vicar, and regretfully- 
 informed Simon that his agent, Jackson — 
 ** Fat Jackson," as he was generally called in 
 Chillington — was believed to have absconded. 
 
 Friends and acquaintances had ofttimes 
 warned Simon against this agent, a plump, 
 bald-headed little man, full of geniality, and 
 of a waggish good nature which cloaked the 
 cunning of a serpent ; but Simon, thanks to 
 his trick of wilful unsuspicion, had continued 
 not only to employ this acute rogue, but to 
 throw plenty of temptation in his way. Jack- 
 son had been managing director of all my 
 Lord Timon's charitable schemes, waxing 
 fatter and more genial on the toll that he 
 had managed to extract from every one. It 
 now appeared from the vicar's note that a 
 large sum appertaining to the new Working 
 Men's Club, which, thanks to a lack of the
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 
 
 most ordinary business precautions on 
 Simon's part, had been placed in Jackson's 
 hands, was now missing. In fact, the genial 
 little man, flushed with the success of pre- 
 vious minor peculations, had appropriated 
 the whole, travelled up to London first-class 
 without troubling to leave an address behind 
 him, and was now doubtless spending the 
 money like a lord. 
 
 Simon laughed harshly at this news, for 
 the discovery of another scoundrel in a man 
 whom he had trusted fitted in with his savaofe 
 mood to a nicety. '* They warned me against 
 him," he muttered, **but the result would 
 have been the same whomsoever I had 
 trusted. One man is just like another ; 
 apply the acid of temptation, and every one 
 is found to be of the same base metal. He 
 laughed again more harshly as he thrust the 
 letters into his pocket and marched off down 
 the hill, pitying his own simplicity in having 
 taken so many years to make this common-
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 place discovery. '' Too much star-gazing 
 has bhnded me," thought he ; '' none but an 
 astronomer could have hugged his folly so 
 long." 
 
 As he strode down the long spur which 
 divides the upper combe into two heads, the 
 square mass of the Hall loomed vaguely up 
 from the white mists of the low ground. 
 Catching sight of it, he paused suddenly, 
 and allowed the waves of bitterness to 
 immerse him for a moment. This place was 
 to have been their home — Nell's and his. 
 In a few weeks he was to have brought 
 hither his sweet bride, who was to reconcile 
 his father to him, to pass through life always 
 at his side — the honoured, the beloved, the 
 peacemaker, the idolized w^ife, the tender 
 mother of his children. And she, too, had 
 succumbed to the most ordinary temptation ; 
 even she, his affianced bride, was not to be 
 trusted for an hour ; his jealous eyes should 
 always have been upon her, he should never
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 have allowed even his most trusted friend 
 so much as to touch her hand. 
 
 In this his dark hour a great longing 
 towards his father took possession of Simon ; 
 he felt a strong outrush of the heart towards 
 the old man who would now surely cease to 
 be a stranger to his only son. A hope sprang 
 up in Simon's sore heart that the ice of 
 estrangement might now at the eleventh hour 
 be broken ; that he might yet, before the old 
 eyes closed in death, see in them the affection 
 for which he had never ceased to look. There 
 had been faults on his side, too ; his pride 
 had helped to estrange his father, he had 
 exacted too much, had allowed too little for 
 an invalid's weakness and irritability — and 
 all this he would freely confess. 
 
 From where he stood, Simon could see 
 that a light was burning in the library, and 
 knew that the old man must be sitting up 
 reading, as he would often do, now that sleep 
 had become more difficult. The gazer's
 
 lO THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 heart was uplifted by this opportunity, a fresh 
 spring of hope welled up as he thought how 
 he would go in to the old man, and lay bare 
 his trouble, and say — * Father, I have sinned." 
 
 He moved down the hill with increased 
 vigour of step, with a kindling of human 
 kindness, and a warm desire to make up for 
 past shortcomings. The old father loved 
 Nell, too ; he would surely feel with Simon, 
 be drawn to him by the bonds of a shared 
 trouble. 
 
 Descending rapidly, Simon dived into the 
 thick mist of the hollow, and presently entered 
 the formal old garden by a small stone-arched 
 gateway. Thence he made his way through 
 green galleries, and past the great hedge of 
 clipped yew to the terrace steps. 
 
 Sir Hamo was sitting in his favourite bay, 
 with his books beside him, but the readings- 
 lamp turned low. On drawing close to the 
 window, Simon saw that he was asleep, with 
 one hand laid upon an open book, the other
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, I I 
 
 supporting his bent head. The old man 
 looked very worn and feeble, and seemed 
 hardly to breathe ; a lonely pathetic figure 
 he seemed to his son, whose heart smote him 
 afresh as he drew nearer. The volume on 
 the sleeper's knee was '' In Memoriam," the 
 only modern poem that had much appeal for 
 Sir Hamo. He had been steeping himself 
 in the divine despair of the verse, and now 
 perchance was dreaming of the wife with 
 whom had departed his desire of life. 
 
 Simon's yearning for reconciliation grew 
 stronger ; and here surely were conditions 
 ready fitted to that end, for his own heart 
 was humbled, and the tears of the poet must 
 have been falling like dew upon his father's. 
 He stole softly into the house, making 
 straight for the library door. 
 
 The old man awoke at the sound of his 
 son's footsteps in the room, his grand silver 
 head gleaming in the lamplight as he raised 
 it. He scarcely seemed to recognize Simon
 
 12 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 at first ; his eye wandered vaguely round the 
 room, as though passing over some dream- 
 scene that had but half faded. Then he said 
 slowly — 
 
 "■ Simon, is it you ? I was dreaming of 
 your mother. Her face was strangely near 
 and real to me, and I perceive now that you 
 are a little like her — only a little though, so 
 no wonder I have never seen the likeness 
 before. Yes, I was dreaming of her, and — 
 and I think our re-union is not far off, for I 
 feel very weak to-night, my heart troubles 
 me, and I feel years older than yesterday. 
 I believe that I shall soon leave you — my 
 son." 
 
 It was long since he had thus addressed 
 Simon ; the' words '' my son " spoken in the 
 delicate refined voice which had so long been 
 used to grow harsh or petulant at Simon's 
 approach, thrilled the latter in his wrought-up 
 state, and carried fear with them — the dread 
 that his father's end was really approach-
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 3 
 
 ing. He drew near the armchair, his eyes 
 full of anxious solicitude. He dared not 
 touch his father's hand for fear of scaring 
 away this new-born complacence, but placed 
 his own hand beside the old man's upon the 
 open volume, saying — 
 
 '' Father, father, don't talk of leaving me 
 yet — just when you are learning to care for 
 me. Father, I have need for you. I want 
 you to forgive the pride which has never let 
 me say this before." 
 
 ''Ah, Simon, you've always been very 
 proud and hard ; dear Hamo — my dear son 
 Hamo — would never have thwarted an old 
 man's fancies as you have done. He was 
 kind and gentle, not stiff and stubborn like 
 you. 
 
 '' Father, I have been to blame — yet God 
 knows I have always loved you." 
 
 "Well, well, 'tis somewhat late In the day 
 to tell me so. We have drifted apart — 
 thanks to your pride and frowardness, Simon
 
 14 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 — and it Is over-late for soft speeches 
 now.'* 
 
 *' You are dreaming of my mother ? " asked 
 Simon, hoping thus to soften him. 
 
 ** Yes, I was dreaming of a fair land full 
 of flowers, through which she swept, coming 
 to meet me with shining eyes. But I will not 
 speak to you of that sacred meeting. You 
 are like all the scientific men, hard and heart- 
 less ; caring only to drudge and delve among 
 material things ; ay, you're even as the poet 
 says — ^ 
 
 " * One that would peep and botanize 
 Upon a mother's grave," 
 
 Simon's face hardened, and his voice grew 
 bitter. '* I suppose it is because of my hard- 
 ness that the friend whom I trusted has 
 betrayed me, the woman I loved has asked 
 and obtained her release from me ? " 
 
 ** What do you mean '^ Are you befooling 
 me to suit some whim ? "
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, I 5 
 
 *'A man hard-stricken as I am hardly 
 cares to befool the only person in the world 
 from whom he dares hope for sympathy." 
 
 " Do you mean — do you dare to tell me 
 that you have quarrelled with Nell ? " 
 
 The invalid half rose from his chair, his 
 pale cheek flushed as he swept the volume 
 from his knee and turned upon his son like 
 a judg-e about to pronounce sentence. 
 
 *' There has been no quarrel, sir," Simon 
 answered with the indifference of one to 
 whom all sentences are alike ; " but it has 
 happened to me to find out once for all that 
 she has no affection for me. We are more 
 widely separated than if we had never met." 
 
 " Then your conduct has been bad," cried 
 the old man tremulously ; '' nothing but that 
 could have estranged my loving generous 
 Nell. You have neglected her ; I've seen 
 it, and spoken of it a dozen times. You've 
 cared more for your ' work ' as you call it, 
 for haggling with some paltry group of
 
 1 6 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 asteroids, or measuring some unthinkable 
 distance in space, or — tush ! I have no 
 heart for casting up the sum of your follies ; 
 you have neglected her, I say ! " 
 
 Simon listened with a hard smile, disdain- 
 ing to defend himself, too proud and too 
 loyal to think of accusing Nell. 
 
 ''It is the last straw," murmured his father, 
 sinking wearily back among his cushions. 
 '' I have nothing to detain me here now. I 
 thought to have dear Nell here to comfort 
 my last hours, smoothe my dying pillow ; but 
 even that you have denied me. You might 
 at least have deferred your quarrel until I 
 was laid to rest. You have grudged me even 
 the few months of peace that were left me. 
 Dear Nell — poor Nell! My son has neglected 
 you and chilled even your heart, for I suppose 
 a thankless son makes a cold lover." 
 
 '' I will say no more, sir. You should try 
 and get some rest. Will you take my arm, 
 and let me assist you upstairs ? "
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. I 7 
 
 '' No, no ; I will not take your arm. The 
 very sound of your voice is painful to me to- 
 night. You have dealt me the hardest blow 
 that has been laid upon me since your mother's 
 death. All I ask of you is to ring the bell 
 and summon Mrs. Henley, who will give me 
 what assistance I need." 
 
 Simon had fired his last shot, and had 
 nothing now to fall back upon but his pride ; 
 but even so it was not in him to lay aside his 
 courtesy or stoical forbearance. He assisted 
 his father back to the armchair, endeavour- 
 ing by the calmness of his manner to soothe 
 the old man's agitation, then rang the bell to 
 summon the housekeeper. 
 
 Mrs. Henley appeared with a suspicious 
 readiness, which Simon in his present mood 
 could interpret without difficulty ; he guessed 
 rightly that she had been listening to their 
 duologue through the keyhole. She was a 
 hard, thin-lipped, spiteful-looking woman, 
 who now cast upon him a look of more open 
 
 VOL. II. 2 2
 
 1 8 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 dislike than she had ever hitherto permitted 
 herself to enjoy. 
 
 There were gleams of triumphant malice 
 in her cold eyes, and Simon, exercising his 
 new-born faculty of suspicion with the swift- 
 ness of one '' not easily jealous, but being 
 wrought, perplexed in the extreme," looked 
 through and through this woman for the first 
 time in his life. He had been surprised at 
 times, in a passing casual way, at her want 
 of friendliness, old family retainer as she was ; 
 now he could trace her enmity to its source. 
 She had expectations from Sir Hamo, looked 
 for a fat legacy from the master whom she 
 had often nursed in sickness, and had the 
 inevitable hatred of a mean nature for Sir 
 Hamo's heir. For years she had been help- 
 inor to alienate the old man from his son ; 
 and Simon knew this now as certainly as 
 though by her own confession. 
 
 Nor would Cousin Kathleen be henceforth 
 in the least degree enigmatic to him : her
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 19 
 
 pains to gain an influence over Sir Hamo, 
 her constant petty disparagement of himself, 
 were now seen to have a plain meaning and 
 an adequate first cause. Nay, more — for 
 the whole truth seemed to burst upon him 
 now in one vivid flash — it was she who had 
 undermined him with Nell. It must be so ; 
 he could swear that it was so, though no such 
 thought had ever entered his mind until this 
 moment. She had favoured Terence, had 
 been his backer and stealthy abettor, as 
 Simon could perceive, now that the key of 
 the situation was in his hand. Terence 
 might have been her unconscious tool, but 
 a tool he had been. She had used him to 
 widen the breach between father and son, 
 and so to wrench them asunder, and leave 
 the old man with no one but herself to look 
 to. That was the end which this cheery 
 pleasant woman, this popular Lady Bounti- 
 ful, whose good nature was a byword in the 
 neighbourhood, had set herself, and had now
 
 20 TKANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 attained. So Simon, enlightened by his 
 wrath and bitterness, concluded ; and he was 
 •not far from the truth. 
 
 And how many more were to be writ 
 down scheming plotters ? In truth, Simon 
 knew not where to stop ; his bitterness 
 widened and deepened until all the ground 
 around him seemed to be rotten and shaky ; 
 until he resembled one who has dreamed of 
 treading upon carpets of flowers, and wakes 
 suddenly to find himself in the heart of a 
 black, quaking bog, with foul mists brooding 
 and crawling on all sides, with no path, no 
 sky, no horizon, no hope.
 
 CHAPTER 11. 
 
 ATE TREDETHLYN was seated in 
 the breakfast-room at Moor Gates 
 next morning, awaiting the appearance of 
 her father. Having received a telegram 
 from him the night before, urging her imme- 
 diate return home, she had thrown herself, 
 full of gloomy forebodings, into the night 
 mail, and had driven up to the door but a 
 few minutes since. 
 
 Miss Nell, the servants told her on arrival, 
 was in bed, and seemed very unwell, and it 
 
 did seem as though But Kate would 
 
 not give ear to another word, instinctively 
 dreading to hear Mr. Clancy's name men-
 
 2 2 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 tioned, and anxious to check the maids' 
 gossiping, if possible. The telegram, by its 
 very baldness, had put her mind upon the 
 right track. Had there been sickness in 
 question, it would have been mentioned. 
 She was keenly conscious that some crisis 
 quite unconnected with health had occurred, 
 and her fears went straight to Nell and 
 Terence Clancy. 
 
 Mr. Tredethlyn came down as soon as he 
 was informed of Kate's arrival. He looked 
 pale and perturbed after a sleepless night, 
 and his daughter's greeting was far from 
 encouraging. There was an awkward con- 
 fession to be got through. He had to set 
 forth, to a daughter whose attitude had 
 always been rather critical than sympathetic, 
 how certain things had been going on, un- 
 perceived, under his very nose, and what a 
 climax of unpleasantness had supervened. 
 Yet, from one or two points of view, it was 
 a relief to see Kate, whose good sense could
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 always be relied upon ; and he hoped that 
 anxiety would at least dilute her sarcasm in 
 some measure. On the whole he felt rather 
 like one who, conscious of alarming symp- 
 toms, hastily summons his doctor, yet, dread- 
 ing the probable curative treatment, thinks 
 he will talk about the weather, after all. 
 
 Certainly it was nervous work beginning. 
 He plumped into his chair ungracefully, and 
 asked Kate somewhat plaintively to pour 
 out his coffee. He could have been more 
 dignified had she looked less stern. 
 
 Kate attended to her father s wants with 
 grave propriety, but in the very movement 
 of her fingers there was a promise of some- 
 thing sharper to come. 
 
 " I suppose," she began presently, steady- 
 ing her voice with difficulty, " your hasty 
 summons has something to do with Nell V 
 
 " Precisely, my dear. I was just about to 
 open the matter to you ; but — but I'm afraid 
 it will distress and vex you a good deal."
 
 24 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 "■ I have scarcely a doubt but that it will 
 be something unpleasant, father. Has Mr. 
 Clancy been up here much lately ?" 
 
 ** He has — been staying here — for — a few 
 days." 
 
 '' Staying here ? At whose invitation, 
 father ? " 
 
 '' My own, of course, my dear.'* 
 
 *' I see." 
 
 Kate's look resembled that of a school- 
 master when he turns to the corner where 
 the cane stands ; and if the large parson had 
 not the face and figure of a schoolboy, he 
 had the feelings of one at this moment. He 
 winced painfully, his plump cheeks grew a 
 shade paler. He was ready to agree twice 
 over with everything Kate might say, and 
 would have preferred almost any penance to 
 the prickly possibilities of the next ten minutes. 
 
 ** Pray tell me what has happened." 
 
 Kate's tone made him wince again ; it had 
 the shrewdness of an east wind.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 25 
 
 Yet, now that he was really In for it, Mr. 
 Tredethlyn recovered his courage, and was 
 able to speak with dignity. He had always 
 been a good speaker, and now gave as terse 
 and telling an account of the events of the 
 last few days as could be desired. 
 
 Kate listened with quivering nerves and 
 a desire to go away and weep somewhere. 
 Her very worst forebodings had come true ; 
 the situation seemed as disgraceful as she 
 could well conceive. Her heart swelled 
 with indignation against both Terence and 
 Nell. 
 
 " No man was ever worse treated than 
 Simon has been ! " she cried, her tears break- 
 ing out and her voice choking. 
 
 *' Yes," her father sighed heavily, '* that is 
 the quick of the ulcer^Nell's treatment of 
 poor old Simon. I don't know how I shall 
 ever look him in the face again." 
 
 '' How could you have the man up here, 
 father, and let him work upon Nell's
 
 26 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 weakness day after day ? How could 
 you ? " 
 
 *' My dear, I never dreamt " 
 
 ** You should have dreamt," sobbed Kate. 
 '' I often g^ave you hints ; I often tried to 
 impress you with a sense of Nell's danger ; 
 and yet, the moment my back is turned, you 
 overthrow all my precautions at a stroke. 
 Oh, father, had you been but less wrapped 
 up in your own little ailments " 
 
 She stopped herself abruptly and covered 
 her face with her hands. She had never 
 spoken with such audacious candour before, 
 and she saw that her words stung her father 
 like a whip-lash. His large comely face 
 flushed deeply as he drew himself up to 
 answer her. 
 
 " My dear, I am aware that I have been 
 to blame, but I never expected to be told so 
 by my own daughter. Yes," he added, with 
 a humility that made Kate ashamed in a 
 moment, '' I have been gravely to blame in
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 2 J 
 
 this matter, and the knowledge of my own 
 shortcomings makes me anxious not to deal 
 hardly with poor Nell." 
 
 Kate the undemonstrative drew near to 
 her father and kissed him penitently. The 
 situation, though pregnant with deeper trouble 
 than they could yet foresee, had, at least, 
 produced one good result, for father and 
 daughter had never understood one another 
 so well as at this moment. 
 
 ''The man has a good heart," Mr. 
 Tredethlyn continued in a troubled voice ; 
 " I'm bound to say that of Clancy, though 
 his apparent perfidy pains me. I don't 
 think, however, that there has been anything 
 like deliberate treachery, but only culpable 
 weakness, given way to and encouraged. 
 As for Nell, her inconstancy amazes 
 me." 
 
 *' I won't have Nell abused, father ; she 
 never cared for Simon. Her collapse has 
 been the end of a long struggle."
 
 2 8 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 '* But I have perceived nothing of the 
 sort." 
 
 '' No — precisely." 
 
 '' Surely I must have " 
 
 " I suppose you have been otherwise 
 engaged, father." 
 
 Kate's voice was still a little dry. 
 
 " Was Terence aware of this ? " 
 
 '' I don't know, and don't care. I won't 
 hear a word In the man's favour. I hate him 
 — I hate him, I tell you ! " 
 
 '* He has done us a serious Injury, and I 
 find it hard enough to find any excuse for 
 him, Kate. But, as I said, I blame myself 
 also. There has been selfish blindness on my 
 part. And justice is justice. Terence has 
 certainly not spared himself. After that scene 
 in the larch clump, when he came to confess, 
 he told me how wretched he was, how he 
 would rather have cut off his right hand than 
 so injure a friend and benefactor " 
 
 *' Ah, yes ; doubtless he protested enough.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 29 
 
 Terence Clancy never wanted for eloquence. 
 I hate a shifty, half-bad man like that worse 
 than a genuine scoundrel ! " 
 
 '' Your sex is somewhat apt to appreciate 
 a genuinely good man less than either, my 
 dear." 
 
 '*What did you say to the pair, father ? " 
 ** I hardly know, they overwhelmed me so 
 with amazement ; but doubtless I said some 
 very bitter things, and certainly I forbade 
 Nell to see or speak to Clancy again." 
 
 " I wish you could remember what you 
 said, and I only hope you stung him to the 
 quick. I would ask no greater happiness 
 at this moment than five minutes of plain 
 speech with Terence Clancy. But that 
 would never do ; anything of that sort mio-ht 
 alienate Nell for life, for — mark me, father — 
 She'll marry the man." 
 
 '*My dear Kate, surely we can prevent 
 that ! I will flatly forbid such a sacrifice. 
 The man is utterly unworthy of Nell."
 
 30 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 " Ay — unworthy to tie her shoe-lace, and 
 that's how she comes to care for him," said 
 Kate, bitterly. *' And think of the scandal, 
 the disgrace — horrible! It goes to the 
 marrow of one's bones to think what people 
 will say of her. But trust me for knowing 
 her, father ; I say that no earthly power will 
 prevent her having him now. If we choose 
 to make a martyr of him, we may complete 
 the disgrace by a clandestine match ; but 
 a match there will be." 
 
 *' But surely our gentle little Nell can be 
 worked upon and made to see " 
 
 "Our little Nell is a person of strong 
 nature and unspeakable obstinacy ; and think 
 to what a pitch she must have reached to 
 break her engagement in this disgraceful 
 way ! No hope, believe me — not a grain." 
 
 '' And poor Simon ? " 
 
 " I can hardly bear to think of him, but 
 shall write at once to let him know my 
 opinion of all this. I believe nothing could
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 3 I 
 
 be worse for him just now than the silence 
 of his friends. Better make him rage than 
 let him brood.'* 
 
 "I believe you are right, Kate. It will 
 be well for me to write also, though a more 
 painful duty was never laid upon me. What 
 are we to do about Clancy ? what steps shall 
 I take ? " 
 
 '' Nothing we can do will make any 
 
 difference in the end, be assured of that. 
 
 We may procrastinate a little, and so water 
 
 down our disgrace in a measure. Let Nell 
 
 be sent away from now until, say, December, 
 
 which will give Chillington about three 
 
 months to masticate and digest the broken 
 
 engagement, and will make the next news 
 
 less shocking. I will answer for Mrs. 
 
 French-Chichester's silence. It will be 
 
 generally understood that Nell and Simon 
 
 have quarrelled, and there'll be so many 
 
 theories as to the cause that the truth may 
 
 chance to get lost among them."
 
 32 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 ''In that case, blame might accrue to 
 Simon. Better tell the whole truth than 
 that." 
 
 *' There'll be plenty of blame thrown about, 
 whatever course you take, father. Some will 
 blame Simon, others Nell ; and nearly all will 
 blame us. Every one will say, ' I told 
 you so ! ' and every second person, ' Serve 
 them right ! ' We can no more hinder the 
 shower than we can the autumn rains just 
 beginning. I shall go about in a macintosh 
 of haughtiness, that's all — and get myself 
 more unpopular than ever." 
 
 '' What about Terence during Nell's 
 absence ? " 
 
 '' He must visit us — at least now and then, 
 in a formal way. If you cut him, you show 
 your hand at once, and, what is far more 
 serious, you destroy any vestige of hope we 
 have of bringing Nell to her senses. Once 
 make a martyr of Terence, and good-bye to 
 her. She and Simon are too much alike —
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 
 
 Z^ 
 
 that's the plain truth. I've always feared 
 for them, and heartily wish she had broken 
 with him before this subtle Irishman came 
 on the scene. Our Quixotic pair never were 
 like other people — never quite rational ; 
 always in excess, always wandering in some 
 dazzling region where the light is too strong 
 for ordinary human nature." 
 
 ** One more thing, Kate — after Nell re- 
 turns ? " 
 
 ** Don't talk of that time," she cried, 
 " after that the deluge — at least the wedding, 
 for something tells me to expect the worst." 
 
 VOL. n. 
 
 23
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 N a certain windless day, late in 
 December, Simon Secretan was lean- 
 ing over the low stone wall of the Monks 
 Damerel road, looking down over Chilling- 
 ton. Through the thin clearing mist a 
 trickle of rather wan light fell upon the roof 
 of the railway station beneath him, upon the 
 grey old town-hall beyond, and the square 
 Gothic tower of the old church. There was 
 little traffic along this road in the winter; 
 Simon had a long stretch of it all to himself 
 now. He was gazing intently, moving no 
 more than the great rough stones upon 
 which his arms rested.
 
 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. 35 
 
 For a long time he remained thus motion- 
 less, but at length the rumble of wheels 
 induced him to turn his head round. A 
 farmers gig had just climbed the steep hill 
 from the station, and its driver was touching 
 up his horse with a view to a trot along 
 the level, when a pale-looking woman, 
 who sat beside him, caught sight of the 
 leaning figure by the wall, and held up her 
 hand. 
 
 " Thank you very much, Mr. Baker ; but 
 here is Mr. Secretan, so there's no call to 
 trouble you further. Will you hand me out 
 my baby-girl when I've got down ? " 
 
 The young woman — she was but two-and- 
 thirty, though strangers would have given 
 her another ten years — descended ; where- 
 upon Mr. Baker handed down, impassively 
 as he would have done a leg of mutton, 
 or a plucked fowl, a child of two years or 
 thereabouts. 
 
 '* Little sweetheart — precious little Rose-
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 bud, come to mother ! Now say, ' Thank 
 you, Mr. Baker.' " 
 
 " I s'ant ! " said the child decisively. 
 
 The impassive Baker showed no concern, 
 however, but drove on with a lift of his 
 finger and a '* Mornin', missis." 
 
 Simon, hearing his name mentioned, stared 
 at the mother and child in a dazed sort of 
 way, but could make nothing of them. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Simon, don't you know me, sir?" 
 
 *' Is it you, Joyce ? Where have you 
 sprung from ? You must forgive me, but — 
 I was lost in thought," Simon added, after a 
 pause. The words which had first sprung 
 to his lips were, '' you're such a wreck of 
 your former self, poor girl, that no wonder 
 I didn't know you." 
 
 " You find me looking rather corpse-like, 
 eh, sir ? " 
 
 '* No, no ; a little pale." 
 
 Joyce laughed, and in doing so took 
 Simon back a dozen years in half a second.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 37 
 
 *' There spoke your old self, sir ; you 
 would always sooner walk a dozen miles 
 than heart a body's feelings ! That's how 
 it was I never could sauce you as I did my 
 stepmother. Ay, and even Sir Hamo him- 
 self at times." 
 
 Ill as she was, Joyce still looked quite 
 capable of ''saucing" a stepmother at a 
 pinch. There was a lurking humour In her 
 eye, an upward twitch about the corners of 
 her mouth, and withal a hovering petulance 
 — the aftermath of a self-willed girlhood — 
 which her worn looks but half concealed. 
 She was a stepdaughter of Sir Hamo's 
 housekeeper, and had been brought up in 
 the establishment from as far back as Simon 
 could remember, indeed, had often been his 
 nursery companion in old days. She was a 
 small, whimsical, hot-tempered creature, who 
 was made much of by almost all, and would 
 be put upon by none. So popular did she 
 become with the household, as she grew up,
 
 38 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 that her stepmother's jealous pangs waxed 
 unbearable, and a daily increasing stream of 
 complaints was poured into her masters 
 ears. Sir Hamo's weak favouritism was 
 easily played upon ; every word of Mrs. 
 Henley's had weight with him. Soon after 
 the settlement of the family in these parts 
 Joyce was packed off, after a seA^ere inter- 
 change of broadsides with Mrs. Henley, to 
 a genteel milliner's establishment in Chil- 
 lington. 
 
 So placed, her skill and taste tended to 
 countervail a slight leaning towards insub- 
 ordination. If the discipline of the estab- 
 lishment suffered somewhat, its profits in- 
 creased ; and Joyce was in a fair way to 
 success by the time a new weakness showed 
 itself. She fell in love. 
 
 In company with her bosom friend, Mary 
 Pethick, Joyce had turned up her nose at all 
 the young shopkeepers of the place ; but one 
 evil day her humorous grey eye lighted
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 39 
 
 upon a fine young cavalry sergeant from 
 Lymport, by name Melladew. 
 
 At first Sergeant Melladew accepted her 
 homage with good-humour ; when it con- 
 tinued, he began to give ear to the reports 
 concerning her stepmother's successful pick- 
 ings up at the Hall ; then, having an even 
 keener eye for the main chance than for 
 female beauty, he decided to allow Joyce's 
 good worldly prospects to outweigh the 
 moderate quality of her looks. The rest 
 followed in due course. Serjeant Melladew 
 married, retired, and began to drink away 
 his wife's earnings. Chillington was found 
 too dull for him, and its profits too small. 
 He carried her off to Lymport, and installed 
 her in a larger establishment — and the in- 
 creased profits were met and parried by 
 superior thirst. In brief, the man was a 
 drunken brute — also a savage-tempered, 
 loud-cursing, unfaithful brute. Joyce led 
 with him a life of such wretchedness as
 
 40 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 satisfied even Mrs. Henley. She said 
 nothing about It on her brief visits to the 
 Pethlcks and other old friends ; but her 
 paling- cheek and failing step were a plain 
 tale not to be misunderstood. 
 
 Some years had passed, when ex-Sergeant 
 Melladew's life came to an appropriate and 
 fitting close. His head was broken by the 
 quart pot of an intimate, but quarrelsome, 
 friend one evening in a tavern brawl at 
 Lymport, and he only survived long enough 
 to discharge one final bouquet of oaths. 
 Joyce then found herself a free woman, 
 though a broken one ; and her chief desire, 
 amounting almost to a mania, was to live 
 long enough to guard her little Rose from 
 the Sergeant Melladews who might cross 
 her path. But Joyce s body had never been 
 strong enough to support her gallant spirit ; 
 every week now, as it passed, ate away a fresh 
 piece of her hope, for five years of a savage 
 yoke had thoroughly broken her constitution.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 4T 
 
 When Simon began to ask about her 
 health and prospects, she dismissed the sub- 
 ject with half a dozen words and a hard 
 laugh ; but no eloquence could have given 
 him a clearer impression of her case. He felt 
 strangely drawn to this widow, who had once 
 upon a time been his playmate in the nursery. 
 
 "And this is your little Rose, is it Joyce ? 
 I've heard of her once or twice through your 
 friend Mary." 
 
 '' Yes, sir ; this is my sweet and precious 
 little rosebud girl." It was another voice 
 that spoke now — a mother-voice, tender and 
 soft as a spring breeze. 
 
 Simon marvelled at the change, having as 
 yet studied human nature in the abstract 
 rather than the concrete, and having been 
 little thrown with mothers and children. 
 
 Little Rose returned his gaze with interest. 
 She was a quaint, crisp little creature, with a 
 tangle of fair curls, and dark-grey, roguish 
 eyes.
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 ** She has your — your " he began, with 
 
 a man's slowness in getting at the points of 
 a child. 
 
 " My impudence, Mr. Simon ? Ay, and 
 happen she'll keep it — until she marries. 
 Ah, if I had but a good watchdog for the 
 little one when I'm gone ! " 
 
 " What has brought the pair of you here 
 from Lymport, Joyce ? " 
 
 '' Why, just this, sir. I've had Mary 
 Pethick stayin' with me for some time, and 
 I wanted to bring her back safe to her father 
 — for I'm not easy in my mind about that 
 young thing, Mr. Simon." 
 
 '* What ails her ? I haven't seen her 
 about here for months." 
 
 Joyce looked up with a queer twist in her 
 face, and seemed to be weighing something. 
 
 *' That's just what I was comin' to see you 
 about, sir. I told Mary I should, and she's 
 mighty savage with me in consequence. 
 Hows'ever, I'm not easily frightened, and
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 43 
 
 here I am. Mary's in trouble. She was 
 engaged to be married to " 
 
 '' Ezekiel Doidge ? Yes, I know, and it 
 was broken off." 
 
 " Psha ! that's nothing. Why was it broke 
 off ? — that's the question." 
 
 '' I haven't a notion." 
 
 *' That looks bad ; he's a shrewd un, I 
 fear ! Harkee, sir — 'twas because she was 
 in love with some one else, with a gentle- 
 man, whose ring she's still wearin', who was 
 her promised husband. He got tired of her 
 o' course — one man's the same as another, as 
 far as I know — and left off walkin' out with 
 her. Lord bless me, 'tis an old story enough. 
 She wrote and wrote, but never got another 
 word out of him. He was makin' up to 
 some lady of his own station, I doubt. Well, 
 I judged from the girl's letters that she was 
 miserable, and had her over to Lymport to 
 help me with my Rosie, and get cheered up 
 a bit — though the cheerin' han't come off
 
 44 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 yet. That's all you need know at present, 
 sir. An' you're a deal too innocent to 
 guess any more," she added, under her 
 breath. 
 
 '' Poor little Mary ! Is her health bad ? Is 
 she much upset by this ? What can I do 
 for her ? " 
 
 "Ah, that just the point. She han't 
 written to the gentleman for some time, but 
 now she must see him." 
 
 '* But, my good Joyce, how can I help her 
 there .? " 
 
 *' Easy enough, sir. He's an intimate 
 friend o' yours, as she tells me, — a man as 
 you've been a brother to and started in life, 
 and " 
 
 She stopped abruptly. Simon had fallen 
 back a pace or two, and was staring at her 
 amazedly. 
 
 ** He's a young doctor," an Irishman " 
 
 " I know, I know," muttered Simon. 
 " There's nothing to be done, Joyce ; she
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 45 
 
 must bear her disappointment as other people 
 have to do." 
 
 ** Disappointment !" she repeated fiercely. 
 ** Ah, how some of my husband's cuss-words 
 would help me now ! " 
 
 Joyce walked aside for a space, with a 
 sullen flush darkening her pale face, and 
 neither spoke. 
 
 After a few moments the silence was 
 broken by the sound of bells. A loud joyous 
 peal clanged from the tower of the parish 
 church below them. 
 
 " A weddin' peal, I reckon ? " Joyce burst 
 forth with a harsh laugh. " I wonder who's 
 the victim this time ? What's the lady's 
 name, Mr. Simon ? " 
 
 "The bells are ringing for Miss Tredeth- 
 lyn's marriage." 
 
 " Not Miss Nell ? not the one that 
 
 was- 
 
 ** Yes, the one that was mine." 
 
 **Sir, Mr. Simon, I didn't know, or
 
 46 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 I wouldn't have come pesterin' you to- 
 day." 
 
 *'Why not? One day's the same as 
 another." 
 
 " Who's she marryin', sir ? " 
 
 ** The gentleman you were speaking of." 
 
 " Mr. Terence Clancy ? " Joyce laughed 
 loudly and bitterly. ** Lord, Lord, 'tis such 
 a bitter bad world that one must laugh or cry !" 
 
 Again they gazed down over the station- 
 roof in silence. 
 
 The streets in the neighbourhood of the 
 church were hidden by the houses, but there 
 was evidently a stir in the place. People 
 were hurrying across the open square by the 
 town-hall, and the rumble of carriages 
 could be heard through the swelling clang 
 of the bells. 
 
 " How long has this affair been public 
 news, sir ? " 
 
 " Barely a fortnight, by the express wish 
 of those concerned."
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 47 
 
 ** I suppose that's how it is not a rumour 
 of it has drifted over to Lymport. Look 
 here, sir, yesterday Mary Pethwick was in 
 a queer state, oppressed with forebodings 
 and fears, and she urged me to let her go ; 
 but my Rose wan't well, so I couldn't go 
 with her, — and now we're too late. Ah ! 
 I should ha sent her off, I should ha sent 
 her off! I've spoilt her one chance now, 
 poor Mary. O' course Fate's dead agen' 
 her — who ever knew a stroke o' luck come to 
 any but a dow^nright bad lot ? Will you come 
 an' see her now ? " Joyce concluded abruptly. 
 
 " Certainly — where is she ? " 
 
 " Waitin' for us at the canal bridge below 
 the farm. I promised to join her there after 
 seeing you, and settlin' upon some plan for 
 getting' hold o' Mr. Clancy. We had best 
 go down Pixie Lane, past the new cottages, 
 and so on by the canal path." 
 
 " Are you able to walk the distance, 
 Joyce ? "
 
 48 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 *' I mean to, able or not." 
 
 " Then give me the child." 
 
 This was more easily said than done. 
 Miss Rose, finding herself perched upon the 
 shoulder of a great tall stranger, screamed 
 as though the universe were on the point 
 of collapse, nor had big Simon the ghost of 
 an idea how to pacify her. This gave him 
 an opportunity, however, of watching the 
 practice of an art, new to him, but old as the 
 human race. 
 
 For the baby's attention was in a trice 
 distracted to a passing "puff-puff." Before 
 that was out of sight, a robin piping from 
 the ash-tree hard by was pointed out as an 
 object of breathless interest. Next, a small 
 boy with clinking milk-cans was offered up 
 in like manner, grinning to find himself so 
 much admired. Simon, noting how sud- 
 denly the big tears ceased to roll, thought 
 it all a marvel of cleverness. 
 
 Then poor mother was so tired, so very
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 49 
 
 tired, that it was needful for the baby to 
 stroke her cheek and say, " Poor — poor; oh, 
 poor — poor, not we-e-11 ! " This formula, 
 quaintly drawled, with a wrinkling of the 
 small nose, was the signal for peace ; the 
 Rosebud began to chuckle and kick as they 
 moved off, to drum on Simon's breast with 
 heels, to clutch his hair and moustache, and 
 presently to tear off his hat and beat him on 
 the head with its brim. And so they passed 
 down the hillside, the child bubbling and 
 babbling, and shrieking with laughter, only 
 stopping now and then to cry, *' Poor — poor ; 
 oh, poor — poor ! " 
 
 Had Joyce known who was following 
 them at a distance, she would have led Mr. 
 Secretan anywhither rather than to Holla- 
 comb Farm, for, unknown to her, Ezekiel 
 Doidge had seen her arrival with Mary, seen 
 the latter walk away homewards, watched 
 Joyce get into Mr. Baker's gig, and guessed 
 her destination. 
 
 VOL. II. 24
 
 50 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Ezekiel had been in a bad way ever since 
 Mary's departure for Lymport. On the 
 night of their farewell, when he finally re- 
 leased his betrothed from her engagement, 
 he had parted from her with bitter words 
 and fierce hints as to Mr. Secretan, his sup- 
 supposed rival ; and the folly of this had 
 weighed upon him since. He had written 
 almost abject letters to Mary, entreating her 
 to forgive his harsh conduct, and always to 
 let him be her friend. The only answer she 
 had vouchsafed him had been gentle and 
 humble — so unlike herself, indeed, as to 
 frighten him. He wished earnestly that she 
 would return that he might keep a friendly 
 watch upon her, and reason her out of this 
 fatuous inclination towards a gentleman so 
 far out of her reach. 
 
 In his jealous, harassed mind, Ezekiel had 
 worked out an explanation of the sudden 
 breaka2:e of Secretan's eno^ao^ement. Miss 
 Nell, he conceived, must have had sus-
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 51 
 
 picions, must have become aware of some 
 secret communication between her lover and 
 Mary Pethick ; and now that the engage- 
 ment was over, there would be nothing to 
 check such intercourse. This thought drove 
 Ezekiel half crazy. He watched the trains 
 in from Lymport day after day, or made 
 secret excursions thither to spy out Mary's 
 goings on ; and now his worst suspicions 
 were confirmed. Here was Mary's friend 
 capturing Secretan and leading him off — 
 reluctantly, too, as Doidge's eager suspicion 
 suggested — to an interview with Mary. It 
 looked black, inky black, to poor driven 
 Ezekiel. He followed them now, sweating 
 with jealous dread and hatred. 
 
 Sheltered by the woods on the south side 
 of the valley, Ezekiel watched the pair cross 
 the open and turn down the path beside the 
 canal, when there was no longer any doubt 
 in his mind that they were in search of 
 Mary. Nor was there any hurry, since a 
 
 ti Of ILL V\
 
 52 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 short cut across some of his own fields, just 
 below Mr. Secretan's new allotment gardens, 
 would take him to the farm well before them. 
 He had time to loiter while he forged into 
 one chain the links of suspicion that circum- 
 stances, aided by Mary's unhappy shuffling, 
 had placed in his hand. 
 
 Meanwhile, Simon and his companions 
 progressed slowly. Joyce was almost drop- 
 ping with fatigue by the time they had gone 
 half a mile, and needed many rests ; and 
 little Rose, well dowered as she was with 
 her mother's wilfulness, insisted upon being 
 set down frequently in order to make tot- 
 tering excursions after dogs, pigs, chickens, 
 and other such creatures of the chase. Nor 
 was there any talk worth mentioning between 
 them. Joyce would say not a word more as 
 to Mary Pethick, except, ''Wait and see, 
 Mr. Simon, then I think you'll know all." 
 
 They passed slowly along the canal path, 
 halting many times. Terence Clancys in-
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 53 
 
 sistent joy-bells followed them, never ceasing 
 for a moment. By the time they reached 
 the farm, the afternoon was closing in, and 
 Joyce felt that she could barely muster 
 courage to crawl on as far as the ivied bridge, 
 where Mary would be awaiting them. 
 
 It was there that Mary had first plighted 
 her troth to Ezeklel, and finally parted from 
 him ; there that she had first met Terence 
 Clancy, and thrilled at his kind voice and 
 friendly words. She had a fatalistic attrac- 
 tion towards the spot, as though her fate 
 were bound up with it. " You'll have bad 
 news to bring me, I know, Joyce, ''she had 
 remarked, "and I'd rather take the blow 
 there than anywhere." 
 
 Mary was standing close to the bridge when 
 they arrived, among the broken reeds and 
 trampled leafage of autumn ; and what flicker 
 of hope there was in her face died out as soon 
 as her eyes met Joyce's eyes. The wan 
 smile froze on her lips, and the going forth
 
 54 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 of her feeble hope shook Simon to the soul. 
 Joyce's forecast proved correct — he needed 
 no explanation. He was looking for the 
 first, time upon despair, and recognized it as 
 certainly as he would have done death. But 
 a moment ago he had been oppressed by the 
 melancholy of nature, by the fading of day- 
 light among ruined woodlands ; now he could 
 only see the girl's face. Before this human 
 misery the scene, with its surface pathos, 
 melted away, leaving only the stricken face, 
 from which he could not look away. It 
 filled him with a gnawing pain, bore in upon 
 him the infinite littleness of such troubles as 
 had fallen to his own lot ; it was as though 
 all the travail of a groaning v/orld were 
 concentrated for a moment in a single pair 
 of human eyes. 
 
 He turned aside, leaving poor shaken 
 Joyce, as he thought in his heart, to do the 
 last offices for the dead Hope, since the 
 living soul from which it had fled could 
 know no comfort.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 1^3 HE brief two weeks which Terence 
 
 ^ had been able to snatch for his 
 
 honeymoon were over ; he had brought 
 home his bride to the White House on the 
 hill. 
 
 It was Nell's first morning in her new 
 home. Terence was awaiting her in the 
 little breakfast-room, looking cheerfully out 
 over the town and the hills, gleaming crisp 
 and clear after forty-eight hours of rain. 
 He had been stripping the small greenhouse 
 and decorating the breakfast-table with the 
 spoils. A bright fire crackled in the grate ; 
 a glint of winter sun struck boldly in through
 
 56 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 the French windows as though to emphasize 
 and make the most of Terence's floral 
 greetings to his young bride. 
 
 As he stood by the window, Nell rustled 
 into the room, and her smile was good to 
 look upon. 
 
 " How like you, Terence," she cried, 
 pointing at the table, '' to squander every 
 flower you possess upon me in this way ! 
 You've already gone far towards spoiling 
 me, dear." 
 
 She went round the table, examining 
 every flower, praising everything. Nell had 
 always been one of those for whom it is a 
 pleasure to do things ; one whose quick 
 gratitude for a trifling service made one 
 reflect how easy must have been her nurse's 
 task in first teaching her to say '' Thank you." 
 When his bride took her place before the 
 tea-urn, flushed with pride and happiness, 
 Terence could hardly take his eyes off her. 
 
 *' There's not a flower here half good
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 57 
 
 enough for you, dear," he exclaimed with 
 fervour. '* There's not one half so beautiful 
 as your sweet self!" 
 
 *' Ah, be off wid your blarney ! " laughed 
 Nell. ** Ye're more Irish than I thought 
 ye." 
 
 '' Faith, you've got a heap of my failings 
 to discover yet, Nell ; they'll be pouring 
 down on you soon, like last night's rain. 
 My word, how it did drive and pelt ! I see 
 the river's in heavy flood this morning. 
 Some of the people in the cottages down 
 there'll be having a bad time, I fear." 
 
 '' Let us go and see them presently, when 
 you have time. But I suppose you'll be 
 hard at work all the morning, Terence ? 
 When do you expect to be free from your 
 consulting-room ? " 
 
 " Why, you see, this is our first morning 
 at home; and a man can't plunge head 
 foremost into hard labour without taking a 
 deep breath or two first. Jack Syme will
 
 58 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 do the oakum-plcking this morning. What's 
 the good of an assistant, if he doesn't take 
 the drudgery off one's hand ? " 
 
 Terence sighed a Httle at the mention of 
 work, proceeding with his breakfast a shade 
 more thoughtfully. 
 
 '' I shouldn't be surprised," he continued, 
 after a pause, '' if I have to take Jack into 
 partnership pretty soon. It would save a 
 deal of trouble in the end." 
 
 '' And would also diminish the profits a 
 good deal, wouldn't it, dear ?" 
 
 " What a mercenary little woman it is ! " 
 
 " Why, yes ; and you know the reason, 
 Terence." 
 
 Nell also became thoughtful ; and he was 
 well aware of the drift of her thought. She 
 was more than anxious about his debt — for 
 so they both agreed to call it — to Simon, 
 and was bent upon maintaining a course of 
 rigid economy until it should have been 
 paid in full.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 59 
 
 As for the proposed transference of this 
 debt to Mrs. French-Chichester, Terence 
 had heard no more about it, and never 
 expected to do so now that he knew the 
 widow better. He was troubled by this 
 obHgation to Simon, but not so deeply per- 
 meated by it as was Nell. To him repayment 
 was an object on the horizon, to be kept in 
 view in a general way, and attained some 
 day or other ; to her, a goal to be striven 
 for night and day. 
 
 He was humbly conscious of being on a 
 lower moral plane than his wife. He looked 
 to her to stiffen up his character, to be 
 tolerant of his weaknesses, to lead him 
 gently in the right way, the while she petted 
 and idolized him. But Nell was yet very 
 far from sharing these views. Her ideal 
 was not to be shattered by a fortnight of 
 marriage. She would have scoffed at the 
 notion of his needing her help. He found 
 it hard to work steadily — she knew that —
 
 6o THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 but the mere routine of his profession must 
 naturally be irksome to so clever a man. 
 His enthusiasm would doubtless be kept 
 for great things ; in the small ones, perhaps, 
 a commonplace woman like herself, with no 
 particular talent in any direction, might be 
 occasionally useful. That was Nell's con- 
 ception of the matter. 
 
 " Don't you think," she asked, when their 
 meal was over, and she was standing before 
 the fire with her hand in her wedded lover's, 
 *' that my father might help us in this 
 trouble?" 
 
 "Ask him, dear," suggested Terence, 
 with a twinkle in his eye. He had more 
 than once had an opportunity of observing 
 Mr. Tredethlyn's aversion to parting with 
 money — a weakness patent enough to every 
 one but Nell. 
 
 ** Well, perhaps it wouldn't be quite fair ? " 
 she muttered, regretfully. "You know 
 best."
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 6 1 
 
 " Perhaps it wouldn't be much use," 
 thought Terence ; but he only pressed her 
 hand. 
 
 " Then we must make up our minds to 
 hard work and strict economy. We shan't 
 spend nearly all you earn, shall we } And 
 I shan't want any new things for ever so 
 long, Terence ; and we can easily do with 
 only two servants. I suppose you must 
 keep both horses ? " 
 
 '' Ye-es ; there'll be a long ride round the 
 district every afternoon, don't you see "^ 
 One horse would knock up In no time." 
 
 ** Could you sell the hunter, and buy a 
 cheap hack In his place ? " 
 
 ** Bless me ! " thought Terence, " she'll 
 be asking me to do the rounds on shanks's 
 mare, dressed In fustian, soon ! My dear 
 child," he said aloud, with a flicker of his 
 humorous eyes, " I must hunt In order to 
 keep up the connection ; and for the same 
 reason we must keep a parlour-maid in
 
 62 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 addition to the other two, and keep up 
 appearances generally." 
 
 " I see." 
 
 ** Where are you off to now, Nellie ? " 
 
 " To order lunch and dinner and see to all 
 sorts of things." 
 
 " Well, then, Til go to that torture-chamber 
 and get on the rack at once. Some fool or 
 other with an imaginary ailment is sure to 
 be waiting there to stretch me. Jack Syme 
 shall be freed for the town work this morn- 
 ing." He sighed deeply, but his wif^:. 
 promptly braced him up with a ravishing 
 smile. ''Yes, by George, I'll go and work 
 like any nigger ! Haven't I got the sweetest 
 wife in Christendom to work for ? Little 
 girl, you always put me straight. I'd be a 
 decent, hard-working man by now if I'd 
 met ye years ago. Bedad, my brain's 
 crackling with good resolutions now ; and 
 don't you believe what people tell you about 
 such things going to pave the 'other place.'
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 63 
 
 They're like good grain, I maintain, with 
 fine possibiHties about 'em. You sow, and 
 of course every grain doesn't germinate ; 
 but some do, and you get a crop of some sort, 
 however bad the season." 
 
 And so they parted for the present. 
 
 Terence was right as to the flooded 
 condition of ChilHng Water. The vehement 
 stream was ramping forth from its moorland 
 gorge and down its rocky bed, with spume 
 and fret and fury. Leaping into the cuki- 
 vated parts above the town, it overspread 
 Mr. Doido^e's meadows as thouorh angrered 
 at the tamer scenery, and gurgled into the 
 cottages of his labourers in a masterful 
 regardless fashion suggestive of the great 
 Ezekiel himself. 
 
 Just below the town bridge the fierce river 
 hurled itself in a gleaming curve over the 
 artificial barrier created at this point in order 
 to pen the water and press it into the mouth 
 of the Hollacomb canal or leat. The water
 
 64 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 needed little persuasion in this direction 
 now, but poured through the leat and 
 flooded the vicarage garden knee-deep. 
 
 About midday half Chillington was 
 gathered near the bridge, watching the flood 
 and enjoying the unusual excitement. 
 
 " D'ye reckon," asked one of another, 
 " that the weir'll hold out long agen thiccy ? " 
 
 " Like enough her won't." 
 
 " If her gives, 'twill relieve this mort o' 
 watter up over, and flood Mr. Secretan's 
 cottages down along worse nor they be 
 a ready." 
 
 ''So 'twould. And I tell 'ee what— 
 'twould run the canal dry, like enough." 
 
 " How so, mister ? " This question was 
 put by half a dozen people at once. 
 
 '' Because, you zanies, this pule be eight 
 foot deep along o' the barrier, and, if her 
 gave, 'twould run down to two or three, and 
 lay -bare the mouth o' the leat. Should have 
 thought any vule could a-zeed that. I've
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 65 
 
 knowed the thing 'appen one dry zummer 
 years agone, and the watter runned off and 
 left leat channel dry as a gravel path." 
 
 "• I don't believe it, gaffer," laughed Dr. 
 Clancy from the fringe of the crowd. 
 
 Then a dozen voices clanged, for or 
 against, and so heady a wrangle ensued 
 that Terence tucked his wife under his arm 
 with a laugh and left them to settle it. 
 
 The pair walked away down stream to- 
 gether, bending to the buffets of a humming 
 gale, enjoying the movement and briskness 
 of things in general. On all sides of them 
 were townsfolk hurrying to the water side, 
 the business of the place being for the nonce 
 suspended. 
 
 Nell was bent upon a brisk walk along 
 the Bickington road, which followed the 
 river for some distance, and which, as it rose 
 the hill by Hollacomb, would give them a 
 good view of the pools and cascades over- 
 hung by the Manor House. 
 
 VOL. n. 25
 
 66 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Terence acquiesced in this route, but 
 without enthusiasm. He was averse to fol- 
 lowing a road which passed almost within 
 hail of Hollacomb Farm ; not so much from 
 actual apprehension of meeting with Mary, 
 for he thought her to be still at Lymport, as 
 from a general dislike of the farm's neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 To do him justice, however. It must be 
 said that, having read none of her letters, 
 he had no suspicion whatever of Mary's 
 being in great trouble. Ever since finally 
 committing his heart to Nell's care he had 
 kept Mary completely outside his mental 
 horizon. So much he had achieved without 
 difficulty, having the useful faculty, for which 
 many would give half they possess, of thrust- 
 ing all ordinary troubles into some dark 
 cupboard of his mind and turning the key 
 upon them. When he thought of her at all, 
 his sanguine imagination easily conceived 
 her as ere long returning to the faithful
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 67 
 
 Doidge, or some other old lover, and living 
 happily ever afterwards. But it cost him a 
 qualm or two to take Nell anywhere near 
 the scene of that dead romance. 
 
 Just below the town the Bickington road 
 was raised above the low-lying meadows by 
 an embankment, down to which ran the 
 allotment gardens pertaining to Simon's new 
 row of cottages. Upon reaching this point 
 Nell and Terence looked down upon a 
 curious scene. 
 
 The whole breadth of the gardens was 
 converted into a muddy lake, scourged and 
 flawed by the strong west wind ; the neat 
 row of cottages stood waist-deep in water. 
 
 Many persons had warned Secretan of such 
 a possibility as this, but his genial agent, 
 Jackson, had recommended the site strongly 
 — doubtless for reasons having roots in his 
 breeches'-pocket — and Simons fatal good 
 nature had been disastrous as usual. 
 
 Simon himself had been workino- like a
 
 68 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 horse all the morning, superintending the 
 removal of goods and furniture, and doing 
 much of the work with his own strong arms. 
 He was at this moment staggering through 
 the flood with certain belongings of his 
 tenant Mrs. Parminter, who inhabited one of 
 the cottages at a nominal rent. This good 
 woman was the wife of an honest bombardier, 
 who, after serving his time, was glad to re- 
 engage and rejoin his battery in India with 
 a view to living out of tongue-range of the 
 most gifted shrew in Chilllngton town. 
 Simon had taken pity upon the deserted 
 wife, and was now reaping the reward of his 
 virtue. 
 
 Mrs. Parminter was in fact seated upon 
 her garden wall, viciously drumming the 
 stones with her heels, the while she poured 
 the full weight of her abuse upon her bene- 
 factor. Mr. Secretan had built these sties 
 of cottages on purpose to delude honest folk ; 
 his philanthrophy was nothing but accursed
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 69 
 
 hypocrisy ; his kindness a sham and a lie ; 
 he was a disgrace to the name of gentleman. 
 Thanks to he she was a ruined woman ; 
 thanks to he every one of her little uns 
 would be down with fever, while she herself 
 died of the chill and the misery, and so on, 
 and so on. 
 
 Nell listened with a sick heart, a yearning 
 to speak a word of friendship to Simon. 
 She was very sore and sorry about him, and 
 at the great barrier placed by circumstances 
 between him and herself. Yet she could 
 never say a word to him, never sympathize 
 with him by a look. She was debarred from 
 even speaking of what lay so near her heart, 
 for Terence disliked the subject, was jealous 
 of the reverence in which Nell held the dis- 
 carded lover. 
 
 Terence was chafing now at her mournful 
 looks. He hurried her away quickly west- 
 wards, and was moody and silent for the 
 next half-mile.
 
 yo THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Just below Hollacomb the road, after leav- 
 ing the river for a space, passed over a small 
 knoll, upon climbing which they both uttered 
 exclamations of astonishment. They had 
 come in sight of the river again, and the first 
 glance showed that there had been a sudden 
 increase of the flood. 
 
 ** Look !" cried Nell, ** the water is much 
 higher, and how it roars and foams ! The 
 dam must have broken.*' 
 
 " No doubt it has ; and now those wise- 
 acres of the town, who are probably wrang- 
 ling still, will have a chance of settling their 
 dispute as to the canal. Shall we walk on 
 towards Bickington ? " 
 
 They moved briskly on, presently leaving 
 the main road for deep winding lanes. For 
 an hour they trudged along without meeting 
 a soul, then halted at a roadside inn near 
 Bickington with a view to afternoon tea, for 
 which Nell declared herself to be pining. 
 The exercise, together with the resplendent
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. J I 
 
 mood of nature — for it was a keen crisp 
 winter afternoon — had given a brighter tinge 
 to their reflections ; this comely young 
 couple were hungry, happy, and radiant to 
 look upon as they entered the inn parlour. 
 
 " Never have I a-zeed a prettier pair nor 
 thiccy," said the landlord to his wife, when 
 they adjourned to the kitchen together after 
 taking Terence's orders. 
 
 Nell would never forget that picnic tea 
 with her newly made husband. Such a 
 bright world seemed before them as they 
 rested in the snug little room — home and 
 love, honest work and honourable endeavour ; 
 not a mere path through fairyland to possible 
 disillusion, but rather a homely work-a-day 
 road, with hills to be breasted, dust to be 
 borne ; with something to deepen and prove 
 a man's love, to give a fond wife the privi- 
 lege of joyous self-sacrifice. 
 
 Terence found his own mare, Rosalind, in 
 the inn stable, Syme having driven over to
 
 72 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 a pressing case a short time since. Pre- 
 sently Jack Syme appeared from the direction 
 of the village, and after a brief discussion of 
 the new case, was taken indoors for a cup 
 of tea. 
 
 Mr. Syme, being little in the way of 
 society, had never yet actually spoken to 
 Mrs. Clancy. Terence noted with pride how 
 almost awestruck with admiration the man 
 was when first presented to his bride. Her 
 sweet and winning manner, however, seemed 
 to act upon Jack like a charm, and the more 
 so since he had looked for the cold superi- 
 ority with which the town and neighbourhood 
 were wont to treat him. He sat down — 
 almost at ease, comparatively speaking — 
 took his cup of tea from Nell's small hand, 
 and did his honest best to make himself 
 agreeable. 
 
 With people like Nell it is difficult to try 
 and please without succeeding, and Jack 
 tried so hard that she was quick to conceive
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 73 
 
 him one of the kindest and most good- 
 natured of men. She had the knack of en- 
 couraging a man to talk about himself — a 
 topic upon which a man must needs be 
 eloquent if he have the gift of speech at all. 
 At any rate Jack soon found himself dis- 
 coursing of his old life at Bartholomew's, of 
 opera bouffe and burlesque, farcical comedy 
 and the ballet, of billiards and supper par- 
 ties ; even of the little home at Hammer- 
 smith, of the old mother and the general 
 servant, and their kindness to a rollicking 
 scapegrace of a student like himself. In a 
 word, his heart and tongue warmed, as a 
 man's will under a woman's gentle tact, until 
 he began to think of revising his rather 
 pessimistic views of the comfortable classes. 
 He was grateful to Terence, too, for the 
 lift in life provided by his good nature, and 
 not a little pleased at the utter rout of that 
 old enemy, Simon Secretan. 
 
 ** Look here, Terence," this was Syme's
 
 74 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 parting speech as he got into the dog- 
 cart and gathered up his reins, *' you've 
 married the sweetest girl in Christendom, 
 and the loveliest ; and, upon my soul, I think 
 you deserve your luck. I hope you'll be as 
 happy as a king, old boy ! " And so this 
 idyllic little tea-party ended with a flourish 
 of congratulation. 
 
 By the time Nell and her husband had 
 retraced their steps as far as the knoll under 
 Hollacomb, evening was approaching. As 
 they halted a moment to look back towards 
 the great hills and the sunset, nature seemed 
 to be spreading a pageant by way of raising 
 further their uplifted hearts. Before them the 
 sky was streaked and slashed with flaming 
 orange, behind them, suffused with tender 
 rose and pearl and opal. Great cumulus 
 clouds, like ranges of alps with shoulders 
 rounded off, hung majestically over the moor 
 to the, south, massive and quiet, as though 
 solemnly resting after stress and storm.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 75 
 
 Below them the river roared, hurHng spray 
 over gleaming boulder and sodden bank, and 
 plunging whitely into the gloom of darkling 
 woods. 
 
 *' All the colour and beauty seem to affect 
 me like organ music to-night," murmured 
 Nell, drawing close to Terence's side. 
 
 But he could not respond to her exaltation. 
 The scenery of this Hollacomb gorge op- 
 pressed him. But a few months since he had 
 gazed upon just such a flaming sky from an 
 opening in the woods hard by, and heard 
 much the same sentiment expressed in the 
 tones of another woman who loved him. 
 How patronizing he had been to Mary, how 
 good naturedly he had smiled at her little 
 poetical outburst ! Soon, perhaps, she would 
 be back from Lymport, and sooner or later 
 he must face her upbraiding eyes. Terence 
 felt humble and low-spirited at this moment ; 
 with Nell beside him, his better self was apt 
 to say harsh things.
 
 76 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 "Terence," she said presently, pulling at 
 his arm, " let us go home by the canal, for 
 I'm anxious to see how the water has 
 fared ? " 
 
 ** But, my dear child, your feet are wet 
 already ; and the canal path will be sodden. 
 We had better get home by the road, which 
 saves a good quarter of an hour." 
 
 *' No, no ; I must see the canal. It is 
 not ten minutes out of the way ; and you 
 must give in, for it is such a pleasure to 
 make you obey me ! " 
 
 Nell laughed with a child's glee as she 
 pressed him canal-wards. 
 
 Terence hesitated, but only for a moment. 
 He was anxious to please her, and in the 
 absence of Mary there was no real danger 
 about the route. 
 
 ** Lead on, then, ye persuasive little 
 witch," he cried. ' - Sure I'll follow ye to the 
 other end of the world ! " 
 
 A short climb up a steep lane brought
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. yj 
 
 them on to the canal-path. Upon reaching 
 it, they halted, struck with amazement. 
 The prophecy of the old man at the town 
 bridge was fulfilled, the water had run off, 
 the bed of the canal lay bare to the sky 
 save for a sullen pool here and there. 
 
 '* I never could have believed it ! " cried 
 Nell, " especially with your opinion to back 
 me } " 
 
 " Well, it's a snub for me, and no mistake. 
 But come, little girl, let us hurry home ; 
 it is dismal enough among these dripping 
 trees." 
 
 They trudged on accordingly, the orange 
 clouds burning away to chocolate and drab, 
 the evening fog rising fast. They soon 
 reached the ivied bridge below Hollacomb 
 Farm, and Terence hastened his steps, 
 anxious to put behind him this trysting-place 
 with its atmosphere of love-vows broken and 
 passion grown cold. 
 
 They had actually passed the bridge.
 
 78 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 when something prompted him to look back 
 over his shoulder. In doing so, he stopped 
 suddenly ; his face went ashen grey ; a low 
 shuddering cry escaped him. 
 
 **What is it? Terence, dearest husband, 
 you frighten me ? . . . O God, help her ! 
 How pitiful, how pitiful ! " 
 
 Nell's heart stopped ; for a moment she 
 groped in the air for support, while the 
 horror and pathos of what she saw sank 
 into her brain. For close to the grey 
 old bridge, among broken brown reeds 
 and trodden leaves, and twigs and gravel 
 left by the flood, lay a silent pitiful thing 
 that had once been a woman. Nell knew 
 at once that she was dead, for the face was 
 visible. Yet she called upon the figure by 
 its name as though the lifeless clay could 
 answer — 
 
 *' Mary, Mary ! " she wailed. '* Oh, speak 
 to me — Mary, poor Mary ! " 
 
 Yet, stricken as she was with pity and
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 79 
 
 horror, Nell was too well accustomed to 
 look on death, thanks to experiences among 
 the poor, to lose control of herself for more 
 than a moment or two. She stepped down 
 the muddy bank ; then with trembling hands 
 raised the poor head upon her knee, and 
 put aside the dripping hair, while her tears 
 fell fast upon the face that could never more 
 feel caress of love nor warmth of human 
 touch. 
 
 " Oh, Terence, come and help me ! I 
 can't bear her to lie here — poor, poor 
 Mary ! " 
 
 But Terence could neither move nor 
 speak. The sudden horror seemed to have 
 frozen his faculties. He stood propped 
 against an alder-trunk, rigidly staring at the 
 pool under the old bridge. For the present 
 thouorht could articulate but one word — 
 " Suicide." 
 
 " She must have fallen in somewhere 
 near the farm and been carried down by
 
 8o THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 the flood!" murmured Nell, stroking the 
 dead cheek reverently. 
 
 Terence made a strained effort to speak : 
 but one word would come from him. 
 '' Suicide," he muttered ; then sank down 
 to the roots of the alder, reclining against 
 the trunk. 
 
 " Never, never ! " said Nell, earnestly. 
 *' Why should you accuse poor Mary ? She 
 was the happiest of girls, the last in the 
 world to commit such a crime ; it has been 
 a sad accident — no more." 
 
 ** Accident ? " as he clutched at the word 
 and repeated it, his voice came back to 
 him. '*Yes, yes, you're right, Nell, an 
 accident. I never thought of that. I only 
 knew her by sight, and thought perhaps " 
 
 He hardly knew what he was saying. 
 Instinct was urging him to lie ; but reason 
 had not yet told him in what direction 
 to begin. 
 
 Nell was distressed for her husband. She
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 knew him for a soft-hearted man — so much 
 so, indeed, that the practice of his profession 
 was often a torture to him — and here was 
 another proof of the tenderness of his nature. 
 She urged him not to mind her, pointing- 
 out that some labourer on his way home 
 would probably be passing soon. 
 
 This suggestion roused Terence. He 
 called upon his failing will, stiffened himself, 
 and stood upright. Very soon the sound of 
 approaching footsteps struck upon his ear, 
 and seemed to put firm ground under him in 
 a moment. Fear revived him like some 
 magic elixir. 
 
 The footsteps were those of Simon Se- 
 cretan, who was at this moment searching for 
 Mary. Not a day had passed lately without 
 his seeing her ; but her seeming quietness 
 had allayed his first fears concerning her. 
 Upon coming to the farm about an hour 
 since, however, and learning from her father 
 that she had not been home for some time, 
 
 VOL. II. 26
 
 82 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 he had felt uneasy ; and when a careful search 
 through her favourite haunts had failed to dis- 
 cover her, his uneasiness deepened into alarm. 
 
 For a little incident had occurred the day 
 before, which, without impressing him much 
 at the time, seemed now to have a possibly 
 terrible significance. 
 
 Simon was watching the flooded canal 
 with Mary, when a heavy billet of wood 
 came floating past. 
 
 *' Now, I wonder," said Mary, carelessly, 
 '* whether that log will be borne on into the 
 Culmer, and finally carried far out to sea by 
 the broad river ? " 
 
 " Probably it might. Why do you ask, 
 Mary?" 
 
 *' Just from passing curiosity. It struck 
 me that the log might be so borne away, and 
 the owner, searching for his lost property, 
 might never know what had become of it. 
 Probably no one will ever set eyes on it 
 again, you think ? "
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 83 
 
 '* I dare say not." 
 
 The incident, together with Mary's words, 
 took more and more hold of Simon's mind 
 as his search continued ; and his forebodings 
 increased steadily until, by the time he 
 reached the bridge, he had almost given 
 up hope of finding her anywhere alive. 
 
 Thus, the scene on the canal bank was but 
 half a surprise to the searcher. He took it 
 in at a single glance. Terence was standing 
 under the alder, working himself up to face 
 the coming intruder. Nell was still crouch- 
 ing under the bank with the dead girl across 
 her knees. 
 
 Simon's look was strange and solemn as 
 he stepped down beside her ; but Nell was 
 struck by the absence of amazement in it. 
 His expression was rather that of one who 
 finds a mournful expectation fulfilled, than of 
 one confronted by an unexpected tragedy. 
 Not a word did he speak, but he took up Nell's 
 burden gently and bore it away to the farm.
 
 84 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Terence's slender hope had gone now ; 
 Simon's face had killed it. 
 
 '* He knows all. He must have been in 
 her confidence, and have expected this. 
 Mary has betrayed me to Simon ; I'm 
 utterly at his mercy ; he could ruin me by 
 a single word." 
 
 Thus he mused while Nell stood watching 
 Simon's departing figure. 
 
 '' Terence," she said after a pause, " I feel 
 so ill and shaken, and so chilled with sitting 
 there in the wet, that I hardly know how I 
 shall get home ; and you look quite unhinged 
 yourself, dear ? " 
 
 '' Unhinged ? My dear Nell, you must be 
 bad indeed to talk such nonsense as that. 
 Of course I was a trifle shaken at first — who 
 w^ouldn't be ? But that has all passed long 
 ago ; feel how steady my hand is. I wish 
 you wouldn't talk at random like that. 
 However, you're not well, dear, and I ought 
 not to speak so crossly to you. Come on,
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 
 
 85 
 
 little wife, I'm as steady as a rock, and will 
 carry you the whole way home if necessary. 
 But first you must try and walk off the chill 
 — come, be quick, dear, for you look perfectly 
 frozen, and need a fast walk to restore your 
 circulation."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OME two weeks had passed, and Chil- 
 lington was still seething with the 
 tragic death of Mary Pethick. 
 
 As to the cause of her death there was no 
 room for serious doubt, no loophole for 
 kind-hearted coroner's jurymen to ease their 
 feelings by such phrases as '* misadventure," 
 ** unsound mind," or anything else of a soft- 
 ening description. When, after a prolonged 
 sitting, they took their hats and sticks from 
 the parlour- table at Hollacomb Farm and 
 clattered out of the room, they had passed 
 the only verdict possible in face of the 
 evidence, medical and other, laid before them.
 
 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. ^J 
 
 It was the old, old story of wrong and shame, 
 with the old miserable climax, and there was 
 an end of it. 
 
 Dr. Clancy and his wife had not been 
 called upon to give evidence. Mrs. Clancy, 
 indeed, was ill in bed and unable to attend 
 the inquest, and Simon Secretan was able to 
 speak to the finding of the body, the position 
 in w^hich it lay, and other such details. 
 
 Mr. Secretan came in for a good deal of 
 blame in that, knowing the girl's condition, 
 and half-suspecting her to be contemplating 
 suicide, he had taken no definite steps to 
 prevent the catastrophe. He had always, 
 however, possessed a special faculty for the 
 accretion to himself of any blame that might 
 be awaiting a pair of shoulders to settle upon. 
 
 But the coroner's verdict and subsequent 
 funeral had not brought the subject to a 
 natural close. Under ordinary circumstances 
 the tide of public excitement would have 
 turned at this point, ebbing gradually away
 
 SS THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 in casual gossips, regretful reminiscences, 
 and denunciation of the girl's betrayer. In 
 the present case, however, there was a 
 special feature that served to keep public 
 opinion almost at fever pitch ; viz. that the 
 author of the mischief remained undiscovered. 
 It seemed strange, even to the point of 
 exasperation, that no one could put his finger 
 upon the man for whom so much obloquy 
 was ready and waiting. It was agreed that 
 he must be a man of some position, as well as 
 a specious rogue, for Mary never could bear 
 to look at a common fellow. She had always 
 held her head high ; insomuch that few were 
 surprised at her succumbing under the 
 torture of her coming shame. Many said 
 harsh things of her, and the voice of un- 
 charity is always pitched high ; but there 
 was also a strong current of sympathizing 
 regret, of kindly excuse for the good-hearted 
 girl, who had always been liked in spite of 
 her airs and whims. Verily, should the
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 89 
 
 culprit be discovered, he were in danger of 
 rough handhng ; indeed, the guilty unknown 
 was never mentioned by the young men of 
 Chillington without some hard cursing and 
 promises of heavy punishments. Terence 
 Clancy had to listen to a score of such tirades 
 during a single morning's rounds. 
 
 It was a tribute to Ezekiel Doidge that 
 not a soul ever mentioned his name — though 
 his arrogance had made an enemy of every 
 second man in the place — in connection with 
 the mystery. As for Dr. Clancy, they would 
 as soon have thought of charging him with 
 the ill-doing as of indicting the vicar him- 
 self. No one had seen him even speak to 
 Mary, so cautious and circumspect had the 
 dread of Ezekiel always made him. 
 
 Yet, after some days, the tongue of rumour 
 began to busy itself — not openly, but in 
 whispered conclaves behind parlour doors — 
 with a name greater than that of Terence 
 Clancy ; one that ranked only second in
 
 90 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 importance, from the town's point of view, to 
 that of Lord Bridistow, the reigning peer of 
 the district — with the name, in short, of the 
 future Sir Simon Secretan. People were 
 ashamed to speak in pubHc against one of 
 such blameless reputation and high position ; 
 but ugly whispers and innuendoes were 
 crawling like serpents up and down the by- 
 lanes of Chillington. 
 
 Terence knew that it was so, and the 
 knowledge made his life a nightmare, while 
 narrowing day by day the precipice-path 
 which he seemed to be treading. 
 
 Simon, who must surely now be a deadly 
 enemy, knew of his guilt. The single glance 
 this once-friend had thrown at him while 
 lifting the dead girl from Nell's knees was 
 not to be misinterpreted. Yet, knowing the 
 man as he did, Terence would have felt his 
 secret almost safe — having the conviction that 
 Simon might think fit to punish him in some 
 private way, but would never betray him to
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 91- 
 
 professional ruin — save only in one eventu- 
 ality, the very one which seemed now drawing 
 on ; to wit the necessity of being compelled to 
 clear his own character by pointing out the 
 real offender. 
 
 Nor did the probability of public disgrace 
 and professional ruin make up the sum of 
 Terence's distraction at this time ; for behind 
 the fear of these lay a deeper one, that of a 
 private avenger. There w^as Ezekiel Doidge 
 to be reckoned with. 
 
 " I used to think he would do me some 
 injury if he were even to catch me talking 
 with Mary," thought Terence; ''but now! 
 . . . Let him find out the truth now, and I 
 believe from the bottom of my soul that 
 he'll murder me. I wish to God he was in 
 the only place fit for him — a madhouse ! " 
 
 Finally, by way of last straw to Terence's 
 burden of anxiety, there was Nell's serious 
 illness. She had caught a dangerous chill 
 while lingering by the canal that night, and
 
 92 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 the shock and strain to the nerves had 
 aggravated it. Upon reaching home she 
 had been put to bed, and had remained 
 there ever since, nursed by Terence and her 
 sister Kate, in a low feverish condition 
 which alarmed her husband not a little. 
 
 Nor had Terence a single free hour 
 wherein to sit down and fairly confront the 
 tangled situation. Patients were pouring in 
 upon the new doctor until he hardly knew 
 which way to turn. He was overworked, 
 distracted, harassed almost beyond human 
 endurance. The strain was telling heavily 
 upon his health already. He wondered how 
 much longer he would be able to stand up 
 under the pressure of accumulating trouble. 
 
 At length, about the middle of the third 
 week after the inquest, Terence felt that he 
 could no longer bear up without a word of 
 advice or help from some human soul ; and, 
 further, that he must either think out some 
 plan of escape from the increasing danger of
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 93 
 
 Simon's being forced to expose him, or 
 collapse altogether. It was not in his nature 
 to fight a thing through unpropped — with the 
 grim fortitude that a man whose ways are at 
 all crooked finds the need of sooner or later. 
 Tell out his troubles he must ; and he had 
 good hope of at least moderating Simon's 
 anger, if not of getting some help from him 
 — could he but dare to face him. 
 
 Coming home from his rounds that day, 
 he found Nell worse than usual, and with 
 temperature dangerously high. Kate at- 
 tended to him, as she had done lately, with 
 sisterly kindness. She insisted upon his 
 sitting down to dinner, vowing that he was 
 over anxious about Nell's state ; that she 
 could remember her being in much the same 
 low condition after a severe wetting on the 
 moor some three or four years ago, and so 
 on. Terence listened and was really grate- 
 ful, but could eat nothing. He went up and 
 sat with Nell for an hour, and was somewhat
 
 94 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 relieved when she at length dropped off into 
 a quiet sleep. Then he stole from the room, 
 ordered the least tired of his two horses, and 
 told Kate he was in for a long moorland 
 ride. She begged him to send Mr. Syme. 
 He said he had promised a patient to ride 
 over himself, and go he must. He had 
 made up his mind to face Simon, to throw 
 himself upon the mercy of the most generous 
 man he knew. 
 
 It was a relief to find himself in the 
 saddle, with the prospect before him of 
 putting an end to torturing suspense. While 
 dreading the meeting with Simon, his fear 
 was laced with hope that some definite good 
 would come of it — perhaps even the respite 
 or breathing-space for which he craved. 
 Were Simon a person of but fair average 
 magnanimity, the proposed appeal were but 
 wasted breath. But Terence well knew the 
 heart of the man who had been to him as a 
 brother — was convinced that no appeal to
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 95 
 
 Simon could be looked upon as a mere 
 forlorn hope. He had played the treacher- 
 ous friend to him, yet hoped ; had requited 
 his exceeding generosity by robbing him, 
 yet still hoped. Perhaps this hope of 
 Terence Clancy's was as high a tribute as 
 a man not yet much appreciated by his 
 fellows could well have received. 
 
 Yet the exaltation produced by the mere 
 hope of a respite was a measure of Clancy's 
 wretchedness. His prospects were black 
 and dreary as a winter's night ; he was very 
 near to despair. Even should the plan, now 
 in his mind, of escape from the neighbour- 
 hood succeed, there was nothing to be looked 
 for but grinding poverty — his old state — to 
 be faced not alone this time, but with a 
 delicately nurtured wife beside him, with her 
 respect for him perhaps undermined, the 
 spring of her love dried up. Terence felt 
 the power that lay in this very wretchedness. 
 He would lay bare his heart to Simon —
 
 g6 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 would borrow such eloquence from despair 
 as had never come to him yet. 
 
 As soon as he had cleared the town and 
 topped the hill above the railway station he 
 drove the spurs into Rosalind and galloped 
 forward like a madman. 
 
 " Throw me head foremost against the 
 stone wall, mavourneen ! " he cried, leaning 
 over the mare's neck, '' and maybe ye'll do 
 me the greatest service in the power of horse 
 or man. Break me neck, and the worry'd 
 be over, dear ; and sure ye'd finish off a 
 worthless fellow who was born to ruin every 
 one that loves him ! " 
 
 Rosalind was presently pulled up, sweating 
 and quivering, before the one alehouse 
 owned by Monks Damerel hamlet. Terence 
 turned In the saddle, uttering a long sigh of 
 relief, when, upon raising his eyes to the 
 great moorland ridge on his right, he saw a 
 light twinkling. 
 
 " My beacon-light," he muttered, *' that 
 points to my only harbour of refuge."
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 97 
 
 The light shone from Simon's observatory, 
 where, the night being moonless, with the 
 winter stars throbbing brightly through the 
 thinnest of mist, Terence had counted upon 
 finding him. Cheered by the fulfilment of 
 this expectation, Terence now got rid of his 
 horse and at once entered upon the steep 
 climb that lay before him. 
 
 The long, stiff ascent proved a more 
 severe task than Terence had expected. 
 The strain of much overwork and worry 
 which he had lately undergone had so un- 
 fitted him for physical exertion that he toiled 
 upwards with great difficulty, and had 
 several times to throw himself at full length 
 upon the damp heather in order to recruit 
 his forces. It took him a full hour to reach 
 the level of the observatory, and, when he 
 at length found himself tapping at the door, 
 he was in a thoroughly exhausted condition. 
 
 In fact, when Simon appeared, much 
 amazed at receiving a visitor of any sort at 
 
 VOL. II. 27
 
 98 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 his solitary workshop, Terence was too 
 evidently in a bad way for a humane man 
 to think of anything but trying to assist him. 
 
 ** Come in and sit down, Terence, while 
 I get you some brandy and water." 
 
 Simon never thought to address him so 
 familiarly, but the words came of their own 
 accord. 
 
 Terence turned his head aside, saying not 
 a word. The kindness of Simon's voice 
 upset him ; a harsher reception would have 
 been more bracing, though less hopeful. 
 
 Simon threw open a cupboard and 
 quickly set a glass of brandy and water on 
 the table beside his visitor ; but he, too, 
 seemed unable to begin a conversation. It 
 was a strange meeting. 
 
 By way of giving the other a few minutes 
 in which to recover himself, Simon then 
 went and stood at the open door, looking 
 down over the coombe and the hamlet with 
 its twinkling lights.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 99 
 
 When he closed the door and turned 
 again into the room, Terence began to speak 
 in a low voice, his head still averted, his 
 hands fumbling among the papers scattered 
 on the table. 
 
 " You can guess that I'm pretty low, or 
 I shouldn't have come to force myself upon 
 you thus. I'm not quite mean enough to 
 wish to flaunt my happiness in your face — 
 if I had any ; but, rather, I want to lay 
 myself bare to you, to spread myself out 
 before you. You're bound to judge me 
 hardly ; but — but will you hear my defence, 
 such as it is ? " 
 
 Secretan had wished to see no more of 
 the man who had requited him so ill, never 
 to listen to his soft persuasive voice again ; 
 but Terence's evident trouble and shame, 
 his deliberate placing of himself as it were 
 in the dock and appealing as prisoner to 
 judge, wrought upon him strongly. He 
 moved uneasily in his chair, then muttered —
 
 lOO THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 ** Go on ; but don't look upon me as your 
 judge." 
 
 Terence raised his head, looked fully at 
 the other, and spoke on, with his heart in his 
 voice — 
 
 '* Jack Syme first put it into my head to 
 cut you out, to win Nell and her money. I 
 scouted the notion. I swear to you I had no 
 thought of treachery when you first intro- 
 duced me to her and took me up to Moor 
 Gates. I was so free from any thought of 
 wronging you that I had no fear for myself. 
 You took me up there day after day, and 
 still I never suspected myself. I don't know 
 when the thought of love first came into my 
 head ; it crept into me, stole upon me un- 
 awares, had fast hold of me before I dreamed 
 of anything to be fought against. Then I 
 tried to shake myself free. I denied you 
 many times, as you'll remember, when you 
 wished to take me up there. But I was 
 weak, and so drifted on and on ; and that
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, lOI 
 
 fatal two weeks under the same roof with 
 her were too much for me. The fever seized 
 us both ; I was not hero enough to resist, as 
 you would have done." 
 
 The speaker was desperately in earnest. 
 Simon knew well that he was telling the 
 truth — at least, in so far as it is given a man 
 to tell it when reviewing his own conduct 
 and motives. 
 
 ** As for Mary, you'll think me a common 
 libertine, who compassed her ruin and never 
 gave her a thought afterwards. That's what 
 all Chillington will be saying of me soon. I 
 don't know a soul but yourself who, once I'm 
 found out, would endure to let me mention 
 her name or say a word in my own defence. 
 Even you can't understand my weakness ; 
 you never can conceive what a curse to a 
 man this weakness is, how it scorches up 
 every good intention like a flame. You're 
 strong yourself; you want no props, nor 
 wornaji's comfortings when things go wrong
 
 I02 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 with you. I'm made of poorer stuff, weaker 
 stuff — baser stuff, if you will, than you, Simon. 
 I fled to Mary for comfort in my trouble 
 about Nell. Her flattery and admiration 
 soothed a vain weak fool like me. I thought 
 to love her truly, to forget Nell in her, to 
 make her my wife. I meant well and did 
 badly, and now my punishment is but half 
 begun.. But believe one thing of me — I 
 never knew how things were ; I never 
 guessed her trouble ; I never suspected it 
 till I saw her lying dead by the canal, and 
 wished myself dead beside her. Simon/' he 
 continued, leaping to his feet and stretching 
 out both hands with a passionate gesture, 
 '*had I known all, I'd have gone back to 
 her and made her my wife. I swear to you 
 I'd have left Nell at the church door, 
 ay, at the altar steps, rather than have 
 brought shame and death on that poor 
 girl!" 
 
 Terence sank back into his chair, and
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 bowed his head upon his hands ; and Simon's 
 voice was unsteady. 
 
 ** I believe you, old fellow ; you were 
 always good hearted enough. I've judged 
 you too hardly." 
 
 " O God, help me ! " groaned Terence, 
 miserably ; " how shall I ever tell this to 
 Nell 1 When she knows that even while I 
 
 was making love to her Man, man, she'll 
 
 hardly endure me in her presence — my bride, 
 my sweet wife ! I dread her scorn more 
 than all the shame and ruin that are before 
 me. 
 
 '* Surely ' ruin ' is too strong a word. It 
 seems to me that in this mean world a man's 
 vices tend rather to further his prospects 
 than not. It is one's efforts to do good, to 
 help and elevate others, that damn one in 
 the estimation of one's neighbours. Look 
 at me, there's not a more unpopular man in 
 the county. Had I been a jolly rake, with 
 an oath and a pint of liquor for every one,
 
 I04 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 they would have liked me long ago. Why," 
 Simon added under his breath, " with a few 
 redeeming touches of the blackguard about 
 me, I might have won her love, or even my 
 father's ! " 
 
 This bitter speech, so curiously unlike his 
 former self, showed whither Simon's solitary 
 broodings were leading him. Terence was 
 surprised to hear him, and shook his head 
 decisively, saying — 
 
 '* I see how it is. You've rushed from 
 your old optimism into the opposite extreme, 
 and both extremes are wrong. Among fast 
 people, perhaps, in a great city, my errors 
 might easily be forgiven, but here, never. 
 Once I'm found out, no one will dare to 
 employ me in the face of public opinion. 
 My only hope is to sell your gift, the prac- 
 tice, before the storm breaks, and begin the 
 struggle again at the other end of the king- 
 dom, or, better still, in America. Yet, wher- 
 ever I go, there'll be a black mark against
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 105 
 
 me. My sun has set, Simon ; I can never 
 hold up my head in the profession again. 
 Mr. Tredethlyn will, I dare say, see that we 
 don't starve ; but that's as much help as I 
 ever expect from him. But listen," he con- 
 tinued, in an anxious, husky voice, *' there's 
 only one man living that can help me — the 
 one from whom I've the least right to hope 
 for anything, yet the one from whom I hope 
 everything — 'tis yourself, Simon ! " 
 
 ** In the name of wonder, what can I do ? " 
 
 ** Listen ! There's a whisper going up and 
 down Chillington that you are the guilty 
 man." 
 
 Simon sprang from his chair, laughing 
 loud and discordantly. 
 
 " What ! am I, then, in danger of becoming 
 a popular character ? " he shouted. 
 
 But Terence proceeded steadily, emphasiz- 
 ing each sentence with his hand. 
 
 *' This insane hypothesis of theirs, which 
 must have arisen from your being seen with
 
 I06 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 poor Mary, might keep them quiet for a few- 
 weeks — for long enough to permit of my agent 
 in town getting something for the practice. 
 Whereas, if the storm once broke, there would 
 be no practice to sell ; any medical man 
 might come down and sweep the whole dis- 
 trict at his will without the necessity of spend- 
 ing a penny. Yet my appeal lies on far 
 stronger grounds than this. You know that 
 Nell is ill in bed, so weak and feverish as to 
 cause me serious anxiety ? As it is, I fear 
 for her life, Simon ; but what would be her 
 state were the story of my wrong-doing to 
 be suddenly flung in her face now ? I believe 
 the shock would kill her outright. I'm certain 
 that, even were she to survive it, her health 
 would be shattered for many years. It 
 drives me half mad to think how she will 
 suffer. Oh, Simon, I have one death on my 
 conscience already ; for God's sake, don't let 
 me have Nell's too ! I've done ill, I deserve 
 a heavy punishment, but must I lose her?
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. lOJ 
 
 Give me a week or two ; let me escape from, 
 this accursed place, and I'll give my whole 
 life to working and scheming for her happi- 
 ness, and sooner or later, whenever my 
 courage returns to me, I will kneel to her 
 and confess the wrong I did, and love will 
 teach her how to forgive me. Help me, for 
 her sake, Simon ! I only dare to ask it for 
 her sake !" 
 
 " Man, man, you only bewilder me ! What 
 do you ask ? " 
 
 " Your silence — for a few days only — no 
 more than that. Let the rumours against 
 you run their course for a day or two ; take 
 no step to vindicate yourself. Tell them the 
 truth the moment I'm gone- — not till then." 
 
 " God's truth, man ! would you have me 
 silent if I'm accused outright ?" 
 
 ** For her sake — for her sake ! Only for 
 a day — week. After that, tell the worst of 
 me. I'll leave a confession in writing that 
 will clear you at once and for ever."
 
 Io8 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 " I'll have nothing to do with such a cursed 
 lie. I'll never be a party to my own dis- 
 honour ! " 
 
 "Not a soul would dare to accuse you 
 openly ; you have only to let the gossip- 
 mongers mutter away for a few days. It is 
 my only chance. But I see 'tis too much 
 to ask of you, Simon; God knows I've no 
 vestige of right to do so. I'm a poor miser- 
 able devil ruined by one false step ; with none 
 to help, no refuge to turn to ; with nothing 
 before me but public disgrace and the scorn 
 of the woman I love. I'm too much of a 
 wreck to be worth the trouble of rescuing, 
 least of all by the friend whom I have injured. 
 It's nothing that I meant no harm, that I'd 
 have given my soul to save poor Mary, had 
 I but known in time. I shall be posed before 
 them all as 3. cold, deliberate, wicked liber- 
 tine, who encouraged the girl to make an 
 end of herself in order to get myself out of 
 the difficulty. I shall be hooted and cursed
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. IO9 
 
 out of the place. Nell will never bear to live 
 under the same roof with me ; she'll go home 
 to her father. Well, well, 'tis no use keep- 
 ing you here all night listening to my raving. 
 Maybe I'll drag on somehow, maybe I'll 
 muster courage to cut it short with a dose of 
 poison. Anyhow, I'll pester you no more. 
 Give me another liquor, old fellow — 'tis the 
 last request I'll ever make of you." 
 
 Simon pushed over the decanter mechani- 
 cally, then fell to striding to and fro, mutter- 
 ing to himself, '' A horrible idea ! to sit down 
 and let them tear my character to pieces ! 
 Yet what do I care for any one's opinion ? 
 My father would suffer, were the evil report 
 to get round to him. Yet, would he suffer ? 
 Wouldn't it be rather a satisfaction to him to 
 find me even baser than he had imagined ? 
 I think it would pain Nell, yet not one-thou- 
 sandth part as much as would the discovery of 
 the true culprit. Not a soul here but would 
 a dozen times rather hear ill of me than of
 
 no THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 popular Terence. Aad it would be some- 
 thing to save Nell from this blow. With my 
 help, the hardest thing that could well befall 
 her might be averted. Once safely out of 
 this place, he would manage to keep it from 
 her ; he has cunning enough for a shrewder 
 task than that. Whom would it vex to 
 hear of my fall ? One or two would be 
 sorry, the one or two who respect me, such 
 as Frank Nelson, Bridistow, Julius Rush, — 
 ah, and Kate. But she wouldn't believe it. 
 I think she's the one living person that knows 
 me well enough to say, * 'Tis a lie ! ' And, at 
 worst, the stigma could not rest upon me for 
 many days." And so this Quixotic cynic 
 went on brooding and arguing, seemingly 
 unable to come to a decision either one way 
 or the other. 
 
 Terence had the wisdom to sit silent while 
 the mental struggle progressed, for he knew 
 that were Simon really minded to take this, 
 the most insane and reckless step of his life-
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 1 I I 
 
 time, he would do so without further persua- 
 sion. And as the time went by the anxious 
 watcher's hope grew to a certainty. He 
 might have to wait long, perhaps for many 
 hours, but something told him that, by the 
 time he was again in the saddle, his point 
 would have been gained, and Simion's promise 
 given — the promise of one who had never 
 learned to break his word.
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ROBABLY there is nothing in the 
 whole universe, material or spiritual, 
 of elasticity so miraculous as a sanguine 
 man's hope ; nor would a year's search in 
 a crowded land reveal a more naturally 
 sanguine man than Terence Clancy. 
 
 When he descended to breakfast next 
 morning half his mental, clouds were dis- 
 persed ; the sly gleam was returning to his 
 eye, th-e vivid colour to his cheek. 
 
 " I hardly know you this morning," cried 
 Kate as he shook hands with her. *' And 
 certainly I needn't ask after our patient ? "
 
 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. I T 3 
 
 '* She's better, Kate, much better ; with 
 pulse and temperature both approaching the 
 normal. What a jolly bright morning it is, 
 to be sure! I'll be riding round with a dry- 
 jacket to-day anyway." 
 
 He sat down to breakfast with a good 
 appetite, and quickly inoculated Kate with 
 his good spirits. None so cheery and 
 charming as Terence in a good mood ; none 
 with a prettier knack of forestalling a 
 woman's wants, giving her an impression 
 that he is really thinking of her as well as 
 himself — a habit which differentiates a man 
 from the rest of his sex, and invests him 
 with the kind of attraction that belongs to 
 a white hare or a black swan. 
 
 To Kate, accustomed to Mr. Tredethlyn's 
 digestive woes and bland indifference to 
 the world outside his own waistcoat, her 
 brother-in-law's thoughtful little gallantries 
 appealed strongly this morning. She w^as 
 beginning reluctantly to admit that Nell's 
 
 VOL. ir. 28
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 infatuation for this man was not so blankly- 
 incomprehensible after all. 
 
 **As Nell is really better, I must send 
 a line over to my father; and I shall ask 
 him to pass on the good news to Simon, 
 who will doubtless have heard of, and been 
 anxious about, her illness." 
 
 So said Kate, who was well aware that 
 Simon's name was tabooed at the White 
 House, but who always made a point of 
 ignoring the whims and weaknesses of other 
 people. She was now surprised, however, 
 by Terence's cordial acceptance of her 
 proposition. 
 
 *' Certainly, certainly ; Simon should be 
 told of our patient's improvement. What 
 a fine old fellow he is, old Simon ! I wish, 
 Kate, I do wish," he added with feeling, 
 " that my happiness had been won at some 
 enemy's expense, instead of good old 
 Simon's." 
 
 It was the first time Kate had heard him
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. II5 
 
 speak in this strain, and it warmed her heart 
 yet more towards Terence. 
 
 He continued to speak kindly and 
 admiringly of Simon, for it eased his 
 conscience somewhat to do so ; to eulogize 
 his benefactor seemed to lighten the burden 
 of his obligation in some measure. What 
 did he not owe to this good friend ? 
 Simon had last night given his word to be 
 silent for a month — one whole month. In 
 four weeks a dozen opportunities might 
 arise. The hue and cry might die out 
 ere long in the ordinary course of things, and 
 meanwhile its energy would be expended 
 in a wrong direction. 
 
 Terence recalled with comfort the story 
 of Alcibiades and his dog. How the astute 
 Greek had cut his favourite animal's tail 
 to the end that his enemies, having a small 
 thing to fasten upon, might fail to notice 
 large ones. Chillington, he thought, in hot 
 pursuit of Simon Secretan, would never
 
 it6 the transgression of 
 
 dream of thinking about himself. They had 
 not merely a small thing to occupy their eager 
 tongues, but a stately quarry to hunt down. 
 As to whether the quarry might suffer in 
 the chase, why that was an awkward 
 question. But — but Simon was known for 
 a very proud man ; doubtless he would keep 
 aloof and scorn backbiters. And again, the 
 hue and cry could not possibly last long. 
 Some other scandal would certainly crop 
 up In due course ; in fine, Terence had 
 serious hopes that he would after all be 
 able to retain his practice and his position, 
 and continue to show a bold front to the 
 world. 
 
 Yet there was one dark cloud yet undis- 
 persed — the dread of Ezekiel Doidge. 
 Terence felt that this man would now become 
 little better than a'monomaniac, that his one 
 object in life would be to find out and 
 bitterly punish his sweetheart's betrayer. 
 That he was seemingly quiet now, going
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. I I 7 
 
 about his business as usual, keeping his 
 schemes, If he had any, to himself, rather 
 added to Terence's alarm. Doidge was the 
 one person he really feared, the only one 
 who would persist when public opinion had 
 cooled down, and ceased to trouble itself 
 about a victim. 
 
 The question of how to hoodwink this 
 dangerous foe was occupying Terence as he 
 strolled to and fro under his verandah after 
 breakfast, when a maid approached him with 
 this message — 
 
 " There's some one a-waitin' for you in the 
 consultin'-room, sir. Mr. Doidge, from 
 Chillington Mill." 
 
 In a moment a fresh brood of fears 
 swept down upon Terence and staggered 
 him. 
 
 " Let him take a seat, and I will come 
 immediately." He got these few words out 
 with difficulty. 
 
 The maid noticed his pallid looks, but put
 
 Tl8 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 them down to anxiety about her mistress. 
 She and the cook had been but three days 
 in the house, yet both were already under 
 the spell of Terence's fascination. It was his 
 lot to be loved almost at sight by men, 
 women, and children alike. 
 
 The moment Jane disappeared, Terence 
 entered by the French window, and sat 
 down in the breakfast-room to recover him- 
 self But his sickness of heart resisted all 
 argument. He was in deadly fear. He 
 could not persuade himself but that Doidge 
 had come to denounce him — or worse. 
 
 Finding that delay only helped to unman 
 him, he went palpitating down the stairs, and 
 hovered palpitating outside the consulting- 
 room door. 
 
 '' He may have chanced upon some clue," 
 his white lips muttered. "He may be 
 violent — he may kill me before I can summon 
 help. I will never face him unarmed again, 
 if — if I but come safely off this time."
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. II9 
 
 At that moment, Jack Symes's noisy whistle 
 came down the passage from the surgery, 
 and Terence could have asked no sweeter 
 music. It nerved him to turn the handle 
 and face his enemy. 
 
 Doidge's friendly greeting brought such 
 a revulsion of feeling, that Terence's brain 
 whirled. At first he could hardly tell what 
 the man said or how he looked. 
 
 " Lord bless me, sir, I reckon you're as 
 much in want of medicine as I be ! " 
 
 " I've been overworked lately, Mr. Doidge, 
 and have had little sleep — and my wife's 
 illness has made me anxious." 
 
 " I hope she'm better, doctor ? " 
 
 *' Thanks, yes ; Mrs.' Clancy is much 
 better this morning." 
 
 '\ That's well ; us d be terrible sorry if she 
 was to be laid up for long." 
 
 " You are very good. But about yourself 
 — you've come to consult me ? " 
 
 Terence could now venture upon a good
 
 I20 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 look at his patient ; he liked what he saw 
 but little. 
 
 Doidge had the strained look that speaks 
 to '' the perilous stuff that weighs upon the 
 heart." His pale face was a little flushed, 
 his cheeks deeply sunken ; his eyes looked 
 strange, with a gleam of dry fierce triumph 
 in them, a kind of haggard joy, as of a worn- 
 out man who draws near to a wished-for goal. 
 
 The doctor quickly gathered that the 
 man's nervous system was thoroughly un- 
 hinged, and his mind in much the same 
 condition. While examining him physically, 
 he held his patient in conversation without 
 difficulty ; indeed, poor Doidge was too much 
 excited to support silence, had it been 
 desired. 
 
 His talk was chiefly of the gathering to be 
 held in the town hall next evening for the 
 purpose of Inaugurating the new cricket club. 
 From that subject he seemed unable to dis- 
 entangle his mind for a moment.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 12 1 
 
 This concentration of his thoughts upon 
 a subject that could hardly possess much 
 innate interest for him — seeing that his offer 
 of a piece of meadow land had some time 
 since been refused by the embryo club in 
 favour of Mr. Secretan's proferred site, and 
 that the club was in fact a creation of Simon's 
 — was somewhat strange. It might have 
 alarmed Terence, had not his thoughts for 
 the present been strongly drawn in another 
 direction. But for the moment he was all 
 medical man ; there were points in this 
 patient s physical condition that puzzled him. 
 Allowing for the man's morbid mental state, 
 for the severe emotional strain lately put 
 upon him, for some constitutional weakness 
 easily discernible, there remained an un- 
 accountable something, a dark corner in 
 which Terence's subtle mind was at present 
 blindly groping. 
 
 From student days Clancy had always 
 shown a marked talent for diagnosis. A
 
 122 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 famous physician, under whom he had been 
 fortunate enough to serve at St. Bartholo- 
 mew's, had once said to him : '' As far as 
 talent goes, you have the promise of a career 
 before you. You possess a rare faculty of 
 sound analysis, combined with keen intuitive 
 perception — the man's gift wedded to the 
 woman's. But, remember, talent without 
 character is a haftless blade ; stiffen your 
 character, youngster ; brace your will to face 
 the first ten years of drudgery, and you'll 
 one day be a great physician." 
 
 Terence's double talent was hard at work 
 now. Intuition had leaped at something, and 
 was now waiting for analysis to prove foot 
 by foot the ground which had been cleared 
 at a bound. 
 
 " You're a hard-exercise man, I believe, 
 Mr. Doidge ? " asked the doctor in a con- 
 versational way, as he withdrew the stetho- 
 scope. Do you over-exert yourself some- 
 times ? "
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 12, 
 
 ** Are you talking of exercise ? Well, 
 yes, I'm not exactly a loafer. But I haven't 
 had my strength for some time ; can't throw 
 the sacks about and shame they lazy hounds 
 o' mine as I used sometimes." 
 
 " I wouldn't overtask myself, if I were 
 you. You're a bit out of sorts just now 
 ■ — nerves out of order, and that sort of 
 thing. You should rest and avoid all excite- 
 ment for a week or two. I'll send you a 
 nerve sedative, and other medicine to 
 follow." 
 
 ** Psha ! as If I didn't know all that," cried 
 Doidge, rudely. " The very thing I've 
 come here for is to be wound up for to- 
 morrow evening. I want to sleep to-night 
 for an hour or two, just for a change, and 
 get fit for — what I have to do." 
 
 Clancy's mind swung back suddenly from 
 far-reaching vistas of speculation to the plain 
 hard ground of personal interest and safety. 
 His fears were alert again In a moment.
 
 124 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 What did this man mean by his — '' what I 
 have to do ? " 
 
 " Give me something to screw me up," 
 cried the patient in a peremptory tone. '* I'm 
 all of a shake, and there's a stiff job before 
 me." 
 
 " Drop it, whatsoever it be ; you're not fit 
 for any excitement." 
 
 " I will be fit ; if you can't give me a 
 screw-up, damme, I'll go to another doctor !" 
 
 " Go where you please, my good fellow ; 
 every honest doctor would give you a similar 
 warning." 
 
 " You'm right, sir; you'm right. I'm all 
 unhinged-like, you mustn't heed what I say. 
 Will you give me a sleeping-draught o' some 
 sort ? I must sleep to-night, for I'm bound 
 to be present at the cricket meetin'. My 
 heart's set on that, for there's work for me 
 to do. More than that I w^on't say at 
 present — and I reckon you'll be in the hall 
 yourself, doctor ? The whole place '11 be there,
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 25 
 
 you see, and pretty nigh the whole neigh- 
 bourhood, too, from Lord Bridlstow down to 
 the smallest farmer. They say this will be 
 the crack club o' the county, and perhaps 
 give a big lift to county cricket. Yes, the 
 whole district will be gathered in our town 
 hall to-morrow night, mister, — and I'll be 
 among them, if I have to be carried there on 
 a shutter ! " 
 
 This speech sounded a fresh clang of 
 alarm for Terence. Was it, then, just as he 
 had feared ? Was this wretched man actually 
 brewing some scheme of vengeance, hugging 
 it close, so as to hit the harder when he did 
 speak ? Clancy was absolutely in the dark 
 as to what clue, or fancied clue, the crazy 
 fellow possessed ; he might turn and rend 
 any one. It was only clear that he was upon 
 a wrong scent at present. 
 
 After some further desultory conversation, 
 Doidge left the house abruptly, jumped into 
 his high-wheeled gig, and drove furiously
 
 126 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 away. From the west window of his consult- 
 ing-room, Terence watched him rattle down 
 the steep hill to the town at break-neck 
 speed. 
 
 '' No hope of that," muttered the watcher 
 with dry lips. '' No hope of his coming to 
 smash, I suppose ? Fate will be careful to 
 preserve him as an instrument of torture for 
 a poor devil like me, who never gets a 
 chance of going straight ! "
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ISSHE town hall of Chllllngton was an 
 
 ancient granite structure supported 
 
 upon arches, having on one side of it the 
 market-place, on the other a broad open 
 space of gravel. As you came down the 
 steep hill leading from the railway station, 
 and paused on the bridge for a patronizing 
 glance at the little town, the old hall made 
 a good note in the picture ; being well in 
 accord as regards size, style, and colour, 
 with its surroundings. A stranger of 
 moderate enthusiasm might quite well 
 venture to pronounce it " respectable," and 
 the townsfolk would be much chagrined at 
 so lukewarm a verdict.
 
 128 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 The uses and functions of the bulldinof 
 were manifold. It would serve as a concert- 
 room for the Amateur Musical Society one 
 nieht, for a relicTious gatherlnor the next ; 
 for a public sale In the afternoon, a private 
 ball in the evening. Every one with any 
 pretensions to be a public character had 
 stumbled through a few halting sentences 
 in the big room over the pillars ; indeed, its 
 stage had been trodden by the shivering 
 amateurs, musical, dramatic and other, of 
 several generations. Of the well-known 
 voices uplifted from time to time In the town 
 hall, none was more popular with an audience 
 than Mr. Tredethlyn's. Standing upon 
 this familiar platform, with a Chlllington 
 gathering spread out before him In one 
 broad smile, the squire-parson was at his 
 best. He was trammelled neither by Mr. 
 Secretan's intensity, nor the vicar s nervous- 
 ness, nor Lord Bridistow's dearth of words ; 
 so that every one used to go away the more
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, I 29 
 
 cheerful for his sly jokes and genial home- 
 thrusts, that gave each In turn the laugh 
 over his neighbour. And the excitement 
 of public speaking always had a good effect 
 upon his liver. 
 
 Mr. Tredethlyn, as It happened, was to 
 be the principal speaker at the cricket 
 meeting mentioned In the last chapter. 
 He was to publicly accept, on behalf of the 
 committee, Mr. Secretan's gift of a cricket- 
 ground ; gracefully thank Mr. Doldge for 
 his equally kind offer, with a neat side 
 glance or two at the fine public spirit so 
 often exhibited by him ; and afterwards to 
 praise and thank every one who expected 
 it — that is to say, every one who had moved 
 hand, foot, or tongue in the Interests of 
 the embryo club. A man needs a good 
 deal of simplicity, or good nature, or 
 hypocrisy — or perhaps all three in com- 
 bination — to spread individual praise in this 
 lavish manner, while at the same time tick- 
 
 VOL. II. 29
 
 130 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 ling the vanity of an entire audience, and 
 keeping up his own dignity ; but our parson 
 was quite equal to the task assigned him by 
 the universal voice of the district. 
 
 To suit this important occasion the hall 
 had been arranged in a special fashion. As 
 the gathering was to be of a friendly, rather 
 than formal character, and as it was thought 
 advisable to allow a certain amount of free 
 discussion among the audience, the chairman 
 was placed, together with his green baize 
 table and bell, about the centre of one side 
 of the long room ; while the platform was 
 left unoccupied — an arrangement which put 
 every man on the same level, and tended 
 to promote good-fellowship. 
 
 On the chairman's right and left were 
 seated Lord Bridistow, the vicar, Mr. 
 Secretan, and half a dozen other members 
 of the committee ; before him was another 
 green table ringed with newspaper reporters, 
 while the remainder of the room was packed
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 with the densest throng that had ever been 
 squeezed into the place. For farm-carts, 
 gigs, and carriages of every description had 
 been streaming into the town for so many- 
 hours, that by this time quite a large area 
 of country must have drained itself into 
 Chillington town. 
 
 In fact the inauguration of this new club 
 was an event of prodigious importance, 
 owing partly to the great prowess this year 
 of the county eleven, to which the town 
 furnished a brace of crack bowlers, and the 
 consequent spread of cricketing fervour. 
 Even the ladies had been bitten by the 
 prevailing mania, and clusters of them were 
 now hanging over the flag-trimmed front 
 of the gallery. They had covered the un- 
 occupied platform with flowers, and caused 
 the walls to bloom with such a crop of 
 mottoes, devices, and decorations as the 
 emotional condition of the neighbourhood 
 seemed to demand. Had the conventional
 
 132 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 intelligent foreigner been among them as 
 they gazed upon the thickening throng 
 beneath, he would doubtless have assumed 
 that some question of vast national import- 
 ance was about to be broached. 
 
 When Mr. Tredethlyn's figure rose to 
 its height, and his comely face beamed a 
 welcome to this great audience, the buzzing 
 murmurs ceased. No need for any tapping 
 upon tables or appeals for silence, for every 
 man felt that he was about to hear just 
 what he would have said himself — had he 
 possessed the knack of speaking. 
 
 Kate Tredethlyn, looking down at her 
 father — she had left Nell in charge of a 
 friend at her earnest entreaty — felt proud 
 of him as the smooth, strong current of his 
 speech began to flow. His periods had the 
 ease and quietude of perfect self-confidence, 
 his grip of his hearers was both immediate 
 and firm. When he ceased, they all felt 
 that the proceedings had opened perfectly,
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 the right note had been struck. There was 
 warm applause. 
 
 As the chairman had encouraged free 
 discussion of one or two moot points, there 
 then followed a desultory debate, with 
 fragmentary speeches put forth here and 
 there by mumbling old men or stammering 
 young gentlemen. 
 
 When this had progressed for some time 
 without much advancement of business, 
 Lord Bridistow rose on the chairman's right 
 hand, and plunged with characteristic abrupt- 
 ness into speaking. 
 
 His lordship was a square, bluff, ruddy- 
 faced man, much respected not only as the 
 chief magnate of the neighbourhood, but as 
 a practical common-sense landlord who lived 
 on his estate, and managed it better than 
 most men. He never pampered his tenants 
 into discontent, as Simon had done long ago, 
 and irretrievably ; nor fell into an opposite 
 extreme of severity. There was much sound
 
 134 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 judgment about Lord Bridistow, though no 
 living soul had ever called him clever. 
 Indeed he exhibited so few intellectual 
 symptoms that Mrs. French-Chichester — 
 who was nevertheless well-pleased to have 
 him as an ornament to her drawing-room 
 as often as might be — used to say that the 
 taking of his pass degree at Oxford had 
 exhausted his brain for ever. 
 
 " The soil of his mind ! " she would 
 exclaim, when people praised his farming ; 
 '* need never trouble him much ; it brought 
 forth just once — but there'll be no rotation 
 of crops there anyway." 
 
 " Mr. Chairman, and gentlemen," began 
 his lordship — '* and perhaps I might add, 
 ladies — only the latter can hardly be said to 
 be among us just now ; in fact are quite 
 above our heads, as they're apt to be on 
 most occasions." (Here there was a loud 
 roar from the crowd, with whom a small 
 joke went a long way.) '' Your eloquent
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. I 35 
 
 chairman has just put everything before you 
 in such a — er — what-d'ye-call-'em manner 
 that there isn't much left for me to say. 
 But, judging from your enthusiasm to-night, 
 I should imagine the club has a long life 
 before it. You all know what laurels our 
 noble county has been plucking — er — I 
 mean reaping this last season — and I think 
 we're mighty proud of our little contribution 
 to the team — our two bowlers." (Tremendous 
 cheering here.) ** There's Dick Yelverton, 
 now, has covered us with glory." (Here 
 Yelverton, a sheepish young fellow seated 
 in the front row, was suffused with blushes, 
 and searched the floor for an opening to 
 dive through.) *' I'm bound to praise his 
 skill myself ; for when he bowled to me at 
 a net last summer, he took my wicket thr^e 
 times in five balls — and that in my own park, 
 too ; his break from the leg broke me 
 altogether." 
 
 Lord Bridistow stopped to chuckle here ;
 
 136 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 he liked this joke even better than the other, 
 and felt that he had justified his cordial 
 reception. 
 
 " However, I'm getting outside my brief 
 now, and must return to business. What 
 I should be speaking of is the captaincy of 
 the new club. You've chosen your com- 
 mittee, decided how often they are to meet 
 — capital fun it is, mapping out other people's 
 tasks, eh ? — settled the conditions of member- 
 ship, and all that ; but as yet there has been 
 no mention made of your captain " 
 
 ''Yourself, my lord! Us would like 'ee 
 for captain right well ! " cried several ardent 
 spirits from different parts of the room. 
 
 ** Myself? — no; couldn't be done, my 
 good fellows ; couldn't be done at any 
 price. I live too far off; and there's my 
 own village club to be looked after. I'll 
 name the right man for you in a minute — 
 but of course I'm doing everything topsy- 
 turvy. We haven't even formally accepted
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 Mr. Secretan's offer of a cricket- ground 
 yet ; but, as we all have sense enough to 
 accept a present when it falls in our way, 
 that's soon done. Mr. Chairman, shall we 
 have a show of hands ? " 
 Mr. Tredethlyn rose again. 
 "All you who agree to accept Mr. 
 Secretan's offer, hold up your hands." 
 
 The room forthwith sprouted with uplifted 
 arms and hands, but there was no attempt 
 at a cheer — not a voice was raised in friend- 
 liness or gratitude. 
 
 Lord Bridistow, still on his feet, looked 
 uncomfortable and hesitated. He had 
 expected, as a matter of course, some 
 enthusiasm at this point, something to give 
 promise of a cordial vote of thanks, such 
 as he was now about to move. It had not 
 occurred to him that a good fellow like 
 Secretan, for whom he himself had a great 
 liking and respect, and with whose efforts 
 for the public weal he had always been in
 
 138 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 sympathy, could be other than popular. 
 Nor, indeed, was It in his power to 
 comprehend that inscrutable phenomenon, 
 popularity — a receipt for whose production 
 is upon every man's lips, but within hardly 
 any man's knowledge. 
 
 It was not the viscount's habit, however, 
 to shirk a duty, pleasant or the contrary ; 
 and his temper was somewhat ruffled at the 
 marked ingratitude of Chillington. He pro- 
 ceeded in a voice somewhat firmer and 
 louder than before — 
 
 '' I think, gentlemen, we may be apt to 
 take this gift of a good-sized piece of land 
 too much as a matter of course. I, for one, 
 feel on behalf of the town and district par- 
 ticularly grateful for Mr. Secretan's generous 
 present. I have a great admiration for his 
 public spirit. I've known him as a friend 
 for some years, and he's about the only man 
 of my acquaintance who does honestly care 
 about the good of other people. The rest
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. I 39 
 
 of US get beyond number one when duty 
 calls pretty loud : never without that sum- 
 mons — and always with the expectation of 
 a good solid return of praise and thanks. 
 If we get no real gratitude, by Jove, we 
 thump and hammer till people pretend a 
 little ! That's what I do. Virtue may be its 
 own reward, but that's not good enough for 
 me. Well, now, before moving a cordial 
 vote of thanks to Mr. Secretan, I'm going 
 first to propose him as the most fit, proper, 
 and efficient captain the Chillington Cricket 
 Club could possibly possess — and may we 
 prevail upon him to accept the post ! " 
 
 At this point Simon rose and coldly asked 
 to be allowed to say a few words. Kate, 
 looking down anxiously from the gallery, 
 knew well what their tenour would be. She 
 understood this proud-humble gentleman 
 better than any one in that crowded room ; 
 perhaps she was the only person who under- 
 stood him at all. Simon would deprecate
 
 140 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 any thanks for his trifling gift, and flatly 
 refuse the honour of the captaincy. 
 
 But Simon was not destined to make even 
 this brief speech ; for as he stood looking 
 somewhat haughtily over the heads of his 
 audience, some one on his right also arose, 
 and making his way along the front of the 
 crowd, took up a position beside the re- 
 porters' table. It was Ezeklel Doldge. 
 
 There was a profound hush In the large 
 hall, for, though the townsfolk were well 
 accustomed to seeing Doidge constantly on 
 his legs at Local Board meetings and the 
 like, objecting, interfering, browbeating 
 everybody, it was felt that something strange 
 was about to happen now ; nor could any 
 fail to perceive that the pale stern man who 
 leaned upon the long table was striving to 
 master some stronger passion than any ques- 
 tion of this evening could possibly have 
 aroused. 
 
 Kate Tredethlyn and several other ladles,
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. I4T 
 
 wondering at the oppressive silence that had 
 befallen the assembly, craned their necks 
 nervously over the front of the gallery. 
 The chairman and his immediate neighbours 
 drew their heads together, asking each other 
 in whispers what this peculiar silence might 
 mean. Secretan, after a casual glance at 
 Doidge, re-seated himself with the indifferent 
 air of one who cares little about the pro- 
 ceedings one way or the other. Then 
 Doidge's low voice fell hot and quivering 
 upon the silence. 
 
 " I suppose I ought to apologize for troub- 
 ling this large gathering with a personal 
 matter ; yet you'll presently see that 'tis a 
 public matter, too, and let no man hinder 
 me, for what I have to say I will say. I'm 
 goin' to speak o' her that was my betrothed 
 wife. But, understand me, I'm not here to 
 stir you up about her sad fate, but only to 
 set before you, as fair as I can, what I know 
 about it, what I haven't yet whispered to a
 
 142 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 livln' soul. I've kept the secret until this 
 moment because I think my accusation 
 should be set forth in public, answered in 
 public, — if any answer there be. I shall 
 make no statement that I wouldn't repeat 
 on oath afore a court o' justice ; and as the 
 law o' the land cares naught for the crime 
 that I'm goin' to speak of, I look upon you, 
 my fellow-townsmen and neighbours, as 
 constitutin' the only available tribunal. I 
 shall bear myself afore you, as afore a real 
 court, solemnly conscious o' the weight o' 
 the accusation I bring." 
 
 The speaker paused for a moment, for 
 self-control grew more difficult as he felt the 
 heart of the large audience beginning to beat 
 with his own. He had spoken slowly, with 
 the strained deliberation of a strong-willed 
 man mastering strong passion, but the heart- 
 flame which underlay his quiet words was 
 spreading through his listeners. Every pair 
 of eyes was glued to the pale working face
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 43 
 
 of the man who seemed to be looking beyond 
 them. 
 
 " When it was first borne in upon me," 
 Ezekiel resumed in a voice even lower than 
 before, but which reached all ears, '* that she 
 wished to be free, I suspected that some 
 gentleman had been tamperin' with my girl. 
 She — the woman I loved — was true and 
 loyal by natur' ; only the subtle flattery of 
 some one above her — with a kind o' claim in 
 her eyes to be as her conscience, to know 
 right an' wrong better than herself, could 
 have wore away her faithfulness. I felt that. 
 I knew as no light temptation could have 
 twisted her so, and I taxed her wi' the name 
 o' the only gentleman that she ever saw 
 much of, and she admitted havin' a weakness 
 towards him. She let me believe — and she 
 always spoke true, always true — as this 
 gentleman had won her heart from me. An' 
 I freed her ; resolvin' to watch over and 
 guard her from the danger that I saw ahead.
 
 144 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 But I failed in the duty I had set myself. 
 Mayhap, a more vigilant guardian might 
 have saved her from ruin ; but there was no 
 mother to watch over her, only a jealous 
 fool — a self-confident jealous fool, who neg- 
 lected even to warn her father and friends. 
 Well, when she went off to Lymport on a 
 visit, away from home and danger, I breathed 
 free again ; but she only answered one o' 
 my letters — and that answer scared me. 
 
 ** I was gettin' so anxious that, on her 
 return from Lymport, I followed Mary and 
 saw him meet her by the canal bridge below 
 Hollacomb Farm. . . . Happen you'll say 
 that I jumped at his guilt too soon, but 
 presently I'm goin' to read you his condem- 
 nation writ in her own hand. . . . ril hurry 
 over what remains to be said. How did I 
 come to be possessed of the letter ? I'll tell 
 you that — then read it if I can. After that 
 interview by the canal I scarce left her un- 
 watched an hour ; I was always prowlin
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 45 
 
 about the woods near the farm — and he met 
 her most every day. I covered him with my 
 gun once and again — and God knows why 
 I didn't draw trigger. . . . Well, on the 
 mornin' o' the big flood I was called away 
 up-stream to save some drowin' cattle, and 
 overdid myself over the job, so that I had 
 to bide quiet at home, and couldn't get to 
 use my legs again till the evenin'. Then, 
 by the time I had got half-way dov/n to my 
 usual beat in the Hollacomb woods, young 
 Bob Pethick, — that's Mary's cousin, who 
 used mostly to run her messages for her — 
 met me with this letter. He had been in my 
 pay since her return, and was under orders 
 to bring me at once every scrap of writin* 
 that she might entrust to him. Two or 
 three times he had been to my place with the 
 note, and each time found me out. It was 
 directed to him — and — and here it is in 
 my hand now. . . ." 
 
 A deep thrill passed through the crowd as 
 
 VOL. II. 30
 
 146 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Doidge tried to steady the fluttering hand 
 which held the paper. The severe strain 
 under which he was labouring oppressed 
 them strangely ; but his will still held good, 
 his voice was still steady enough to be heard 
 throughout the hall as he read — 
 
 "I thought and hoped never to forgive you — but I 
 could not live hating you. To make excuses for you 
 was my only comfort; and once I gave way to that, 
 allowed myself to think that only Fate had parted us, 
 and that you sometimes grieved for me, I could live 
 over again the happy time when you loved me. But, 
 my love, my love, I can bear it no longer — I cannot 
 face what is now before me. I have no strength left to 
 bear it, and so I send you these last words — and with 
 them my forgiveness. The kind old canal — my old, 
 old friend — will bear me away to the river, and the river 
 to the sea, and none will know my true story. My father 
 and aunts will be spared that, and poor Ezekiel, too. I 
 think it would half kill him to know the worst of me ; 
 and he would be a dangerous enemy to you. But have 
 no fears. I have destroyed every scrap of your hand- 
 writing, every trifle that could compromise you ; and, 
 lastly, I have so arranged things that my death will seem 
 an accident. My lost love, there will be no breath upon 
 your dear name — it will never be coujDled with mine, for
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 147 
 
 none can read what is only written upon my heart. 
 Farewell, my love, my dear love. Grieve for me a little 
 — oh, let me think you will grieve for me a little ! " 
 
 Ezekiel's voice was harsh and broken for 
 the last few sentences, and he clung to the 
 table for support. Then he straightened 
 himself suddenly and turned upon Secretan, 
 crying with a snarl like a savage beast's, 
 ** Take your letter — it is yours f' — and fell 
 senseless upon the floor. 
 
 Many had expected to see him fall, it 
 being obvious that the man was labouring 
 with a task beyond his strength. He was 
 lifted and carried into the air without a 
 moment's delay. The throng turned towards 
 him but for a moment as he was carried 
 past, their mental faculties being concen- 
 trated upon the gentleman whose arraign- 
 ment had thus passed suddenly from the 
 stage of whispering in back streets to open 
 denouncement before a public assembly. 
 
 " Now, Simon — now ! " whispered Kate
 
 148 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Tredethlyn between her clenched teeth. 
 ** Now stand up and throw back this 
 miserable lie in their faces. Quick — quick ! 
 Some of them believe it ! " 
 
 She uttered a sigh of relief as Simon 
 sprang to his feet with the words she looked 
 for written clear on his face. He seemed to 
 have been stunned for a moment, but now 
 uprose, his whole figure dilating with the 
 hot wrath of an honourable man falsely 
 accused. Kate panted with anxiety when 
 his hand went out as though to make way 
 for burning words to follow. The next 
 moment she was faint and sick with dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 Simon's eyes, challenging his audience 
 as though daring some one to meet them, 
 lighted upon another pair of eyes, full of 
 piteous appeal, and a white drawn face 
 upturned to his — the face of the man who 
 had but the other night won his promise of 
 silence. It was the direst moment of
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 49 
 
 Simon's life. He might live to ten times 
 man's allotted span and never know such 
 another. The remembrance of the promise 
 went through him like a rod of white-hot 
 iron. He could not break it; it was not in 
 him to break his word solemnly plighted. 
 He was scorched, burnt up with shame, but 
 forced by the bitter strength of his honour to 
 stand dumbly staring, as the murmurs around 
 him grew to jeers, and angry scorn leaped 
 into all faces. 
 
 " Speak, old fellow, for God's sake, and 
 silence them ! " cried Lord Bridistow's voice 
 behind him. 
 
 But not a word came. Simon stood 
 rigidly facing the storm of denunciation 
 with ghastly looks that seemed an admission 
 of his guilt. 
 
 Jack Syme, leaving Doidge in charge of 
 another doctor, re-entered the room at this 
 moment, and took in the situation with a 
 gloating eye. So complete a triumph over
 
 I50 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 his enemy as this was far above the level 
 of his expectation. 
 
 '' Gentlemen," he cried in a strong firm 
 voice edged with sarcasm, '' your intended 
 captain appears to have no answer to make 
 to this accusation. Perhaps he is too proud 
 to speak — too superior to the common herd 
 of us to care about vindicating himself. If 
 so, I believe I shall only give voice to the 
 general sense of this great assembly if I ask 
 him to step down to our level for a moment 
 and speak his mind. He is accused not 
 only of wronging this girl, but of egging her 
 on to make away with herself in order to 
 screen him, or at any rate of taking no steps 
 to prevent such a climax. I shouldn't 
 myself care to keep silence under this double 
 indictment ; and I think even a gentleman in 
 his high position might condescend to a 
 word or two of explanation. From a man 
 who poses not only as a public benefactor, 
 but as a mender of public morals, we
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 151 
 
 assuredly have a right to expect something 
 better than haughty silence." 
 
 This brief speech was received with loud 
 applause. There was a closing in upon 
 the spot where Simon stood, and not a 
 few threatening gestures from those near 
 him. 
 
 The threats and upraised hands energized 
 Simon in a moment. He struck his fist 
 upon the table in a spasm of fury, crying 
 aloud — 
 
 '' I have nothing to say. Take that for 
 an answer, you curs — you curs ! Make way 
 for me there ! " 
 
 They fell back from him right and left as 
 he strode to the door ; and not until his eyes 
 were off them did the storm of hisses and 
 jeers break forth again.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 HE proceedings at the town hall that 
 night made a deep and lasting Im- 
 pression upon Simon. The obloquy he had 
 undergone submerged his mind In bitterness, 
 until all its qualities save one were obliterated, 
 like the details of a flooded landscape. 
 There seemed to be nothing of him left 
 standing but his pride. He felt that he was 
 made up of pride and nothing else, as a man 
 with a deep wound seems made up of pain. 
 
 The sting of Doldge's accusation was lost 
 in the deeper pang caused by the immediate 
 public acceptance of his guilt. This was the 
 " quick of the ulcer " — the consciousness
 
 TRAASGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. I 53 
 
 that his friends and neighbours, whom for 
 years he had been endeavouring to benefit, 
 should be ready at a moment's notice to put 
 him down not only as a heartless libertine 
 of the conventional type, but as a hypo- 
 crite whose whole outward life was a lie. 
 He knew nothing of the creeping rumours 
 that had been eating away his good name 
 lately ; and he was too hard stricken to 
 appraise judicially the crushing weight of 
 evidence that had been brought against him. 
 As for the direction of Mar^-'s farewell letter 
 to himself, that was easily explained. He 
 had offered to forward any communication 
 she might wish to make to Terence, and had 
 acquiesced in her suggested precaution that 
 Terence's name should appear nowhere in 
 the epistle or its address. For that damning 
 piece of evidence he might thank his own 
 careless good nature. But Mary's treacher- 
 ous tampering with his name to Ezekiel — 
 for no one who listened to the man could
 
 154 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 believe that he was speaking other than the 
 truth as to this — was a piece of meanness 
 which Simon could only add to his general 
 indictment against human nature. 
 
 He felt now that he could turn nowhither 
 for justice or even common kindness. The 
 tradesmen and farmers with whom he had 
 dealt so long, the friends whose hands had 
 clasped his a hundred times, were all alike 
 eager to condemn him. Had he spent a life- 
 time in building up the reputation of a grace- 
 less blackguard, they could not have been 
 more speedy or unanimous. He had noticed 
 satisfaction at his disgrace upon many faces. 
 He believed that when his contract with 
 Terence should have been fulfilled, when the 
 real culprit had departed, having confessed 
 the truth in writing, these eager detractors 
 would regret the necessity of admitting his 
 innocence. Such was the natural attitude of 
 a mind thrown out of poise by this un- 
 expected blow.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. I 55 
 
 All the next day Simon spent up in his 
 observatory or striding over the moor, 
 nursing his wrath and drugging his sick 
 pride with cynical aphorisms. In order to 
 be independent and uninterrupted he took 
 food enough with him to last till nightfall, 
 and the moment he returned from tramping 
 the moorland, locked himself into the ob- 
 servatory, resolving to be deaf to all 
 knocking. 
 
 But no one came near him ; and though it 
 accorded exactly with both wish and expec- 
 tation, this desertion by his friends aggra- 
 vated his bitterness. As the long day wore 
 on and never a knock made itself heard, his 
 heart was like lead. He passed from hot 
 indignation to sullen brooding. Terence, at 
 least, might surely have come to thank the 
 man who was suffering in his stead. So he 
 said to himself; yet instinct whispered that 
 Terence would certainly avoid him like 
 poison, would slink about dreading to meet
 
 156 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 him at every turn, fearing — even after last 
 night's proof of good faith — lest he should 
 repudiate his quixotic bargain. 
 
 " Terence is nothing but a poor craven," 
 he mused, '' and not for a moment worth the 
 sacrifice. But then — there's Nell." 
 
 He fell to reflecting on Nell's future. 
 Terence was right ; last night's experience 
 had fully justified his forecast as to the 
 professional ruin which discovery must bring 
 upon him In this neighbourhood. And to 
 a man of his poor fibre this must mean, as 
 Simon clearly perceived, life-ruin also. 
 Terence had none of the stiffness necessary 
 for a stand-up fight with adversity. Were 
 the practice to leave him, and with it all 
 chance of buying another, he would become 
 the mere plaything of Fortune, sink lower 
 and lower, until he reached the dregs of 
 society. And Nell must needs share his 
 degradation. 
 
 Simon perceived now, however, with the
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, I 57 
 
 clearness which is so apt to come just too 
 late, that his promise was an act of almost 
 criminal generosity. He should have fur- 
 nished Terence with a large sum of money 
 rather than have consented to this insane, 
 dishonourable silence. But Terence had 
 wrought upon Simon by his fatal persuasive 
 faculty, and used Nell as a lever for the up- 
 setting of his judgment. There remained 
 only for Simon to break his word — in other 
 words, to cease to be himself — or to lie upon 
 the bed prepared by his own folly. '' Terence 
 will dun me for money at the end of the 
 month, anyway," he concluded with a hard 
 laugh. 
 
 But one day's hiding of his head was enough 
 for Simon. Pride and obstinacy alike de- 
 manded that there should be no skulkinor 
 from the public view. He made up his 
 mind to ride about as usual, look all men in 
 the face, and dare them to accuse him. This 
 course seemed not only an easy, but a com-
 
 158 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 forting one, as the most heroic line of conduct 
 always seems, until tried. 
 
 To-morrow was market day at Chillington, 
 and everybody would be abroad. Here was 
 just the opportunity his present mood craved 
 for showing his high scorn of these false 
 accusers. And perchance — this thought 
 underpropped his harder ones — there would 
 be found some few loyal enough to come for- 
 ward and show that they believed in him still. 
 
 Next morning, his reckless, heroical mood 
 still holding good, Simon proceeded to carry 
 his promising plan into execution. Having 
 breakfasted and received Mrs. Henley's morn- 
 ing report of Sir Hamo's health, he buckled 
 on his proof-armour of pride, mounted his 
 tall bay, Philanthropy, and headed him north- 
 wards. And probably no haughtier-looking 
 gentleman had ever ridden along the ancient 
 road to Chillington ; for Simon's bitterness, 
 finding its way to his face, seemed to have 
 limned it anew with a harsh hand.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 59 
 
 Upon reaching Chillington bridge, he found 
 himself among the accustomed group of 
 loungers, and treated them one and all to a 
 fierce glare. Ordinarily there would have 
 been a general touching of hats, and one 
 or two would have come forward with the 
 morning's news. Not a finger was lifted on 
 this occasion. 
 
 Naturally their principal topic to-day had 
 been Mr. Secretan's disgrace, and the man 
 who had handled it with keenest relish was 
 now hanging over the bridge parapet with 
 nervous unconcern. Another man jerked 
 his thumb towards the horseman, cocked 
 his hat rakishly, and grinned broadly at his 
 friends. The bolder spirits grinned back, 
 others shuffled awkwardly with their feet ; 
 not a word of greeting was offered, good 
 or bad. 
 
 Already the man who had come here ex- 
 pressly to show how little he cared, was 
 suffering keenly ; in fact, the sensitive, thin-
 
 l6o THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 skinned Simon had undertaken a task for 
 which the possession of a bull's hide was the 
 first essential. But if his nerves were quiver- 
 ing, his obstinacy was firm as a rock ; he 
 would rather die than turn back now. 
 
 He rode on into the High Street, where 
 the very stones seemed to cry shame upon 
 him. It was crowded with familiar faces, 
 and his disgrace was written upon every one. 
 Each particular glance he met carried its 
 own special pang. Men stopped to point 
 him out to their neighbours ; tradesmen 
 came to shop doors to gaze at the brazen 
 wrong-doer. No man addressed him, but 
 women talked of him to each other in quasi- 
 audible tones. He heard the town's opinion 
 of him at every stride of his horse. The 
 very air seemed to scorch him. Those who 
 hated Simon might well be jubilant this 
 morning. But no one gave him the opening 
 for which he was panting by the time he had 
 got halfway up the street ; nor would any
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, l6l 
 
 man meet the challenge of his eyes. Twice 
 up and down the High Street he rode at a 
 foot's pace, until his heart was sobbing and 
 a rushing sound was filling his ears. Then 
 he dismounted, giving his horse to he knew 
 not whom, and drifted through the archway 
 into the market-place, too much stunned to 
 know whither he was going ; and here his 
 distress was destined to reach a climax. 
 
 The market-place consisted of an inner 
 covered portion, under which all the neigh- 
 bourhood's traffic, in poultry, eggs, fish, 
 coloured handkerchiefs, cheap millinery, and 
 a score of other things, was concentrated 
 once a week, and an outer open space, where 
 were the permanent stalls of butchers and 
 other tradesmen of the town. Up till noon 
 on market-day the central part would always 
 be packed close with a chaffering throng, 
 which fringed away into thinner groups 
 through four arched openings. 
 
 It so happened that the butter-and-cream 
 
 VOL. II. 31
 
 I 62 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Stall, just within the archway through which 
 Simon entered, was to-day in charge of the 
 Mrs. Parminter whose flooded cottage we 
 saw him dlsencumberino^ of furniture on the 
 day of the great flood. This redoubtable 
 woman had since then been living with a 
 sister, whom, after an acrid silence of some 
 years, she had found it convenient to pro- 
 pitiate. But it was a hard thing thus to eat 
 humble-pie to a sister much better ofl" than 
 herself, and Mrs. Parminter had not forgotten 
 to whom she owed the necessity. Against 
 this gentleman, this future baronet, who, 
 under pretence of charity, thrust people into 
 hovels only built to catch the floods, she 
 entertained a grudge such as only a profes- 
 sional shrew can hope to build up. And she 
 now saw him approaching from under the 
 archway, walking unsteadily, looking dazed 
 and bewildered. No wonder the woman 
 panted with triumph, while her hard-lined 
 face was puckered with a malignant grin.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 163 
 
 As Simon drifted vaguely past the stall, a 
 sudden torrent of vituperation swept down 
 upon him. The High Street had taunted 
 him mainly with quiet sneers tossed over 
 shoulders, or had scowled at him in silence, 
 the small boys alone venturing to follow him 
 with cries of '' Who killed Mary Pethick ? " 
 But now all the scorn and wrath of Chil- 
 lington was pouring from Mrs. Parminter's 
 tongue with the vehemence of a flooded mill- 
 race. No mealy words made up the torrent, 
 but the coarsest and crudest to be found in 
 the store of a coarse woman, so that in that 
 stream of foul abuse poor Mary's name was 
 like a white blossom carried along by a 
 sewer. 
 
 A crowd soon collected round Simon and 
 his accuser, and other tongues were loosed. 
 
 Simon was no longer master of himself, 
 hardly even conscious of what he was doing, 
 until, right before him, emerging from the 
 threatening crush, he perceived that for which
 
 1 64 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 his soul craved — a man as tall and powerful 
 as himself menacing him with a heavy whip. 
 It was a young farmer named Fry, a former 
 lover of Mary's, and the moment he was 
 within reach, he slashed Simon across the 
 face with the whip. 
 
 When Simon struck him back, those who 
 heard the heavy farmer fall thought he would 
 never rise more. Then the women were 
 thrust aside, and the men fell upon Mary's 
 supposed seducer. 
 
 But there were many present who would 
 not quietly allow one man to be mauled by a 
 dozen ; the brawl at once became general. 
 In a twinkling the stall was smashed to frag- 
 ments, the corner of the market was a hurt- 
 linor mass of arms and fists and sticks, of 
 heavy breathings and straining bodies. A 
 short but savage brawl it was, where every 
 blow went home with an oath, and those who 
 fell were trampled by those who fought. 
 Simon the philanthropist strove and struck
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, I 65 
 
 with the fury of a madman, so that no man 
 could stand before him. After a time — 
 whether long or short he never knew — he 
 found himself standing ringed by a clear 
 space. The fighting lust still burned in him ; 
 blood was flowing from more than one cut 
 on his face ; he was still shouting for an 
 adversary, jeering at the throng for a pack 
 of cowards. Some were advancing again, 
 when a voice in his rear called out — 
 
 *' Keep back, d — n you all, or he'll be 
 the death of some o' you ! Here's Farmer 
 Fry with some ribs broken, and one or two 
 others pretty bad. You'd best look after the 
 wounded and mend your own heads, while I 
 get this madman away." 
 
 The speaker then plucked at Simon's arm, 
 saying persuasively — 
 
 " Come, sir, you've had fighting enough 
 for one day. Damme, what'll the neighbour- 
 hood say of us, and me a poor devil with a 
 practice to make t "
 
 I 66 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 " Hands off!" cried Simon, angrily. 
 
 " Man, man, you'll ruin my reputation as 
 a quiet young doctor. Come, don't be 
 rough on a chap who has fought on your 
 side and lost half his front teeth in the 
 scrimmage ! Suppose we stand easy a bit 
 before we renew . this pretty scene, any- 
 way?" 
 
 Simon found himself being drawn quietly 
 to the archway, still exhorted by the good- 
 natured voice ; and in two minutes Jack 
 Syme — for he it was — had captured the first 
 empty farmer's gig he could lay hands on, 
 hustled his charge on to the seat, jumped up 
 himself, and was driving rapidly across the 
 open space beside the town hall in the 
 direction of the Monks Damerel road. 
 
 It happened by a neat twist of circumstance 
 that the cart belonged to Farmer Fry, who 
 had begun the broil, and now lay insensible 
 amid the wreck of the stall. As he drove 
 over the town bridge and lashed the farmer's
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 167 
 
 mare into a hand gallop, Syme grinned at his 
 own cleverness. 
 
 *' But for this cart and my mother-wit, the 
 row would have ended in manslaughter, I 
 reckon," he chuckled. " As 'tis, there'll be a 
 job or two for Dodson and the other doctors 
 — and Terence '11 have to stand me a new 
 set of teeth, by George ! How d'ye feel, 
 Mr. Secretan ? I'm not a bit surprised at 
 you; have seen something of your sort 
 before now. No such fierce devil, when 
 roused, as your big, fair-haired, soft-hearted 
 cuss who wouldn't tread on a worm most 
 times ! But in your place I'd keep clear of 
 the town for a month or two. You're the sort 
 that gets drunk with fighting, and so it isn't 
 good for you — or other people. There was 
 a pal of mine at Bart's just of your stamp — 
 a quiet chap enough in a general way, but 
 a reckless firebrand at bottom. 'Struth, but 
 you did maul some of 'em just now ! 'Twas 
 a pretty little row in its way, and I don't
 
 1 68 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 pretend not to have enjoyed it. We're all 
 savages at heart, you see — a blow or two, 
 and the veneer of civilization comes off in 
 cakes ! " 
 
 Jack Syme smacked his thick lips by way 
 of conclusion, and snapped together his 
 remaining teeth with more relish than might 
 have been expected from so very quiet a 
 young doctor. 
 
 As they drove along and Simon's heat 
 evaporated, he grew full of lassitude and 
 weariness ; yet, even so, listened to the 
 doctor's rollicking talk, and responded to his 
 consolatory efforts in a way which impressed 
 Jack oddly. Syme began to be interested in 
 this man whom he had hitherto hated with 
 some cordiality. 
 
 *' Secretan's an odd mixture," he reflected. 
 " What the deuce can one make of a man 
 who bears himself like an aristocrat, spends 
 his days in scientific study or in fidgeting the 
 poor, mixes philanthropy with libertinism,
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 69 
 
 listens to what you have to say Hke a woman, 
 and fights Hke a d — d lunatic ? Here's the 
 queerest amalg-am I ever came across — a Don 
 Quixote or a Don Juan ; hang me if I know 
 which ! " 
 
 Upon reaching the first lodge gates of 
 Monks Damerel, Jack offered to put his 
 passenger down, but Simon entreated him 
 to drive on to the hall and have some lunch, 
 adding, *' You've got m.e out of a bad scrape, 
 and I've hardly even thanked you yet." 
 
 ** Psha ! that's nothing ; but anyway, I'll 
 drive you home and look to your wounds 
 and bruises a bit. There's a cut on your 
 cheek that needs sewing up, for one thing. 
 Suppose we drive into the stable-yard, how- 
 ever, for Sir Harao ought not to see you in 
 this blood-stained condition } " 
 
 Accordingly Syme touched up the mare, 
 turned into the avenue, and again betook 
 himself to reflection. 
 
 He was the only person in. ChilHngton
 
 170 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 whom Secretan had really Injured ; and this 
 befriending of an enemy — a man whose un- 
 called for Interference had done serious hurt 
 to his prospects — gave Jack Syme one or 
 two new sensations; stirring his magnanimity, 
 yet calling for some self-contempt. Accus- 
 tomed to carry through a quarrel to Its bitter 
 end, he was now showing a forgiveness 
 worthy of the copy-books. " However, he's 
 an aristocrat at bottom, and Is sure to cut 
 me dead In a day or two, when I shall be 
 free to cuss him again at will." With this 
 apology for his own good feeling. Jack 
 satisfied his mind. 
 
 Half-way up the avenue they were stopped 
 by a richly dressed and stately woman whom 
 Syme suspected, yet could hardly believe, 
 to be the housekeeper at the hall. But It 
 was no other than Mrs. Henley ; and she 
 approached the near side of the trap as soon 
 as it drew up with a stiff curtsey to Mr. 
 Secretan, saying —
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 171 
 
 *' I beg" your pardon, sir, but Sir Hamo 
 directed me to give you this note before you 
 entered the house, if possible." 
 
 With the tact of a well- trained servant, 
 Mrs. Henley seemed t<3 disregard Simon's 
 strange and battered appearance ; but her 
 quick glance at him as he took the note was 
 full of spiteful triumph, and her half-smile 
 was feline. 
 
 While his companion walked aside a few 
 paces, the doctor fell to regarding this for- 
 midable woman. Her severe looks impressed 
 him not a whit, but the superior fashion of 
 her garments and her loftiness of mien, 
 called forth a train of philosophical reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 ** She's a deal better off than I shall ever 
 be," he mused, *' and will have nice pickings 
 when the old gentleman slips his cable. I 
 might do worse than make her an offer of 
 marriage ? Yes, and I'd do it to-morrow, 
 by Jove, though she's old enough to be my
 
 172 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 mother — only she'd never look at anything 
 so low as a doctor. Fancy introducing such 
 a duchess of a woman to our little villa at 
 Hammersmith — lord, how she would sneer ! 
 Hullo ! is she going to make advances to 
 me?" 
 
 Mrs. Henley was, In point of fact, bent 
 upon having some discourse with the doctor. 
 She now came close to the cart, carefully 
 holding back her silk dress from the muddy 
 wheel, and whispered eagerly — 
 
 *' Is It true, sir ? about the other night, I 
 mean ? Mr. Doidge has been closeted with 
 
 Sir Hamo for ever so long, and I overheard 
 — at least they talked so loud, that a sen- 
 tence or two reached me — about Mr. Simon 
 and the cricket meeting." 
 
 *' Ezeklel up there ! " Syme gave vent to 
 a low whisde. " Then he only means to 
 spoil Secretan's prospects ? I should hardly 
 have thought the crazy fellow would have 
 been satisfied with so mild a course '^. "
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. I 73 
 
 ** Is it true, Doctor Syme ? Were you 
 there yourself ? " 
 
 ''Yes, I was there. What did Sir Hamo 
 say to the news ? '' 
 
 " He's cruel bad, sir. I had to send off 
 for Dr. Clancy an hour ago, and he's with 
 Sir Hamo still." 
 
 " Here's a scene in high life for the local 
 papers," thought Syme. " Between the 
 public and the parent our young squire is 
 likely to get it hot, it seems ? " 
 
 '' If 'tis true," muttered Mrs. Henley 
 between her shut lips, allowing her intense 
 excitement to gleam in her eyes for a 
 moment, "Sir Hamo '11 cut him off with a 
 shillin', sure as I stand here ; ay, and will 
 understand why Miss Nell had to throw him 
 over. Ah ! I always thought there was 
 some bad story behind that." 
 
 " You always hoped it, judging by your 
 looks," thought Syme. " However, perhaps 
 you're not far wrong. Likely enough. Miss
 
 174' ^^^ TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Nell had suspicions, and Secretan the sinner 
 made way for Clancy the comparative saint ; 
 in. fact, vice was humbled, and virtue 
 triumphant — as always happens ia this best 
 of worlds J' 
 
 Instead of gratifying Mrs. Henley by ex- 
 pressing these sentiments aloud, however, 
 Jack looked over his shoulder to see how 
 the sinner was faring. 
 
 Simon was leaning against a tree with the 
 letter crushed in his hand. He had turned 
 very pale, and with his torn, clothes and cut- 
 open cheek, presented a rather ghastly 
 appearance ; but, finding himself observed 
 curiously, he quickly straightened himself, 
 and stalked to the trap haughtily enough. 
 
 " You can tell your master that he will 
 hear from me shortly," he said to Mrs. 
 Henley ; and she bowed without daring to 
 hazard a remark or ask a question, though 
 half frantic with curiosity. 
 
 " I am sorry to say," Simon turned to the
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 75 
 
 doctor, with a courteous bend of the head, 
 " that I cannot offer you any hospItaHty at 
 the hall to-day ; but I hope you'll come and 
 lunch with me at the Falcon ? " 
 
 *' D — n it, the man has pluck ! " muttered 
 Syme. Aloud he said something confusedly 
 about an engagement. He was conscious 
 that this man with the pale face and quiet 
 voice was mastering him. as well as the 
 housekeeper; there was a kind of proud 
 despair about Simon that awed and touched 
 him at once. 
 
 ''I'm sorry you won't lunch with me ; but 
 in that case let us drive back into the village." 
 
 Jack Syme did everything he was told 
 like a schoolboy under the master's orders ; 
 and when they drove off, Mrs. Henley stood 
 gazing after them. 
 
 ''Has he orone altoofether ? " she asked 
 herself. " Have we ousted his philanthropic 
 lordship for good and all ? If so, the Lord 
 be praised ! "
 
 176 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 The pair proceeded at once to Monks 
 Damerel hamlet and pulled up before the 
 first cottage, where Secretan descended. 
 
 Almost before his foot touched the ground, 
 a wrinkled old woman came forth carrying 
 a slate in her hand. This old body was 
 known to Jack Syme as a deaf-mute, Sarah 
 Venn by name, who looked after and cleaned 
 Mr. Secretan's observatory. 
 
 Simon began at once to write upon her 
 slate, reading the words aloud as though 
 willing to make Syme aware of his plan — 
 ** I wish you to come over to Hollacomb 
 Farm as soon as possible ; I am going to 
 live there for a month, and shall be glad to 
 have your services as housekeeper." 
 
 Mrs. Venn, after perusing the slate, nodded 
 and smiled, well content to serve the open- 
 handed young squire, and too old, or too 
 indifferent, to feel any curiosity about his 
 sudden freak. 
 
 " And now, Mr. Syme, I mustn't trespass
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 177 
 
 upon your kindness any longer. You've been 
 a friend in need to me to-day, and I only 
 hope Farmer Fry won't proceed against you 
 for stealing his trap." 
 
 " You're going to stay here ? " 
 
 '* I'm going to walk on to Hollacomb. 
 You can leave me here." 
 
 ''I'm hanged if I do," cried the other 
 brusquely. " You ain't fit to do the walk. 
 If you're bound for Hollacomb, so am I." 
 
 Secretan jumped up without more words, 
 and they once more set off. 
 
 Jack Syme felt all abroad by this time, 
 and drove along in puzzled silence. It was 
 clear that a breach of some sort had occurred 
 between Sir Hamo and his son, but that 
 Simon should set up his tent at Hollacomb 
 above all other places, the scene of his 
 victim's death, filled him with astonishment. 
 The farm was a lonely, deserted place, buried 
 among lonely, dripping woodlands. Old Mr. 
 Pethick had been removed by his friends 
 
 VOL. II. 32
 
 t:8 the transgression of 
 
 on the day of the inquest ; already it was 
 rumoured that the dead girl's spirit haunted 
 the farm and path by the canal. What in 
 the name of wonder could induce Secretan 
 to bury himself in this gruesome spot with 
 a deaf, speechless old crone for his sole 
 companion ? 
 
 Yet, for all his self-confidence. Jack Syme 
 could not bring himself to ask any -prying 
 questions ; for not only had Secretan s stoical 
 bearing a suppressive power of its own, but 
 his very courtesy magnified the same. Nor 
 could the doctor, whose own experience 
 inclined him to look upon poverty and 
 physical suffering as the only serious ills of 
 life, realize that this proud, healthy, well-to- 
 do gentleman, could be suffering any pangs 
 calling for the pity of a poor devil like 
 himself. 
 
 They passed slowly through a long rutty 
 lane, emerged on to the high-road for a mile 
 or so, then commenced the steep ascent
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1/9 
 
 through the Hollacomb woods, reaching the 
 farm about two o'clock. 
 
 This ancient farmhouse of Simon's was 
 built upon a small knoll, and so elevated 
 somewhat above the canal banks. It had 
 been in possession of his mother's family- 
 through many generations, having been in 
 all probability designed as a residence for 
 some younger son at a period when the 
 junior members of a county family settled 
 into some small house on the ancestral 
 estate without much thought of carving out 
 a career ; or even, as in very many cases, set 
 up as small tradesmen in the neighbouring 
 market-town. 
 
 Most of the land attached to the home- 
 stead had generations ago been absorbed 
 into a neighbouring large farm, and the 
 remainder planted with oak and birch trees ; 
 thus the little group of buildings had been 
 gradually immersed in an advancing tide of 
 woodland.
 
 l8o THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 When the spring-cart with its two 
 passengers emerged on to the narrow 
 breadth of sward that lay between knoll 
 and canal, Syme gazed at the dreary place 
 with a kind of shudder, then glanced quickly 
 at his companion as though expecting him 
 to change his mind. 
 
 But Secretan descended without hesitation, 
 and made his way to a big stone under 
 which he knew the house-key to be concealed. 
 
 Key in hand, he then mounted the knoll 
 by a little curving path which led up to the 
 glazed door of the farm parlour. This door 
 opened on to some steps cut in the rock, 
 and was sheltered by two immense ash-trees 
 with rugged pinkish-grey bark and great 
 moss-cushioned limbs. Under the trees was 
 a rustic seat erected by Simon's late tenant, 
 Mr. Pethick, who would sit here dabbling 
 with his science primers through half a 
 summer day. Here, too, had Mary sat and 
 dreamed away the time over some romance
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. i8t 
 
 thick-sown with noble names, when no 
 concert or other diversion drew her steps 
 townwards. 
 
 **Come up and see the place," Secretan 
 called out, when he had unlocked the door. 
 " Some of the old man's furniture Is quaint 
 and curious." 
 
 " No, thank you," grinned Syme from 
 below ; adding, in a voice of some concern, 
 " Surely you're not going to spend a whole 
 month in this desolate hole ? " 
 
 Secretan certainly looked out of keeping 
 with his surroundings as he stood upon the 
 rocky steps, with the sodden thatch dripping 
 mournfully upon him, and on all sides ruined 
 woodlands weeping for the dead and gone 
 summer. 
 
 " May I ask If you intend remaining In 
 the neighbourhood when your hermit-month 
 is up ? " asked the doctor when Simon 
 emerged from a brief inspection of the 
 homestead.
 
 1 82 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 '' At the end of a month I shall leave 
 it with the fixed intention of never seeing 
 it again." 
 
 " I begin to understand," the other mut- 
 tered under his breath. '' Secretan's not 
 mad, but bent upon doing a penance. He's 
 bitten with remorse, and means to work it 
 off by solitary confinement. Yes, that's how 
 the case stands ; I've hit it at last. And 
 how much will that benefit the poor girl 
 who has gone to kingdom -come, I wonder ^ 
 What cussed odd corners there are in the 
 man, to be sure ! Now, how am I to part 
 from him ? Shall I offer to shake hands .-^ 
 No ; he'd think that infernal presumption. 
 Besides, I've only half forgiven that old 
 injury. Yet I'd shake hands like a shot if 
 he cared to do it." Simon was now stand- 
 ing beside the trap, evidently expecting the 
 other to depart. ''Well, good-bye, Mr. 
 Secretan." 
 
 *' Good-bye, and many thanks."
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 i8 
 
 '' Don't mention it. Good-bye." 
 Syme gathered up his reins, paused, felt 
 mean, and nearly dropped them again ; then 
 drove off without further demonstration, 
 looking hot and uncomfortable.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 HERE was a cheerful commotion at 
 the White House one morning some 
 ten days after Simon's secession to his wood- 
 land hermitage, for Nell Clancy, being now 
 pronounced convalescent, was to descend 
 to the morning-room and throw aside the 
 distasteful role of interesting invalid. 
 
 She had been very apologetic for per- 
 mitting herself to be laid up at all, and 
 stated her intention of exhibiting her old 
 robust health from this day forth. 
 
 '* I do so hate being a nuisance to every- 
 body and turning your home into a hospital, 
 Terence," she had been exclaiming several
 
 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. I 85 
 
 times a day ; but her careful husband, well 
 aware of her tendency to be over-energetic, 
 had hitherto flatly declined to allow her 
 downstairs. 
 
 Terence had made many little prepara- 
 tions for her comfort, bustling about upon 
 one small errand after another with the 
 ardour of a schoolboy and the thoughtful- 
 ness of a w^oman ; but, being called away 
 into the town just as she was about to 
 descend, he missed the pleasure of wel- 
 coming her back to the routine of happy 
 everyday life. 
 
 About midday, however, he cantered up 
 the hill again, and rushed in exultingly to 
 greet his young wife. 
 
 But the brightness fell from him before 
 he had taken two steps into the room. He 
 found Nell lying back in an armchair, look- 
 ing tearful and woebegone. 
 
 Terence's first impulse was to turn back, 
 jump on Rosalind's back, and gallop away
 
 l86 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 from the house. He guessed at once what 
 had happened, and knew that the inevitable 
 climax, which he had yet hoped to put off 
 a few days longer, could not now be avoided. 
 
 Strict injunctions had been laid upon the 
 servants not to breathe a word to their 
 mistress of the events with which the place 
 was ringing ; but doubtless during his absence 
 this morning some pertinacious friend had 
 thrust herself upon Nell and babbled for 
 an hour of the cricket meeting, the brawl 
 in the market-place, the retirement of Simon 
 to the farm, and all the rest of it. 
 
 "■ Do stay, Terence dear," entreated Nell, 
 seeing that her husband was inclined to 
 edge away towards the door, *' and let me 
 know the truth about this dreadful business. 
 Ah, I can see by your face that there is 
 something seriously wrong." 
 
 Terence sat down, pale and perturbed, 
 at some little distance from his wife. 
 
 "Who has been to see you?" he asked,
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 in a voice that accorded well with his 
 looks. 
 
 " Miss Doddridge, dear." 
 
 " I thought so. That woman is no better 
 than a fool ! " 
 
 " You're vexed with her for telling me 
 all this wretched news ; but I must have 
 heard it sooner or later. Oh, Terence, is 
 any of it true ? " 
 
 '' Is what true ? " 
 
 '' All this about Simon ? " 
 
 ** I can't answer vague questions like that. 
 I do wish you would be a little more specific, 
 Nell. Do you mean, was a public accusa- 
 tion made against him .^ Yes, that is 
 true." 
 
 " No, no. What do I care about the mere 
 fact of the accusation ? I want to know upon 
 what ground it was based, what vestige of 
 excuse even his worst enemy could find for 
 hinting such a thing about a man like 
 
 Simon ?
 
 l88 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 " You always did have a mighty high 
 opinion of that spotless hero ! " 
 
 ''Yes," Nell answered simply, ''and that's 
 how it is I find it absolutely impossible to 
 believe him guilty of any bad conduct what- 
 soever. Surely you have been to him, 
 Terence, and heard his indignant denials, 
 and have promised to stand by him ? I 
 can understand how he might have kept 
 silence when Ezekiel Doidge fell upon him 
 in public in that shameless way ; for Simon 
 is at bottom a proud and stubborn man — 
 and — and — yes, I can half understand it, 
 though I can't explain it. But, surely you 
 have seen him, dear ?" 
 
 " I have seen him ; but what passed 
 between us was spoken in confidence." 
 
 " Then I will see him myself, and force the 
 truth from him, and proclaim it abroad, and 
 put a stop to these wicked slanderous lies ! " 
 
 " This excitement is very bad for you, 
 Nell. I wish you would exercise some self-
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 89 
 
 control, instead of throwing yourself into 
 this hysterical state." 
 
 '' So I am hysterical — if that's the word 
 for being angry and bitterly disappointed. 
 How can you be so calm and apathetic 
 when poor old Simon, the friend who has 
 loaded you with benefits, is writhing under 
 this public disgrace ? " 
 
 *' Confound his benefits and his virtues 
 too ! " cried Terence, starting up with an 
 ugly fold in his brow. " Isn't it enough 
 to be loaded with obligation by a man I — 
 I hate — without being dosed with his excel- 
 lences by way of daily tonic '^. " 
 
 Nell, weakened by recent illness, wept 
 quietly ; but there was a growing stubborn- 
 ness in her face which clearly meant no 
 surrender. She had hitherto dealt tenderly 
 with her husband's jealousy, abstaining when- 
 ever possible even from the mention of 
 Simon's name ; but she was for the moment 
 stirred into downright antagonism by Ter-
 
 IQO THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 ence's apparent inclination to range himself 
 on the side of the accusers. Defend Simon 
 she must, at all hazards. Her heart and 
 mind were seething with indignant denial 
 of his guilt. 
 
 Her husband, reading her face with a 
 sidelong glance, fell into a silence which 
 looked like mere sulkiness, but had a deeper 
 significance than was apparent. He had 
 proposed that this explanation, which sooner 
 or later would have to be got through, 
 should result only in vague generalities and 
 hints that all would come right, rounded off 
 in due course by sympathy and caresses. 
 But, as usual, he had been over-sanguine, 
 had relied too much upon the simple adora- 
 tion, the sweet obedience of his dutiful little 
 wife. Feeling himself little less than a demi- 
 god in her eyes, he had counted upon her 
 meek acceptance of such soothing half-ex- 
 planations as he could afford to give. 
 
 He now perceived that Nell had formed
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 19I 
 
 a resolution to know the why and wherefore 
 of this matter, and that she possessed a fund 
 of bitter obstinacy that must be reckoned 
 with. Her angry championship of Simon 
 brought back his old jealousy with a rush ; 
 and her failure in the adoring obedience 
 he had looked for gave it added potency, 
 at the same time filling him with alarm. 
 This mood of hers was dangerous. He 
 could not have her proclaiming Simon's 
 innocence from the house-tops, thereby work- 
 ing up public opinion to a thorough inves- 
 tigation of, instead of quiet acquiescence in, 
 his guilt. She was like one who stands 
 whirling a firebrand over a hidden magazine 
 of gunpowder, the sway of whose arm must 
 be checked at all hazards. Her hands must 
 be tied fast, and the only bonds available 
 were — lies. The situation was too acute to 
 permit of mere finessing on his part ; its 
 only possible cure lay in downright lying. 
 Terence's brain buzzed with the hard think-
 
 192 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 ing it was put to, but no compromise would 
 shape itself to his efforts. His one chance 
 seemed to rest upon her absolute acceptance 
 of Simon's guilt ; to achieve which he must 
 if necessary add lie to lie, false evidence to 
 false evidence. 
 
 Nor would a temporary edifice of false- 
 hood suffice now ; the building must needs 
 be such as would last his lifetime. By say- 
 ing little, by merely allowing her to drift 
 with public opinion, he had hoped to leave 
 himself a loophole for final confession ; but 
 once he had deliberately, of his own free 
 will, laid his guilt upon Simon's shoulders, 
 he felt that no possible combination of cir- 
 cumstances could ever give him strength 
 to own to such baseness ; the terror of Nell's 
 scorn would keep him lying on so long as 
 the power of speech remained to him. 
 
 And Terence had not yet sunk so low 
 as to be able to face this prospect without 
 self-loathing. His conscience had been
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 193 
 
 drilled Into surprising obedience lately, but 
 was not yet so wearied out as to be capable 
 of sleeping through all noises. It was awake 
 now, goading him insistently with Simon's 
 past kindness and brotherly love, and most 
 of all with his late self-sacrifice. 
 
 Her husband's face, always reflective to 
 emotion, as pool to passing cloud, offered 
 plain tokens of his present mental struggle, 
 and touched Nell with swift contrition. 
 
 "I am sorry, oh, I am sorry!" she cried, 
 drawing towards him. " It was harsh and 
 untrue to call you apathetic. You feel it as 
 much as I, dear ; but I was always dreadfully 
 hasty. All the same, Terence," she continued 
 firmly, with warm blood rising in her cheeks, 
 " you must bear to hear that Simon's honour 
 is very dear to me, that I always shall look 
 upon him as a brother whom I have wronged 
 deeply ; who can never be more than a 
 brother, but who, once for all, can never be 
 less. Now tell me all that this wretched 
 
 VOL. II. 33
 
 194 '^HE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 man Doidge said to him at the cricket 
 meeting ? " 
 
 Then, with a seared heart, a desolating 
 sense of having sunk lower than he had ever 
 conceived possible, Terence entered upon 
 his task. 
 
 He began by rehearsing the different 
 points of EzekieFs indictment. When he 
 came to the story of the letter, Nell bowed 
 her head and wept bitterly. With dry lips, 
 in mechanical tones, he told of the clamour 
 that thereupon ensued, to loud calls upon 
 Simon to answer, yea or nay, the earnest 
 appeals of Lord Bridistow and other friends ; 
 finally, of Simon's haughty refusal to say a 
 word in his defence. 
 
 Nell listened without raising her head, in 
 stony silence. Her ideal Simon was turning 
 to clay, and must soon fall to '' cureless 
 ruin." 
 
 " And I always thought him too good for 
 me," she whispered presently, in a scared,
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 1 95 
 
 hopeless sort of way. ''He always seemed to 
 stand upon a height quite above and beyond 
 me. 
 
 '■ That's why I hate him still," said 
 Terence^ breathing heavily. 
 
 A new outrush of jealousy was bearing 
 Terence along now, making this traitor's 
 task easy of performance. '' This loving 
 wife of yours," the demon whispered in his 
 ear, ''was false to him once, and would be 
 to you upon sufficient provocation. Were 
 she to find out the truth she'd spurn you, 
 and martyrize this matchless and faithful old 
 lover. Trample on him now he's down ; 
 trample, you fool, or he'll rise up some day 
 and blow your happiness to fragments ! It 
 has been the same story all through, from 
 the first moment of your caring for Nell 
 — either he must go down or you. It is a 
 death fight between you and Simon, and 
 you can't skulk off the field. Either pin him 
 to the ground now he's down, or throw down
 
 196 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 your arms like a sentimental fool, and have 
 done with it ! " 
 
 ** Do you remember that evening by the 
 canal ?'* — he spoke now in a low malignant 
 voice that sounded strangely to Nell — '' and 
 how Simon's conduct puzzled you ? How he 
 seemed to expect what he found ?" 
 
 " Oh, don't, don't," moaned Nell ; '' it is 
 dreadful to have it built up step by step — 
 let me hold fast to what little hope I have." 
 
 " I remember your precise words that 
 night. * He seemed to be looking for this.' 
 That was what you said upon the spur of 
 the moment, that was the impression you 
 drew from the circumstances without a word 
 from any one to bias you." 
 
 He went on steadily building up his case, 
 spurred hard by fear and jealousy, until Nell 
 could no longer hold her own against the 
 cumulative evidence that he piled up. But, 
 if her reason was well-nigh convinced, her 
 heart was still rebellious.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 
 
 " You seem almost to take a pleasure in 
 forcing me to condemn him, Terence ? " 
 
 He winced uneasily. For the moment the 
 ardour of his malice was abated ; for to keep 
 it at the necessary high pitch he needed the 
 full vigour of her opposition, which was now 
 growing feeble. He was becoming aware 
 that this victory would be no bloodless one ; 
 that, as success grew more assured, the voice 
 of his better self would once more insist upon 
 a hearing, would scourge him the more 
 fiercely when he had nothing left to fear. 
 Already the sustainment of anger was giving 
 way, the sickness of self-scorn was again 
 creeping through him ; the aftershine of old 
 friendship was throwing into mournful relief 
 the baseness of this old friend's betrayal. 
 
 Nell was weak and languid now, and much 
 in need of her husband's consolation. One 
 ideal was shattered ; another seemed to be 
 tottering. The man she respected most in 
 the world had fallen lower than she could yet
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 realize : the one she loved most had spoken 
 so harshly as to fill her heart with pain. 
 
 ** Terence," she asked timidly, " has some- 
 thing come between us ? Is it to be the old 
 miserable story ? Are we going to prove 
 the justice of the world's miserable jeers 
 about wedded love ? You look so — so unlike 
 yourself, and I'm so wretched, Terence. . . ." 
 
 Here she fell from quiet weeping into 
 violent grief, so that Terence was fain to call 
 himself a brute as well as a traitor. Yet he 
 was incapable of soothing or caressing her. 
 He sat with his own head bent, feeling in his 
 degradation that he was unfit to touch her. 
 
 ** Kiss me, Terence," she sobbed ; *' kiss me 
 once and say that you still love me." 
 
 But he could make no response — and 
 burning tears were falling from his own eyes. 
 
 " If I had but told the truth at the begin- 
 ning," he groaned to himself, " they wouldn't 
 have been so very hard on me. In time I 
 might have held up my head again as a
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 1 99 
 
 doctor ; and, after bearing my punishment, 
 even she might have forgiven me. 
 
 " Nell," he said presently aloud, making a 
 miserable effort to recover a fragment or two 
 of self-respect, " you ought to keep yourself 
 from being too hard on the man. Think 
 how severely tried he must have been by 
 your dismissal '^. In that state of raging dis- 
 appointment a man is hardly responsible for 
 his actions. When you turned upon me that 
 night at Hollacomb Manor I was beside my- 
 self; . . . and — and I know what his state 
 must have been a fortnight later, when he 
 came upon you and me in the larch wood. 
 Good heavens ! is a man to be condemned 
 so utterly for one false step — now, doubtless, 
 repented of bitterly .^ " 
 
 '* God forgive me if Fm hard," Nell 
 answered solemnly ; " but I hope never to see 
 his face again." 
 
 It will be seen that Simon was paying the 
 penalty with her, as with the bulk of his
 
 200 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 judges, of his former spotless reputation. It 
 is a commonplace truth — cynical on the 
 surface, but perhaps honourable to human 
 nature if probed deep enough — that the 
 weight of a sinner's condemnation is always 
 in direct proportion to the supposed excel- 
 lence of his character. We can be lenient to 
 our weaker brethren, but our heroes must be 
 without stain. A Claudio may go astray 
 without drying up human charity, but an 
 Angelo who slips is past praying for. 
 
 *' You hope never to see him again ? " 
 repeated Terence, bitterly. '' I suppose that 
 is a sample of the mercy an erring mortal 
 may look for from a good woman who visits 
 districts and never slurs a duty .^ Nell, 
 you're too good for a poor devil like me, who 
 never hopes to be quite perfect ! " 
 
 " Such pleading will not soften Simon s 
 guilt much," she answered sadly. 
 
 '' But a moment ago you were crying out 
 upon me for being hard on him, and now
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 20I 
 
 you cut me up for saying a single word in 
 his favour ? Lord preserve us from feminine 
 consistency as well as feminine mercy ! " 
 
 ** Forgive me, Terence; I know I'm in- 
 consistent — but I'm very miserable too. 
 You don't know what a blow this has been 
 to me ; . . . and I can't bear to hear you 
 speak to me so bitterly." Then, with eyes 
 full of tender submission and love, she 
 whispered, laying a small hand on his neck, 
 **You forgive me, dear? Oh, Terence, 
 don't be hard with me ! And let us quarrel 
 no more now — and never, never again. 
 Kiss me, beloved ; your love is more dear to 
 me than life ! " 
 
 She stooped her head until her long 
 lashes brushed his forehead ; but Terence 
 could only mutter in a choking voice — 
 
 '''Tis you that are hard, I cannot kiss 
 you : you crush a sinner like me with your 
 virtue. I'm not good enough for you, and 
 can never hope to be ! "
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 HE moist warm mist of the Chilling 
 vale had given way at the dry calm 
 touch of genuine winter. 
 
 There was a thin coating of snow over the 
 houses and streets of the town ; the open 
 fields wore a lace mantle of pure white, 
 freckled with earthy brown, and mottled here 
 and there with the richer hue of soil cast up 
 by the moles. Ezeklel Doidge's group of 
 farm buildings, which lay in the meadows 
 below Hollacomb Great Wood, formed a 
 ruddy oasis in the broad spread of whiteness. 
 The woodlands, of a heavy purplish black, 
 made another strong contrast ; the osier
 
 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. 203 
 
 beds by the canal showed golden-brown and 
 pale amber, and the still water gave back 
 the fleece of mixed greys which formed the 
 quiet sky above it. The smoke of the farm- 
 stead went up straight and evenly. Save 
 the two men cutting and binding faggots at 
 the edge of a plantation, not a soul was to be 
 seen in all the breadth of meadow and copse. 
 Rooks were cawing and circling in a quiet 
 melancholy way above the hanging woods, 
 while the croak of cock pheasants rose up to 
 greet them. The distant moor was clear, 
 but not shapely defined. There was a 
 slight frost in the air, and everywhere a 
 sense of pause and rest. 
 
 Along the canal path, a mile or more 
 within the woodland, the hermit of Holla- 
 comb was slowly strolling. 
 
 Simon's intention of cutting himself off 
 from the human portion of the world had 
 been carried out with some completeness ; 
 but his endeavours to create a world of his
 
 204 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 own out of books and work, to be indepen- 
 dent of human kindness, fellowship, and the 
 other ingredients of happiness presumably 
 supplied to man by his neighbours, had not 
 been so successful. 
 
 In that dismal retreat of his Simon had 
 proposed to substitute brain-stuff for heart- 
 stuff, to take to heart mathematical problems 
 in place of human ones. There seemed no 
 need for insane hatred of his fellows, such 
 as befell Athenian Timon : he proposed 
 rather to ignore their existence altogether. 
 He had spent some years of his life in the 
 endeavour to benefit the community of 
 Chillington, and the place had opened its 
 mouth to swallow down his disgrace with a 
 greedy readiness. He had occupied a twelve- 
 month in trying to win the love of his 
 promised bride, and had succeeded in com- 
 pletely estranging her. He had lent a strong 
 helping hand to a friend, whose gratitude 
 had taken the form of simple robbery. Half
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 205 
 
 a lifetime of patient affection had rendered 
 him no more than tolerable in his father's 
 eyes, and had issued at length in a breach 
 which would probably never be healed. In 
 each of these cases he seemed to have 
 vitiated all chance of success simply by try- 
 ing too hard ; so the only rational procedure 
 for the future seemed to be to try not 
 at all. 
 
 Simon had come to this conclusion, he 
 considered, by process of calm reason ; a 
 sequence of pure syllogisms had led up to 
 his hermitage. He conceived himself to be 
 a fully equipped philosopher, minded to 
 follow Teufelsdrock's method of handling 
 the fraction of life ; to make no demand of 
 it whatever ; to reduce the denomination 
 of the fraction to zero, and so achieve an 
 infinity of calm satisfaction. But, it need 
 hardly be added, this recluse of Hollacomb 
 was nothing but an unlucky man, with 
 crushed hopes and a sick heart, who had
 
 2o6 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Stuck fast in the centre of indifference. He 
 was, to borrow the words of a real philo- 
 sopher, " one of such as take too high a 
 strain at first, and are magnanimous more 
 than the tract of years can uphold." 
 
 He had not, as many people imagined, 
 been turned out of house and home by his 
 father, for Sir Hamo had a superstitious 
 objection to any such harsh, Roman-fatherly 
 proceeding. Though he had never found 
 much difficulty in bruising his son's heart, 
 he could not bring himself to the point of 
 turning his person out of doors. The note 
 delivered by Mrs. Henley in the avenue had 
 intimated Sir Hamo's acceptance of his son's 
 guilt, as proved by his silence under public 
 accusation, and had requested that Simon 
 should in future confine himself to the west 
 wing of the hall, and spare his father the 
 pain of further communication with him. 
 To this Simon had rejoined by a brief 
 business-like epistle — wriuen as it were with
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 207 
 
 chilled steel, though the penman's heart was 
 burning- — to state that he would never again 
 present himself at the hall save at his 
 father's own request. 
 
 This final alienation was among the first- 
 fruits of Simon's Quixotic compact with 
 Terence Clancy, and a plentiful crop was 
 yet to follow. He had not yet realized the 
 impossibility of fencing in the effects of a 
 given line of conduct ; and had yet to learn 
 that a man cannot lift a finger without affect- 
 ing the whole complex network of relations 
 by which he is bound to others, that the 
 current of will which starts a given action 
 cannot be conducted in a given direction by 
 a patent insulated wire. 
 
 But these facts of ordinary experience 
 were beginning to impress themselves upon 
 him during this afternoon's saunter, thereby 
 adding another degree or two to his normal 
 mental gloom. 
 
 Water-voles and small birds, growing
 
 2o8 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 daily tamer now that winter had really set 
 in, were the only companions of his walk ; 
 and the placid hush of nature seemed only 
 to aggravate the morbid nervous condition 
 in which three weeks of solitary brooding 
 had landed him. Existence hung upon 
 Simon like a heavy saturated garment, and 
 no amount of philosophizing helped in any 
 way to reduce its weight. In short, he was 
 utterly weary of himself this afternoon, of 
 his own hopeless disappointments and cynical 
 heart-burnings ; yet dreaded returning to 
 his solitary room, and the labour that had 
 lost its power to physic pain. 
 
 As the time drew on, however, he began 
 to feel that any change must be for the 
 better, that even the four walls of a room 
 would have a less stifling effect upon his 
 spirits than the solemn woods and cold 
 gliding water. 
 
 Accordingly he turned his steps home- 
 wards, and began to walk more briskly.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 209 
 
 Upon reaching the patch of sward, now 
 snow covered, below the farm, Simon caught 
 the ghnt of his own fire through the glazed 
 door of the parlour. But this failed to cheer 
 him, causing rather a mental reaction in 
 favour of the snowy landscape outside ; for 
 he had done too much solitary thought- 
 grinding by that log fire to find much 
 welcome in its gleam. 
 
 He toiled slowly up the knoll and opened 
 the glazed door. 
 
 The little room might have looked snug 
 enough with a buxom farmer s wife sewing 
 by the fire, and a group of children scram- 
 bling ; but the firelight displayed only the 
 old book-case in which still stood Mr. 
 Pethick's row of science primers, and the 
 table strewn with Simon's now hateful work. 
 He entered in a spiritless way, pausing on 
 the threshold as though but half inclined 
 to face it. 
 
 But, upon drawing near the fire, Simon's 
 
 VOL. II. 34
 
 2IO THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 glance fell upon a figure seated in a shadow 
 near the door which led through into the 
 kitchen ; whereupon he started in a way 
 significant of his nervous condition. 
 
 A sudden shoot of flame from the wide 
 grateless hearth showed the figure to be that 
 of Kate Tredethlyn. She rose and stood 
 before him, gravely silent. 
 
 Nor was Simon at first capable of uttering 
 a word. The appearance of this visitor 
 vexed and surprised him, for he had given 
 strict orders to his housekeeper to admit no 
 one, gentle or simple. 
 
 After regarding him for a few moments 
 somewhat nervously, though with a gleam of 
 sympathetic amusement in her eyes, Kate 
 ventured to break the silence. 
 
 " I have come to see you, Simon," she 
 said in a voice which came with difficulty, 
 ** and in the first place I must exonerate 
 your housekeeper from the charge of har- 
 bouring me. She wrote your wishes down
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 211 
 
 on a slate, and then only stopped short of 
 pushing me out at your door." 
 
 Simon placed a chair for his visitor 
 mechanically and leant against the table, 
 grasping it with one hand, and staring at her 
 confusedly. Kate's presence contrasted as 
 abruptly with the narrow mental routine into 
 which he had fallen as her graceful figure, 
 richly be-furred and mantled, with the 
 homely little chamber. 
 
 For the first few moments she preserved 
 a tense, alert attitude, as of one who antici- 
 pates a combat, and means fighting ; but by 
 this bold venture into his citadel she had 
 captured Simon's works at a stroke. It was 
 evident that he was in a dazed condition, 
 and without a thought of driving her out 
 again. 
 
 She relaxed her vigilance accordingly, 
 loosed the fur boa round her neck, stretched 
 her snowy boots towards the glowing logs, 
 and said in a natural, commonplace way —
 
 212 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 " Vm tired with the walk, Simon. Could 
 you let me have a cup of tea ? " 
 
 The simple question made a curious anti- 
 climax to Simon's expectations. He had 
 looked for an outburst of some sort, for 
 some speech or appeal pitched in a dramatic 
 key, and this homely request brought his 
 feet to the ground with a beneficial jar. 
 Then Kate smiled at him, and the ice was 
 broken for the present. 
 
 He walked through to the kitchen, and 
 Mrs. Venn, who had, perhaps, been enough 
 with young ladies to foresee this inevitable 
 request of Kate's, returned with him almost 
 immediately, bearing a tray with a black tea- 
 pot, some massive slices of bread-and-butter, 
 and thick whity-brown teacups, such as 
 matched the homely character of the little 
 parlour. 
 
 Kate at once turned round to the table 
 and began to pour out the tea with a matter- 
 of-course air, which rather astonished her
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 213 
 
 host, now that his faculties were completely 
 awakened. 
 
 " You like two lumps, Simon, I know. 
 Have you got any marmalade in this Castle 
 Dismal of yours ? " 
 
 Mrs. Venn, watching the lady's lips, needed 
 no interpretation by slate, and quickly fetched 
 and opened a pot of marmalade, placed on a 
 big plate patterned with staring blue. She 
 was pleased, in a mild, unemotional sort of 
 fashion, at seeing her master entertain a 
 guest, but her feelings had, for a quarter of 
 a century, ceased to be of a vivid order. 
 Simon had chosen her as a person as nearly 
 approaching to the wooden as flesh and 
 blood could be found. The poor old woman 
 had, indeed, reached the stage when a settled 
 wage and a decent fire made the sum of her 
 demands ; a lower denominator to the frac- 
 tion of life even Simon could not hope to 
 compass. 
 
 Kate observed the philosopher furtively as
 
 2 14 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 she drank her tea. The gloom had settled 
 down upon him again, and he looked stubborn 
 as well as sad. 
 
 " We haven't shaken hands yet, Simon," 
 she remarked, when the silence seemed to 
 have grown dense as a fog. 
 
 ** No, I believe not." 
 
 This was an unpromising beginning, but 
 Kate knew the man she had to deal with, 
 and was resolved not to stir from the fireside 
 until she had forced a little conversation 
 from the hermit. She planted herself more 
 firmly in her chair, and essayed him again. 
 
 '* I don't see what is to prevent our going 
 through the ceremony, Simon, do you ? " 
 
 Simon only stared at the fire more stub- 
 bornly than before. 
 
 ** I don't see why I should be treated as 
 an enemy, for" — she paused a moment that 
 her voice might be quite firm — " for I believe 
 nothing of what they have said against you. 
 I believe the accusation to be either a miser-
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 21 5 
 
 able blunder, or part of some plotter's scheme 
 to save himself." 
 
 He smiled faintly. 
 
 '' You always were a rebel against public 
 opinion, Kate." 
 
 '* Well, put it down to sheer obstinacy, if 
 you will, but let me have the credit of it — 
 and shake hands." 
 
 " Very well — if it gives you any pleasure." 
 
 " It does," she said, giving him her hand ; 
 " it is a pleasure to shake hands with one 
 whose transcendent obstinacy is like an ocean 
 beside my poor puddle of self-will. Oh, 
 Simon, Simon," she continued, suddenly 
 throwing aside her mocking tone, '' it makes 
 me wretched to see you here ! How long 
 do you intend to keep up this miserable 
 farce ? Are you going to spoil your whole 
 life by way of gratifying your insane pride ?" 
 
 Then Simon, moved by her friendly 
 warmth, began to let his numbed heart speak. 
 
 '' It doesn't matter much what course I
 
 2l6 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 take, Kate, for, once awakened to the reali- 
 ties of life, one knows that nothing's worth 
 troubling about." 
 
 '' A sudden rush from one pole to the 
 other is not an awakening," cried Kate. 
 *' But you always were in extremes, Simon ; 
 for all your brains, you never had mental 
 balance, somehow. To you every man is a 
 hero or a scoundrel, and the world a seventh 
 heaven or a Gehenna, according to your 
 mood. But go on — tell me more about 
 yourself." 
 
 ** My life's nothing but a weariness," he 
 cried, with a sudden pouring forth of pent 
 emotion, which carried Kate along like a 
 tide. " I've wasted my life grubbing like 
 a fool among weeds, and taking them for 
 flowers. I tell you there are no such things 
 as human love and brotherhood ; they are 
 nothing but abstractions, creations of the 
 mind, wherewith human nature has been 
 invested by man's fancy, as inanimate nature
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 2\J 
 
 with joy, or sadness, or peace. Self-love and 
 self-interest one may look for, and find with 
 certainty ; and I believe a journey through a 
 million inhabited planets would yield nothing 
 better to the searcher. Listen now, Kate. 
 Do you know that the element carbon, the 
 chief constituent of vegetable life, the element 
 invariably present in animal life, and of 
 transcendent importance throughout our 
 planet, is proved to be also a constituent of 
 the comets ? — in other words, to be present 
 throughout the length, breadth, and height 
 of the material universe ? Well, I believe 
 self-interest to have as universal a spread. 
 You would find man, or whatever created 
 thing corresponds to man, the same mean 
 creature upon all the billions of planets 
 plunged in the depths of space. You'd find 
 self-interest the leading motive, the only real 
 motive, that drives life along in the sun- 
 systems placed as far beyond Sirius as Sirius 
 is from our own. Self-love is a tolling bell,
 
 2l8 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 whose tones ring through the universe — the 
 knell of human happiness throughout time 
 and space." 
 
 '' I don't believe it." Kate stood up and 
 gesticulated, driven out of all dignity by 
 Simon's excitement. '* I don't believe it. If 
 other planets are inhabited, I believe they 
 are full of beauty and happiness ; that our 
 weariness and pain and littleness are un- 
 known to them ; that all our better imagin- 
 ings may there be glorious realities ; that 
 there man is not separated from his Maker, 
 and the still better state that awaits him, by 
 the miserable web that shuts us in ; that our 
 planet is the only one where man is con- 
 demned to look through a dark glass for 
 threescore years and ten ! " 
 
 ** Tush, tush ! " cried Simon, hotly; '' there's 
 nothing on the other side of the glass but 
 the freezing ether of space ! " 
 
 *' Well, I don't exactly know what space 
 is, or haven't a notion what ether means,"
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 219 
 
 said Kate, with a sigh ; '' so it is useless to 
 attempt arguing with a learned person like 
 you. In fact, I'm a wretched bungler alto- 
 gether, Simon, and this visit of mine seems 
 likely to be a failure. I came here to try 
 and cheer you, and how can I manage that 
 w^hen you do nothing but entangle me among 
 planets and sun-systems, and things that I 
 know nothing about ? " 
 
 ** I say again that, just as carbon " 
 
 " I don't want to hear any more about 
 carbon, and don't believe you understand 
 anything about it. To begin with, you said 
 it was an important element in animal as 
 well as vegetable life. Now, whoever heard 
 such nonsense as that ? Do you mean to 
 assert that I'm made of the same stuff as a 
 cabbage ? " 
 
 *' You re a very human-hearted sort of 
 vegetable, Kate, anyway," he laughed ; ''and 
 don't distress yourself with the notion that 
 your visit has been a failure ; for, in truth,
 
 2 20 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 you've done me a deal of good, and I've been 
 a churl not to let you see it. You're the 
 only soul who has been near me, except old 
 Squire Rush, who was driven off ignomini- 
 ously by my she-dragon. Come, let us talk 
 about something more cheerful. Tell me 
 about yourself; I want to realize that my 
 own ego does not comprise the whole uni- 
 verse. Has Julius Rush been down on 
 short leave lately ? " 
 
 In her softened mood, Kate was not averse 
 to dwelling a little upon her own troubles ; 
 and the twilight having now fallen outside, 
 the dim firelight invited confidence. 
 
 '' No, I have not seen Captain Rush since 
 — since that dinner-party at Hollacomb. He 
 was very distant and unfriendly then, Simon. 
 I doubt if he will ever say a cordial word to 
 me again." 
 
 '' Your treatment of his father has cut him 
 up, Kate. You couldn't have chosen a more 
 certain way of killing friendship than that."
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 2 21 
 
 Kate looked unusually meek, as though 
 conscious of guilt, and rather anxious to be 
 lectured than not. She drew her chair a little 
 nearer to Simon, and sighed gently. If he 
 would but talk a little of Julius Rush, and 
 give her some hope that this flouted admirer 
 of hers was not alienated for ever, Kate felt 
 that she would go away a good deal cheered. 
 
 But Simon, not in the least comprehending 
 a woman's mood, had nothing more to say. 
 
 She sighed again, and he regretted his 
 blunder in having mentioned Rush's name. 
 
 " Well, I dare say you didn't mean to hurt 
 his feelings," he said kindly, " and I won't 
 bully you for not liking a man just because 
 he is my friend. As I said before, let us 
 talk of something cheerful." 
 
 Poor Kate, having ventured as far as 
 maiden pride would let her, had to give up 
 hope for the present ; but she wished Simon 
 had studied the human countenance a little 
 more, and the face of the heavens a little
 
 22 2 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 less. She rose to go, and, turning from the 
 fire, glanced towards the glazed door at the 
 other end of the room. In doing so she 
 started violently, uttering a suppressed cry 
 of alarm. 
 
 " Why, Kate, what has come to you ? " 
 
 " There was a man's head close to the 
 glass ; he was staring in at us. Keep back, 
 Simon — keep in the shade of the bookcase." 
 
 She pressed him back with both hands, 
 breathing short and trembling nervously. 
 By the time Simon had got free and hurried 
 to the door, the man, whoever he might be, 
 had vanished in the evening gloom. 
 
 '* I'm glad of it — I'm glad of it ! " she cried, 
 rather hysterically for her ; *' he might have 
 attacked you." 
 
 Simon laughed cheerfully, and began to 
 search for her fur boa. 
 
 " Some one passing down the canal path 
 saw the firelight and had a fit of curiosity — 
 that's all about it, Kate."
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 223 
 
 *' Do you think so ? " she asked doubtfully. 
 " I do wish you would quit this lonely place. 
 I know you have enemies, and " 
 
 ** Rubbish ! my dear Kate. Come, let us 
 start, for I'm going to see you most of the 
 way home."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IBHHE face of which Kate had caught a 
 
 glimpse through the glazed door 
 
 belonged to no casual passer-by, but to a 
 man who had been prowling about the farm 
 and neighbouring woods night after night 
 ever since Secretan's arrival — one who was, 
 in truth, far more an object of pity than 
 the lonely philosopher whose steps he was 
 dogging. 
 
 Simon, the pursued, would probably regain 
 his mental balance and resume the routine 
 of a rational person, sooner or later ; but 
 Ezekiel Doidge, the pursuer, was in far more 
 hopeless case. The man's previous history,
 
 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. 225 
 
 his bodily temperament, and the dead-weight 
 of circumstances, were all combined in the 
 work of hardening and stamping in the craze 
 which now possessed him. He had domi- 
 neered so long over those about him, had 
 established such a reputation of superiority 
 to the weaknesses of his neighbours, that, 
 now trouble was come, human sympathy 
 stood aloof from him ; no one dared to do 
 him the kindness of forcing his confidence. 
 
 And the only person into whose ear he 
 felt minded to pour the '' perilous stuff" that 
 filled his heart was his sympathetic doctor, 
 Terence Clancy, who, instead of giving him 
 an opening for that salutary process, always 
 contrived to hand over this patient to his 
 assistant. 
 
 Growing bodily weakness, too, was lessen- 
 ing his power of resistance to the surges 
 of morbid thought. He would do no work 
 worthy of the name ; he was too restless 
 and irritable even to superintend the work 
 
 VOL. II. ZS
 
 2 26 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 of Others; and so poor Ezekiel's heart grew 
 blacker as his vital force waned. 
 
 The tragic death of his sweetheart had 
 gone far to craze the man ; days and nights 
 of miserable brooding had since then so 
 stirred the gloomy depths of his nature that 
 wholesome thinking was becoming impossible. 
 His mind was always working round a 
 weary circle of which Mary's shameful end 
 was the centre. He conceived that his own 
 harassing jealousy had first pressed her into 
 the crooked path, that his want of vigilance 
 had made her continuance in it possible ; 
 and now it seemed that his plain duty, the 
 only purpose for which he ought to live, 
 was to revenge her death. There was 
 none else, her father being old and infirm, 
 to see to the punishment of the man who 
 had ruined her. 
 
 At first Ezekiel had been satisfied with 
 the disgrace into which his efforts had 
 plunged Simon ; but very soon the gnawing
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 227 
 
 began afresh. The retirement to the farm 
 was a mere passing whim, he considered ; 
 the result, no doubt, of a quarrel with his 
 father. But that would be made up in due 
 course, and then Secretan would come forth 
 to resume his old position, the passing 
 disgrace being slipped off like a worn-out 
 garment. 
 
 But poor shattered Ezekiel was not cut 
 out of the stuff Nature uses for the making 
 of assassins, so that he could in no wise 
 bring his mind — except in theory — to the 
 cutting-off of his enemy in cold blood. 
 
 The very facilities offered by Secretan's 
 lonely ramblings in the woods helped to 
 make such a task an impossibility. He 
 seemed to have none of the characteristic 
 fears of a guilty conscience ; nay more, his 
 apparent blindness to his own danger in- 
 duced in Doidge a hesitation amounting 
 almost to doubt of his guilt. 
 
 There was no difficulty whatever in
 
 2 28 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 dogging Secretan about the woodland paths 
 at dusk ; and more than once Doidge had 
 looked In upon him lighted by lamp or 
 firelight, as he had done this evening. Yet 
 his gun had remained unloaded ; the would- 
 be avenger had never once so much as taken 
 a cartridge from his pocket. He would 
 scorn himself, and curse his own cowardice 
 when he got home of a night, worn out with 
 excitement and fatigue ; and then would 
 start off on the morrow, to follow, and 
 track, and slink about, knowing full well 
 that he would once more return with nothing 
 done. 
 
 Thus, at the end of three weeks, Doidge 
 was more than half beside himself with 
 the recurring nightly strain ; but had settled 
 in his mind that only in one of two cases 
 could he bring himself to draw trigger upon 
 his enemy. Either he must come upon 
 Secretan at the very spot where Mary's 
 body was found, and find plain proofs of
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 229 
 
 his guilt In the man's face ; or he must take 
 the train to Lymport and force the truth 
 out of Joyce Melladew, probably the only 
 living person In whom Mary had confided. 
 Until every vestige of doubt should be 
 cleared away, brain and hand would con- 
 tinue to refuse their appointed task. 
 
 The glimpse he caught of Miss Tredethlyn 
 donning furs and wraps, and of Simon pre- 
 paring to bear her company, sent him reeling 
 away, half dazed, into the darkness. For 
 fear fathers a thought quite as often as a 
 wish does, and Doldge's fear now begot the 
 notion that this visit of Kate's was made 
 to a repentant sinner, that she would never 
 have continued such friendly relations with 
 a hardened man who had confessed nothing. 
 He conceived that she had come to soothe 
 Secretan's remorse, that as they walked 
 away together there would be some spoken 
 admission of his unhappy condition ; and 
 then — then there would remain only for
 
 230 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Doidge the fulfilment of what he considered 
 a sacred duty. 
 
 For, weak and sore smitten as the man 
 was, he would not then shirk the course 
 which nights and days of hard thinking had 
 laid down as the right one. He slunk after 
 the pair down the dark lane between the 
 leafless hedges, and out into the high-road. 
 
 Once or twice he got near enough to 
 hear their words. Simon was talking 
 astronomy, telling Kate of the wonders of 
 the Saturnian system ; he spoke of nothing 
 but the stars in their courses, while his 
 companion listened, only throwing in a word 
 now and then. 
 
 The revulsion of feeling caused by this 
 innocent talk came as a shock to Ezekiel. 
 He was glad to halt and rest upon a heap 
 of stones, and allow some of his despair to 
 float away on the night wind. He could 
 ask no greater relief than the discovery of 
 Secretan s innocence, and such a consum-
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 23 I 
 
 mation seemed now to be growing more 
 probable. True, were it proved that he had 
 hitherto been hunting a false trail, his next 
 duty would be to start upon a fresh one ; 
 but there would be an interim of rest, and 
 — this had come to be his true hope now — 
 he might never discover the right man at 
 all. The pursuit of his monomania had so 
 broken Doidge that he longed only to have 
 his task remitted altogether. 
 
 His principal desire now being to gain 
 fresh confirmation of his hope, he decided 
 to station himself at the head of the lane 
 leading up to the farm, and there await 
 Secretan's return. What course to pursue 
 when Simon reappeared he could not yet 
 decide, but he was full of a vague desire to 
 have another good look at Simon's face 
 when he thought himself unobserved, and 
 of a vague hope of deriving some fresh 
 consolation from being near him. 
 
 Accordingly the watcher retraced his steps
 
 232 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 almost cheerfully, and ensconced himself 
 among some fern and bramble at the head 
 of the short lane. 
 
 The long lean stalks of brake-fern were 
 broken off short here and there, like stubble, 
 but otherwhere were hung with tressy 
 masses of frond damply drooping, which, 
 with brambles still showing a sprinkling of 
 dun purple leaves, afforded adequate cover. 
 
 Doidge waited long, but the suspense 
 was too mild to be wearisome. The drift 
 of his thoughts became more cheerful as 
 the time went by, for it took but a little 
 thing to sway his mind now. He had 
 deduced an added probability of Simon's 
 guilt from the mere fact of Kate's presence 
 at the farm, and now inferred his innocence 
 from the mere ability to talk cheerfully upon 
 his favourite topic. Logic had ceased to 
 have weight with poor Doidge ; he was no 
 better than a straw blown hither and thither 
 by successive gusts of nervous excitement.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 233 
 
 By the time the moon had risen several 
 degrees, and the thin web of clouds had 
 grown thinner, he heard the creak and 
 rumble of a farm-cart in the road below. It 
 seemed to stop for a few seconds at the 
 lower end of the lane ; then, very soon, 
 he heard footsteps. 
 
 His heart began to flutter again ; the cold, 
 which he had noticed but little hitherto, 
 was now penetrating to the marrow of his 
 bones. He peered through crannied thick- 
 nesses of bramble, and there was now light 
 enough reflected from the white smoothness 
 of the lane to define clearly the approaching 
 figures. For Secretan was not alone. He 
 carried a child upon his shoulder, and was 
 stooping to catch the words of a woman who 
 walked beside him. They moved at a 
 snail's pace. 
 
 In one quick agitated glance the watcher 
 recognized Joyce Melladew. The sight of 
 her gave him a fresh stab of fear. Joyce
 
 234 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 must know the absolute truth as to Mary, 
 and upon what other business could she 
 possibly have come to see Simon ? Doidge 
 was already sliding back into despair. He 
 thought that any moment now might be 
 Secretan's last. 
 
 With shivering hand he put two cartridges 
 into his gun — '' One for him, and one for 
 me," he muttered in a crazed whisper. 
 
 Upon reaching the gate which shut off 
 the lane from the grassy slope of the knoll, 
 Simon seated the child upon the top bar, 
 and Joyce took possession of her. Then he 
 stepped back a pace or two, standing with 
 his broad chest not four yards from Doidge's 
 gun-muzzle. 
 
 *' Still asleep } " he exclaimed ; '* why, 
 nothing will wake the little creature now, 
 Joyce. Last time I saw you she wouldn't 
 go to sleep for love or money." 
 
 *' She's very tired, sir. My little Rosebud 
 has done a great deal to-day. I'm afeard
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 235 
 
 you'll have to let us sleep on your sofa 
 to-night, Mr. Simon, for I'm a trifle tired 
 myself— and there's something I must say to 
 you before I leave." 
 
 *' Why, of course, we shall manage to put 
 you up, Joyce." 
 
 '' You'll be at the farm for a few days 
 longer, anyway ? " 
 
 **Yes, for another week; after that my 
 plans are quite unsettled." 
 
 Joyce panted a little and leaned against 
 the gate, supporting the child's weight on it. 
 
 '' Your being here at all is a mystery to 
 me at present, Mr. Simon ; for of all the mad 
 freaks that have ever come into your mind, 
 this bearing of another man's sins is the most 
 astounding. Why don't you tell the truth 
 and blow this traitor to atoms ? I will my- 
 self to-morrow, if you persist in this madness. 
 I'll go into Chillington High Street and 
 proclaim him. . . ." 
 
 Not a syllable more did Doidge hear, for
 
 236 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 at this point he fell back, fainting, among the 
 dead leaves, and before he recovered they 
 had passed on. Nor did he wish to hear 
 more now ; the truth was ready to his hand, 
 his fingers could close over it at any moment 
 — for this one night he could afford to allow 
 himself rest and peace.
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 N comparing himself with the gentler 
 half of creation, man will sometimes 
 set forth — in a condescending judicial way, 
 with due sense of his own magnanimity — the 
 one or two minor points of woman's admitted 
 superiority. After stripping her of justice, 
 honesty, generosity, and other garments 
 which he has appropriated for himself, he 
 kindly leaves her with such flimsy under- 
 clothing as may be woven of sympathy, un- 
 selfishness, and a few other trifling woman's 
 graces. But he seldom realizes how supreme 
 a barrenness must needs ensue upon the loss 
 of these mere femininities.
 
 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 "How are you, old fellow ? " he asks by 
 way of morning greeting ; and before your 
 first reply-syllable is formed, proceeds to a 
 minute exposition of his own troubles, bodily 
 and financial. For, judging you by himself, 
 he shrewdly conceives that he must be first 
 in the field in order to get a hearing at all. 
 
 It seldom strikes him that, if woman were 
 to borrow his habit of selfishness, the wear 
 of life would be well-nigh insupportable to 
 all but the healthy and prosperous. For, 
 though you may find scores who will accept 
 harsh treatment from the world in general 
 with tolerable fortitude, there are few indeed 
 who can bear up against a friend's indiffer- 
 ence to their troubles. The easy acquiescence 
 in your misfortunes of those from whom you 
 look for something better has a unique sting 
 of its own ; and the most resolute contemner 
 of women will admit that it comes most 
 often from members of his own sex. 
 
 Mrs. French-Chichester used to say in
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 239 
 
 cynical moments, '' Blessed Is he that ex- 
 pecteth little from male-friends — most blessed 
 is he that expecteth nothing. Men don't 
 * sit and hear each other groan,' as the poet 
 says ; the voice of their own groaning 
 prevents that." And perhaps such an in- 
 dictment is not without a grain or two of 
 justification. 
 
 To consider, for instance, Secretan and 
 his present companion. 
 
 He is himself a philanthropist, a man who 
 has given years of study to the question of 
 how to better his fellow's condition, but he 
 does not now perceive that the woman at his 
 side Is sick unto death, and can hardly sup- 
 port herself upright. He accepts with calm- 
 ness her stoical explanation that she Is '* a 
 bit tired." In such cases the kindest of men 
 are blind as a gate-post. 
 
 Joyce, on the other hand, is, and always 
 has been, a wilful woman. Through wilful- 
 ness she lost her home at the hall, through
 
 240 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 wilfulness married Sergeant Melladevv against 
 the advice of all her friends ; by wilfulness, 
 in all probability, helped a middling bad 
 man on the road to perdition. Yet she 
 thinks more of Simon at this moment than 
 of herself ; hates to give him trouble; staggers 
 along in pain and weariness rather than 
 worry him with a single sigh or complaint. 
 
 Arrived at the steps, however, about half- 
 way up the knoll, she was compelled to sit 
 down and rest. 
 
 Simon carried the sleeping child in, laid 
 her down before the fire, and returned, 
 whistling softly. 
 
 " I wouldn't sit here long, Joyce ; there's 
 danger of your catching cold." 
 
 She smiled a wan smile, but said nothing. 
 
 ** Come on, I'll help you up the steps if 
 you're tired." 
 
 " I'm afraid — I shan't be able to move just 
 
 A. " 
 
 yet. 
 
 Then the weakness of her voice struck
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 24 1 
 
 him. He lifted her in his arms, bore her 
 through the glazed door, and laid her upon 
 a straight horsehair thing understood by- 
 Mr. Pethick, its late owner, to be a sofa. 
 
 Then, being freed from the necessity of 
 further effort for the present, Joyce grew a 
 little fretful. 
 
 '' Mr. Simon ? " she said querulously. 
 
 " What is it, Joyce '^. Anything I can 
 do for you ? Are you hungry after your 
 journey ^ " 
 
 ** Yes, I am hungry. I want my Rosebud." 
 
 " Eh } She's all right down there by the 
 fire. I want you to rest, not to fidget with 
 the baby." 
 
 ** I can't rest; give me my little one — I 
 will have her!' 
 
 Simon laughed, for Joyce's peremptory 
 tone carried him back to old nursery days, 
 when he, a giant boy of eight years old, had 
 been ordered about by a little creature hardly 
 up to his waist-belt. 
 
 VOL. II. 36
 
 242 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 " Give me my baby-girl," she repeated, 
 with a weak tear or two on her cheek ; 
 whereupon he hastily fetched the sleeping 
 child, laid her beside her mother, and 
 wheeled the sofa round before the blazing 
 logs. 
 
 Joyce clasped the little creature with a 
 long sigh of pleasure, carefully removed the 
 outer wraps, spread the little limbs over 
 herself, and laid the child-head upon the 
 mother-heart. 
 
 The philosopher watched the pair curi- 
 ously. He had come to this hermitage in 
 order to be quit of the human race ; but was 
 now perhaps learning more of the human 
 heart than the practice of much philanthropy 
 could have taught him. 
 
 " You look ill, Joyce, now I come to 
 observe you closely ? " 
 
 '* Oh, I'm well again now. You must 
 excuse my weakness ; but she and I are to 
 part so soon."
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 243 
 
 ''Will your work oblige you to leave her ? 
 I should have thought the doctor would 
 have prohibited any close application ? " 
 
 Joyce smiled again, with something like 
 the old gleam in her eye. 
 
 " He says I shall soon be out of his hands, 
 Mr. Simon." 
 
 " Come, that's good hearing. You'll soon 
 be all right again ; and If you need rest 
 while recovering I must see what can be 
 done about your little girl." 
 
 '' Would you — would you really '^. " said the 
 
 mother, half raising herself; ** would you 
 
 But I'm afraid to say it yet ; no, no, Fll 
 hang on to my hope a little longer. There's 
 a kind of warmth spreading over me now, 
 and I won't put the fire out just directly." 
 
 " I don't quite understand you, Joyce ; but 
 
 I think you should rest. Suppose I summon 
 
 Mrs. Venn, and let her make you some broth 
 
 or something, and then you might sleep ?" 
 
 ** No, thank you ; I don't want her here.
 
 244 ^^^ TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Mr. Simon, if you were going to have an 
 operation, which might cure, but would far 
 more likely kill, would you put it off, or 
 make the plunge and get it over ? " 
 
 There was a yearning in the woman's 
 voice which touched Simon, though he could 
 make no guess at its meaning. 
 
 '' My dear Joyce, you mystify me. What 
 can I do for you ? " 
 
 *' You can make my few remaining weeks 
 a paradise, and let me die in peace, blessing 
 you,*' she answered in a strained heart- 
 whisper. 
 
 '' Tell me how.'' 
 
 '' No — no ; let me dream a little longer. 
 I've given over the habit so long that 'tis 
 like a childish treat come back. I won't tell 
 you — I won't. If I do tell you, will you 
 promise not to say 'No' to-night, so that 
 my hope may dwindle gradually, instead o' 
 bein' killed by a single word } " 
 
 " I will do anything in my power to give
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 245 
 
 you a little ease, Joyce. Your suffering 
 hurts me. What can I do for you ? " 
 
 She clasped her child closer, and turned 
 two burning eyes upon him. 
 
 '' Sir, do you mind how you used to beat 
 your elder brother, Hamo, in the nursery 
 when you quarrelled, and how Sir Hamo 
 would beat you afterwards ? " 
 
 '' Yes, poor old Hamo ! I was always 
 master — but we used to make it up after- 
 wards." 
 
 " And how I used to rage and storm at 
 Sir Hamo for touching of you ? I always 
 took your part, and we were always good 
 comrades, weren't we ? Well, I want you to 
 take my part against Fate now. Listen, Mr. 
 Simon, and bear in mind your promise to 
 give me to-night free — or I can say nothing. 
 The doctor says I'm quite shattered ; he 
 gives me five or six weeks more o' life, at 
 the outside. This journey to-day will pro- 
 bably knock off three — say I have about two
 
 246 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 weeks left. Two days would suffice — two 
 hours, if I could but get you on my side ! " 
 
 Joyce paused for breath. Her intense 
 earnestness oppressed her listener like a 
 physical pain. 
 
 '' But I don't wish," she resumed with 
 anxious haste, '' to stir up your feelin's about 
 myself. I've been afeard of death just like 
 other people ; but fear gets stale and worn 
 out in time, and mine's pretty well thread- 
 bare by now. I could die without making 
 
 much fuss ; but for Oh, you can guess ! 
 
 Surely even a man can guess ! " 
 
 " You dread parting from your little one, 
 Joyce ? " 
 
 '' Ah, 'tisn't the parting merely ; there's 
 something a thousand times worse than that ! 
 'Tis the leavin her alone — motherless, 
 friendless, alone — in a world that I've found 
 bad enough ! My blossom ! my blossom ! " 
 
 ''In whose charge do you intend to leave 
 her, Joyce .'^"
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 247 
 
 '' I don't know ; I don't know," she 
 repeated, patting the child with her quiver- 
 ing hands. '' My husband's relations are 
 offended with me ; they will have none of 
 my child. I have no relations left of my 
 own but that leathern-hearted housekeeper 
 of yours at the hall. She has offered to 
 take my Rose. Mrs. Henley will not let 
 her hunger — except for love — will see that 
 she's well fed and clothed — and miserable. 
 The little one will be brought up to hate 
 my memory. When she grows big her 
 mother will be held up to her as a warning, 
 and happiness will be kept from her like a 
 poison ! " 
 
 '' I begin to understand " 
 
 '' Don't understand yet, sir. I'm not half 
 prepared. I will talk to you for an hour 
 before I let you understand." There was 
 silence for a few minutes. Her next whisper 
 seemed to pierce the silence like sharp steel. 
 '' Oh, do you understand already ? Have
 
 248 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 I spoilt my chance through over-haste ? 
 Mr. Simon, I entreat you not to let her 
 suffer for my clumsiness." 
 
 ** Joyce," he said in a troubled voice, 
 " who am I to undertake the guardianship of 
 a little child ? A man disgraced and em- 
 bittered, and " 
 
 " A man," she cried with fierce haste, as 
 though trying to clutch him with eyes and 
 voice, '' whom I would choose out of all the 
 world, one who has justice and duty written 
 on his heart. A woman might neglect her, 
 unless she really loved my Rose ; but you, 
 even though you hated her, would but do 
 your duty by her the more strictly. I don't 
 ask you to raise her. Bring her up to the 
 humblest station, so that you be but respon- 
 sible for her. I know she must be some- 
 thing of a burden to you; but I'm a selfish 
 woman in sore need. And, sir, you're one 
 marked out to bear other people's burdens. 
 You would have her on your mind ; would
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 249 
 
 see that she had love and care as well as 
 daily bread. And, sir, she's such a lovin* 
 little thing! But now I'm gettin' weak, and 
 can't say out a thousandth part of what was 
 in my mind. Would you turn me over a 
 little, so as I mayn't see you, Mr. Simon ? 
 It will be such a torture to watch your face, 
 for I know you can't decide in a moment." 
 
 " I will go out into the air for a short time, 
 Joyce, and consider whether I should really 
 be doing you a service by undertaking this 
 trust." 
 
 Simon opened the glazed door hastily and 
 was gone. There was no sound in the room 
 but that of the child's regular breathing, 
 and a faint occasional crackle from the 
 hearth. 
 
 When Simon re-entered, the sick woman 
 could hardly draw breath. She lay, shaking, 
 with closed eyes and set teeth. 
 
 He had taken but a step into the room 
 when his voice came to her like a voice from
 
 250 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 heaven, and his words fell warm upon her 
 frozen heart. 
 
 "Joyce, I will take your little one." 
 
 She clasped his hand when he drew near, 
 and kissed it, and placed it on her baby's head. 
 
 *' May the God whom I've been so bitter 
 against these many years bless you ! " she 
 whispered. '' And mayhap even a rebel's 
 blessing may go for something, sir, when it 
 comes from a bursting heart ! " 
 
 In this manner it came about that Joyce 
 passed from suspense into mental ease and 
 happiness. 
 
 It has been said that the mere cessation 
 of severe bodily pain constitutes great happi- 
 ness ; but perhaps a deeper beatitude attends 
 upon the relief from gnawing suspense of 
 mind. In such a case it is impossible to do 
 full justice to the welling blessedness of the 
 moment. One is tempted to look back and 
 be a little wretched again, so as to revel the 
 deeper in heart-easing relief
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 
 
 Simon seemed not merely to have given 
 the sick woman a fresh lease of life, but to 
 have shed upon her an aftershine of her 
 merry, mischievous youth. She was anxious 
 now for the child to awake in order to show 
 her off to the new guardian ; and even in 
 this minor matter her wish was quickly 
 gratified. 
 
 The child began to move and stretch, to 
 fumble vaguely with her hands, to stuff both 
 fists into her eyes, and finally to sit up, wide 
 awake. 
 
 Simon began for the first time in his life 
 to examine with special interest a little child. 
 Miss Rose also scrutinized him, though with 
 a frank unconcern that rather astonished 
 him. Upon venturing to approach her, 
 however, he was driven away with con- 
 tumely. 
 
 " Go 'way, go 'way — naughty ! " cried the 
 little creature with the confidence of a grown 
 person rebuking a beggar. Then she looked
 
 252 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 at her mother with a chuckle of triumph, and 
 both began to laugh at him openly. 
 
 " You mustn't be too easily snubbed, sir," 
 Joyce remarked, wiping the tears from her 
 cheeks ; '' for she's just such an impudent 
 little hussy as her mother was before her." 
 
 ** Perhaps she's hungry ? " suggested 
 Simon, as though struck with a bright idea. 
 '* I don't know exactly what children eat ; 
 but would some cold beef meet the case, do 
 you think ? " 
 
 '' Oh yes — with plenty of pickles ! " Joyce 
 laughed again hysterically, then put up her 
 hand with a deprecating gesture. '' You 
 must forgive me, sir ; but I'm so happy that 
 I'm forced to make game o' somebody. No, 
 no, Mr. Simon, a child of twenty months 
 isn't fed on beef and pickles ; but happen 
 your housekeeper would poach her an ^gg!' 
 
 '' Eggy ! " shouted the child, with a wriggle 
 of satisfaction ; and Simon promptly went in 
 search of Mrs. Venn.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 253 
 
 When the ^gg arrived he expected to see 
 it demoHshed in a twinkling ; but he had 
 not quite mastered the philosophy of baby- 
 hood yet. The child was too much attracted 
 by the pattern of the plate to pay much heed 
 to what was upon It. 
 
 " Oh, pitty, pitty ! " she kept repeating, 
 following the lines with a tiny forefinger. 
 
 '' Shall I give your ^gg to Mr. Secretan, 
 then ? " asked Joyce. 
 
 '' Sekkitan — then," echoed Rose ; then slid 
 down to the floor and began to caress her 
 mother with a child's bewildering irrelevance. 
 " Oh, poor, poor ! " she said, stroking Joyce's 
 cheek. '' Not w-e-11 ? " 
 
 This, being her longest sentence, was 
 repeated many times In a quaint, drawling 
 fashion. But at length she was cozened 
 into taking some mouthfuls of bread dipped 
 in the ^gg, first Insisting upon offering each 
 one to " Sekittan — then," as she began from 
 this moment to call Simon.
 
 2 54 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 After this.it was high time to play. She 
 slid down to the floor again and began to 
 paddle to and fro, carrying a stool about in 
 an anxious manner, and finally depositing it 
 on a chair and carefully covering it with her 
 mother's shawl. 
 
 Joyce, seeing that Simon was becoming 
 interested, and regarding the little creature 
 as quite a new phenomenon, could allow her 
 newly won ease of mind to spread and 
 deepen. 
 
 '' You'll find a lot of human nature 
 wrapped up in that small parcel, Mr. Simon," 
 she said presently. ''Just put the other 
 stool on the top of hers, now, and see how 
 she'll take it." 
 
 Simon did so. The second stool was at 
 once thrown down with a squeak of anger 
 from Miss Rose. Then, as she seemed bent 
 upon collecting all the small movable things 
 about the room, he offered to help, and got 
 dismissed with cries of '* 'Way, 'way ! " for 
 his pains.
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 255 
 
 Presently she halted before the glass door 
 of the book-case, pointing and saying, *' Pitty 
 bookee ! " 
 
 Not having the key about him, Simon 
 offered her other books, only to be rebuffed 
 once more. 
 
 The mother regarded the pair with eyes 
 yearning and hopeful, and a smile of deep 
 peace. The child, standing and pointing 
 imperiously, looked very quaint and pretty. 
 Her small face was upturned to the big 
 gentleman, her bright eyes looked eagerly 
 from under the tumbled 'fair curls, the short, 
 crisp little features were alight with piquant 
 impatience. 
 
 The new guardian was of course com- 
 pelled to find the key, and next to take 
 down one by one a whole row of Mr. 
 Pethick's science primers. When the last 
 one was down, she suddenly lost all her 
 interest in books, and became athirst for 
 fresh diversion.
 
 256 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 Here was Simon's opportunity; and his 
 instruction had proceeded so far that he was 
 able to grasp it. Sitting on the floor, he 
 invited the Httle one to climb upon his 
 shoulder ; and, seeing nothing new to be 
 taken up or put down, she kindly con- 
 sented. 
 
 Thereupon ensued a triumphal progress. 
 He marched up and down the room with 
 the child grasping his hair, and squeaking, 
 babbling, and kicking to her heart's content. 
 Her efiervescing delight increased at every 
 stride, and Simon felt the strange de-cyniciz- 
 ing charm of the child-nature working in him 
 like an anodyne. It was a complete conquest 
 for the time being, and one more note was 
 thus added to the mother's content. 
 
 After this the frisky little creature was 
 tired enough to be glad of a rest. She 
 placed both stools by her mother's sofa, 
 and laid a shawl across them with much 
 careful adjustment ; then sat down gingerly,
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 257 
 
 and leaned against the reclining figure, 
 muttering sleepily, ** Poor — poor, n' well ! " 
 
 Joyce, after caressing the small head, and 
 whispering endearments into the tiny ear, 
 asked Mr. Secretan to take a seat near her, 
 explaining that she had much to talk about, 
 but little voice to do it with. 
 
 Then she asked him for a full account 
 of how he had come to take another man's 
 disgrace upon his shoulders. 
 
 As Joyce knew the truth about Clancy, 
 the promise of silence was of course void, 
 and Simon was free to explain the circum- 
 stances that had led up to it and for how 
 long the compact was to last. 
 
 '' I see, I see," she muttered, when he 
 had delivered himself thus far. " You've 
 given me only a clipped version of the affair, 
 Mr. Simon, as I know very well ; but I 
 perceive that the whole transaction was 
 most like you both. It was like him to 
 work upon you when he found himself in 
 
 VOL. II. 37
 
 258 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 a hole, most like you to be cozened into 
 a promise of such insane generosity. Your 
 friend has wrecked you pretty thoroughly 
 for the time being, Mr. Simon ; and but for 
 me, it's like enough you'd never float off 
 again. There's no one but me to pick up 
 the pieces, d'ye see ? " 
 
 " How so, Joyce .-^ " 
 
 ** I'm the only livin' person as can swear 
 to the truth about poor Mary and her lover. 
 You'm out of court yourself, don't you see ? 
 Having acquiesced in a lie for the best part 
 of a month, the truth wouldn't come from 
 you with any sort o' weight ; your word 
 wouldn't overbear his in public estimation. 
 That's plain enough, isn't it ? " 
 
 '' But you don't think " 
 
 " I don't think, but I know that Mr. 
 Terence Clancy '11 fight tooth and nail rather 
 than confess anythin'. He meant to do so, 
 mind you, when he made the promise. I 
 don't say that he didn't mean what he said
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 259 
 
 at the time ; but does a weak man like that 
 ever stick to a difficult promise unless he's 
 drove to it ? You made things too easy 
 for him, sir ; you opened a gate in the 
 hedge, and he plunged through pretty quick, 
 and will find plenty of excuses for stayin' on 
 the sunny side o't." 
 
 Simon sat silent and amazed at this view 
 of the matter. The suggestion that Terence 
 would break his word now, and turn round 
 upon his rescuer, was too painful to be 
 harboured. 
 
 But Joyce went quietly on as though 
 speaking of certainties rather than pro- 
 babilities. 
 
 '' He will fight tooth and nail. The man 
 who has let you bear this for a month would 
 let you bear it all your life — or through 
 a dozen lives, if you had 'em — rather than 
 take it on his own shoulders. What's to 
 hinder him — gratitude? I believe when 
 you set him up in his profession his gratitude
 
 2 6o THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 took the form of robbery of your lady love. 
 Ah, gratitude's a mighty tender plant ! A 
 child's breath will kill it. And if he shirked 
 discovery before, how will he like it now ? 
 For, remember, now that he's once let you 
 suffer for him, discovery would mean absolute 
 ruin to him, with his wife, his friends, his 
 patients, and every one else besides." 
 
 She saw that her listener writhed under 
 her words, that the truth about Clancy was 
 going into him like a sword. But knowing 
 that there was no time to be lost, she was 
 anxious to stir Simon to action. 
 
 "- You had best send for a magistrate, 
 or other competent person, to-morrow, Mr. 
 Simon, an' I'll make oath, or affidavit, or 
 whatever 'tis called, as to the truth o' this 
 matter. I'd like to get it done to-morrow, 
 for I'm growin' weaker. Fact is, you've 
 taken a load off me, and I don't seem to 
 care about more strugglin', and people In 
 my state are apt to snuff out sudden-like
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 26 1 
 
 as soon as the call for further effort ceases. 
 Think a minute what your position would 
 be without my evidence to back you. In 
 a few days' time you'd be free to tell your 
 story, and he'd deny every word of it on 
 his oath. Then they'd say, ' Why did you 
 tamper with the truth ? why did you let 
 the lie bide so long 1 ' 
 
 *' There'd be not a tittle of evidence agen' 
 him but your bare word : not one in ten 
 would believe you. Mayhap his wife might, 
 knowing you so well, and gettin to know 
 him a bit by now, I should think ; and like 
 enough you'd spoil her life — hers for whose 
 sake you've bore this. For I know that 'tis 
 so, though you gave me all your motives but 
 the true un. And, lookee, sir, a vain attempt 
 to set up your innocence would break you 
 worse than you're broke now. Mr. Simon — 
 I tell you this plain an' straight an' solemn 
 as if I was in church — you must either begin 
 the fight the moment you're free, and with
 
 262 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 my sworn evidence to back you, or else hold 
 your peace for ever ! " 
 
 ** Your supposition as to his treachery is 
 horrible, horrible," muttered Simon. *' I 
 can t bring myself to accept it." 
 
 " Put yourself in his place, sir. You Ve 
 never known what it is to have to think 
 about daily bread ; but think what profes- 
 sional ruin means to hi7n. He may feel 
 qualmish, but he'll fight like a wounded 
 beast. And, upon my word, you've a'most 
 drove him to it by givin' in to him so at the 
 beginning. You must fetch in a parson or 
 a magistrate to-morrow without fail. Why, 
 sir, the more I think on't, the greater seems 
 the crisis. What o' the hall, and the lands 
 — your patrimony ? There's no entail, is 
 there ?^' 
 
 *' No. But what has that to do with it ? " 
 
 " Mr. Simon, I'm loth to make you bitter, 
 but 'tis my firm belief that if you don't right 
 yourself Sir Hamo '11 cut you out of Monks
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 263 
 
 Damerel. A better father might do it : he 
 would to a certainty. Think over it all to- 
 night. I'm a bit tired now, and my voice is 
 goin', so I must just tell you my plans, and 
 then get some sleep. I've one thing to 
 confess — that I did rather hope to be took 
 bad here, thinkin' so to further my Blossom's 
 chance with you. I han't the ghost of a fear 
 that you'll go back from your word, so I 
 like to plump out the fraud, such as it was. 
 As 'tis, I shan't stay here to bother you after 
 to-morrow. I'm perfectly at ease now, and 
 shall get myself carted over to the town, 
 and hire a decent little room there to die in ; 
 an' I know you'll have my precious sent 
 over to see me every day ? But don't be 
 pityin me too much, sir, for nothin' can rob 
 me of the peace of mind that you've given 
 me. . . . And, sir, happen you'll be talkin' 
 about me to her sometimes when I'm gone ? 
 Yes, yes ; I know you'll do that." 
 
 '' Poor — poor," murmured the baby sleepily.
 
 264 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 ** Ah, she'm half asleep already, and won't 
 give you no more trouble. Lay her along 
 by me, sir, would you ? " 
 
 Simon did so ; and the twain slept. 
 
 He then drew his chair up to the fire, and 
 hung over it, moodily thinking. Joyce's 
 candid speaking had produced in him a self- 
 revelation which was now developing rapidly 
 in the silence. For the first time since the 
 occasion of his public arraignment he was 
 getting a fair view of himself from the out- 
 side, and the process was one of painful 
 disillusion. 
 
 In common with most of his father's 
 household, he had always liked Joyce for 
 her good heart, and respected her bright 
 wit, audacious honesty, and pluck when in 
 trouble. Upon the work-a-day matters of 
 ordinary life he rightly valued her opinion 
 a good deal above his own ; hence the light 
 that she had been shedding, even more by 
 her tone than her words, upon his own
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 265 
 
 conduct, was causing him deep misgivings. 
 It was clear that she considered his yielding 
 to Terence's eloquence a piece of criminal 
 folly. Moreover, her repeated use of the 
 phrase, '' tampering with the truth," gave 
 him that sharpest of pangs which comes 
 when self endorses the accusation of a friend. 
 The words remained with him like the after- 
 flavour of a nauseous drug. He had tam- 
 pered with the truth — from a benevolent 
 motive, no doubt — but tampering there had 
 been. He had so manipulated the figure of 
 Truth as to make it unrecognizable for a 
 time, and then had railed at the world for 
 passing it by unheeded. In effect he had 
 passed an adverse verdict upon himself, and 
 then turned savagely upon his neighbours 
 for accepting it. 
 
 Then, again, as to Terence Clancy. His 
 friend had always been a weak man — a 
 '* good-hearted weakling," was what Simon 
 had often called him in his own mind, yet
 
 266 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 had failed to realize that a good heart is not 
 a thing to be trusted through thick and thin. 
 How could he have been so blindly fatuous 
 as to expect poor, feeble, shifty, well-meaning 
 Terence to keep so difficult a promise ? 
 Confession from such a man, under such 
 circumstances ? Who but a fool would have 
 looked for such a consummation ? 
 
 The more Simon reflected, the more certain 
 he grew that his only chance lay with this 
 sick woman. Joyce could set him straight 
 with the world, and her statement could be 
 kept a secret until Clancy was fairly started 
 in some distant place, whither the effects of 
 past misconduct could not follow him. He 
 now realized fully how much depended upon 
 poor Joyce, that without her help he would 
 never be able to right himself with his 
 neighbours ; and the possibility of having to 
 live out his life with his name uncleared, now 
 that he had viewed it from so near a stand- 
 point, filled him with consternation. He felt
 
 TERENCE CLANCY. 267 
 
 now that his fit of spleen against human 
 nature was partly unreal ; that he, least of 
 all men, could afford to do without human 
 love and respect. And perhaps he com- 
 pared his own seeming-tragical woes with 
 the long pain of this woman who complained 
 so little. Observing her now as she slept, 
 with both hands wrapped over her baby 
 girl's, he guessed rightly that overwork had 
 done much towards hastening her end, that 
 she had worn herself down in the silent 
 stoical endeavour, probably unmarked and 
 unpitied of any, to support her child in 
 comfort. Now that he was learning to ob- 
 serve, he could note the contrast between 
 the threadbare clothing of the mother and 
 the dainty attire of the baby ; and the tale 
 that hung thereby was a useful critical essay 
 to a man whose thoughts had been concen- 
 trated upon himself for three entire weeks. 
 Humility may be learnt rather well from a 
 woman sometimes.
 
 2 68 THE TRANSGRESSION OF 
 
 After watching her for some minutes It 
 struck him, ignorant though he was in all 
 matters relating to sickness, that Joyce's 
 breathing was very faint. He wished that 
 he had not sent Mrs. Venn to bed, or 
 that he had himself gone for a doctor 
 ere now. 
 
 While Simon was cogitating, however, 
 Miss Rose awoke, and quickly showed symp- 
 toms, as far as he could judge, of being 
 hungry. Then he looked at his watch, and 
 was amazed to discover that it was half- 
 past six o'clock. Evidently he must have 
 fallen asleep by the fire, and have slept 
 for hours. 
 
 He set the child upon his knee and gave 
 her some milk, after which she began to 
 patter up and down and pull things about as 
 before. 
 
 Simon followed her in her perambulations, 
 endeavouring to keep her quiet and away 
 from her mother. But every now and
 
 TERENCE CLANCY, 269 
 
 then she would break off, apparently when 
 most interested, to stroke the sleeper's face 
 with her quaint babble of " Poor — poor, 
 not w-e-11 ! " then turn to Simon with a 
 wrinkling of the short nose, and grey eyes 
 full of laughter. 
 
 These diversions lasted until the light of 
 the winter morning began to steal into the 
 homestead, and to gleam on the new coat- 
 ing of rime which the night had given 
 to the great ash-trees outside. Then Miss 
 Rose, tired of her new companion, began 
 to cry for her mother and to pull at her 
 hands. 
 
 Wondering how the invalid contrived to 
 sleep through this attack, Simon bent over 
 her with some misgiving. But she looked 
 so placid and peaceful, so exactly as she had 
 done when last he bent over her, that it was 
 some minutes before the truth dawned upon 
 him. 
 
 '' Poor — poor ! " cried the baby fretfully,
 
 270 TRANSGRESSION OF TERENCE CLANCY. 
 
 climbing upon the stool and stretching out 
 her arms. But the mother would nevermore 
 answer to that appeal. '^ Poor — poor " was 
 dead. 
 
 END OF VOL. II. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, 
 
 LONDON AND BECCLES. 6". &" H.
 
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