;<.•- • -^vegj;;-^* : 
 
 :xx;>N^\«5jjwsfsaKi*a*a»<««i • -'
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 U N IVLR.5ITY 
 or ILLI NOIS 
 
 S25
 
 THE 
 
 MASTER OF RIVERSWOOD. 
 
 l fiml 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. ARTHUR LEWIS 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. 1. 
 
 SAMUEL TINSLEY, 
 
 10 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND. 
 
 1876. 
 
 (-4// I^t'^/i^s Reserved.)
 
 
 THE MASTER OF MVERSWOOD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^-) One wild, wet evening, at the end of May, 
 
 185 — , a closed carriage, with a pair of im- 
 
 ^ patient, steaming greys, drew up at the 
 
 lodge-gates of a great park, and the old 
 
 ::::, lodge-keeper came out to open them with a 
 
 ^ horse-cloth over his shoulders, and a singu- 
 
 ^larly grave and anxious visage. This he 
 
 ^ directed, as well as the driving rain would 
 
 J let him, towards the two men in white 
 
 .^aterproof coats who sat on the box 
 
 seat. 
 \ " Come all right, eh V he inquired. 
 v<o " Yes ; all right," answered the coach- 
 ^^ man. " Just give me the whip-end out of 
 , this near 'orse's 'arness, will you ? It's so 
 
 VOL. I, I
 
 2 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 awful wet for William to get down. It's 
 crot into a confounded knot somehow." 
 
 While the old man directed the attention 
 of his not too nimble or expeditious fingers 
 to the " confounded knot" in question, he 
 asked again, 
 
 *' Seemed much upset, did he ?" 
 
 " Don't know, I'm sure," returned the 
 coachman ; " didn't look or speak par tickler 
 lively, I noticed that. Thanks, old fellar, 
 that'll do. Good night to you." And as he 
 spoke, the horses started onward over the 
 wide gravel drive, soft with two days' soak- 
 ing rain ; while the trees of the park on 
 either side swung their dripping branches, 
 and seemed almost articulate in their strange 
 moaning. 
 
 " Poor lad," said the lodge-keeper, going 
 into his house, after he had closed the gates, 
 and slowly disencumbering himself of his 
 hat and horse-cloth. " I wonder now, whe- 
 ther he'll be most glad to come into the pro- 
 perty, or most sorry for th' old master's 
 death— eh, Mary V 
 
 "Mr. Rochefort?" exclaimed his wife,
 
 The Mastei^ of River swood. 
 
 turning round from the fire, where she was 
 busy with a saucepan, and showing a very 
 red, but rather youthful and comely face, 
 " What do you mean by talking to me i' that 
 way ? If you can say nothing better than 
 that, with his father s corpse lying on the 
 very bed where I first laid him down, a 
 blessed baby, by his mother's — 
 
 » 
 
 Here Mrs. Rudge's feelings and m.anifold 
 recollections became too much for her, and 
 dropping the spoon with which she had been 
 stirring, as if it burnt her, she sat down on 
 the nearest chair and covered her face with 
 her hands. 
 
 " Come, come, old girl, don't fret," said 
 her husband, kindly; "it's no flesh and blood 
 of ours that's gone, and Mr. E-ochefort '11 get 
 over it as all young fellars do, though I dare 
 say he'll feel it a sort of thump at first. 
 Don't think no more of any of 'em, but get 
 on with my supper." 
 
 " It's easy to say think no more of them," 
 returned his wife, drying a few tears, and 
 addressing herself again to her beef and 
 onions ; " but you hav'n't nursed him at 
 
 l— 2
 
 The Master of Riversivood, 
 
 your breast, as I have, and done pretty 
 nigh everything for him, till he could rua 
 about." 
 
 *' No, I ha'n't," replied old Stephen, de- 
 murely ; " that's certain/' 
 
 "Be quiet, will you?" was his wife's 
 somewhat sharp rejoinder, as she looked up, 
 and half lifted her wooden spoon. 
 
 " Why, bless the girl, what have I said 
 now ?" inquired her husband, afiecting an 
 astonished stare, by way of helping to' 
 revive her spirits. 
 
 Possibly it did revive them ; at any rate 
 Mary laughed ; and then, after lifting the 
 saucepan from the fire, and again applying 
 her apron to her eyes, she passed her hus- 
 band to get the white cloth, and as she laid 
 it, hummed a tune. And so, in a different 
 mood, they sat down to supper. The fire 
 burned cheerily ; the fringed red curtains of 
 the latticed windows, and the flowers in gay 
 pots on the sills, screened them from too 
 wide a view of the beating storm and leaden 
 sky without ; the canary sang on its perch, 
 and the buxom little wife helped the re-
 
 The Master of Rlverswood. 
 
 "</ 
 
 dolent brown onions, and appetizing beef 
 and gravy of her stew, and poured out for 
 her lord his pewter mug of Riverswood- 
 brewed beer. 
 
 So it is in life ; the living eat and drink, 
 talk and laugh (though perhaps with a sigh, 
 and a few tears between), while the dead — 
 whom they have just seen die — lie in awful, 
 chilly state, unseeking and unsought, every 
 sense annihilated, every pulse for ever still. 
 — Do they hioiu how we forget them ? 
 
 The carriage, in which sat the new master 
 of Kiverswood, continued its rapid course 
 through more than a quarter of a mile of 
 magnificent park-land, and stopped before 
 a large, old-fashioned mansion, very much 
 over-grown with ivy and other creepers. It 
 had been much added to at various tunes, 
 but always in admirable taste, so that it was 
 difficult to tell at the first glance what had 
 been the extent of the ancient habitation. It 
 was of great size now, and looked a grand place 
 enough. In front there lay broad, smooth 
 lawns, now soaked with rain, and of a delici- 
 ous emerald green, exquisitely laid out flower-
 
 TJie 2faster of Eiverswood, 
 
 beds, stone vases containing creepers and 
 moss, artistically disposed groups of thick 
 evergreen, and dark branching, solemn fir, 
 and past all this, the broad drive swept in a 
 fine curve to the front entrance. 
 
 The occupant of the carriage observed 
 none of these things. He remained seated, 
 and leaning back against the cushions — 
 pale and pre-occupied, till the moment 
 when the horses drew up before the house. 
 Then, without waiting for the carriage-door 
 to be opened, he let himself out, and a 
 moment after had crossed the threshold of 
 his home — that threshold on which he had 
 last .stepped with such different feelings : 
 then a boy, w^itli his last term at Oxford 
 before him, now a man, facing Death — and 
 Life. 
 
 The housekeeper and the butler both 
 met the master in the hall. 
 
 "Where is my mother?" was his first 
 question, brought out of white, dry lips, 
 and a dry throat. He had scarcely made 
 the words audible. 
 
 *' The doctor has ordered Mrs. Longley
 
 The Master of River swood. 
 
 a, composing draught, sir," answered the 
 housekeeper, who looked very much over- 
 strained, and as if she had been crying ; 
 " and she is sleeping just at present. But 
 I don't think she will sleep long, sir." 
 
 " Don't let her be disturbed. But come 
 in here for five minutes, Mortimer, I want 
 to speak to you." 
 
 The butler followed him into the dining- 
 room, where the lamps were lighted, and 
 the dinner- table already set out. The silver 
 ^pergne of flowers and moss stood in its 
 centre-place as usual ; the dessert-dishes of 
 old, frailj richly-coloured china were grouped 
 around it, and decorated with delicate 
 leaves. Keady for the master's using lay 
 the great buck-handled, silver-mounted 
 carving-knife and fork, which had been 
 taken for so many years, at the same hour, 
 by the hands that now lay stiff and cold. 
 Everything was the same, but w^ith such 
 a terrible difference. 
 
 Eochefort sat down, feeling suddenly 
 sick and faint. 
 
 ** I laid places for two, sir," said the
 
 8 Pie Master of River sivood. 
 
 butler, fidgeting nervously about some of 
 the knives and forks, -svhich were already 
 laid with absolute exactitude, " though I'm 
 afraid missis won't be downstairs. But I 
 thought it would look a little more home- 
 like to put covers for two." 
 
 " Mortimer/' said Eochefort at last, with 
 an effort, " don't — put me to sit in his 
 place, yet — not to-night." 
 
 The echo of his own words went like a 
 stab of sharp pain to his heart. Rising 
 suddenly, he walked once or twice the 
 length of the room, struggling to keep 
 down the awful swelling in his heart and 
 throat, and the sob that seemed to rise 
 again and again, as if it would choke him. 
 The butler, who had grown almost grey- 
 headed in the Eiverswood service, with a 
 suddenly-coloured face, proceeded to re- 
 move the master's knife, fork, glass, &c., 
 and then, by dint of some invention, made 
 work for himself in the room until Eoche- 
 fort spoke again. 
 
 When he did so—and he had to wait till 
 he could trust his voice — it was to ask for
 
 The Master of Riverswood, 9- 
 
 full details of the accident. Bochefort had 
 not known till he reached Gowerford an 
 hour and a half before, that his father was 
 dead. By the thoughtfulness of the house- 
 keeper a note had been written, and placed 
 inside the carriage for him, that he might 
 not receive his blow at the station, and 
 in the presence of witnesses. The men 
 had been instructed to tell him nothing. 
 But the master had asked them nothing. 
 He had believed ever since the morninsr 
 that he should see his father no more ; and 
 he read the few lines that assured him of 
 that as he was driven towards home. 
 
 ** I will go upstairs now," he said, when 
 he had heard all ; " you — can tell me 
 where.'' He rose from his chair as he 
 spoke. 
 
 " To your own room, sir T asked the 
 butler. 
 
 " No — no ; not yet. I must see '^ 
 
 He could not finish. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, sir. I wasn't sure 
 if I rightly understood you. In his own 
 room, sir. Missis is in the red room."
 
 1 The Mast er of Rive rsivood. 
 
 They went upstairs. Mortimer turned 
 the lock of a door at the right hand of a 
 long, wide, crimson-carpeted corridor, deco- 
 rated with many pictures, and with marble 
 statues and groups in niches ; opened it, let 
 his master pass in, and then, after following 
 him and lingering a few seconds by the 
 side of the bed, went out, and left him 
 alone. 
 
 Rochefort had never yet in his life looked 
 on death. At first he was awed and over- 
 come as he had never thought it possible for 
 him to be, by that awful and solemn stillness, 
 to describe which every language on earth 
 still wants, and will for ever want, words. 
 For is sleep ever like death ? Never, unless 
 it be for the first few moments after the 
 spirit has fled ; while the hand yet lies as 
 the last weary movement threw it ; while 
 the lips and brow are yet warm ; and while, 
 possibly, the half smile of blessed relief from 
 pain still lingers over the face. After this, 
 it is no longer sleep, but death; death — 
 actual, hopeless, positive : majestic, elevat- 
 ing, divine ! — the strangest, the most awful,
 
 The Master of Riversicood. 1 1 
 
 the most sorrowful thing, in God's great 
 universe. 
 
 Not slowly, but with one overwhelming, 
 overpowering shock, the son realized, as 
 he stood by his father s motionless form, 
 that the eyes which had met his in kind- 
 ness for twenty-two years were shut to 
 earth s light for ever ; that the voice which 
 had scarcely ever uttered an undeserved 
 word of reproof, and had uttered many 
 words of unforgotten counsel and warning, 
 would never utter counsel or warning again. 
 The sense of his loss — of his orphanhood, of 
 his sudden, complete, and unmeasurable 
 distance from the father to whom he had 
 been present ever since he was born — who 
 had to a great degree guided his life, and 
 who had now gone from him without there 
 being the possibility of an adieu, or of one 
 expressed wish, or hope, or faith, on either 
 side — came over him with a force for which 
 he was utterly unprepared. 
 
 Eochefort's nature was strong, and he 
 was little given to displays of passionate 
 feeling ; but now, not many moments after
 
 12 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 lie had been left alone with that passionless 
 presence, he flung himself on his knees by 
 the side of the solemn bed, which was 
 like a grave, and burst into an agony of 
 weeping. 
 
 "When the paroxysm was over, and he rose 
 from it, he felt as if he had passed through a 
 valley of deep shadows, of which life hitherto 
 had afforded him no momentary glimpse ; 
 but he rose, also, into something like grey 
 light, on the other side. And with the dim 
 perception of this light, and the sense of a 
 certain power within and above him, which 
 even now, in the "halt" to which he had 
 been brought, strung his nerves, his will, 
 his heart, he went out of that chamber of 
 death, and greeted his life with its first 
 grim and sorrowful duties face to face. 
 
 He had lost much in his father ; but he 
 had lost nothing that was irreparable. His 
 life was whole, without the life that was 
 gone. The words sound cold, and they are 
 certainly sad ; but they could be uttered 
 truly enough in many cases like his. 
 
 Mr. Longley had been a reserved, a proud^
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 13 
 
 but always an honourable man ; lie had 
 been rather a stern, but always a just father: 
 he rarely used terms of affection to his son, 
 but his hopes were strongly bound up in 
 him. He left him the great gift of an un- 
 eullied name, and he had transmitted to 
 him a nature free from those tendencies 
 which sully any name — the greatest as the 
 lowest. 
 
 There were qualities, however, in the son 
 which the father had been entirely- with- 
 out — qualities which prevented their ever 
 becoming close friends. The elder man had 
 perhaps understood the younger better than 
 either of them would have acknowledged 
 to be the case : perhaps, also, he had liked, 
 though he would not encourage, and could 
 not sympathise with, E-ochefort's tendency 
 to what he called " idealism" and '' enthu- 
 siasm." Mr. Longley could always hold 
 his place in society with unruffled dignity, 
 suavity, and propriety^ even if with a certain 
 stiffiiess : Eochefort was too often, at this 
 time, brusque, impetuous — a little irritable, 
 and perhaps a little hypercritical.
 
 14 Tlie Master of Riverswood, 
 
 " You will enjoy life, possibly, more than 
 I have ever done, Rochefort," his father had 
 once said to him ; " but you will suffer in 
 it far more." 
 
 " I have no doubt I shall," had been his 
 son's rejoinder, as he stooped to unfasten a 
 collar from his dog's neck ; " but we'll 
 breast the waves, when they come, w^on't 
 we, Nigel, old boy ? — not fall before them." 
 
 And then whistling, and with his dog 
 leaping before him, he went off for his ride. 
 He looked forward to life as he looked 
 forward to a bathe in the breakers off 
 Tenby or Douglas, or a plunge into the 
 Channel from the stern of a pleasure yacht. 
 A slight tendency to moodiness or melan- 
 choly in a young man who has never known 
 one real sorrow, does not make him less 
 happy. Rochefort took life seriously for 
 two-and-twenty ; but he had very keen 
 enjoyments in it. 
 
 Mr. Longley had not been in a good state 
 of health for more than a year before he 
 died ; but his death was owing to an acci- 
 dent. He had a horse to which he had
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 15 
 
 taken an -anaccountable fancy ; perhaps it 
 was chiefly because he ha.d chosen it in 
 opposition to the advice of both his head 
 groom and his son. She was a beautiful 
 creature, with perfect paces, and thoroughly 
 aristocratic action in every point ; but her 
 faults were bad ones. 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't ride Diana/' Boche- 
 fort had said to him, just before he left 
 home after the Christmas vacation. " I 
 don't like her. She's not the horse for you." 
 
 " Nonsense," returned his father, as he 
 poured out his second glass of sherry ; *^ you 
 want to make me nervous. And there's 
 your mother wants me to give up riding 
 altogether. Riding does me good, and I'm 
 going on with it. I don't believe it's any- 
 thing but my digestion that's wrong, 
 and what's to set that right, if it isn't 
 riding ?" 
 
 " I don't want you to give up riding," 
 returned his son, " but I wish you would 
 change your horse." 
 
 " Why, what's the matter with her ?" 
 asked the father, with some irritation. " Do
 
 16 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 you all think I'm growing decrepid, and 
 oan't manage my reins ?" 
 
 Mr. Longley was a very bold and ex- 
 perienced rider, and had never had it hinted 
 to him in his life before that an animal was 
 too much for him. 
 
 *' I don't think you ought to ride a horse 
 which has to be jammed up against a wall 
 by two men before she will let you mount," 
 persisted E-ochefort, as he cracked his nuts. 
 
 " Pooh ! that's only her w^ay. She goes 
 like an easy chair when you're once on her, 
 and off.'' 
 
 '* Yes — when she doesn't try to throw 
 you before you're out of the court-yard. Do 
 you like my horse ?" inquired Rochefort, 
 looking up, as an idea suggested itself to 
 him. , 
 
 " Trafford ? Well, yes, I've no objection 
 to him. But he's rather a hard mouth. 
 Di's mouth is exactly what suits me." 
 
 *' But I don't like her eye, father ; and 
 I'm certain she's a temper. Will you let 
 me have her, and take Trafford instead ?" 
 
 '* No, I won't, Rochefort, and then let
 
 The Master of Rlverswood, 17 
 
 you sell her for anything you think she'g 
 worth. I shall keep her as long as I like 
 her; and now don't teaze me any more. 
 Have any more sherry ? No ? — then, let 
 us join your mother/' 
 
 This was in January; and one day in 
 May — the day on which our story begins — 
 Diana threw her master, and dragged him 
 in the stirrup till he was insensible. It 
 had been raining all the day before, and 
 she had not been exercised. Mr. Longiey 
 had become fanciful and nervous about him- 
 self since his health broke, and believed that 
 a single day in the house did him harm. 
 In the early morning it was fair, and though 
 there were heavy clouds in the sky, which 
 slowly gathered in weight and width, he 
 sent orders for his horse to be got ready, 
 and for the groom to take her a run in the 
 park first. The groom did so, and then the 
 master mounted her in the court-yard, and 
 set off on his ride. She took fright, after 
 going two or three miles, at an old man 
 with a black bundle sitting on a heap of 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 1 8 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 stones by the road-side, and set off gallop- 
 ing. It was supposed tliat she gallopped 
 until her rider became giddy, and could no 
 longer keep his seat. At any rate, she was 
 finally stopped by a toll-bar man ; and Mr. 
 Longley s head was held up on his wife's 
 knee, as he lay on the stone floor of her 
 little kitchen (to which the two together 
 had contrived to lift, or rather drag him), 
 while the man ran for assistance. A mes- 
 senger was despatched on the horse to 
 Riverswood, and from Ptiverswood they sent 
 a closed carriage, with the housekeeper and 
 two men. 
 
 The groom who rode to Gowerford for 
 the doctors, was instructed to telegraph to 
 Mr. Hochefort. Mrs. Longley was in strong 
 hysterics in the drawing-room, and could 
 give no orders, but the housekeeper wrote 
 with a shaking hand the message that was 
 to be forwarded. 
 
 " From Ellen Robinson, housekeeper, 
 
 Riverswood Hall, shire, to Mr. A. K 
 
 Longley, Magdalen College, Oxford. The 
 master has had an accident, and been
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 19 
 
 thrown from his horse, and dragged. Please 
 come home at once." 
 
 Hochefort received the telegram as he 
 sat at a late breakfast, with two or three 
 other men. The whole party were laugh- 
 ing and talking loud, and their host was 
 amusing himself and one of his friends to 
 perfection, by trying to make his terrier 
 (who would do a great many things, but 
 had hitherto refused to do certain others) 
 hold the toasting fork, with a piece of bread 
 at the end, in his mouth ; the toast in the 
 rack being by this time all finished, and 
 more being in request. 
 
 It was just as the dog dropped the fork 
 for the third time that the telesfram was 
 brought in. Longley's changed colour and 
 growing whiteness, as he took the ominous- 
 looking envelope, tore it open, and read the 
 few terrible words within, brought dead 
 silence into the room. 
 
 He got up, and pushed the dog on one 
 side. 
 
 *' It's from Riverswood," he said, throwing 
 the paper down before Mr. Glanville ; 
 
 2—2
 
 20 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 ** wliere's my hat ? where's the time-table ? 
 Deuce take it, where is the time-table ?" 
 He had not a vestige of colour left in his 
 face, and his voice was entirely altered. 
 
 " I'll look for you," said Glanville ; '* but 
 I'm afraid you've just missed a train. — No 
 — look here, you may catch it if you race." 
 
 Rochefort snatched his hat. " I leave 
 you host, Ernest," he said ; and in another 
 moment was out of the room, and on his way 
 to the station. When he arrived there, the 
 train had been gone just two minutes. 
 
 Pie could not endure the idea of going 
 back to his rooms, where that telegram still 
 lay on the disordered breakfast-table. He 
 felt as if it would be like going back to the 
 sight of the knife that had stabbed him. 
 He walked the platform for three awful 
 hours, repeating to himself, till the words 
 lost all significance : " Thrown from his 
 horse and drafjfjed." He knew what being 
 dragged in the stirrup by a horse, probably 
 wild from fright or excitement, meant. He 
 did not believe there was a vestige of hope 
 left to him of seeing his father conscious, if
 
 The Master of Riuerswood. 21 
 
 he even saw him alive. Not long after he 
 had reached the station, Glanville came up 
 in a cab, saying he could settle to nothing, 
 and \Yanted to find out whether he had 
 cauofht the train. 
 
 " Have you tried whether they will put 
 on a ' special' V he asked, after they had 
 taken one turn to the end of the platform, 
 together. 
 
 " Yes, I spoke to the station-master at 
 once, but they cannot, on account of some- 
 thing that's going on at A . There are 
 
 excursion trains constantly. There is 
 nothing for it but to wait till the express 
 comes in." 
 
 Mr. Longley lingered in a state of total 
 unconsciousness until about half an hour 
 before the carriage was sent down to Gower- 
 ford to meet the train. Once he uttered a 
 few inarticulate sounds, and his wife bent 
 her ear to his lips to try and catch the words 
 — if words they were. But she could dis- 
 tinguish nothing, and he never spoke again. 
 
 There was a grand funeral ; such as had
 
 22 The Master of River sioood, 
 
 been given to the dead masters of Hivers- 
 "wood since the fitst fell on one of the great 
 battle-fields of England. But after it was 
 all over, Hochefort said to somebody, 
 
 " I hope that when I die they will let 
 me be carried to my grave by a few men I 
 have known ; and that a dozen or two of 
 people who have loved me will take their 
 hats off as the parson says * dust to dust/ 
 and that that will be all." 
 
 For a few days the glad, warm daylight 
 w^as shaded from every room as if it were a 
 forbidden thing ; there was a strange inap- 
 propriateness in the wild sounding rush of 
 the breeze, in the songs and twitter of birds, 
 and in the glitter of sunlight upon rippling 
 or splashing water : footsteps in the great 
 house w^ere hushed ; and poor Mrs. Longley 
 sat, white and tear-stained and wretched- 
 looking, upon her upstairs sofa. Gradually, 
 however, came the re-assumption of old 
 ways and habits, the departure of guests 
 who felt that they had come *' to mourn," 
 and who dare not be cheerful ; the feeling 
 that life must be begun afresh, that the
 
 The Master of Riversivood, 23 
 
 blank left by the departed must be some- 
 how covered over, planted upon, made as 
 little naked and visible to the world and 
 to themselves, as was his grave. This was 
 possible ; but to Jill up a blank, however 
 small, however narrow, made by death is 
 never possible.
 
 24 Tlte Master of River swood. 
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 One morning, four or ^\e weeks after the 
 events just recorded — a lovely summers 
 morning, when the whole land was full of 
 swaying wind and changeless sunshine, and 
 the smell of hay and field- blossoms — Koche- 
 fort was in his *' gun-room," when, just as 
 he was flushing his face by the exertion of 
 drawing on his boots, one of the footmen, 
 coming in, said, 
 
 " Mr. Forrest has called, sir, and wishes 
 to know if he can see you." 
 
 " Mr. Forrest ?" repeated Rochefort, look- 
 ing up. 
 
 *' Yes, sir. He is in the library, sir." 
 
 *' Confound it," was the master's muttered 
 exclamation. He had been busy with letters
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 25 
 
 and papers all morning, and the night before 
 had " assisted " at one of his mother's 
 violent hysterical fits, which had kept him 
 up late, and had worried him as well. He 
 was longing for the fresh air and a gallop^ as 
 a school-boy of fourteen longs for twelve 
 o'clock to strike. 
 
 " Tell Haversham to put up the horse till 
 I want her, then," he said after he had 
 stamped on his last boot, and risen ; and 
 then he walked towards the library. 
 
 The library at Hiverswood was a grand, 
 long-shaped room, with old Tudor windows, 
 opening upon a wide expanse of lawn, 
 shaded wdtli oak and chestnut trees, and 
 sloping gradually towards the lake. It was 
 filled half with books, and half with old 
 English and Italian cabinets ; on the slabs, 
 or through the open doors of which, were 
 seen endless specimens of old china, and 
 bric-a-brac of every description, which had 
 been collected in Italy, in France, and in 
 England, by Rochefort's grandfather, who 
 had been for the last thirty years of his life 
 an antiquarian as well as a miser. It was
 
 26 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 
 
 impossible, however, for any succeeding 
 generation of Longleys to blame him either 
 for his niggardliness or his old-art mania, 
 considering that he had very much enriched 
 the family by his persistence in both tastes. 
 He had lived till many years after his son s 
 marriage ; and had not allowed the re- 
 clothing of the library floor until his daugh- 
 ter-in-law fell down by tripping her foot in 
 one of the holes of its antiquated Turkey 
 carpet. After this he supplied it with a 
 new one, and even went to the length of get- 
 ting new tapestry covers for the two carved 
 oak tables ; and since this epoch the library 
 had been a fine room. Kochefort used it 
 more than either his grandfather or father 
 had done. They had kept their papers and 
 account books, and transacted most of their 
 business, in a smaller adjoining room, which 
 was furnished in more modern and far less 
 handsome fashion, but Rochefort had a dis- 
 like to the room, and wrote generally in the 
 library at a table near the end window ; the 
 light just shaded from his head by old 
 crimson velvet curtains, through which it
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 27 
 
 filtered as if through painted glass — and 
 with the ever changing hues of lawn and 
 lake and stirring trees before his eyes. 
 
 " One feels as if one were master of 
 E/iverswood," he said to his mother one day, 
 as he stooped and petted one of his dogs on 
 the library hearth-rug, " if one works here. 
 The other room might be in any London 
 street, but for the view. It is like an office." 
 
 " But you make such a litter here with 
 your papers, Kochefort," complained his 
 mother, "and your poor father always liked 
 the room to be fit to show any one into." 
 
 *' I only litter one table, mother ; and I 
 can't breathe, or think, or feel, in a small 
 room. Yes, I feel one thing — I feel impa- 
 tient and irritable." 
 
 " The office-room isn't small, Rochefort.'* 
 
 " It's small to me, mother," he said, 
 rising from his chair, and laughing as he 
 touched her cheek gently with his finger; 
 " and it oppresses me in some way. I can't 
 tell you how exactly. But I know that if 
 I am to do any good work, it must be done 
 in my own way."
 
 28 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 Mr. Forrest, the estate-agent, was stand- 
 ing upon the rug when Rochefort entered. 
 
 " I am afraid you were going out," he 
 said, as he extended his hand. ^' Your man 
 thought you were writing in here, or I 
 would not have sent my horse round." 
 
 ** I was going out, but it doesn't matter," 
 answered liochefort, seating himself on a 
 low chair by the fire-place, resting one 
 elbow on his knee, and his sunburnt, hand- 
 some, rather haughty young face on his 
 hand. ''Of course I am perfectly ready to 
 hear whatever you have to say. My horse 
 can wait." 
 
 *' Well then, Mr. Eochefort, not to make 
 you w^ait longer than I can help, and to 
 begin on my business at once, have you 
 ever heard your father speak of a man 
 named Grey, who rents — or rather lives on 
 — the White House farm, near Leyton ?" 
 
 *' I think I remember the name. I know 
 the farm well enough." 
 
 "Do you? Well, of course, I hav'n'ttheleast 
 idea yet how much you know of your estates ; 
 what with Oxford, and your long foreign
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 29 
 
 tour, and what not — and then this very — 
 this very lamentable affair coming so sud- 
 denly you know — you must excuse me 
 if I pre-suppose ignorance now and then." 
 
 '^ How long has this man been there ?" 
 
 *' Ten or twelve years — I forget exactly 
 — and has never paid his rent regularly for 
 the last two. He was always behindhand, 
 and I don't like that sort of tenant. I 
 wanted your father to eject him, and he 
 kept promising me it should be done. But 
 it never was. Your father acted in an un- 
 accountable way sometimes." 
 
 " And what's the matter now ? He 
 hasn't paid his rent again, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Scarcely a stiver of it, either last half- 
 year or this. I wouldn't bother you about 
 it before, but now I hope you'll be guided 
 by me." 
 
 " Have you just come from there ?" 
 
 " Yes : went over there this mornino-^ 
 early." 
 
 '* What is it that's wrong ? Doesn't the 
 man understand farming ?" inquired Roche- 
 fort.
 
 30 The Master of River swood. 
 
 *' Yes, he understands it. He's rather a 
 superior sort of fellow in some ways. But 
 I never liked him much — and he votes on 
 the wrong side," concluded the agent. 
 
 Rochefort laughed. 
 
 " On the Liberal side, you mean ?" he 
 said. 
 
 " Liberal ?" retorted Mr. Forrest, chang- 
 ing his position impatiently on the rug ; 
 " you may call it * Liberal ' if you like, but 
 I call such opinions as some of these fellows 
 hold no better than high treason." 
 
 " But you don^t mean the man's a red- 
 hot radical, do you ?" asked Bochefort ; *' I 
 didn't know the farming interest of Gower- 
 fordshire could produce a politician of that 
 colour ?" 
 
 *^ He's a Whig, at any rate, that's what 
 he is," returned Mr, Forrest, with some in- 
 crease of impatience ; " and his farm's going 
 to ruin. I told your father so, but never 
 could get him to go over and see things 
 for himself" 
 
 " He was quite unfit to be worried about
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 31 
 
 business for some time before he died," in- 
 terrupted Rocliefort. 
 
 " You are quite right, but then why 
 didn't he let me manage ? That's all I 
 complain of. I don't want to see your 
 property going to the deuce, even if you 
 and your father seem to care nothing about 
 it ;" and Mr. Forrest, who had seated him- 
 self a minute or two before, now rose, look- 
 ing rather red and hot in the face. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Forrest, if I have 
 said anything to imply doubt of that for a 
 moment. I hope you will continue to 
 advise me for many years to come." 
 
 '* Well, well," said the agent, considerably 
 mollified, " I'm glad to hear you say so. I 
 don't want anything of yours to go to the 
 deuce, as I said before, while I am alive to 
 prevent it." 
 
 " Thank you. By the way Forrest, will 
 you have some lunch with me ?" continued 
 E-ochefort, jumping up to ring the bell ; " I 
 have only just found out that I am dan- 
 gerously hungry. I have been so delayed 
 that it is nearly two o'clock. You will —
 
 32 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 that's right. Then we will have it in here. 
 My mother is in her room to-day." 
 
 The cook at Pti vers wood being one of 
 those admirable women who really can send 
 in a cold fowl, a ham, a salad, and a loaf of 
 bread in about the same space of time as it 
 has taken to order them, the two gentle- 
 men were soon doing justice to the viands 
 before named. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Longley presently, " and 
 now tell me the rest about this man» 
 What's the rent of his farm T 
 
 " It's a small place," returned the agent, 
 " and the rent's seventy pounds. But the 
 man lost his wife about a year and a half 
 ago, and he's never been the same since. 
 She was an industrious, sensible sort of 
 woman, and she always managed to get a 
 good profit out of the butter, and poultry, 
 and so on. It helped them on a great deal, 
 and of course all that's lost to him now. 
 He's got a daughter-in-law with him that's 
 perfectly good for nothing. The fellow's to 
 be pitied, certainly. He had been a bailiff 
 to somebody before he took the farm, and
 
 The Master of Rivevswood. 
 
 oo 
 
 had Scived money, but he was incHiied to 
 be rather speculative. He bought imple- 
 ments, and so on, that he had no business 
 with. And then last yearns dry sprin^i^ 
 ruined his turnip crop, as it did everybody 
 else's— and his son's taken to drinkinof and 
 bad ways, and is a great trouble to him. 
 Altogether the man's got into a broken- 
 down, dispirited way, and hasn't half the 
 go in him he used to have." 
 
 " Poor fellow I" said Rochefort, as he 
 helped himself to a great spoonful of salad. 
 
 " Poor fellow !" echoed the agent, looking 
 up rather sharply ; " well, I don't know. 
 There are poor fellows, sir, and there are poor 
 fellows ; and I don't approve of a man that 
 lets his farm go to ruin, and votes against 
 his landlord. I can tell you, it made my 
 blood boil when I went over there this 
 morning. I told him what 1 should do." 
 
 '* How's his hay ?" inquired Kochefort, 
 for want of something better to say. 
 
 " Oh, bad — everything's bad with him 
 now. The man tells me he works as hard 
 as he can, but he's not had his health lately. 
 
 VOL. I. 3
 
 34 The Master of Riverswood* 
 
 In fact he had an ilhiess in the whiter, and 
 there has been the doctor to pay — it was 
 worry of mind brought that on, I fancy. 
 In fact, Mr. Longley, it would be no kind- 
 ness to let the man remain any longer, 
 and we can't do it. Let him have notice, 
 and sell himself up, and we shall be free of 
 him." 
 
 Mr.. Forrest rose, and began buttoning 
 up his coat. 
 
 " What w^ill the man do ?" asked Hoche- 
 fort, rising also, and leaning against the 
 mantelpiece. 
 
 "Do ? — I'm sure I can't say," answered 
 the agent, as he pulled on his gloves ; 
 " the son had better walk the straightest 
 way to the gallows, or to the next horse- 
 pond. I should think. He's been robbing 
 his father right and left." 
 
 " Robbinof him — how T 
 
 " Getting at grain and selling it. Grain's 
 easily taken. The fellow's an out-and-out 
 scamp. Well, good-bye, then, Mr. Roche- 
 fort — what is it to be ?" 
 
 *' Shall you be at home to-morrow morn-
 
 The Master of Riverswoocl, 35 
 
 ing ?" asked Longley, moving from the 
 fire-place, and taking his hands out of his 
 pockets. 
 
 *' Morning ? No, I'm afraid not, nor 
 afternoon either ; but in the evening — yes. 
 And of course I could put off anything for 
 you if you " 
 
 " Oh, no. I will ride over in the even- 
 ing; it will just suit me, and I will speak 
 to you then. Let us go round to the 
 stables ; I can mount there." 
 
 But after seeing Mr. Forrest into his 
 trap, the master said he would change his 
 whip, and went in and sat down in his gun- 
 room for a quarter of an hour, leaning his 
 arms on his knees, and looking fixedly at 
 the dark staining of the floor, surrounding 
 the ruDf on which he rested his feet. When 
 his cogitations were over, he went out to 
 the stables again, whistling, mounted his 
 horse, and set off on the road towards 
 Leyton. 
 
 It was a glorious afternoon, not too hot, 
 but with a fresh wind blowing the trees, 
 the grass, the corn, as he cantered along. 
 
 3—2
 
 36 The Master of River sivoocl. 
 
 Over the/ blue sky, white and grey clouds 
 chased each other ; the sun shone with 
 dazzling light on the ripples of the river 
 that shot between the arched, moss-grown 
 bridges, then spread its silver breadth be- 
 tween banks of perfect green, and through 
 branches of drooping ash and willow. 
 Rochefort, who was passionately fond of 
 the country, fond of being alone, and a fine 
 horseman, rode on, his dogs gallopping at 
 his side, in a state of almost perfect enjoy- 
 ment. He reached the lane leading to the 
 White House Farm before either he or his 
 horse had lost a fraction of the spirit with 
 which they set off, and he was just turn- 
 ing the corner when the animal shied vio- 
 lently at something or somebody standing 
 back against the hedge. 
 
 " You should never stand at a corner to 
 scare a horse like that," exclaimed -Koche- 
 fort, a little annoyed, when he had patted 
 and soothed his excitable mare into her 
 usual mood again ; "it's better to come on, 
 you know, and show yourself Can you 
 tell me if I am right for the White Houpe
 
 o^ 
 
 Tlie Master of Riverswood, 3 
 
 Farm ? I suppose that's it just in front 
 
 of us r 
 
 " That's it, sir. Did you want anything 
 there, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, I want to see the tenant, Gray." 
 
 '* I am the man, sir/' 
 
 Roehefort looked at him. A respectable, 
 rather grave-looking man, his hair tinged 
 %Yith grey ; a tall, strong figure, a manner 
 at once respectful, quiet, and somewhat 
 depressed. 
 
 " I'm afraid I was rather hasty just now 
 about my horse. The animal is very ner- 
 vous at times." 
 
 " Don't mention it, sir,'' said the man. 
 
 He had seen Rochefort several times 
 before, and, of course, knew him. 
 
 " I was coming to see you," continued 
 Longley, after a moment's pause. " A.nd if 
 you'll show me up to your place, we'll put 
 up my horse for half an hour, and I'll go 
 over your fields with you while we have a 
 little talk." 
 
 Gray turned slowly round, after having 
 replaced on his head the hat which he had
 
 38 The Master of Eiverswood. 
 
 held lowered since Ptochefort began to 
 speak. 
 
 They went on for a little way in perfect 
 silence. At last the farmer said, in a voice 
 that struggled hard to be firm; 
 
 '* I know what you have come about, Mr. 
 Longley, and the sooner it's over the better. 
 I am a broken-hearted man, but all I can 
 say is, I've done my best — I have been very 
 unfortunate." 
 
 Eochefort did not speak for a minute or 
 two, then he said, 
 
 *' Do you mind, Mr. Gray, telling me how 
 old you are ?" 
 
 '' Six-and-forty, sir, last birth-day." 
 
 " Why, you have, perhaps, thirty years to 
 live yet ! you must not begin to be broken- 
 hearted so soon." 
 
 " I hope I have not as much as twenty 
 years before me, sir," returned the farmer, 
 with a faint smile. *^ I shouldn't well know 
 v/hat to do with them." 
 
 " And I hope T have a long life before 
 me," said the young landlord, rather 
 gravely.
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 39 
 
 " Do you, sir ? — Ah, but you are different 
 to me ; in every way different. Life is a 
 fine thing for you, sir ; it won't bring much 
 more happiness to me." 
 
 " You had a great loss some time ago, I 
 know," said Ptocliefort. 
 
 The man answered nothing ; he walked 
 along silently by the horse's side, but pre- 
 sently Longley saw the coarse sleeve of 
 the weather-beaten coat drawn across his 
 eyes, and there was a desperate effort to 
 clear the throat from something that stuck 
 there. 
 
 The farm-house was soon reached, the 
 horse put up, and Gray and his young land- 
 lord started to walk over the fields. Koche- 
 fort was not only interested in farming, 
 but determined to understand it ; and as 
 they walked and talked together. Gray 
 almost forgot his troubles, warmed to his 
 subject, and spoke and felt as he had not 
 done for years. Before they had gone over 
 four fields, the young landlord felt as if he 
 knew his man, and the tenant certainly 
 knew something of his landlord. They
 
 40 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 
 
 spent, perhaps, three hours together, not 
 confining themselves to the narrow boun- 
 daries of the White House Farm, but walk- 
 ing through the next one to it, which was 
 also part of the Pti vers wood property, 
 scrambling through a thicket and game 
 preserves, climbing a low hill for the view, 
 looking at the outside of two or three model 
 cottages, comparing hay and wheat crops, 
 and so on, and finally returning to the 
 White House by a considerable round. As 
 they neared it, Rochefort said, 
 
 " You shall hear from me in a day or two, 
 Mr. Gray ; but in the mean time I think 
 you must prepare yourself for leaving this 
 farm.'' 
 
 There was a short pause, after which. 
 Gray replied, 
 
 " I am quite prepared to hear you say so, 
 
 sir. 
 
 " Yes, I am afraid there is no doubt that 
 the place is going to the bad. And I don't 
 see how you can ever recover yourself here, 
 as things are." 
 
 " How about the rent, sir ?"
 
 The Master of Rlversivood. 41 
 
 *' Oh, I will write to you about all that, 
 or Mr. Forrest w^ill." But observing the fall 
 in the man's face, dh^ectly he mentioned 
 the agent's name, Longley added, *' I see 
 you would like me to write myself. Well, 
 I can easily do so ; and now, good-bye " — 
 gathering his reins up in one hand, and 
 holdino- out the other. 
 
 " I don't believe you mean to deal hardly 
 with me, Mr. Longley," said Gray, raising 
 his hat once more, as he looked up into the 
 the fine young face. His voice faltered as 
 he spoke. 
 
 ** I hope not," said Eochefort, " indeed, I 
 am sure not ; but I must- be just, remember 
 — just, I mean, to my other tenants. As 
 I act to one I must act to all, up to a certain 
 point. Good morning." 
 
 A few minutes after, the farmer, from his 
 home-field, could see the young horse and 
 rider, and the noble dog, bounding along 
 the smooth white road below. Sorrow and 
 disappointment and loneliness had made 
 him bitter, and he muttered to himself, 
 ''Ay — master and man, rich and poor,
 
 Q 
 
 The Master of Riversivood, 
 
 happy and miserable, all the luck one way 
 and all the sorrow another !— The old 
 story." And he turned into his dreary 
 house. 
 
 Mr. Forrest would have thought the 
 man's " Whiggism" had reached a point 
 which should be made actionable. But the 
 day came, when the "man" was rich compared 
 to the ''master" whom he now envied; when 
 he thought of the bright June afternoon, the 
 proud, gay young rider, and of the bitter and 
 repining words with which he had looked on 
 both, and would almost have given half his 
 own joy, to see the sunshine which is from 
 the heart, upon that face again. 
 
 The next day, before twelve o'clock, 
 Rochefort walked across a couple of fields, 
 and had a little chat with his old bailiff, 
 who was watching the shaking up of a field 
 of prime hay. When he came home, he sat 
 down at Id is desk in the librarj^, his dogs 
 at his feet, and wrote a note as follows : 
 
 ^'SiR, — I have a bailiff, seventy-five years 
 of age, on mj home-farm at Rivers wood, who
 
 The Master of River sivood. 43 
 
 has been on the place about thirty years, 
 but who is now somewhat past work, and 
 cannot properly superintend the farm -affairs. 
 I offer you the post of under-bailiff, on 
 condition that until the time when I pen- 
 sion off my old servant you will act under 
 his — which are my — directions, and treat 
 him with consideration and respect. I will 
 
 give you pounds a year, and should 
 
 you choose to accept my offer (which you 
 may find of ultimate advantage to you) I 
 shall deduct gradually from the sum I pay 
 you weekly the three-quarters' rent which 
 is due to me. My agent will come down to 
 the White House in the course of a day or 
 two, and make whatever arrangements are 
 necessary for your leaving, and for your 
 selling up. I expressly stipulate that 
 should you choose to accept my offer, your 
 son does not, at any time, or in any way, 
 make your house his home. I do not want 
 to see him on or near my place. Truly 
 yours, 
 
 *'A. R. LONGLEY.''
 
 44 The Master of Rlverswood, 
 
 Grey did not like the term ^'under-bailiff," 
 but lie believed he should like Riverswood, 
 and the master of Rivers wood. He believed 
 also that it would only depend on himselt* 
 how long he '* acted under " an old man's 
 orders. Hochefort had written " orders " 
 first in his letter, and *' directions" after- 
 wards. He did not mean always to farm 
 Ki vers wood according to old Davison's 
 lights, but he had no intention of changing 
 much at present. He would " take stock " 
 of his new man first, it is probable that 
 both he and Grey understood each other. 
 At any rate, the tenant who voted, and who 
 always continued to vote, against his master 
 — of whom sorrow had made a broken man, 
 but to whom work and happiness restored 
 the character and energy of ten years ago — 
 became bailiff to him, and served him — and 
 I hope is serving him now — with strong 
 fidelity, and with judgment that rarely 
 erred.
 
 The Master of River swood. 45 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 One August evening, Mrs. Longley was 
 sitting wearily on her sofa, with a volume 
 from Mudie's on her knee, and her over- fed 
 lap-dog at her side. The window near which 
 she sat was open, and the delicious air blew 
 in the scent of roses and verbena, and wafted 
 the lace curtains softly to and fro. 
 
 Mrs. Longley felt life to be dreadfully 
 insipid. How uninteresting it was, to be 
 for ever doomed to this ^' far niente " ex- 
 istence ; to be for ever waited on in exactly 
 the same way by the same people ; never 
 to want anything that you couldn't have, 
 and yet never to have anything that you 
 wanted ! 
 
 It was nearly dinner-time now. Well,
 
 46 The Master of Riversivood, 
 
 she never enjoyed her dinner from one 
 year's end to the other as much as a little 
 scare-crow boy who had a great piece of 
 bread and an onion, or, for a rich treat, a 
 heavy pasty, v/ith a half-baked apple in it. 
 She believed sometimes she was not half aS 
 happy as her housemaids. They were as 
 busy as bees all morning, and had all the 
 afternoon and evening to sew and laugh 
 and chatter together. She didn't believe 
 'they ever had indigestion, or fits of horrible 
 low spirits, such as she, poor woman, was 
 condemned to. She had felt ennuyee enough 
 when poor Arthur was alive ; but now — 
 now it teas dreadful. And these stupid 
 novels, one so like another, only gave her 
 the headache, and made her feel good for 
 nothing. 
 
 How happy Rochefort seemed ! Ah, it 
 was much better to be a man. Men were 
 so strong. Even when they complained of 
 being delicate, or of having this or that 
 the matter with them, they could generally 
 do anything they liked. At least, so it 
 seemed to her. And as for Rochefort, every
 
 The Master of Riversiooocl. 47 
 
 day seemed a separate pleasure to him. He 
 was always busy about something, unless 
 he were driving her out, or riding out him- 
 self. And even that driving ! — -How tired 
 she was of always driving. She envied the 
 village women whom she saw trudging 
 along so stoutly from market, with their 
 baskets filled with the groceries^ the calico, 
 the new pair of boots, the bright mug for 
 the baby, the coloured handkerchief for 
 ** father ;" just bought in town, and carried 
 home to be the delight and wonder of the 
 family for a week to come. How healthy 
 and happy they always looked ! 
 
 Once, when she had felt rather faint out 
 driving, her husband had stopped the car- 
 riage at a cottage by the roadside, and the 
 footman had got down to ask for a glass of 
 water for her. It was at a thatched cottage 
 (she did not know how hot a thatched cot- 
 tage is in summer, and how cold and often 
 wet in winter), and there were flower-pots 
 in the windows. The young woman came 
 out, blushing like a peony, with some clear 
 water in a bright, bronzed mug, with raised
 
 48 Tlie Master of Riversivood. 
 
 pink flowers on it. (Shades of our grand- 
 mothers ! Where, we ask, are all those 
 resplendent mugs, cups, and teapots, made 
 of this glittering, almost golden brown, 
 Vv'ith blue or pink flowers in relief upon the 
 sides : and why are they never to be got 
 now, and only seen once or twice in a life- 
 time, in some old woman^s corner cupboard, 
 w^here, I think, they beat the best china 
 hollow ; or, possibly, among the stock in 
 the oldest crockery shop in some remote 
 country town ?) 
 
 Through the open door of the cottage 
 Mrs. Longley saw a table spread for tea. 
 There was a coarse, clean cloth on it, some 
 brilliant cups and saucers, and a piece of 
 cold bacon. A little fire was blazing and a 
 kettle singing on it. The young woman's 
 husband sat by the fire, looking very shame- 
 faced and rather loutish, but young, strong, 
 hearty, and as if he would do full justice to 
 that piece of bacon as soon as the grand 
 folks were off — and he had a little girl on 
 his knee. In the garden there was southern-
 
 The Master of River swood, 49 
 
 wood and sweet briar, a moss-rose tree, and 
 some sweet-william. 
 
 It was almost a model cottage of the old 
 fashioned sort, and long may it be before 
 the hideous new red-brick dwellings, with 
 slated roof, straight, porchless door, four 
 unshaded windows, like eyes without eye- 
 lids, and a general air of staring nakedness, 
 take entirely the place of those sweet, rustic 
 loves of our youth ! 
 
 Mrs. Longley, having nothing else to 
 think about, thought of that cottage, and 
 of its occupants, and of the little round 
 table spread for tea, nearly all the way home. 
 And that young husband and wife would 
 probably soon have half-a-dozen chubby 
 little faces around their bit of a table and 
 their coarse loaf It was true she did not 
 wish for another son ; one boy was enough ; 
 but the poor rich woman pined for a 
 daughter, that blessing that was never to 
 be hers. And so, primarily, because she 
 had no work to do in the world (having 
 sought herself out none), and secondly, be- 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 ^0 The Master of River swood. 
 
 cause she was not naturally of a cheerful 
 disposition, poor Mrs. Longley was not at 
 all a happy woman. She would almost have 
 died before she would have openly con- 
 fessed it. It was always " circumstances " 
 that were at fault ; and though riches did 
 not make her happy, she was as rigidly te- 
 nacious of the luxuries and privileges of her 
 rank as any woman who ever stepped in 
 shoes. 
 
 She dreamt, in moments of languid senti- 
 mentalism (caused chiefly by indigestion or 
 want of exercise), that the cottagers on her 
 husband's estate were more favoured by 
 earth and heaven than herself; but she never 
 crossed the threshold of those cottages to 
 shew sympathy in distress, or give relief in 
 sudden trial. Her alms-giving was done 
 by proxy, merely because it was expected 
 of Mrs. Longley, of Eiverswood, to give 
 away a certain sum every year. What feel- 
 ing she had had been shared between her 
 husband and son, and her husband now 
 being gone, Rochefort had the whole of it. 
 
 We have said that she lay on her sofa,
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 51 
 
 nauseated by her novel, with nothing (that 
 she was aware of) waiting for her to do, 
 having had no appetite for her breakfast, 
 and knowing to a mournful certainty that 
 she would have no appetite for her dinner. 
 We can imagine no state of mind or being 
 more utterly to be pitied, or more sorrow- 
 fully pitiable. The existence of a woman 
 past middle-life, who is an invalid, who has 
 lost her husband, who sleeps ill, who has 
 no tastes, and yet who is simply worldly, 
 who does nothing but drive out, fall into 
 a state of half somnolence or entire depres- 
 sion over a novel, and sit twice a day at the 
 head of a dining- table, to wish she could eat 
 as other people do, and to swallow a little 
 bit herself (for which she probably feels 
 worse afterwards) — is an existence the ma- 
 nifold horrors of which words are powerless 
 to describe. May God save her who writes, 
 and every woman who may read, these pages 
 from such a fate ! But this is an entirely 
 involuntary digression. 
 
 In the midst of Mrs. Longley's vague re- 
 flections, the drawinor-room door was opened, 
 
 4—2
 
 52 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 and Eochefort, hot and sunburnt from his 
 corn field, his collarless shirt showing a fine 
 bronzed throat, with no waistcoat, and an 
 old coat on, threw himself lazily on to an 
 ottoman, and taking up a number of Punch 
 began to fan himself. 
 
 " What a figure you are, E-ochefort," said 
 his mother, roused however to a little life 
 by seeing him enter, and turning her eyes 
 on him. *^ Do you know the dressing-bell 
 has rung ?" 
 
 " I've been watching my reaper, mamma. 
 I wish you would come and see it. It 
 would do you good." 
 
 " I've just told you the dressing-bell has 
 rung," reiterated Mrs. Longley. 
 
 Rochefort pulled his watch out of his belt 
 and looked at the time. *'It's all right, 
 mamma. Ill go up in a minute. But say 
 you'll come and see my reaper. Why on 
 earth have we never had one before ? 
 They're first rate ?" 
 
 '* Your father wasn't as much interested 
 in farming as you are, Rochefort, and I sup- 
 pose Davison didn't want one,"
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 53 
 
 " Well, he likes it now, and Grey's no end 
 pleased with the thing." 
 
 " Rochefort," said his mother, *' you'll 
 lose your watch to a certainty, if you go in 
 that way without waistcoat." 
 
 " Nothing of the sort, mamma. Look, I 
 pull the guinea at the end of the chain 
 through this button-hole. It's quite safe.'* 
 
 *' Through that button-hole ? Why, how 
 can you manage that ?" 
 
 " I just cut the hole larger, mamma." 
 
 " Ah, exactly ! Then that's what's spoil- 
 ing all your shirts. Alison showed me 
 three this morning. We couldn't think 
 what had come to them. Don't be so 
 thouo^htless, Rochefort." 
 
 " Mother, you never will talk about my 
 reaper, or anything else I get," pleaded the 
 poor boy. 
 
 " Well, go and dress for dinner, and I'll 
 listen to you as much as you like, then." 
 
 " What nonsense it all is," said Roche- 
 fort to himself, as he lounged out of the 
 room, and went very slowly upstairs ; "as 
 if I shouldn't do if I washed my hands I I
 
 54 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 shall want to go out again in half an 
 hour." 
 
 In the evening Mrs. Longley was roused 
 from a state of semi-somnolence by her son 
 throwing down the paper, and saying rather 
 suddenly, " Mother ! '' 
 
 " Well V said Mrs. Longley, hardly open- 
 ing her eyes. 
 
 *'I want to write and ask one of my 
 friends down here. You won't mind, will 
 you r 
 
 " Before the shooting, Rochefort V 
 
 " No, not before the shooting. For the 
 1st, you know — that's in about two 
 weeks." 
 
 " Of course, you can do as you like," 
 said his mother. 
 
 " Well, but it won't bother you T 
 
 " No, not if it's any one you like. Who 
 shall you ask ?" 
 
 " Glanville, I suppose. Silverthorne's in 
 Scotland." 
 
 " Ernest Glanville ?" ^ 
 
 '* Yes." 
 
 '*I should rather like to see him'' re-
 
 The Master of Rivcrsivood. 55 
 
 turned Mrs. Longley, "as I've heard so 
 much about him." 
 
 " You would ? That's right. Well, here 
 goes then. Where's some paper and ink, 
 mamma V 
 
 " On my writing-table in the next room. 
 I must get fresh chintzes if you're going to 
 have friends here, Rochefort.'* 
 
 " Oh no, mother," he called out from the 
 little room, "you needn't bother yourself 
 These are all right." 
 
 " Theyrejllthyy Rochefort. I know what 
 it is in shooting-time. There are always 
 gentlemen coming in, and the room must 
 be decent." 
 
 - " Why do you never show the covers ? 
 What are the covers ?" asked her son. 
 
 " Silk ; and you and Mr. Glanville would 
 ruin them in a week, if you came in from 
 the fields in the state you are usually in. 
 Besides, silk covers look as if your drawing- 
 room was only used three times a year ; 
 they are parvenus for the country." 
 
 " Get the chintzes then, mamma, for
 
 56 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 goodness' sake. — Well, look here, I've asked 
 him for the 1st. You won't forget ?" 
 
 '' No, I won t forget." 
 
 When the master came in again from 
 writing the letter (and he was a very long 
 time away, long enough, as she thought, for 
 the inditing of two letters at least — perhaps 
 he had written two), his mother began — 
 " Can you drive me to Gowerford to-mor- 
 row ? I must get this chintz, and several 
 other things." 
 
 Rochefort became suddenly rather red ; 
 but that might be because he stooped down 
 to play with the lap-dog. 
 . " Can't you go ? What is it ?" asked 
 his mother. 
 
 " Oh, only that I had some business in 
 Ley ton to-morrow, and intended to go there. 
 In fact I have written to that effect." 
 
 *' Hav'n't you been to Leyton very often 
 lately ?" 
 
 "Well, mamma, perhaps I have," said 
 her son, looking up and laughing ; ** I 
 have been to a great many places often, 
 lately."
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 57 
 
 *' Yes ; but I think you know what I 
 mean. It seems odd, that you should so 
 often have to ride that way, and especially 
 when I so particularly want you to go with 
 me. 
 
 " Won't Wednesday do for you, mamma ? 
 I'll go with you on Wednesday; and the 
 chintzes won't take a fortnight." 
 
 " You don't know how. long they'll take, 
 Roche fort. You might allow me to be the 
 best judge of that." 
 
 " Mamma, it's much greater fun for you, 
 going on Wednesdays ! You see a little 
 variety then, because everybody's there ; 
 every other day it's as dull as ditch- 
 water." 
 
 " Do you think I go there for furiy 
 Rochefort ?" inquired his mother, with 
 almost an awful tone in her voice; "I never 
 go anywhere for fun. T only go where it's 
 my duty." 
 
 " Oh mamma !" groaned he ; " don't be 
 so dreadfully solemn — please don't !" 
 
 " Then you can't go with me to-morrow, 
 Rochefort ? That is the end of it."
 
 58 The Master of River swood. 
 
 " I won't disappoint you again, mamma, 
 if I can help it ; and I want to go on Wed- 
 nesday myself. Say yes." 
 
 " Well then, yes, Rochefort." 
 
 ** That's a good mother I There, give 
 me a kiss. And now don't stay up any 
 longer, you're looking as worn as if you 
 were an old woman. And you know youVe 
 got to be my pretty, darling little mother 
 for fifty years to come yet, and more if you 
 like." 
 
 Mrs. Longfey put up her thin hand, 
 covered with magnificent rings, and parted 
 the hair gently from his forehead. 
 
 " You must be a good boy, you know, 
 Rochefort. You are all I have now." 
 
 Her voice faltered. 
 
 " Of course, mamma ; and you'll be a 
 good mother, won't you ? and we'll never 
 leave each other, or love each other a bit 
 less than we do now." 
 
 He had to clear his voice as he finished 
 speaking. Mrs. Longley took out her 
 scented handkerchief, and put it to her 
 eyes. That was more than her son
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 59 
 
 could stand, and he went out of the room. 
 After a minute he came back, however, to 
 say— 
 
 " You're getting dull, you know, mother, 
 with not going out enough. Say you'll 
 come and see my reaper to-morrow — I know 
 it'll do you good. Will you ?" 
 
 " Yes, Rochefort" — from behind the 
 pocket-handkerchief, and in a faint voice. 
 
 Her son went into the library, and walked 
 up and down for an hour. 
 
 While he is doing so, we will try and 
 draw such a portrait of him as is possible 
 in a few words, premising, however, that 
 Rochefort's was one of those faces which it is 
 almost impossible to draw and to do justice 
 to, in pen and ink, or otherwise. A painter 
 would probably have fallen into the mistake 
 of making a simply handsome man of him ; 
 and Rochefort was not entirely handsome, 
 though ladies often called and thought 
 him so. But then, he had been heir to 
 ten thousand a year ever since he was 
 born. 
 
 He had a dark face ; eyes with plenty
 
 6 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 of flashing, varying expression ; and a firm, 
 sweet, resolute mouth and chin. His figure 
 was slight and erect, not much above middle 
 height ; and in every easy movement — in 
 the proud, firm set of the head and neck ; 
 in the shape of the strong, white hand ; in 
 the general air of slight "hauteur," per- 
 ceptible in his -whole bearing, and scarcely 
 ever lost in any moment of condescension 
 or self-forgetfulness — could be traced the 
 thorough " gentleman," by birth, by breed- 
 ing, and by nature. 
 
 Bochefort Longley had done what many 
 another man of strong head and heart has 
 done before him, and will do again : he had 
 fallen in love with a beautiful woman, who 
 was only a woman, and a vain and foolish 
 one, but whom he believed to be an angel. 
 By the power of a sweet voice, whose tones 
 had stirred the trembling passion of his 
 heart almost since the first time he had 
 heard her speak, two or three years ago ; 
 by the power of lovely features, and of eyes 
 which seemed to tell of a depth of soul 
 someivhere — as so many eyes belonging to
 
 The Master of Rlverswood. 61 
 
 soulless women do — and perhaps — dare 
 we confess it? — a little by the power of 
 the most perfect taste in dress that was 
 ever yet possessed by a girl, who devoted 
 all her thoughts and skill and half her 
 time to it, and whose mother thought 
 nothing of spending the bank-notes that 
 ought to have gone to the butcher with the 
 milliner and draper — to all this power 
 combined, Rochefort had yielded his strong 
 man's heart — yielded it to a woman in- 
 capable of understanding, of aiding, or of 
 really loving him, to her life's end. 
 
 As we have said, he paced the library 
 floor for an hour. His thoughts were not 
 peaceable ones, as could be discerned by 
 the constantly recurring trouble of the 
 brow, the flushing of the cheek, the restless, 
 harassed light of the eye. 
 
 " What am I to do ?" he kept thinking 
 to himself " I cannot tell her yet, and 
 yet I hate trying to deceive hei*. How 
 much is she deceived? Sometimes, I am 
 afraid, almost as much as I have ever 
 wished. Sometimes I fancy she guesses it
 
 62 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 all. At any rate, she does not suspect the 
 truth;'* and then he threw himself into his 
 arm-chair, thrust a hand into each pocket, 
 and meditated for a long time. 
 
 '' I must tell her at Christmas," he re- 
 solved at last, when his thoughts recurred 
 to his mother (they had been wandering far 
 away from her) ; " but I believe it will half 
 kill her. She will almost wish I had never 
 been born. Why on earth is it in the laio 
 of things that women in one position should 
 dislike and despise women (as good or 
 better than themselves) who happen to be 
 in another position — that is, if a man wants 
 one of them for his wife ?" 
 
 While her son revolved these and other 
 questions in his somewhat perturbed mind, 
 poor Mrs. Longley tossed upon a thorny 
 bed, and courted sleep in vain. 
 
 When, at last, she went off into uneasy 
 slumber, visions of clergymen in white, 
 attended by violinists and cornet-players, 
 and followed by young ladies in ball cos- 
 tume, and lastly, by a horrid, shabby little 
 hump-backed girl, whom Rochefort led
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 63 
 
 before her very eyes to the altar, haunted 
 her troubled rest, and, when she awoke in 
 the morning, made her almost hate the 
 light of day.
 
 64 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Mr. Ernest Glanville arrived in due 
 course on the 1st day of September. He 
 was a very good-looking fellow, tall, with 
 fashionable, graceful manners, a rich, plea- 
 sant laugh, and plenty of light-brown hair 
 upon his face, in the way of beard, mous- 
 tache, and whisker. How he and Roche- 
 fort had become friends neither of them 
 knew, unless it was that they had been 
 thrown together, and afterwards did not 
 care for the trouble of separating them- 
 selves. They were fellow-collegians, and 
 had rooms adjoining ; and this, as every- 
 body knows, explains a great deal. They 
 argued, they smoked, they rode out, and 
 they laughed a good deal together, and
 
 The Master of River swood. 65 
 
 they had never yet quarrelled. But perhaps 
 this was because they had rarely, if ever, 
 talked seriously. One of them cared little 
 to " air " the subjects on which he felt the 
 most ; and the other allowed himself to 
 feel and to think seriously very little. 
 Ernest confided pretty openly in his 
 friend, but he always reproached Longley 
 with reserve. 
 
 "I am not reserved," the latter would 
 say sometimes ; " but I had often rather 
 listen than talk. Don't you like having a 
 listener ? I often sympathise with — or at 
 least understand — all you are saying, even 
 if I don't speak." 
 
 Glanville had read much, but studied 
 little ; he was clever, but not profound ; he 
 had easy principles, and not very good 
 ones ; but to weak-minded men he had a 
 way of making his principles and ideas 
 appear always the right and natural ones. 
 His fascination lay in his pleasant ways, in 
 his general amiability, in his susceptibility, 
 in his tenor voice, and, women would have 
 added, in his beauty. But that was, of 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 course, the last thing that men Hked in 
 
 him. He was the second son of a shire 
 
 baronet, and his father intended him for 
 the Church. Ernest, however, did not 
 intend himself for it, if he could by any 
 means keep out of it; and he constantly 
 suggested to his father that the rich living 
 which the latter was holding in leash for 
 him should be given to his *' cousin Tom/' 
 Sir Charles Glanville, however, did not see 
 *' the joke," as Ernest expressed it, of giving 
 it to his " cousin Tom ;" and the ladies of 
 the Glanville family were constantly 
 urging upon Ernest the advisability of 
 taking orders with as little delay as possi- 
 ble. 
 
 "You ought to think seriously about it, 
 Ernest," his married sister would say to 
 him. 
 
 '' You know you needn't do much," the 
 unmarried one would urge ; " and you need 
 only wear very small white ties, as if you 
 were going to a dinner-party. You could 
 go shooting, you know, all the same, and 
 clergymen can wear coats like any one else
 
 The Master of Riversivood, 67 
 
 now, if they re not ' high ;' and you needn't 
 be 'high/" 
 
 " Ah, but the waistcoats !" Ernest would 
 answer, " I could never stand the waist- 
 coats, Augusta." And this would generally 
 end the discussion. En attendant, the 
 young gentleman was supposed to live on 
 his allowance ; and grumbled incessantly 
 to his sisters and mother, at its not being 
 larger. 
 
 On the second evening after he had come 
 to Riverswood, Ernest and his host were 
 sitting alone together in the dining-room 
 after dinner. The dessert was laid as Mr, 
 Longley had always chosen to have it, on 
 the dark, polished mahogany ; and when 
 does dessert look half as pretty now as it 
 used to do w^hen that old fashion was gene- 
 ral and when the bright cut glass, and rare 
 china, and glistening fruits were reflected 
 on a surface like an almost black and fault- 
 less mirror ? 
 
 "Arthur," began his friend — he had a 
 foolish conceit for calling him Arthur, be- 
 cause nobody else did ; " do you know you 
 
 5—2
 
 68 Tlie Master of Riverswood, 
 
 are a very uncommunicative fellow ? You 
 have never told me yet what your position 
 is, — I mean as regards the property and so 
 on. What is it V^ 
 
 *' Don't you know ?" inquired Eochefort, 
 who was leaning rather absently against the 
 mantlepiece. 
 
 "Not accurately. Is the property en- 
 taHed r 
 
 '' Most of it is.'' 
 
 '^ In the usual way, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Yes, in the male line. It has descended 
 from father to son for many generations, 
 and I hope it will do so for many more," 
 said the young master. 
 
 " What is it worth to you a year ?" in- 
 quired his friend ; " do you mind telling 
 me f 
 
 '' Everything together, do you mean ?" 
 
 *' Yes." 
 
 '' Eather more than ten thousand a year." 
 
 " What a lucky dog you are !" exclaimed 
 Ernest, with a half sigh. " And of course 
 the house is yours, too ?" he added. 
 
 *' ies, of course the house is miae, and
 
 The Master of Riverswood, 69 
 
 nearly all that is in it. My mother has a 
 handsome annuity out of the estate ; and 
 the pictures, and the plafce and all that sort 
 of thing, are divided between us, during her 
 life. So that you see at any time, if she 
 wishes it, she can go away, and set up house 
 for herself." 
 
 " Should you like her to do it ?" 
 
 " No ; certainly I should not like her to 
 do it. What do you mean ?" asked Roche- 
 fort. 
 
 "I only took up your own expression, or 
 rather what I thought you meant by it. It 
 doesn't matter — it w^as my mistake. And 
 so," he continued, after ruminating for a 
 few minutes, **you are your own master, 
 with ten thousand a year, and this lovely 
 place, at two and twenty ?" 
 
 " E;xactly/' answered the other, who 
 could not help laughing at his friend's air 
 of reflection ; '' you have stated the case 
 accurately. Does it affect you in any 
 way ?" 
 
 *' By Jove !" answered Ernest, looking at 
 him, — with his chin resting on his hand, and
 
 70 The Master of River sivood. 
 
 with a strange mixture of envy, considera- 
 tion, and something hke respect, in his 
 face ; *' by Jove — you are a lucky fellow. 
 I wish I were in your boots." 
 
 ** Do you ?" returned Rochefort carelessly, 
 and a little dryly ; '^ I had rather be in them 
 myself, thank you." 
 
 After this, there was a long silence ; as 
 if each of the men had said what he was 
 going to say, and Ernest stroked his long, 
 fair moustache for some time with his hand. 
 At last, looking up, he resumed, 
 
 *' I suppose you'll be thinking of marrying 
 before very long, shan't you ? Any fellow 
 would, in your position." 
 
 Rochefort made no answer, and coloured 
 a little. 
 
 '' What are you blushing for ?" inquired 
 his friend, looking at him. 
 
 '^ Was I blushing ?" 
 
 " Like any girl of sixteen. What is it ? 
 Are you in love ?" 
 
 After a little pause, Eochefort answered, 
 
 " Well — yes, I am, if you want to 
 know."
 
 The Master of Riverswood, 71 
 
 " Of course I want to know. But it's 
 nothing serious is it ?'* 
 
 '' It's been something serious to me, for 
 half the time that I've known you." Ernest 
 gave a long — a very long whistle. 
 
 *' Why have you never told me before T 
 he asked at length. 
 
 " I've been on the point of telling you a 
 dozen times, but I didn't ; I don't know 
 why." 
 
 ''But it's nothing more serious than being 
 * in love ' I suppose ?" asked Glanville. 
 Rochefort went bo the table and took up 
 some biscuits, which he broke up, and began 
 giving to the dogs. 
 
 '* Here Nigel, here Floss, come and have 
 your dessert." 
 
 " You don't mean to say," continued 
 Ernest — now with real astonishment and 
 consternation expressed in his voice and 
 countenance — '* you don't really mean to 
 
 say that you have been and " 
 
 ''And done it?" said Rochefort, still 
 stooping over the dogs. " Yes, I have." 
 There was a silence of some minutes,
 
 72 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 during which nothing was heard but the 
 dogs munching their biscuit, and the fire 
 peaceably flickering. 
 
 ** But I say, Arthur, this is something 
 frightful. You should have given me some 
 warning, my dear fellow. I'm struck ' of a 
 heap/ and feel quite giddy. Where's the 
 brandy ?'' 
 
 " What bosh !'' exclaimed Rochefort. 
 *' Talk sense, if you want to talk, Glanville, 
 and then I'll talk to you." 
 
 '« Why, you've never been through a 
 London season ; you haven't seen any girls • 
 you've made nobody jealous ; you've scarcely 
 tasted life, and you're never going to sacri- 
 fice yourself already at the altar ? I can't 
 believe it. But are you joking ?" 
 
 " Joking ? No !" returned Longley, a 
 little impatiently. " You go on as if you 
 were some old grandmother who had set 
 her heart on my marrying a fortune." 
 
 " Why, this is worse and worse every 
 minute ! Hasn't she even a fortune ?" 
 
 " Of course she hasn't," exclaimed the
 
 The Master of River swood. 73 
 
 other, almost indignantly ; " not a blessed 
 sixpence 1" 
 
 " Oh r said Ernest, looking and 
 
 speaking as if he were rapidly becoming 
 almost imbecile from repeated shocks to the 
 nerves. " Gracious goodness ! . . . . Have 
 you told your mother ?" 
 
 At this juncture the door was opened by 
 one of the class of human beings who are 
 fated by nature, by habit, and by duty 
 to interrupt every tete-a-tete that ever 
 takes place on earth — within four walls — 
 invariably at its most interesting point. 
 
 " If you please, sir, tea is quite ready ; 
 and missis says, would you object to coming 
 at once, sir, as she is rather tired to-night V 
 
 " Let us go," said Eochefort, throwing 
 away his last bit of biscuit. " It's dull for 
 my mother, being alone. No, she doesn't 
 know anything," he added, as they crossed 
 the hall, '' and it makes me feel as if I 
 were a brute, that I haven't told her." 
 
 "She won't like it, do you think ?" 
 
 '* Like it T repeated Longley. '' It is 
 understood that she won't like it. And
 
 74 Tlie Master of Riverswood, 
 
 I believe nothing will ever make her like 
 it." They entered the drawing-room as 
 he finished speaking. 
 
 About ten o'clock, when Mrs. Longley, 
 who was not well, had retired, and when 
 the two friends found themselves alone in 
 the billiard-room, Ernest expected that 
 his curiosity would be further gratified 
 on the interesting subject of his friend's 
 engagement. But Rochefort did not say 
 a word more about it, and would not 
 take a hint that Glanville would like to 
 hear more. He smoked — which he did 
 not often do — and gave himself up entirely 
 to his game, hardly talking all the evening. 
 At about half-past eleven they stopped 
 playing, and Ernest began contemplating 
 a return home at the end of a fortnight. 
 
 The next morning, however, when the 
 two young men sallied forth with their 
 guns, Glanville began — 
 
 " You were rather touchy with me last 
 night, Arthur. What was the matter 
 with you ? You could hardly give me a 
 civil answer.'*
 
 The Master of RiversivoocL 75 
 
 ** I am very sorry." 
 
 " You are such a romantic fellow," said 
 Ernest, giving his friend's shoulder a 
 slight grip, and shaking it ; " you fancy 
 every woman is an angel. You know 
 you do." 
 
 " I am perfectly certain I have never 
 said so — or thought so. But I am going 
 to choose my own wife, be she angel, or 
 be she not." 
 
 " Oh, well, I can quite imagine it," 
 answered the other, carelessly ; " but I 
 suppose the lady in question is one whom 
 we are both to suppose is a perfect angel 
 — isn't she ?" 
 
 ** Do you wish me to say that 1 have 
 ever seen anything in her but what is 
 perfection ?" asked his friend, naturally 
 parrying the question. 
 
 "Do I ivishf Why don't you answer 
 me openly ?" said Ernest, becoming a little 
 nettled at his friend's reticence. " I want 
 to know what you feel, if you would tell 
 
 1) 
 me. 
 
 " You didn't want to know that last
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 night/* returned Rocliefort. " It was the 
 last thing you cared about ; and as it is 
 the last thing any one else will care about, 
 I felt as if the * opposition ' were getting 
 rather strong for rae already. However, 
 we can't talk if we're going to shoot." 
 
 " Don't be a brute, Arthur ! We're not 
 shooting yet. I only want to know what 
 is your idea of perfection. I am sure the 
 future mistress of Riverswood ought to be 
 something very tip-top to deserve you." 
 
 " Thanks for saying so. Over this stile, 
 Ernest — it's the shortest way — and mind 
 your gun. Oh, is that you. Gray ?" 
 
 The man addressed took off his hat and 
 wished the gentlemen good morning. 
 
 " I was just coming i;p to the house, sir, 
 to ask for one of the horses to ride over to 
 Leyton. I've been up to old Davison's, 
 and his daughter's very ill." 
 
 (" I shall hear something of Rochefort^s 
 own affairs before my visit's out, perhaps," 
 reflected Mr. Glanville. " Confound all 
 these people.") 
 
 " 111 ! What's the matter with her ?"
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 77 
 
 " Dreadful sore throat and fever, sir." 
 
 "Why, it may be scarlet fever," exclaimed 
 Ernest, retiring suddenly several paces. 
 Gray looked at him with a singular half- 
 smile. 
 
 " It*s not that, sir. There's no scarlet 
 fever about, and she's a grown v/oman. 
 Can I have one of the horses, sir ? The 
 pony up at the farm lamed herself 
 out in the field last night, and can't go a 
 yard." 
 
 ** Yes, you can have one, of course ; and 
 look here — call at the house and ask Mrs. 
 Bobinson to send her up some jelly, or 
 whatever she could eat. They won't be 
 able to cook her anything up there. Good 
 morning, and be off." 
 
 Gray raised his hat, and was soon gone. 
 He had an especial interest in " old Davi- 
 son's daughter." 
 
 *' I say, Arthur, that girl may have got 
 diphtheria, if she hasn't scarlet fever. Is 
 there any diphtheria about V 
 
 " Yes," said Eochefort, coolly, " there 
 nearly always is."
 
 78 The Master of River sioood. 
 
 " Well, that's pleasant. Are you never 
 nervous about it." 
 
 '' Nervous! — No, I'm never nervous about 
 illness. It wo aid be a pretty thing for me 
 if I were. Well, here we are now, Ernest, 
 and now for business." 
 
 At about two o'clock in the afternoon, 
 the young sportsmen — with their dead birds, 
 and a rabbit or two beside them — threw 
 themselves on the green moss of the wooded 
 hill side ; the thick shade of the scarcely 
 stirring birches above them, and an exqui- 
 site prospect spread out before. Hochefort 
 took off his hat, pushed his hair from his 
 forehead, stretched himself at full length, 
 exclaimed " Is not this lovely ? Isn't it 
 enough to make one in love with life ?" 
 
 " As you are, I suppose," returned his 
 friend, glancing at him, " or ought to be, 
 with your confounded luck. Arn't you 
 going to eat anything ?" he added, as he 
 produced his own sandwich case, and sherry 
 flask. 
 
 " Yes, directly." Mr. Glanville munched 
 away in silence for a few minutes ; then he
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 79 
 
 said "Yours is a pretty place, Arthur; I don't 
 wonder you are fond of it. This hill, too, 
 is something quite uncommon." 
 
 "Yes, it's the greatest ornament of the 
 property," said the young master, turning 
 his head round, with a sort of fond pride ; 
 " it always looks lovely except in winter, 
 when there is no snow. In summer there 
 is always shade here, and nearly all 
 through the year delicious emerald moss in 
 quantities, — carts full; and wild flowers oi 
 every sort. I have loved this hill ever since 
 I have loved anything." 
 
 " I wonder," said Ernest, after a pause, 
 during which he had sat with his arms 
 resting on his knees, and looking dreamily 
 before him, " I wonder if I could ever settle 
 down and be good for anything if I had 
 such a place as this." 
 
 " Well, I have done very little good yet," 
 said Rochefort, beginning to unscrew his 
 wine flask, "but I hope to do some 
 before I die. I believe I have an illimit- 
 able idea of what two can do — working to- 
 gether."
 
 80 The Master of Riverswood, 
 
 **Does she — does yoxnr fiancee take much 
 interest in country affairs ?" inquired his 
 friend. 
 
 '' She has not been tried yet, so I don't 
 know." 
 
 "Teach in schools — visit the old women 
 — addicted to sewing clubs — a good hand at 
 broth — anything of that sort ?" asked Glan- 
 ville again, in a suggestive sort of way." 
 
 " Don't be such a fool, Ernest." 
 
 " A fool ? why, I thought I was saying 
 quite the correct thing. — Arthur, do you 
 remember a long conversation we once had 
 together, in which you said that the woman 
 you married should have a good head and 
 -heart, and the sense to appreciate the coun- 
 try, and make her home in it — even if she 
 hadn't a single good feature ?" 
 
 " Did I ?" inquired Rochefort, laughing. 
 " Wasn't that a long while ago ?" 
 
 " Very soon after you came up. I used 
 to tell the fellows you had said so." 
 
 " You did, did you V* interrupted Long- 
 ley, his hot blood mounting in a rush to
 
 The Master of Rivers wood, 81 
 
 cheek, and brow, and temple, "and what 
 did you do that for ?" • 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, not one of them 
 remembers a word. It was years ago. 
 Don't, for goodness sake, be so touchy. I 
 was only going to ask you if you had 
 changed your opinion at all since then ?" 
 
 " Well, as to the fancy for marrying a 
 plain woman, yes — perhaps. As to all the 
 rest, no, certainly not.'* 
 
 *' She has head and heart, then ?" 
 
 " God knows, I believe so." 
 
 " But she is a beauty ?" 
 
 ^' A heautyf echoed Eochefort, turning 
 on him with a flushed face. " There is not 
 a sculptor or painter on earth who would 
 not fall on his knees only to catch the pass- 
 ing shadow of her face." 
 
 Ernest did not laugh now. The words 
 were spoken with a strong, deep passion 
 that made him turn his eyes on his friend's 
 face, and look at him fixedly. 
 
 " Arthur," said he, " I beg your pardon. 
 I have thought till now that it might be a 
 sort of half-hearted affair, a sort of fancy 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 82 JTlie Master of River swood. 
 
 on your part — and so I made a joke of it. 
 I am sorry I did." 
 
 " Never mind. It's rather a relief to 
 talk to you at last. It's all been throbbing 
 and swelling in my heart for weeks past ; 
 and I don't know how I should have borne 
 it, if I hadn't been w^orking and walking 
 and riding about from morning to night, 
 to keep the fever down." 
 
 " I had no idea it was such a regularly 
 ' done ' thing. Who is she ? Do you mind 
 my asking ?" 
 
 " She is the daughter of my lawyer's 
 brother. The two brothers were in busi- 
 ness together for some years in Gowerford; 
 but not long ago the younger brother, 
 Henry Heaton, removed to Leyton, as there 
 seemed to be a good opening for him there. 
 He is not a very clever man, and I don't 
 think he makes much by his profession. 
 His wife has a little money — and there are 
 four daughters." 
 
 '' Do they live in Leyton ?" 
 
 ** No, in a house a little way out. It 
 will be Mrs. Heaton 's afternoon at home
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 83 
 
 to-morrow. She rather affects London 
 manners, and has always an afternoon at 
 home once a week." 
 
 " Shows her sense," remarked Ernest. 
 
 " Well, I don't know. There are often 
 a lot of people there all at once, or close 
 one after another. I don't like it at all." 
 
 " Why don't you go on other days ?" 
 
 " Because then I'm so awfully afraid of 
 not finding them in. I ride there all the 
 way in horrible suspense, almost dreading 
 to come to the house ; then I ring the bell 
 with my heart thumping like a sledge- 
 hammer, then I feel inclined to knock the 
 servant down who tells me * Mrs. Heaton 
 and the young ladies are out ;' then I ride 
 home, feeling as if the shot of the words 
 had riddled my heart, and I am utterly good 
 for nothing all the rest of the day. No, I 
 have tried it once, and I shan't try it 
 agam. ^ 
 
 " How did you manage to get engaged to 
 her ?" his friend inquired, not unnaturally. 
 
 "Well, I had been dreadfully worried 
 by seeing a young fellow of the name of 
 
 6—2
 
 84 Tlie Master of Riverswood, 
 
 Graham (his father's a stockbroker in 
 
 Gowerford) for ever hanging about there ; 
 
 at least, when I say for ever, I mean twice, 
 
 and I knew he was very intimate with the 
 
 family, and she seemed rather to like him, 
 
 and they kept joking together. (' Special 
 
 arrangement got up by the mother, of 
 
 course,' thought Ernest, ' done on purpose 
 
 to bring him to a proposal.') I thought 
 
 about it till I could bear the suspense no 
 
 longer, so one afternoon I rode over. I 
 
 had just come to the last driv-e-gate, which 
 
 is very near the house, when I saw her in 
 
 the garden almost close to me. She had 
 
 been gathering roses in her little muslin 
 
 apron, from a bush that almost hung over 
 
 the sunk fence near the gate, and she 
 
 jumped up from her knees as she saw me, 
 
 and stood as if she didn't know whether to 
 
 go away or to come towards me. I was 
 
 going to have opened the gate with my 
 
 whip- handle, but, of course, when I saw 
 
 her I got off my horse. I didn't want to 
 
 go up to the house a bit, I didn't want 
 
 anybody but her. I stammered out, hardly
 
 The Master of River swood. 85 
 
 knowing what I said, 'Were you going 
 through the gate, Miss Heaton ?' as if she 
 had anything to go through for. However 
 she said she was going" — (" saw her chance 
 at once, clever Httle girl ! and took advantage 
 of it," was Ernest's instant reflection) — " as 
 she wanted to take the roses somewhere — 
 I'm sure I don't know where, and I don't 
 think she did, but I think she saw in my 
 face that I wanted to go no farther — I 
 w^anted to speak to her. We went into 
 the plantation, and walked there for ever 
 so long — two hours, I dare say ; and long 
 before we came out, she had promised 
 to be my wife, and had told me she 
 loved me." 
 
 *' So then you rode home happy ?" 
 
 ** Rode home happy 1 I should rather 
 think so." 
 
 " Well, I'm sure, my dear fellow," said 
 Ernest, after a short pause, " I wish you 
 every happiness, with all my heart." 
 
 " I'm sure you do." 
 
 *' You have never told me yet how you 
 got to know her ?"
 
 86 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 " Oh, when Mr. Henry Heaton lived in 
 Gowerford I met her — saw her at least 
 half a dozen times at her uncle's. Mr. 
 Heaton has a great ramblirjg old-fashioned 
 house in Castle Street, with a good garden 
 and croquet-lawn behind. She was there 
 playing croquet with her sisters nearly 
 every afternoon, I believe ; and I saw her 
 when I rode over with my father, and used 
 to go out and play with them. Then she 
 came with her sister and her uncle to a 
 large dance my mother gave one winter, 
 and I've seen her at two or three rehearsals 
 of the Amateur Musical Society in Gower- 
 ford." 
 
 " And is that all V 
 
 " No. I have seen her at Ley ton, of 
 
 course." 
 
 " How long have you been engaged, 
 Arthur ?" 
 
 *' Three weeks." 
 
 " Do her mother and father know ?" 
 
 *'No; I told her she might tell her 
 mother, but she didn't wish to. And I'm 
 glad she didn't. Mrs. Heaton is so effusive.
 
 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 87 
 
 and fond of talking, that she would have 
 let it all out one way or another." 
 
 " Why don't you let all come out ? It 
 would be much more convenient V 
 
 '' Because it is so soon after my father's 
 death." 
 
 There was a long pause. Kochefort 
 thought his friend had gone to sleep, when 
 the latter suddenly sprang up, saying — 
 
 " Well, I've finished my lunch, Arthur, 
 have you V 
 
 **Some time ago," returned the other, 
 laughing ; '* so now let us do, as you say, 
 *some good in the world.' Is your gun 
 loaded T 
 
 And the two young sportsmen set off 
 again with their dogs.
 
 88 The Master of liiversivood. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 After lunch tlie next day, Longley asked, 
 
 " Will you come with me to the Beeches 
 this afternoon, Ernest ? I'm going." 
 
 " Is that the name of your paradise ?" 
 inquired Mr. Glanville. 
 
 " That's the name. You won t be long 
 in getting ready, will you ?" 
 
 " I'll go as I am, if you like. What have 
 you said to * mamma V " 
 
 " My mother's going some calls," said 
 Rochefort, as he left the room. 
 
 It was an hour's ride to Leyton — a ride 
 over a smooth, white highway, more or less 
 shaded by overhanging trees, through which 
 the glorious but softened September sun 
 fell in ripples. There were stubble-fields
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 89 
 
 in plenty on either side the way, and enor- 
 mous stacks of wheat and hay in the yards 
 adj oining the farm-buildings. On the gabled 
 and ancient homesteads — many of them 
 with black beams supporting the old ma- 
 sonry, and arranged in the picturesque 
 angles we shall soon know nothing of but 
 from pictures — climbed creepers of every 
 description, wearing their first faint tinge 
 of autumnal gold or brown. 
 
 Glanville could not imagine how his 
 friend could sufficiently distract, or rather 
 command, his thoughts to '' wonder ' this, 
 that, or the other, concerning Farmer 
 Smith's hay, or Farmer Hobson's wheat 
 crop — to take interest in this large stack, 
 or that set of beasts feeding, and to pull 
 up his horse to watch a hare coursing across 
 a field. At last, however, they reached 
 the Beeches, and walked their horses slowly 
 over the gravel drive, up to the last gate. 
 Ptound a large Portuguese laurel they saw 
 two young ladies and two young gentlemen 
 playing at croquet in front of the house. 
 
 " That's Graham, with the brown velve-
 
 90 The Master of Biverswood, 
 
 teen coat. I am glad I've put on my black 
 one," said Kochefort. 
 
 " Your black one ought to go to the old 
 clothesman," returned Ernest. "There, I've 
 seen them; which of the two is she?" 
 
 Rochefort pointed slightly with his whip 
 in the direction of the first hoop, then 
 opened the gate, and they w^ent through. 
 
 The young^ lady designated by her lover's 
 bit of red whipcord was just doing a " front 
 stroke," to get through the second hoop 
 from the stick. She was dressed in white 
 muslin, with an innumerable number of 
 flounces edged with white lace. The tran- 
 sparent body of her dress showed a round 
 white, lovely pair of shoulders. Her only 
 ornament was a little gold locket, set with 
 turquoises, which hung from a thin gold 
 chain round her neck. She had no ribbon 
 about her of any kind. Her fair hair, simply 
 drawn from her temples, was coiled in a 
 mass of plaits behind, one of which was 
 drawn a little forward over the head, 
 to make a sort of coronet. Her face was 
 perfectly lovely, or almost so ; its charm
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 91 
 
 would probably have been less if it had 
 been moulded by absolute rules. Her eyes 
 ■were of a dark, full blue ; her chin round, 
 soft, and slightly cleft down the middle ; 
 the expression of the mouth, a mixture of 
 archness, innocence, and sweetness ; her 
 hands, which were now clasping the mallet, 
 were exquisitely soft and small. 
 
 The young men made their way up to 
 the house (raising their hats to the ladies 
 as they passed), and were introduced into 
 the drawing-room, where Mrs. Heaton sat 
 alone. Longley introduced his friend ; a 
 few remarks — of course, of a thrillingly 
 interesting nature — were exchangers ^^^t 
 it being ascertained that Mrs. Heaton had 
 rather a headache, for which they were very 
 sorry indeed, and that it had not been very 
 hot riding along, for which Mrs. Heaton 
 was very glad, as they had come so far; 
 that Mrs. Longley had been persuaded to 
 go out and pay a few calls, which she 
 was perfectly delighted to hear ; that Mr. 
 Heaton was very well, thank you (Roche- 
 fort did not know he had asked the ques-
 
 92 The Master of River sioood. 
 
 tion, and was perfectly regardless as to the 
 answer) — these, and a few other equally 
 captivating civilities having passed, Mrs. 
 Heaton remarked that she believed the 
 girls and their cousin Theodore were playing 
 at croquet, and Bochefort said — 
 
 " Oh ! — are they?" as if he and his friend 
 had been afflicted with sudden blindness 
 during their transit from the drive gate to 
 the hall door. 
 
 " I suppose," said Mrs. Heaton, in a lan- 
 guid sort of way, " that poor young Mr. 
 Graham finds stockbroking rather dull, or 
 the office unhealthy ; for he generally comes 
 up here on Thursday afternoons, and of course 
 the girls are glad of a fourth hand at croquet, 
 as Theodore only makes a third, you know.'' 
 
 *' No, I suppose not," said Eochefort, be- 
 ginning to look towards the window ; and 
 quite unconscious that he had just assented 
 to the fact of '' Theodore's " being only one 
 person, which he had not before doubted. 
 
 " I dare say you would like to join them ; 
 and they can form a game of six," suggested 
 the lady. The two gentlemen, who had
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 93 
 
 hitherto been sitting each on a low chair, 
 and each with his hat danghng between his 
 knees, now rose with one accord, and 
 thought they looidd go and join the croquet 
 party. Mrs. Heaton, in a flutter of musHn, 
 ribbons, and smiles rose to accompany them. 
 They went on to the lawn. Miss 
 Heaton (rather a Jewish looking girl, regular 
 featured, and somewhat stiff), came forward 
 and shook hands with a great deal of pro- 
 priety. Then Kochefort had the rapture of 
 receiv^ing his little girl's hand in his strong, 
 trembling palm, and of having a few in- 
 stants' sotto-voce conversation with her, while 
 Ernest (after being introduced to her by a 
 brief " my friend Mr. Glanville — Miss Nora 
 Heaton "), very kindly turned his back 
 and talked at random to her sister. While 
 this was going on, " young Mr. Graham " 
 looked fixedly in the direction of the sunk 
 fence bordering the garden, and being joined 
 by Mr. Theodore, expressed his desire that 
 *' that fellow Longley had stayed at home, 
 and minded his own business.'* Mr. Theo- 
 dore, who had his own surmises, imprudently
 
 94 Tlie Master of Riversivood. 
 
 suggested that ** perhaps he ivas minding 
 his own business by coming here ;" upon 
 which Graham gave him a look calculated 
 to strike a chill into the heart of any youth 
 of seventeen, and Mr. Theodore hastily re- 
 tired to flatten a path for his ball, in hopes 
 of taking it through the hoop when his 
 turn came. 
 
 " We are going to begin again, Mr. Gra- 
 ham," said the silvery voice of Miss Nora ; 
 *' and play a game of six." 
 
 " Oh, we are, are we ?" said Graham to 
 himself, " then all I hope is, that we shall 
 get on opposite sides, and that I shall be able 
 to knock his ball to perdition every single 
 time he ever gets near a hoop or stick." 
 
 Sides were arranged, by somebody mixing 
 all the mallets together, holding them be- 
 hind his back, and dealing them out at ran- 
 dom. Miss Heaton, Mr. Longley and Mr. 
 Graham, darks ; Miss Nora, her cousin, and 
 Mr. Glanville, lights. 
 
 '' Look here," said Graham turning very 
 red, and twisting his mallet about; " I never 
 can play with this mallet. I wish you'd
 
 Tlie Master of Rlversivood. 95 
 
 change with me, Heaton. You take my 
 ball and mallet, and I'll take yours." 
 
 " All right," said Theodore. *' Do you 
 want to change sides too ?" 
 
 " Well, I think the darks will be too 
 strong if I don't," returned Graham ; and 
 then, remembering he had almost paid his 
 detested enemy a compliment, he added, 
 " Miss Heaton is such a capital player you 
 see.'* 
 
 The game began. During its progress 
 remarks such as the following were suffi- 
 ciently frequent to pour gall by bowls-full 
 into the heart of the miserable Graham : 
 
 *' Nora, it's your turn." 
 
 '* Oh, I heg your pardon ; I thought it 
 was Lizzie's." 
 
 " Mr. Longley I — IVe sent your ball in- 
 side the Portuguese laurel. Would you 
 mind looking for it ?" 
 
 " Miss Nora, you're being sent all over 
 the ground." 
 
 " Oh ! dear me, am I ? Please somebody 
 tell me which hoop I am for ?" 
 
 '* Mr. Longley, Mr. Longley, that's my
 
 96 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 ball please, and don't croquet me. Fm 
 r out Jig for you /" 
 
 Altogether it was impossible to get con- 
 centrated attention from either of them. 
 Mr. Graham had all his own way, and 
 wTeaked his venoreance to his heart's con- 
 tent. When he had all but knocked the 
 stick, Eochefort's ball was trying for the 
 second hoop coming home. Some slight 
 gleam of triumph was visible on the un- 
 fortunate Graham's face, as he stood watch- 
 ing his adversary's unsuccessful attempts 
 to put, or rather keep, himself in position ; 
 triumph that was soon extinguished how- 
 ever by the perception that all his ill -success 
 did not embarrass Longley in the least. 
 This young gentleman took everything with 
 the most easy coolness ; even when he 
 (Graham) had sent his ball almost to the 
 boundaries of the estate, Rochefort had 
 walked after it at his leisure, and quietly 
 knocked it up again, as if he rather liked 
 that sort of playing than otherwise. Now, 
 he was talking^ and laughing with both the 
 girls, and nad just said in a pleasant, gentle- 
 manly way from the other side of the ground,
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 9 7 
 
 " Knocked yourself out, Mr. Graham ? 
 Then I shall have a chance now, shan't I V 
 
 Confound some fellows' mpudence ! It 
 was more than any one could stand. He 
 would go, after this game was over. Ac- 
 cordingly, in about half an hour's time, after 
 making a decent appearance of pretending 
 to care for nobody, and not to care in the 
 least if nobody cared for him, Mr. Graham 
 took his departure. 
 
 ^' I'm so glad he's gone," said Nora, as 
 she seated herself on a garden seat, with 
 her lover at only half a yard's distance from 
 her, and knocked the head of her mallet 
 against the point of her pretty kid boot, 
 while he sat sideways, his arm resting on 
 the back of the seat, his head upon his 
 hand ; his eyes riveted on the lovely ^ce 
 so near him ; " I'm so glad he's gone ; hasn't 
 he been cross and disanfreeable T 
 
 " Poor fellow !" said her lover ; "I should 
 have been, if I had been in his case, I dare 
 say. 
 
 " No, you never could be so disagreeable 
 and so revengeful, and 'gauche.* And I 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 
 
 don't like him making you look as if you 
 couldn't play.'* 
 
 " I don't care, Nora." 
 
 " Because you know you can play beauti- 
 fully. Why didn't you knock him about ?'' 
 
 " I thought he had quite enough to put 
 up with as it was. I wouldn't have tor- 
 mented him more on any account." 
 
 " You are very kind." 
 
 " We are all kind when we are happy, 
 
 Nora." 
 
 *' Are you so very happy ?" inquired 
 Nora, with a half smile, as she looked 
 down at her boot, and knocked it more 
 severely than ever with her mallet. 
 
 "I should be happier if I could ever get 
 a chance of another hour with you in that 
 blessed plantation." 
 
 " I couldn't come with you to-day in this 
 dress, Rochefort, if I had ever so many 
 chances," returned his beloved. " I've got 
 to keep it nice for Mrs. Ellershaw's party 
 next week. I only put it on to-day because 
 1 knew you would come." 
 
 ** Thanks, my darling, and you look per- 
 fectly lovely in it."
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 99 
 
 " Eochefort, who's your friend ? He's 
 very handsome." 
 
 ** A college friend of mine. Yes, he's a 
 good-looking fellow, isn't he V 
 
 " I suppose you're both going to stay 
 tea?" ~ 
 
 " If you invite us.'' 
 
 '* Oh, mamma '11 be only too glad. I 
 know that much. Let us have another 
 game, Kochefort. I'm afraid of their be- 
 ginning to look at us, if we sit together 
 any longer." 
 
 " I won't be on the opposite side to you 
 again, if we do play. But it is much nicer 
 sitting here." . # 
 
 " Yes, but we can be seen from all the 
 windows in the house, and it looks so odd. 
 I will manage that we play on the same 
 side ;" and Miss Nora, who was an enthu- 
 siastic disciple of that noble and useful art 
 to which most of the afternoons and evenr" 
 ings in country houses are now, or were 
 then, entirely given up, rose from her seat, 
 and began making arrangements for " game 
 the third."
 
 100 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 — ■■■' — ^ ■ ■■- II I -^■■- II .-I — -.— .1 ■Ml.l.. ^ 
 
 What a delicious game that was ! They 
 were " en famille " now. Miss Heaton took 
 two balls, and devoted her exclusive atten- 
 tion to them, and to her partner, Mr. Glan- 
 ville, throughout. She was not a bit of a 
 flirt, and seemed in no way over- balanced 
 in mind by Ernest's undeniable charms. 
 Her face and voice changed as little their 
 expression in speaking to him as if he had 
 been her brother. Ernest must have found 
 it insufferably wearisome, but he bore his 
 tedium like a man through all the '' burden 
 and heat of the day." 
 
 As for Theodore, never did cousin behave 
 better. He looked up to tfie sky, across 
 the distant fields, into the house, made trial 
 strokes with an odd ball, talked to Mr. 
 Glanville,did anything but notice the lovers, 
 who ought certainly to have presented him 
 with a handsome testimonial when at last 
 they went in to tea. 
 
 " Haven't I been a good boy, Nora ?" he 
 whispered over his cousin's shoulder in the 
 hall, when the other gentlemen \^ere out o' 
 bight and hearing. " Haven't I left yoi 
 aione, and done my very best for you ?"
 
 TJie Master of Riverswood, 101 
 
 " You have, Theodore ; you've been a 
 dear good cousin, and I hope you didn t 
 mind my knocking you out ?" 
 
 " Oh, not in the least. But look hero, 
 Nora, just tell me if it's all settled ? Do, 
 that's a good girl, and then I'll always be 
 as good to you as I've been to-day." 
 
 '' What nonsense, Theodore 1" 
 
 " It isn't nonsense. I know it isn't. Tell 
 me, and I won't tell a living creature." 
 
 '' I don't believe you could keep a secret 
 for a day." 
 
 " If that isn't calumny and ingratitude 
 combined ! There never was such a trust- 
 worthy fellow. Well, you won't tell me 
 then ? but I know I'm right, and I'm very 
 glad ; and won't you look a swell riding in 
 a new landau, with a pair of lovely horses ! 
 And mind you get me asked for some shoot- 
 ing next year.'* 
 
 But Theodore had to make oft, laughing 
 as he went, to avoid a box on the ears, 
 which appeared imminent, in return for hi3 
 congratulatory speech. 
 
 After tea there was music. Mrs, Heaton
 
 102 The Master qf Riverswood, 
 
 played (she was rather a dashing, but cor- 
 rect and effective player, and was proud of 
 her accomplishment). Then Nora played, 
 and then Mr. Glanville was asked if he sang. 
 Mr. Glanville was very seldom asked that 
 question. 
 
 *^ I — I am afraid I cannot manage any- 
 thing without notes," said he. *' I have a 
 wretchedly bad memory.'* 
 
 None of the Heatons sang ; but upon 
 search being made among a quantity of 
 loose music, there were produced fir ally, 
 two Christy Minstrel books of Mr. Theo- 
 dore's, several comic songs, and one "Village 
 Blacksmith," belonging to the same gentle- 
 man ; and lastly, a song which had been 
 left, it appeared, by a young lady about 
 six weeks ago, and ought to have been re- 
 turned every day since, but never had been. 
 It was Kucken's " Ave Maria," the words 
 from the "Lady of the Lake.'' Rochefort 
 threw it across to his friend without com- 
 ment, and the latter said he should be happy 
 to sing it, if Mrs. Heaton would play for 
 him, and if the ladies liked. The ladies,
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 103 
 
 of course, would all be delighted. They 
 had never heard it before. 
 
 They heard it then. They heard it, in 
 all its pathetic, its thrilling, its passionate 
 harmony, rendered by such a voice as one 
 hears but two or three times in a life — often 
 not that — and such as while memory lasts 
 one never forgets. 
 
 The accompaniment upbears the music of 
 that wonderful prayer, as if on mighty 
 wings ; it surges like the rush of wind 
 through a forest, and the melody rises from 
 it like notes struck on an ^olian harp. 
 
 When the echo of the maofnificent music 
 and of the rich, sweet, powerful tenor — a 
 tenor that no woman, and few men, had 
 ever yet heard unmoved — had passed away, 
 there was a silence for a few moments as it 
 it was just after church. The compliments 
 that followed were cut short by Rochefort 
 looking at his watch and then at his friend^ 
 and the two said they must go, as Mrs. 
 Longley did not like being left alone all the 
 evening. During the course of the hand- 
 shaking, and whUe Mr. Heaton and his
 
 104 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 friend were engaged in reciprocating a few 
 remarks on shooting, E-ocliefort managed to 
 get some hurried words with his Httle girl. 
 Ho noticed that her eyes wandered two or 
 three times towards Ernest while he spoke, 
 with a look which he had never yet seen in 
 them — a sort of admiring, astonished, half- 
 wistful look. 
 
 " I never heard anything so beautiful as 
 his voice in all my life," she said to her 
 lover in a sort of half whisper. 
 
 " You have never been to any concerts, 
 you see, yet, Nora/' 
 
 " Yes, I have," she returned quickly, *' to 
 concerts in the Town Hall." 
 - '' Ah, yes, of course. But that's not ex- 
 actly what I mean. Good-bye, my darling, 
 we must go now." 
 
 And then followed the mutual lingering 
 pressure of two hands that were loath to 
 part (for the child loved him as well as she 
 knew how to love then ; and, besides, he 
 was her lover, and engaged to her, and that 
 was a sweet and a proud thing), the meet- 
 ing of eyes that said what they could
 
 The Master of Riversicood. 105 
 
 (other modes of speech bemg impossible), 
 and then they parted. A few minutes after, 
 the young men were on their road home. 
 
 *' Confound me, if I could stand that kind 
 of thing/' began Ernest, almost as soon as 
 they were off. *' I wouldn't be engaged at 
 any price, on those terms.'* 
 
 ''What do you think of her ?" inquired 
 Longley, after a time. 
 
 " Think ? — That she is a little beauty, 
 but one of the last sort of girls I should 
 have imagined you would have chosen." 
 
 " Aren't you afraid of my knocking you 
 off your horse ?" said Piochefort, a little 
 fiercely. 
 
 " Not in the least. You asked me what 
 I thought, and I am telling you the truth. 
 Besides," added Ernest, on second thoughts, 
 " why should you imagine I meant anything 
 uncomplimentary ?" 
 
 Eochefort w^as silenced for a moment. 
 Why indeed had he thought so ? 
 
 '' Never mind," pursued Glanville, in his 
 usual light easy tone, ''let us talk of some- 
 thing else. It is impossible for a fellow to
 
 106 Tlie Master of Riversivood. 
 
 judge of a girl by seeing her for only half 
 an afternoon, and not that in fact, for I 
 scarcely exchanged a dozen words with her. 
 I only meant by what I said, that I should 
 fancy her a little fond of society and — a — " 
 (admiration he was going to have said, but 
 recalled the word in time), " and that sort of 
 thing, and you are what I should call a solid 
 sort of fellow, fond of work and reading, and 
 so on." 
 
 ** And so," said Rochefort, briefly, " you 
 imagined I should like a blue stocking 
 for a wife ? The fact is, you don't hiow 
 her, you see ; she is just one of those girls 
 who are capahle of anything y 
 
 Ernest waited a moment to hear if any- 
 thing else were coming, and then said, 
 
 *' Ah — exactly. ... I understand." 
 
 The subject was then changed and not 
 referred to again during their ride home. 
 
 That night, when Mr. Glanville found 
 himself alone in his room, he disposed of 
 his six feet of elegant height in a long low 
 Indian lounging chair, lighted a cigar, 
 donned his blue velvet smoking cap, thrust
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 107 
 
 a hand into each pocket, and pursued his 
 reflections thus — 
 
 ** That poor fellow's going to make him- 
 self a miserable man for life. She is a girl 
 that would have done well enough for a 
 fellow like me, but she^s not after his sort 
 in the least. . . . What a little beauty 
 she is ! What a lovely, rounded, perfect 
 neck and shoulders ; what bewildering eyes, 
 so dark and blue and tender ; what beauti- 
 ful hands ; what masses of hair (I wonder 
 if it is all hers) ; and with what grace she 
 moved about in that long white dress ! . . 
 How that gold chain and locket glistened 
 upon her lovely breast as she laughed, 
 looking up into Rochefort's face, or when 
 she pretended to be out of breath after one 
 or two hard strokes. . . . And those 
 distracting little boots ! . . . 
 
 ** But what did she say ? What mind or 
 heart has she ? When her father came 
 home, and things were spoken of in which 
 Arthur had interest— great, even deep in- 
 terest — did she listen ? Did her eyes show 
 any intelligence ? She stooped down, and
 
 108 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 stroked and patted that hateful little terrier 
 they are so fond of, and talked nonsense to 
 it. Once or twice, Longley turned and 
 looked towards her, with that searching, 
 tender look of his — a shade anxious, I 
 thought, but wholly devoted ; and she did 
 not see him or return his look. He was 
 then in another world from hers. Bid he 
 not see that ? 
 
 " Is she capable of deep love ? Could 
 any other man win more flashes from those 
 beautiful eyes, or a more eager pressure 
 from those soft fingers ? Her eyes responded 
 kindly, but never fervently, never with 
 sudden brightness, to his .... And he is 
 one of the greatest ' catches' in England ! 
 .... Can it really be ' au serieux ' with 
 him ? 
 
 "Her playing showed me as much as 
 anything what she was. It was not bad 
 playing ; but there was nothing in it. She 
 touched the notes prettily, gently ; she 
 made no blunders, but . . . Good heavens ! 
 What I Imve heard made out of that air of 
 Blumenthal's, and how utterly she missed
 
 Til e Master of Riverswood. 109 
 
 the meaning ! Arthur can be as much 
 moved — as much impressed by real music 
 as any fellow I know ; and as a rule is in- 
 tolerant of bad performance ; but he stood 
 against that wall as if in a dream of happi- 
 ness while she played, turning the pages 
 for her as if the very paper was a sacred 
 thing to him. Apparently, a sign from her 
 eyelashes told him when to turn — I saw 
 nothing else. 
 
 "What was it I heard her saying to him ? 
 * What a beautiful voice your friend has !' 
 It seems, then, she can understand music 
 in some forms. 
 
 " Shall I see her again before she is mar- 
 ried ? I don't care to — I don't wish to, she 
 is nothing to me. It is always best not to 
 see too much of a very lovely woman, who 
 is engaged to a man one doesn't believe she 
 cares for ... . Will she ever care for him ? 
 Will he care much for her, after they have 
 have been married a year ?" — Arrived at 
 this point, Mr. Glanville rose slowly from 
 his chair, took a turn or two in his room, 
 considered himself for a few minutes in tU
 
 110 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 glass, and then, whistling carelessly, began 
 to prepare himself for bed. 
 
 Ernest stayed about a month at Rivers- 
 wood. A little incident occurred the night 
 before he left which each of the friends 
 afterwards remembered well, though at the 
 time it had only a momentary and passing 
 effect on them. They were sitting to- 
 gether after dinner, before a large, bright 
 fire, for the evenings had then become cold ; 
 and were especially so in the large dining- 
 room, which was little occupied during the 
 day. They had been talking of college 
 affairs and college friends ; of Ernest's 
 future plans, (as far as he had any plans ;) 
 and about Nora — of whom they now seldom 
 spoke. Mr. Glanville had satisfied his 
 friend, by declaring that she ' certainly im- 
 proved infinitely upon acquaintance,' and 
 that she seemed to him to become more 
 charming and more womanly every time he 
 saw her. 
 
 *' She is gaining so much more expression ; 
 she is so much more conversational than I 
 had thought she could be," he would say^
 
 The Master of Riverswood. Ill 
 
 " you will be the envied of every man in 
 London, when you bring her up, Arthur." 
 
 It was quite certain that Ernest had done 
 much to bring her out, with his easy, plea- 
 sant talk, always of a sort that she could 
 enter into and appreciate ; — by his singing, 
 for which she had such wonderinof admira- 
 tion, and later, by his simple presence, 
 which, by drawing off attention to himself 
 in the circle at the Beeches, made her far 
 less restrained than formerly in her manner 
 towards her lover. 
 
 It was now tacitly understood that there 
 was an engagement ; but Rochefort was 
 firm in his refusal to have it known until 
 he had told his mother, and he would tell his 
 mother at the beginning of the new year. 
 Resolutely and heroically he denied himself 
 the unspeakable bliss of having the right 
 to walk with her where he liked, or to sit 
 with her in "her father's study," secure from 
 interruption. 
 
 " My mother shall not hear that I have 
 chosen my wife through servants or stran- 
 gers," he said to Ernest one day, " before 
 she hears it from my own lips."
 
 112 The Master of RiverswoocL 
 
 On the evening of which we write, the 
 two friends talked long together over that 
 bright fire, and neither seemed wilUng to 
 make the move into the drawing-room 
 which would be the ending-up of their 
 month's close companionship, and (on one 
 side at least), of a month's frank confidence. 
 
 '' Well, you will come and be my grooms- 
 man ?" said Eochefort at last. 
 
 '' Certainly, old fellow ; of course I will 
 — not that you've ever told me when it is 
 to come off." 
 
 " 0, I'll let you know in good time. 
 Well, will you take one more glass of the 
 old port, and then we'll go to my mother's T 
 
 He pushed the decanter towards his 
 friend, and then, just before he drank, said 
 carelessly — 
 
 " Here's to our last meeting, then 1" 
 
 " Our icliat T^ exclaimed Glanville, with 
 a look of such sudden horror, that Koche- 
 fort stopped, with the wine at his lips, and 
 stared at him. 
 
 "What did I say? Oh — ah — of course; 
 I said lasty didn't I, instead of next? It
 
 The Master of Rlverswood. 11 
 
 Q 
 
 was only a mistake ; why do you look so 
 strange ?" 
 
 " Here — stop — don't drink it!" exclaimed 
 Ernest, starting up, his face almost white ; 
 "give me that glass, Arthur." 
 
 " Is the fellow gone mad ?" was all Koche- 
 fort said. As he held the glass away from 
 him, Ernest grasped it with his hand ; half 
 the wine was spilled between them ; the 
 other half, with the glass, Glanville threw 
 upon the fire. ** And now, what's that for, 
 if it will please you to explain ?" demanded 
 his host. " You're surely not more super- 
 stitious than any old crony in the village ?" 
 
 But Glanville would say no more. 
 
 " Let us go into the drawing-room," he 
 said at last, after he had' taken a few silent 
 turns in the room, *' and play a game of 
 chess. I believe I have a fit of the blues 
 to-night." 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 1 1 4 The Master of Rlverswoocl 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 !Mrs. Longley had a half-sister younger 
 than herself, who was married to a certain 
 Viscount Belton, and who lived somewhere 
 in Belgravia. They were both daughters 
 of a London banker, now deceased, who had 
 left them large fortunes. They had had 
 one brother, the son of the first wife, who, 
 having nothing else to do, wore himself to 
 death with dissipation and drinking at the 
 age of nine-and-twenty. In spite of all his 
 faults, the sisters loved and mourned him; 
 and Mrs. Longley called her only son after 
 him, and after the name of her mother's 
 family. 
 
 Lady Belton had an only son, too, now a 
 boy of four years old ; but she had also
 
 The Master of River swood. 115 
 
 five daughters. The eldest had managed 
 to such perfection her first two seasons, 
 that she was ah'eady engaged to be married. 
 Her lover was a rising barrister of about 
 forty, very well connected, and of unexcep- 
 tionable manners and character. Minnie 
 (Erminia was her full name) was not vio- 
 lently fond of him, and had even been seen 
 in tears on the day of her engagement ; but 
 Mr. Templeton was well known to be the 
 sole heir, and the sole darling, of an aged 
 and wealthy godmother. His sister had 
 married an " Hon.," and his father was a 
 Dean, There was, therefore, no help for it ; 
 in fact, no way out of it, Minnie was one 
 of ^ve daughters, and not exactly a beautj ; 
 and she must, therefore, take him and '* be 
 thankful !" 
 
 As for Clara, it had been arranged in 
 Lady Belton s own mind, ever since she was 
 in long-clothes, that she was to marry her 
 half-cousin at Rivers wood. She had given 
 one or two hints on the subject already to 
 her sister; and Mrs. Longley was not averse 
 to the idea, though she could not be said to 
 
 8—2
 
 116 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 be strongly favourable to it. She knew 
 Erminia's girls were not pretty ; she had 
 not seen Clara since she was fourteen, and 
 then her hair was not only *' golden," it was 
 almost red. That wouldn't, of course, 
 matter so much now, because light hair was 
 the fashion, and Clara's could be easily pow- 
 dered and done up, to make it appear the 
 thing. But then, why need Kochefort 
 marry a plain little girl with freckles (she 
 had had freckles at fourteen) and dubious- 
 coloured hair? Mrs. Longley thought a 
 great deal of her son, and did not see why 
 he should not look out for himself at leisure 
 during the next five or ten years, and then 
 marry exactly whom he pleased — which 
 meant, the woman she should be pleased to 
 approve of for him. Of course, Lady Bel ton 
 looked at things in a different light, and 
 was prepared to move heaven and earth, 
 when the proper time and opportunity came, 
 for bringing about this desirable match for 
 her daughter. She had fully determined 
 to bring Clara out next spring, and to per- 
 suade — nay, force — her sister to come up
 
 The Master of Rlverswood. 117 
 
 to town for at least a couple of months. 
 Then, everything possible was to be done 
 to make his aunt's house attractive to the 
 young man ; his tastes, his fancies, should 
 be consulted, as far as it lay in woman's 
 power to consult them ; and a great deal 
 lay in Lady Belton's power, as, perhaps, 
 Mr. Templeton could have vouched for, if 
 he had been asked. Clara should be dressed 
 to perfection; her undoubted musical talents 
 brought into play; even her hair should be 
 so arranged as to be only another arrow into 
 the heart of her susceptible cousin ; delicate 
 and passing hints as to her sweetness of 
 disposition should be deftly thrown out in 
 her absence by her devoted mother; dinners 
 should be given for him, balls arranged, 
 trips to flower- shows and on the water should 
 be planned to suit his convenience — but we 
 stop, afraid of wearying our readers' patience 
 by the bare summary of the long, the cease- 
 less fatigues, the sleepless cares, the self- 
 denying and persistent labour, which a lady 
 of refinement, of sense, and of good feeling 
 was not only willing, but anxious, to go
 
 118 The Master of Riverswood, 
 
 through for the sake of establishing her 
 daughter as mistress of ten thousand a year. 
 
 One morning about the beginning of 
 December, Lady Belton sat at her break- 
 fast table, leisurely opening her letters one 
 after another. 
 
 " Here is one from Emily," she said to her 
 husband, who was looking over the Times; 
 "I wonder what has induced her to write ?" 
 
 " Does she never write to you then V 
 inquired Lord Belton. 
 
 '' Hardly ever ; she is a wretched corres- 
 pondent. — AVhat fearfully deep black ! I 
 really don't think it's right of peo]')]e to use 
 such deep borders. It always gives one 
 the feeling that they are writing to say a 
 whole family has gone off!'' 
 
 ** And in this instance it is to be devoutly 
 hoped that is not the case," remarked Lord 
 Belton, turning a page of his Times. 
 
 His wife opened and read : — 
 
 ** My dearest Erminia, 
 
 " I am afraid I have been a long w^hile 
 in answering your last kind letter, but I
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 119 
 
 have been equal to very little exertion, ever 
 since my terrible loss. Latterly I have been 
 suffering from almost constant head-ache, 
 and the whole of this week I have been 
 very ill, and more upset than it is possible 
 for me to tell you. I must try, however, 
 and write as connectedly as possible — -far 
 as I am from feeling connectedly — for it is 
 necessary that I should tell you everything.^' 
 — (Here Lady Belton became extremely faint, 
 and could with difficulty control herself to 
 read to the end of the letter with a decent 
 appearance of calm.) — "I have for some time 
 been very uneasy about the number of times 
 Rocbefort rode out, without choosing after- 
 wards to give me any particular account as 
 to where he went — and I often thought it 
 was to call on a family of the name of 
 Heaton — (the father is a brother of our 
 lawyer). This Mr. Heaton has several 
 daughters, two grown-up, and I had heard 
 that one ivas a great heauty ; in fact, I have 
 seen her once or twice, and I must say she 
 is very pretty. Rochefort never would con- 
 fess anything to me ; but at last I became
 
 f 
 
 120 . Tlie Master of Rlverswood. 
 
 so miserahle, that one evening 1 told him I 
 had rather be dead than feel that he kept 
 secrets from me, and I was sure he had a 
 secret, and wouldn't he tell me w^hat it was ? 
 So then he told me everything ; and said 
 he would never have kept it from me for a 
 day, if it hadn't been so soon after his 
 father's death, and that he had not let any 
 one know. Nora (that is her name), had 
 not even told her mother ; and for my sake 
 he had denied himself in every ivay ; had 
 scarcely ever seen her alone, or anything of 
 that kind ; and wouldn't have engaged him- 
 self when he did, but that he fancied another 
 young fellow was about there a good deal, 
 and might be making her an offer. — Just 
 fancy my feelings! — I can hardly bear to 
 write all this ; it seems so loiuering ; as if 
 7ny son had any cause to fear his not being 
 accepted by a girl in that position, or (if 
 you will excuse my saying so) in almost 
 any other. Of course I was dreadfully upset 
 when I heard about it, and I am afraid said 
 some very hard things to him. Naturally, 
 I have done all in my jpower to persuade
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 121 
 
 him to break it off, but he won't hear 
 of such a thing. He sees it makes me so 
 wretched to suspect he has gone to Leyton, 
 that I believe he doesn't go at all ; but of 
 course he writes — at least I suppose so, and 
 that is quite as bad if^iot ivorse. The girl 
 will not have a sixpence ; but I should not 
 care so much for that, if she had family and 
 connections. The father of these two Mr. 
 Heatons was actually a tanner; and when 
 I asked Rochefort of what family Mrs. 
 Henry Heaton was, he said she came from 
 London, and that he really didn't know 
 what her father had been. But I noticed 
 he turned rather red as he said so, and I 
 shouldn't at all wonder if he was a shop- 
 keeper or something ; for I think Mrs. 
 Henry Heaton a fast sort of woman — and 
 I should think she would have spoken of 
 her family now and then, if it was anything. 
 The Mr. Heatons, I must say, are gentle- 
 men, though how they came to be so I can- 
 not say, under the circumstances. 
 
 *' The thing I am particularly writing to 
 you about is, to beg you and Everard and
 
 122 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 the two girls to come down and spend two or 
 three iveeks here at Christmas. I want, if 
 possible, to distract Ptochefort a little from 
 this foolish and unfortunate idea of his : and 
 I am also in sad want of a little cheering 
 up and enlivening myself, for this affair has 
 made me quite ill. You must not refuse 
 me ; our last chance is becoming smaller 
 every hour of inducing my son to marry 
 suitably and creditably ; and you may 
 depend on me now, for using every effort 
 that is in a mothers poiver to prevent the 
 calamity I fear, and to bring about a union 
 more in accordance with his means and 
 position. — I am always your very affec- 
 tionate sister, 
 
 " Emily Longley. 
 
 " P.S. — Pemember that I csm promise no- 
 thing. Sometimes I even dare not hojoe 
 anything. You know how resolute Ptoche- 
 fort is at times, like his father, only w^orse ! 
 Still we can but do our best." 
 
 When Lady Belton finished the letter, 
 she folded it up, put it in her pocket, and
 
 The Master of River sivood. 123 
 
 remained absolutely silent for the rest of 
 breakfast. The girls saw that something 
 was wrong, and retired as soon as they could 
 to their own sitting room — not finding any- 
 thing entertaining in munching toast and 
 butter, while mamma remained absorbed 
 in (apparently) very unpleasant thought 
 and eat nothing, and papa turned and re- 
 turned his paper with unusual persistence, 
 but making noremark whatever,and looking 
 neither to the right hand nor to the left. 
 
 " There /" said Lady Belton, producing 
 the letter, and throwing it across to her 
 husband the moment her daughters had 
 left the room ; " it's all over." 
 
 " What's all over ? — Rochefort isn't dead 
 I hope T 
 
 " Dead ! of course not ; how can you be 
 so absurd, Everard T 
 
 " Is he eng^ao^ed ?" 
 
 " You can take the letter and read it for 
 yourself" Her husband laid down his 
 newspaper and took up Mrs. Longley's 
 highly-scented and blackly-bordered sheets. 
 He read them leisurely all through.
 
 1'24 The Master of River sivood. 
 
 " I always told you, Mmnie, that you 
 ^vere making a great deal too sure of this 
 business. I warned you not to set your 
 heart on it." 
 
 "It is very easy to say that, Everard. 
 Perhaps it would have been as well if you 
 had exerted yourself a little more to bring 
 it about, instead of sitting down coolly to 
 watch things take their course." 
 
 ** What did you want me to do ? Ask 
 Longley to come and stay a month in the 
 house-; or write a civil note, inquiring 
 whether he had any objection to Clara for 
 a wife ?" 
 
 Lady Belton vouchsafed no reply to these 
 singular queries. After a time, however, 
 she spoke again, as follows : 
 
 " I suppose you have no objection to 
 going down there at Christmas ?" 
 
 '' None whatever," said his lordship, 
 getting up and placing himself on the rug 
 with his back to the fire ; " the game's too 
 good a one to throw up without a struggle. 
 But I have a presentiment that you'll lose 
 it, Minnie."
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 125 
 
 " Well, I don't know," returned the lady. 
 
 ** One thing I can tell you, that you'll have 
 to arrange your tactics very cautiously, to 
 have the ghost of a chance. He is rather 
 an impatient sort of fellow, and if he should 
 
 once scent what you are up to " Lord 
 
 Belton left his sentence unfinished. 
 
 " But you liked him, Everard, when you 
 were there last year, didn't you ?" 
 
 " Liked him f Oh, that's another thing ; 
 yes, of course, I liked him. A fellow's not 
 the worse for having spirit." 
 
 " I shouldn't want him for my son-in- 
 law, if he hadn't any." 
 
 *' Only in this instance we might dis- 
 pense with it for a time, and then tack it 
 on afterwards, when he became the son-in- 
 law," suggested Lord Belton, half laughing. 
 
 *' From all you told me of him," pursued 
 his wife, not appearing to heed that last 
 remark, ' ^ I thought he would be so en- 
 tirely what I should like and approve of for 
 dear Clara." 
 
 Lord Belton almost roared. 
 
 ''Like and approve of for Clara! I
 
 126 The Master of Riverswood, 
 
 should rather think you would. May you 
 ^et him ! Why, I don't suppose there are 
 half a dozen such matches in England — 
 considering everything — if there are that. 
 I don't sa}^ he has no faults ; he may have 
 a hundred that I know nothing of, but I 
 know that I would give a great deal if he 
 would take the happiness of any one of my 
 daughters into his keeping .... Talk of 
 * approving of him for Clara/ " concluded 
 his lordship, after several moments pause, 
 *' my only fear is that you will never be in 
 the least called upon to say whether you 
 approve of him for her or not !" 
 
 '^ You only make me more and more 
 miserable, Everard, that she should have 
 lost such an opportunity. What a horrid 
 girl that Dora, or whatever you call her, 
 must be. You may he sure that she or her 
 mother, or both, have done everything that 
 was in their power to entrap him !" 
 
 " Which would be the first instance on 
 record — in good society — of any one having 
 done such a thing, of course," answered his 
 lordship. "Well, Minnie, I'm off. Put
 
 The Master of Eiversivood. 127 
 
 it all out of your head, if you can, and write 
 quietly to Emily, and tell her we will come. 
 Say as little else as you can." 
 
 The letter was written, and the invitation 
 accepted.
 
 128 The Master of River swood. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 It had always been the custom at Rivers- 
 wood to give a dinner on Christmas Eve to 
 the men who were employed on the imme- 
 diate estate. They were accompanied by 
 their wives ; and the children — it was sup- 
 posed-^were left at home in the charge 
 of grandmothers, aunts, or elder sisters. 
 When Rochefort was a little fellow, with a 
 child's yearning for playfellows of any kind 
 or description, he had begged his father 
 almost piteously to " let the little boys 
 that he saw playing at marbles in the 
 road " come with their parents on these 
 occasions, that they might have a game at 
 "blind man's buff" after dinner. But Mr. 
 Longley, who w^as not fond of children, and
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 129 
 
 who always sternly forbade his son's ex- 
 changing a word with the village children, 
 informed him that it would not be suitable 
 for him — as a gentleman — to play blind 
 man's buff with little boys whose ordinary 
 vocation was playing marbles on the road. 
 Rochefort puzzled his head sadly over this 
 and other similar prohibitions, and had 
 even been found crying because he might 
 not make dirt pies, or run in puddles in the 
 poultry-yard, to imitate other youngsters. 
 
 However, that was all past now ; and for 
 many years the young master had spoken 
 to whom he liked, and been where he 
 liked, and was a happier and a better man 
 for it. 
 
 About three days before the Christmas 
 Eve dinner this year, it suddenly struck 
 Rochefort that now he could do as he liked 
 he would have all the children at it, and give 
 them a treat of some sort. He propounded 
 this idea one morning when he was out 
 riding with his cousins. Minnie laughed at 
 it, and said she thought it would be very 
 troublesome, but Clara affirmed it would be 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 fun, and asked him what he would do to 
 amuse them. 
 
 " I don't know. Can you suggest any- 
 thing ?" 
 
 " Yes, have a Christmas tree, and Minnie 
 and I will dress it for you," returned Miss 
 Clara, after a little reflection. 
 
 " But is there time to get up a Christmas 
 tree T asked her cousin. 
 
 " Oh yes, plenty of time. Make one of 
 your men dig us up a pretty little fir tree, 
 and take us to Gowerford to get things to 
 hang on it, and you will see if we won't get 
 up something the children will remember 
 for years !" 
 
 "/ shall certainly remember it if they 
 don't," said Rochefort, looking round on his 
 cousin with considerable admiration. *' You ^ 
 shall have carte blanche, Clara, to do and 
 try anything you like. Will you have the 
 money now, and ride over to Gowerford 
 before dinner ?" he added, laughing. 
 
 " No, let us go to-morrow in the carriage, 
 and bring the things home with us," said 
 practical Clara. " Are you going hunting
 
 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 131 
 
 to-morrow though V she inquired, with a 
 slio^ht fall in her face and voice, as she turned 
 towards her cousin. 
 
 " No, not to-morrow. There will be no 
 more huntingr now before Christmas. Let 
 us have the carriage then, and go to- 
 
 morrow." 
 
 " That's right, and now we may have a 
 canter along this piece of road, mayn't we ?" 
 
 Clara looked very well riding. Her 
 auburn hair fell in a mass of curls down 
 her back ; her bright, intelligent face was 
 flushed with healthy exercise ; she sat firm 
 and upright on her saddle, and held her rein^ 
 v^ith a strong, resolute little hand. She 
 had a dark blue habit made in the last 
 fashion just before coming up, and fitting 
 perfectly ; her hat was of dark blue felt to 
 match, with a blue feather. This outfit had 
 been the object of her mother s special at- 
 tention, who had not been known to be so 
 particular about the fit of any one single 
 garment of woman's wear since she had 
 tried on her wedding dress one and twenty 
 
 years ago. 
 
 9—2
 
 132 Tfic Master of Riversivood. 
 
 " You are going to invite a lot of childre^i, 
 Bochefort, and have a Christinas Tree /'* 
 exclaimed his mother at dinner, when she 
 was told of the plan. *' I think jou are going 
 out of your senses." 
 
 *' Why not amuse the poor little brats 
 when one can, mamma ?" returned her son ; 
 *' besides, it will be * fun,' as Clara says, 
 * buying the things.'" 
 
 " Oh ; is Clara going to help you ?" in- 
 quired Mrs. Longley, suddenly very much 
 mollified, and thinking it might not be such 
 a bad plan after all. 
 
 " Yes, we're going to Gowerford to- 
 morrow, to buy the things. Aunt Minnie, 
 you will come with us, won't you ?" 
 
 " Aunt Minnie" would have gone to Japan 
 to chaperone him and the girls, provided no 
 other young women were to be of the com- 
 pany : it was, therefore, with no great hesi- 
 tation that she consented to be taken on an 
 easy drive of eight miles with them. 
 
 '' Are you going to have all the babies ?" 
 inquired Mrs. Longley. " I am prepared for 
 anything now."
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 133 
 
 " Oh, the babies — I had forgotten all 
 about them. They can be left with some 
 one, can't they, and only the elder children 
 come ?" 
 
 " I should speak to the workhouse autho- 
 rities, if I were you, R-ochefort," said Lord 
 Belton, *' and see if they can't arrange to 
 establish a creche for the occasion^ with 
 two or three old women to manage it ; or 
 else I would offer beds to the whole popu- 
 lation for the nio'ht !" 
 
 " It's too bad of you, papa," said Clara, 
 colouring up ; " you laugh at everything, 
 you always do. I don't wonder most people 
 are afraid of doing kind things, for there are 
 so many other people to ridicule them !" 
 
 It was rather too strong a speech for the 
 occasion ; but Clara was very young and 
 very natural. 
 
 Lord Belton looked up from his plate and 
 surveyed her with some astonishment and 
 an amused smile. Kochefort did the same 
 for a moment, but then said, 
 
 " Thank you, Clara ; I see you are a firm 
 ally of mine. We will buy the dolls and
 
 134 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 trumpets in spite of them all, and no one 
 need see our tree that doesn't like." 
 
 Every one round the table was better 
 pleased before this speech than after. It 
 \N'as too frank, too easy ; it had too much 
 the tone of simple good-fellowship in it, to 
 please those who were anxiously desirous to 
 establish a different tone of feeling between 
 the cousins. 
 
 Lady Belton — to do her justice — was 
 behaving admirably. She had seen the sort 
 of ground she was on very soon after coming 
 into the house ; and she had concluded it 
 best, after maturely considering the subject, 
 to do oiothing but sit quietly down, and 
 watch vigilantly, and await her chance if it 
 ever came. This course she would try, she 
 thought, for a fortnight : if nothing seemed 
 to come of it she might be compelled to use 
 stronger measures. 
 
 Poor little Clara's outspoken champion- 
 ship of her cousin upon several occaaions, 
 made her mother feel, however, that a few 
 words on the subject of a little more reserve 
 in manner were becom.e quite necessary, and
 
 The Master of Riversioood. 135 
 
 she thus approached the subject about 
 eleven o'clock that night in her daughter's 
 bed-room. 
 
 " Clara — I was very glad you had pro- 
 mised to help your cousin Eochefort about 
 this Christmas tree. If there is any season 
 when we ought to think a little of others, 
 and try to give them pleasure — as well as 
 takinof it ourselves — it is this. A Christmas 
 of selfishness is always badly spent." 
 
 This speech was received by Clara in 
 silence. She only blushed, and went on 
 combing out her hair before the glass. 
 
 "At the same time T am sure, my dear 
 Clara, you will not mind my telling you 
 that perhaps it would be better when your 
 papa makes one of his absurd speeches, 
 not to take it quite so much cm serieux, and 
 leave your cousin to defend himself, if he 
 cares to do it." 
 
 Clara blushed redder than ever, and 
 dragged at her poor hair unmercifully. 
 
 " Stop, stop, my child ! you will not have 
 a hair left in five minutes. I shall have to 
 call in Eugenie, and I especially want to
 
 136 Tlie Master of Riversivood. 
 
 keep her away till I have done speaking 
 to yon. Here, let me do your hair — where's 
 the brush T 
 
 " You do it mamma T exclaimed Clara, 
 looking: round in astonishment. 
 
 "I don't want you to imagine," continued 
 Lady Belton, not answering her, but brush- 
 ing away vigorously, " that you have done 
 anything wrong, or that I yvould have you 
 like your cousin any less ; but, in fact, you 
 are old enough to understand what I mean, 
 Clara ; just be a little, a very little more 
 retenue in your manner, and you will please 
 me entirely." And then she kissed her 
 daughter. 
 
 ** I am sure you need not bother yourself, 
 mamma dear, about the little things I say," 
 said Clara, returning her mother's kiss, ''for 
 you know as E,ochefort is engaged, he is not 
 likely to pay much attention to me, and 
 cannot possibly misunderstand my meaning 
 in anything." And having got through this 
 little speech with some effort, Clara, turned 
 •away, and busied herself again with her 
 hair.
 
 The Master of River swoocl. 137 
 
 Lady Belton became very serious. 
 
 "But, as I have told you, Clara, this 
 engagement of his is thought to be a very 
 foolish and a very unsuitable thing. He 
 is probably preparing great unhappiness 
 for himself; and all his truest friends are 
 anxious that it should be broken off, and 
 made a thing of the past." 
 
 Clara, who must of course have been an 
 idiot to have had no inklino- whatever, since 
 she came toBiverswood,of whatwas the part 
 assigned to her in this little plot to break 
 oflP her cousin's engagement, was yet far too 
 honest and good to have any wish to un- 
 dertake that part ; in fact, it was one en- 
 tirely above her capacities, and she had 
 behaved to her cousin merely with the 
 frankness and good-nature that was natural 
 to her. Whether any feeling a little stronger 
 than cousinly friendship was beginning to 
 take possession of her heart, is a thing 
 neither here nor there ; for if she had loved 
 him to desperation, she would never have 
 tried to win him from the woman to whom 
 he had given his faith. No; Lady Belton
 
 138 The Master of River swood. 
 
 knew perfectly well, that her only chance 
 lay in the possibility of Kochefort himself 
 becoming interested in his cousin ; in his 
 being attracted by her girlish and cousinly 
 liking ; influenced by constant companion- 
 ship with her, gradually and almost uncon- 
 sciously weaned from the possession of one 
 absorbing idea ; until at last it might be 
 possible for his mother so to work on his 
 better feelings as to persuade him to seize 
 the happiness which was held before him; 
 and heroically to cast away that false vision 
 of the same which lay behind ! 
 
 To achieve all this, however, Clara must 
 be zealously guarded from every false step. 
 She must also be shown gently and warily 
 how far she might step without incurring 
 animadversion, with the hope even of ex- 
 citing gratitude and praise if she stepped 
 successfully and well. 
 
 ** All his truest friends are anxious that 
 it should be broken off, and made a thing 
 of the past." Lady Belton had said, refer- 
 ring to the absorbing point at issue. 
 
 " I cannot see how he can break off an
 
 The Master of River swood. 139 
 
 engagement," returned Clara, stoutly ; "it 
 would be very wrong and dishonourable, 
 unless anything made it absolutely neces- 
 faary." 
 
 " But, supposing, my dear Clara, that it 
 were believed by all who know him best, 
 and her best" (Lady Belton concealed the 
 fact that nothing whatever was known of 
 Nora by any member of the family), " that 
 his marriage is likely to be an unhappy one 
 in consequence of the difference in their 
 positions, and — a — so on; then does it not 
 become a kindness to wish such a tie broken, 
 before it be cemented for ever ?" Clara had 
 never in her life been honoured by such 
 highly finished discourse on her mother's 
 part, and was no little astounded by it. 
 She held her own, however, in spite of it. 
 
 " I suppose he must have known what 
 he was about, though, mamma, when he 
 engaged himself; and perhaps Aunt Emily 
 thinks less of her than she deserves. I am 
 sure I hope he will be happy ; I should be 
 very sorry to think he wouldn't." 
 
 Lady Belton looked rather hard at her 
 daughter for a minute. Then she said —
 
 140 Tlie Master of Rlversivood. 
 
 '' You see, Clara, young men are often the 
 very worst judges of what would be best 
 for them in the way of marriage. They 
 often engage themselves on the impulse of 
 the moment" 
 
 " But I don't think my cousin appears 
 foolish at all, mamma." 
 
 *' I am sure I do not think so. I have 
 a very high opinion of him ; but people 
 are sometimes drawn into these things, and 
 are taken at an advantage." Then at last 
 Clara turned round and looked frightened. 
 
 " Do you mean to say that any one was 
 so mercenary and wicked as to be capable 
 of that, mamma? How I should hate any 
 one that was !" 
 
 " Hush, hush, Clara ; now, you are too 
 vehement again. I did not actually say that 
 anyone had done it, but your aunt strongly 
 suspects that there must have been a great 
 deal of influence at work to make your 
 cousin do anything so rash and unthink- 
 ing And now my child," added Lady 
 
 Belton, *^ we will not talk any more to- 
 night; in fact, I hardly know what has
 
 The Master of Riversivood, 141 
 
 made me say so much on this unpleasant 
 subject, except that it is so very much in 
 all our minds at present. Sleep well, and 
 dream of all the gorgeous things you are 
 going to buy for this famous tree of 
 yours." And smiling sweetly, Lady Bel ton 
 bestowed a final kiss on her daughters 
 blooming cheek, and took her departure. 
 
 " She is more than half in love with 
 her cousin,'* she said to her husband that 
 nio^ht ; ** and I almost think mio^ht make 
 some slight impression, only that she is so 
 very open with him. — If I had only had 
 time to form her a little before bringing 
 her I" 
 
 The next morning the carriage was 
 ordered round in good time to take the 
 party to Gowerford. 
 
 " Don't drive, Rochefort," his mother 
 said to him in an under tone ; " it looks 
 unsociaL" 
 
 " Oh, mother ! I can't sit in the midst 
 of three ladies and talk rubbish for sixteen 
 miles !" said her son. Mrs. Longley frowned. 
 
 **You must not get into the way of
 
 142 TJie Master of Rivers wood. 
 
 talking in that manner of ladies' society, 
 Kochefort. I hope you don't really feel 
 
 so." 
 
 " I should be perfectly delighted to drive 
 Clara there in the dog-cart with no one 
 else," said he ; " but three ladies is another 
 thing." 
 
 His mother's heart suddenly began to 
 beat with such violent precipitation that 
 she could stand no longer, and had to take 
 a seat;. 
 
 ''My dear Kochefort, if you only knew 
 how happy I am to hear, you say so !" 
 
 *' My dear mamma ; I am delighted to 
 have afforded you happiness for a moment 
 — but we really must be off." 
 
 " Well, I won't keep you now then. We 
 will have a little talk another time." 
 
 '' A little talk ! What on earth does 
 my mother mean ? " thought Kochefort, as 
 he mounted the box-seat and gathered up 
 the reins. 
 
 Arrived at Gowerford, Lady Belton in- 
 formed her nephew that she wanted Min- 
 nie's assistance in chousing a shawl (N.B. —
 
 Tlie Master of Rivers wood. 1 13 
 
 she had only brought six with her, besides 
 mantles and rugs), and would he mind 
 taking Clara with him to buy the toys, as 
 this would save time ? They could meet 
 again in the waiting-room at the " Castle." 
 Kochefort, of course, was perfectly willing, 
 and he and Clara set off together in capital 
 spirits. 
 
 '* How many are we to buy for, Roche- 
 fort V inquired that young lady ; "we 
 ought to know that." 
 
 " Of course we ought," said he stopping 
 short for an instant in the street ; " and I 
 hav'n't the least idea." 
 
 " Not the least idea ? What are we to 
 
 dor 
 
 *' Oh never mind, let us buy a good lot." 
 " But, Rochefort — we must try and make 
 some sort of calculation. You help me. 
 Tell me how many families will be there V 
 Having at last arrived at some approach to 
 an estimate on this important point, it be- 
 came a question what they should buy. 
 
 " Oh, I don't know. Bats and balls," 
 suggested Rochefort. Clara further pro-
 
 144 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 posed dolls, carts, whips, and wooden 
 horses. 
 
 ** You are a first-rate aide-de-camp" said 
 her cousin with hearty admiration ; ** I 
 should have made a fearful business of it 
 alone. In fact I could not have attempted 
 it. Now for the dolls — I never bought a 
 doll in my life." 
 
 Perhaps neither of the cousins had ever 
 more thoroughly enjoyed themselves in 
 their lives than they did in the succeeding 
 two hours. Of course they were cheated 
 outrageously, and charged just what it 
 occurred to the shop people to ask ; but they 
 were perfectly contented, and thought 
 the toys remarkably cheap. They then 
 proceeded to pay a heavy tax for the pri- 
 vilege of selecting bags of bonbons and 
 various Christmas-tree adornments of no 
 ultimate use on this earth ; they favoured 
 similarly the vendors of oranges, crystalized 
 fruits and wax tapers ; and finally returned 
 to the " Castle " brimfull of pride in their 
 purchases, and evidently on the best possible 
 terms with each other.
 
 The Master of River siuood, 145 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 Christmas Eve was, of course, rather a 
 warm day, with the sky grey, and the roads 
 slushy. The young master started down 
 the long drive through the park, about 
 twelve o'clock in the morning, equipped in 
 the velveteen coat that Mr. Glanville would 
 have given, six months before, to the old 
 clothes' man, and wearing a pair of black 
 leather gaiters which had also seen conside- 
 rable service. He strode on, his inseparable 
 dogs bounding and barking beside him, till 
 he came to the lodge, where, seeing Mary 
 Ptudge looking through the latticed window, 
 he lifted his hat an inch or two from his 
 head in mock ceremony, and gave a smile 
 that brought her to the door in an instant. 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 The two dogs remained outside. Mary 
 would have let reasonably tame wolves into 
 her cottage, provided her foster-son brought 
 and accompanied them but Kochefort said, 
 
 " No, no, their feet are all wet ; they will 
 dirty everything ; let them stay outside." 
 
 He shut the door behind him, and then 
 took his . little foster mother straight into 
 his arms, and kissed her once, twice, three 
 times. 
 
 " Many happy returns of it, Mamie, and 
 may you look as bonny for the next ten at 
 least, as you do now." 
 
 " And may you look as — as handsome 
 and as well, for the next fifty, Mr. Eoche- 
 fort," returned Mary, wiping her eyes as she 
 always did on these occasions, and then 
 looking fondly and proudly at the strong, 
 erect young figure, and the fine dark face 
 before her ; " and if there is anything else 
 on earth I can wish you, and of course there 
 are a lot of things, you know I do it." 
 
 " I am sure you do, I shall doubt every- 
 thing before I doubt that. Well, Steph, 
 and how's the rheumatism ?"
 
 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 147 
 
 ** Pretty bad, thank you, sir. I don't 
 suppose I shall ever get much the better of 
 that now." 
 
 " Oh yes, you will. By-the-bye," said 
 Rochefort, feeling, as he spoke, in all his 
 pockets, " I intended to bring you home 
 something for it from Gowerford, but I'm 
 afraid I forgot it. Something old Davison 
 told me of I'll remember it next time, and 
 meanwhile, Mamie, here's something for 
 you if you like it." 
 
 He threw a small parcel across the table 
 towards her, and then watched her face as 
 she unfolded the wrappers, and brought to 
 view a lovely little " Lady's Conpanion," in 
 crimson morocco, lined with crimson velvet, 
 and fitted with scizzors, pen-knife, stiletto, 
 silver thimble, needle-case, little mirror, and 
 so on. 
 
 " I don't know whether it's the sort of 
 thing," said Rochefort, half apologetically ; 
 *' but L suppose women always want scizzois 
 and thimbles, and that sort of thing. My 
 cousin helped me to choose it." 
 
 " You know it's a great deal too good for 
 
 10—2
 
 148 TJie Master of Rlversiuood. 
 
 me" returned Mrs. Eudge, holding it out 
 in every possible light. '* It's perfectly 
 lovely. And you know Tve told you over 
 and over again, Mr. Eochefort, not to buy 
 me anything more, for IVe got everything — 
 havn't I, Steph ; and this is ever so much 
 too good !" 
 
 '' Too good !" repeated Eochefort, bending 
 his head so as almost to touch that of his 
 little foster-mother — he was very fond of 
 her — " use all the things up as quick as you 
 can, that I may buy you some more." 
 
 Mary had married Stephen Eudge when 
 she was nineteen, and when he was a hale, 
 strong fellow of forty. Eheumatism had 
 made an old man of him at fifty, but his 
 wife had retained all the bloom, plumpness 
 and activity of her first youth. She had 
 had two sons, and lost them both, as infants. 
 When Eochefort was born, a nurse was, of 
 course, wanted for him at once, and Mary 
 Eudge, who then lived in the village, was 
 persuaded by the united entreaties of doctor 
 and father, and by the offer of remunera- 
 tion that appeared to her something royal,
 
 Tlie Master of Rivers wood. 149 
 
 to leave her own baby, then a month old, 
 in the care of her married sister (who had 
 already four of her own), and to go up to 
 Rivers wood to nurse the young heir. 
 
 The young heir throve to the satisfaction 
 and dehght of everybody ; but his poor little 
 foster brother died after a few days' illness, 
 when he had only numbered sixteen weeks 
 of somewhat troubled life. Mary's grief 
 was so violent that Eochefort's life was next 
 endangered : — then reigned Terror indeed! 
 
 Mrs. Longley went almost out of her 
 
 senses, and praj^ed the poor woman almost 
 
 on her bended knees to control herself for 
 
 the sake of the precious life which hung 
 
 upon hers. Mr. Longley promised her 
 
 double the large amount which had been 
 
 intended to recompense her for bringing 
 
 up an heir to Eiverswood. The doctor 
 
 reasoned with and scolded her, and told her 
 
 how certain she was to have half a dozen 
 
 more babies, every one of which he felt 
 
 morally convinced w^ould live to survive 
 
 her - and finally, Mary's own sense of duty 
 
 and feehng of affection for the little fellow
 
 150 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 to whom she had been as a mother from his 
 birth prevailed ; she controlled her grief, 
 literally forcing her spirits back to their 
 old tone, and tried to forget, or, at any 
 rate, not to dwell upon, her sorrow. In 
 return, she was afforded every pleasure and 
 variety that an anxious father or mother 
 could devise, and she and Rochefort bloomed 
 and smiled again. 
 
 From this time a passionate and jealous 
 love for her young charge took possession 
 of the young foster-mother's heart. She 
 could hardly bear to see any one else fit a 
 shoe on for him, lay him in his laced and 
 be-ribboned cot, or play bo-peep with him 
 behind a handkerchief. She had been 
 found crying, because, as she was a married 
 woman, she could not stay and be his nurse 
 as long as he wanted one. She did stay as 
 long as she or Mrs. Longley could devise 
 the shadow of an excuse for her so doing. 
 And then the separation was terrible. For 
 nights afterwards the poor woman would 
 wake moaning and sobbing from her sleep, 
 and calling for her boy. Her life, for many
 
 The Master of Riversivood, 151 
 
 months afterwards, seemed to hold no joy 
 for her. She never had any of those chil- 
 dren the doctor had so confidently pro- 
 mised her ; and she continued to love the 
 life for which her own, and her last baby's, 
 had been sacrificed, with a devotion before 
 which every other feeling of her heart 
 shrank to insio^nificance. 
 
 While we have been making this digres- 
 sion; Rochefortw^as sitting in Mary's kitchen 
 on the opposite side of the hearth to her old 
 husband, employing himself in making the 
 great black cat stand on her hind legs. 
 
 " Mr. Eochefort," said Mary, who had 
 put by her present carefully, and was now 
 stitching away busily by the window, '' did 
 you say your cousin had helped you to choose 
 that pretty case for me ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the master, looking up ; " one 
 of my cousins, who is now at the Hall." 
 
 " Her as I always see riding next to you 
 when you come down the drive, and when 
 I open the gate for you ?" 
 
 " That is the lady," he returned. 
 
 Mary gave a very rapid stealthy side-
 
 152 The Master of Eiversivood. 
 
 glance at him from the corners of her eyes, 
 and went on with her stitching. 
 
 ** They are very grand, nice young ladies, 
 aren't they, Mr. Kochefort V 
 
 " I like them very much. We are very 
 good friends. Look — look at this cat, 
 Mamie !" 
 
 A little pause ; then — 
 
 " Mr. Eochefort ?" 
 
 " Mrs. Eudge V 
 
 " I suppose you'll be thinking of getting 
 married some time, shan't you ?" And the 
 work went on faster than ever ; so fast that 
 Mary did not in the least see what she was 
 doing. The young master coloured to the 
 roots of his hair, and then laughed. 
 
 " If they'll let me, Mary. You see there 
 are so many difficulties in the right path — 
 always." 
 
 "Difficulties !" repeated Mrs. Eudge, with 
 a strong accent of indignation. " Who's to 
 make difficulties for you, I should like to 
 know ? Who's to do as they like, if you 
 can't ?" 
 
 " Ah, that's just it, Mamie ; if I could
 
 The Master of River sivood. 153 
 
 do what I liked, it would be all easy sail- 
 ing. 
 
 " And who's to prevent you doing what 
 you like ?" inquired his foster-mother, firing 
 up again. 
 
 " There are different ideas in this world 
 as to what is right and what isn't," re- 
 turned he, w^ith a sort of assumed careless- 
 ness ; " and it's not always easy to march 
 straiofht in the teeth of what the world 
 generally considers isiit right." He had 
 flung the cat away from him, and was now 
 leaning his arms on his knees, and looking 
 up at Mary with a smile ; but it was a 
 harassed, half- forced smile. She did not 
 immediately speak, and, after a few minutes' 
 silence, he sprang up, saying, " Well, I must 
 be off now, and I won't forget that stuff for 
 you next time, Stephen." 
 
 Mary put down her work, and saying 
 hurriedly to her husband, " You won't miss 
 me for half a minute, will you, Steph, if I 
 go a few steps with the master ?" she 
 threw a plaid shawl over her head, and 
 moved towards the door. As Kochefort
 
 154 The Master of Riversicood, 
 
 was opening it, she looked up into his face 
 and said, " May I, Mr. Rocliefort ? I 
 didn't ask you. It was very impertinent 
 of rne." The air of careless pride, alnaost 
 always perceptible in his face and manner, 
 except when he was under the control of 
 strong emotions — and very perceptible just 
 then, as he stood by the door and looked 
 at her — vanished instantly at the sound of 
 that pleading voice, and the look of those 
 wistful eyes. 
 
 ** You may come with me anywhere over 
 the world, Mamie. Wrap your shawl 
 round you — there ; — now what is it ?" he 
 said, when they were on the drive and 
 walking away from the lodge. 
 
 " Mr. Rocliefort," she began "in a sup- 
 pressed voice, though there was no one 
 within a quarter of a mile in face, or at the 
 side of them ; ^' do you mind telling me if 
 it is true that you are to marry one of the 
 young ladies at the hall ? Don't be cross 
 with me for asking." 
 
 " You may ask what you like^ — within 
 reason. No ; I've not asked either of them 
 to marry me, Mary."
 
 Tlte Master of Riversioood. ] 55 
 
 *' But 'neither of them would say * no/ 
 if you did, would they T inquired Maiy, 
 looking up anxiously. 
 
 " One of them would, to a dead certainly,'' 
 returned the master laughing , '^ for she is 
 engaged already, and soon going to be 
 married." • 
 
 " But the other ?" persisted Mary, rather 
 timidly. 
 
 " Oh, the other T said Bochefort ; and 
 he said no more. 
 
 It was very hard work for the little woman 
 to go on. 
 
 " It would be so nice — everyone thinks 
 it would be so nice for you, Mr. Bochefort, 
 to marry among people such as them — of a 
 high, good sort you know, and with rela- 
 tions you could be proud of Lord Belton's 
 an E arl, isn't he, sir T 
 
 " A Viscount." " But he will be an earl 
 some day." 
 
 " Yes, some day, if he lives." 
 
 ** And she seems such a nice young lady, 
 so gentle and pleasant- spoken, and lively 
 too. They tell me about her, you know
 
 156 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 from the house, Mr. Kochefort ; and every- 
 body thinks it's to be a match/' 
 
 " Do they T said Mr. Rochefort. " Well 
 you see, Mamie, they know nothing about 
 it, and it's not in the least necessary that 
 they should." He spoke with some 
 heat. • 
 
 *^ There now, sir, I've vexed you. I knew 
 I was being too bold," and Mary stopped 
 short, prepared to beat a retreat. 
 
 *' You've not vexed me. Nonsense. But 
 why do you trouble your head about whom 
 I marry, or if I marry at all ? Why does 
 anybody ?" 
 
 " Mr. Kochefort will you promise — and 
 promise faithfully — not to be angry with 
 me, if I tell you something ? You know 
 you've been kind and faithful to me for a 
 many, many years, and now I want to speak 
 faithful to you for once !" Her voice 
 choked as she uttered the last words. 
 
 " Well ?" he said after a minute's pause. 
 
 " Hav'n't you been thinking — now don't, 
 dont be angry with me — hav'n't you been 
 thinking something of a young lady at
 
 The Master of Riversivood, 157 
 
 Leyton, that used to live at Gowerford, 
 and that's thought a great beauty ?" 
 
 Absolute silence. 
 
 ** Mr. Kochefort — some of them young 
 ladies that are such beauties you know, 
 arn't nothing else than beauties, they arn't 
 indeed." • 
 
 Rochefort never spoke. No human being 
 except his mother, when she was in a pas- 
 sion, had ever ventured as far as this with 
 him before. 
 
 " My Stephen's cousin — Susan Westbury, 
 they call her — works there," continued Mary, 
 trembling all over violently, but determined 
 to be brave till she had had her short say 
 out, " and she has seen a good deal of the 
 young ladies — and heard things as well, of 
 
 course She has seen you, Mr. 
 
 Kochefort, when you have been there." 
 
 What the master's face expressed Mary 
 never knew. She dare not look. 
 
 " It's not a high enough match for you," 
 continued the poor woman, now hardly able 
 to speak ; " but it's not so much that, I'm 
 thinking of." She stopped from sheer in-
 
 158 The Master of Riversioood. 
 
 ability to proceed, until he uttered sorae 
 re-assuring word. He gave it after a few 
 moments. 
 
 " Well, Mamie, . . . it's not so much 
 that " 
 
 " Then it is true — you are engaged to 
 her ?" exclaimed, his foster-mother, forget- 
 ting everything else, standing still, and 
 heart and breath seeming to stand still 
 with her. 
 
 " Yes, it is true." 
 
 She stood looking at him, with an inde- 
 scribable look, but one which, in after years, 
 he recalled constantly; as if, at the moment 
 she gave it, it had been photographed on 
 his heart. 
 
 ''Then good-bye, Mr. Eochefort," she 
 said at last, and in an altered voice. 
 *' Steph may be wanting me. I must not 
 say any more." 
 
 "Why have you said what you have, 
 Marv?" 
 
 "You must forgive me/' she answered, 
 sorrowfully ; " I did not know it had gone 
 as far as that, sir, or I would not have
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 159 
 
 spoken. But I meant well; you know that, 
 Mr. Rochefort. Good-bye, sir ; Steph may 
 be wanting me." 
 
 He looked at her with a vague fear, but 
 also with something like anger in his heart. 
 
 She drew her shawl again about her 
 head, to hide her tears, for they were be- 
 ginning to fall. Her whole manner was 
 strangely subdued and changed. 
 
 He was left to walk home through the 
 park alone, with the remembrance of her 
 face and voice haunting him. He was 
 walking onward, in somewhat gloomy mood, 
 his eyes bent to the earth, and his thoughts 
 absorbed, when he almost fell against Gray, 
 who happened to be crossing the park in 
 that direction. 
 
 " Hollo !" exclaimed the master, stopping 
 suddenly short, and looking up. 
 
 '^ Beg your pardon, sir," returned the 
 bailiff, touching his hat. 
 
 '* Warm weather for Christmas, isn't it ?" 
 said Bochefort, and then was going on. 
 
 ** I beg your pardon, sir," said the bailiff' 
 again ; " but could you spare me fivj
 
 IGO Tlie Master of Eiversivood. 
 
 minutes, sir? — not if it's inconvenient, 
 sir; but " 
 
 "It's not inconvenient, if youVe any-, 
 thing to say. Well V* 
 
 " I wanted to speak to you a little 
 about the men, sir. I'm in a very difficult 
 position." 
 
 " The old worry up again about their not 
 choosing to do things if Davison doesn't 
 give the orders ?" 
 
 *' Something of that sort, sir ?" 
 
 " And who do they think is their master?" 
 demanded Hochefort, on fire at once. " Do 
 they think I give authority to any man I 
 will not see obeyed ? I can tell you, that if 
 I give them orders to harness the horses to 
 the backs of the carts, they will have to try 
 and do it." 
 
 Gray saw that he was worried and irri- 
 tated, though he did not know what about. 
 
 " Yes, sir, they would try and do it for 
 you, but not for me," he answered, half 
 smiling. 
 
 " They will have to do what any man I 
 set over them orders to be done. I have
 
 The Master of Riversioood, 161 
 
 only one word to say to you. Dismiss any- 
 one who is insubordinate on the spot. 
 How do you get on with Davison ?" 
 
 ** Very well, sir ; but you know his ways 
 are older than mine, and the men are used 
 to them, and think there's no need to 
 change in anything. . Whether it be about 
 — the machinery, or the fields, or the stock, 
 or the buildings— unless it's what they've 
 been used to, or old Davison gives the 
 order himself, there's unpleasantness and 
 sulkiness about it, or else the thing isn't 
 done at all." And then Gray proceeded to 
 give various particulars. 
 
 Rochefort, who was fond of farming and 
 fond of his farm, became interested, and 
 finally spent an hour with his bailiff in 
 talking over farming matters generally, and 
 going the round of his stock and out- 
 buildings. At last he said, 
 
 " Wei), Gray, I shall give the whole 
 afiair up into your hands when you have 
 been a year with me, but not before. In 
 the meantime, you may depend on me for 
 there being no more insubordination. If 
 
 VOL. I. 11 .
 
 162 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 there is, I have told you how to treat it. 
 Now, I must be off.'' 
 
 '* Mr. Longley — sir " Having got so 
 
 far, Gray stood twisting his hat in his hands, 
 and became very red up to his temples. 
 Kochefort stood before him, in just the 
 way which gave many. people the impres- 
 sion of his being both proud and unap- 
 proachable; and, as he stood, he looked 
 straight into the somewhat confused face of 
 his bailiff. It did not make it easier for 
 the man to say what was on his mind. 
 
 " If you have no objection, sir — if there 
 is no reason against it — I — am thinking of 
 getting married, sir." 
 
 " That's right," said the master, heartily, 
 '^ I am glad to hear it." Gray ceased 
 twisting his hat and looked up. 
 
 " It will not make any difference you 
 know, sir, in any way." 
 
 " Except to you," returned E-ochefort 
 laughing ; " and it is no one else's affair. 
 ' Who is it ? Davison's dauo-hter !" 
 
 " Yes, sir. We know each other well now, 
 sir ; and as she can't leave her father, we
 
 The Master of River sivood, 163 
 
 thought of all living together here at the 
 farm." 
 
 *' There's no objection on earth that I see. 
 Well — I wish you all sorts of happiness, 
 Gray, and I am sure you will have a first 
 rate wife." 
 
 *' Thank you, sir, for saying so ; I believe 
 I shall. I thought I should like you to 
 know, sir, before we came to-night." 
 
 " I'm very glad you've told me. And 
 when is it to be ?" 
 
 " Well, sir, we're neither of us as young 
 as we have been, so I thought there was 
 no good in putting it off. I was going to 
 have the banns put up next Sunday." 
 
 " I wish mine were going to be put up 
 next Sunday," said Ptochefort. "Good 
 morning," and then they parted. 
 
 In the great kitchens and servants' hall 
 at Kiverswood, preparations were going 
 hotly forward for the labourers' Christmas 
 Eve dinner. The walls and roof were 
 generously decorated with dark green fir ; 
 with glossy box and laurel ; and with the 
 
 11—2
 
 164 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 shining prickly holly studded with its 
 clusters of scarlet berries. There was 
 plenty of holly on the Riverswood estate, 
 and now it peeped out everywhere ; — from 
 behind the rows of old willow-pattern 
 earthenware on the great oaken dressers 
 dark with age ; from behind the burnished 
 candlesticks, and old pottery, and carved 
 tankards on the mantle-shelves ; from be- 
 hind the grim engravings framed in black 
 oak, which had orK^e done duty in the best 
 apartments of the old manor, and been 
 thought wonderful works of art. In the 
 enormous fire-place of the dining hall, 
 crackled two or three logs, which, of them- 
 selves were sufficient to light the room, and 
 to cast warmth and glow upon every face 
 within it. 
 
 In the outer hall — its leaves bedecked 
 with a mock snow, its coloured waxen tapers 
 ready for lighting, its roots planted firmly 
 in a tub half hidden with a wreath of holly 
 and laurel — stood the famous tree. It was 
 hung with glittering fruits, with little white 
 Oearded and snow-besprinkled *' Christmas "
 
 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 165 
 
 figures ; with golden oranges, with gilt and 
 transparent banners, with silk bags of bon- 
 bons tied with gold thread, with coloured 
 glass bubbles ; and round pincushions with 
 a mirror on one side, and the Pavilion at 
 Brio^hton — or the Horse Guards — on the 
 other. On the table lay the children's 
 toys, together with a heap of bright com- 
 forters for the men, and a corresponding- 
 heap of knitted *' cross-overs " for the 
 women. The reigning lady of Riverswood 
 always gave a present of this description, 
 and also a large plum loaf to each family. 
 The " master " gave the pieces of beef ; 
 each piece being wrapped in about a yard 
 of new linen cloth, and laid ready for its 
 recipient on a side table. 
 
 Rochefort came in from his walks abroad 
 in a somewhat abstracted and not alto- 
 gether happy state of mind. In spite of 
 his efforts to drive Mary's words out of his 
 head, to say to himself that they were 
 absurd — that they meant nothing — that of 
 course he was the best judge of what Nora 
 was, or was not ; that little speech of his
 
 166 Tlie Master of liiversiuood. 
 
 foster-mother's kept forcing itself into his 
 mind with pitiless pertinacity. 
 
 " She has seen a good deal of the young 
 ladies, and heard things as well, of course.'^ 
 And who was '^ she ?" A worker, a dress- 
 maker, probably a tittle-tattle ; certainly 
 a fool. It was quite impossible that any- 
 body should know anything against Nora. 
 .... Bah, he was becoming morbid ; it 
 was all prejudice, miserable, inexcusable 
 prejudice. Rich and poor together might 
 join in league to force him from his allegi- 
 ance to his darling, but they should not 
 do it. 
 
 He was standing against the old chimney- 
 piece in the dining hall, about half an hour 
 before the guests assembled, and was 
 watching the servants place the last shining 
 pewter mugs on the table, and mechanically 
 give finishing touclies to the position of the 
 green and black- handled knives and forks, 
 all the former having the broad curved 
 ends formerly used for taking up, indis- 
 criminately, peas or gravy. (These knives, 
 being still found to suit to perfection the
 
 ' The Master of Riverswood. 167 
 
 tastes and manners of the '' convives" on 
 these festal occasions, and it being an old 
 habit to use them, were always brought out 
 for the Christmas Eve suppers). 
 
 The great bunch of mistletoe had been 
 suspended to the centre lamp ; the last salt- 
 cellar geometrically set in its place ; and 
 Eochefort found himself alone, but for the 
 company of the crackling logs. He had 
 nothing to stay for, he had had nothing to 
 come in for ; but he was absorbed, and did 
 not care to move. All at once, the door 
 was pushed gently open, and when he looked 
 towards it, he saw two figures of girls, in 
 white muslin, with bows of red ribbon, and 
 golden combs in their hair. One came first, 
 canying something in both hands, the other 
 followed. 
 
 " Oh, are you here, Kochefort ?" 
 " That's right," was his rather inconse- 
 quent rejoinder, as he moved from his some- 
 what moody position against the chimney- 
 piece ; " the good spirits come to chase away 
 the bad ! What on earth have you got 
 there ?"
 
 168 Tlie Master of Riverswood, 
 
 "It's a creche^' said Clara. 
 " A creche T 
 
 " Yes ; our French mistress taught us 
 how to make them, and I thouo^ht I could 
 manage a beauty with the moss from your 
 hill, so Mrs.Eobinson had it gathered for me. 
 Don't say anything till you see it finished." 
 Clara's " creche" appeared to be a very 
 prettily ** managed'' construction of moss 
 and grasses, with a little grotto of spark- 
 ling stones in the middle of it, and some 
 pieces of fir so arranged as to look Hke trees 
 scattered over the landscape. Inside the 
 grotto, on a little wooden manorer, was laid 
 a tiny wax figure to represent the infant 
 Jesus. The Virgin Mary and Joseph (the 
 former with a little veil of white tarlatane 
 hanging down her back), were kneehng at 
 his feet, and upon the mossy grouad about 
 the grotto stood a number of sheep and 
 kine, while a little in the distance were seen 
 approaching the ''Wise Men from the East," 
 with their costly offerings in their hands. 
 At the head of the manger were two little 
 white tapers ready for lighting ; altogether.
 
 The Master of Riversioaod, 169 
 
 it was a very pretty, effective little scene, 
 and looked wonderfully " French/' to say 
 nothino^ more. 
 
 " They will all think I have turned 
 Roman Catholic," said Rochefort, leaning 
 across the table, to watch Erminia's dis- 
 posal of the " wise men," while Clara was 
 busy with some *' banking up," at the 
 side. " Where did you get the animals 
 from ?" 
 
 *' Abstracted them from a Noah's Ark," 
 replied Erminia ; " Clara doesn't stick at 
 anything when she has once made up her 
 mind." 
 
 *' That's right, Clara," pronounced her 
 cousin, giving her one of the direct, pleased 
 looks that would have been so entirely 
 unsatisfactory to Lady Belton if she had 
 seen it. 
 
 '^ Well — I think it's all done now," said 
 Clara, standing a little way from the table, 
 and looking critically at her erection, " and 
 I must go and wash my hands." 
 
 " And I must go and take off these muddy 
 boots, and make myself presentable," said
 
 170 The Master of Riverswood, 
 
 Rochefort. " I shall have to come in and 
 mix the punch for them." 
 
 " Punch ? Don't they all get drunk over 
 it?" inquired Erminia. who, with her sister, 
 was an almost unbending patroness of 
 Adam's ale, pure and simple. 
 
 " Drunk, no !" said her cousin, laughing ; 
 '' trust Mrs. Eobinson for taking care of 
 that. We only have it to keep up old 
 customs. In the time of my great grand- 
 father, I believe all the men used to end 
 up under the table, and in the next genera- 
 tion things were capable of improvement. 
 No women came to the dinner. Now we 
 manage it all differently." 
 
 '* But you give yourselves more and 
 more trouble, it seems to me," said Erminia, 
 '' for instance, this year all these children 
 are coming." 
 
 " Oh — ah," returned her cousin, becoming 
 a little red as he spoke ; '' but I talked that 
 over with my mother, and she showed me 
 it would not do. * Fools rush in,' vou see, 
 Minnie, * where angels,* &c. The young 
 ones are all coming in a body after dinner
 
 The Master of Riverswoocl. 171 
 
 is over, to see the tree, and have their toys, 
 and then go away." 
 
 "And much better, too," pronounced 
 Erminia. " There's such a thing as being 
 too benevolent." 
 
 Erminia's sense was always wonderful. 
 
 It was the custom when dinner was ended, 
 and the punch ladled out to each guest, for 
 the health of the master to be drunk with 
 honours, and then that of the mistress and 
 the family, after which it was expected that 
 the master would make a short speech. 
 Kochefort was not, at this time, fond of 
 sjoeaking. Perhaps, however, the presence of 
 so many who were waiting respectfully and 
 a little anxiously for his words inspired 
 him ; perhaps the close proximity of his 
 uncle (who, with arms negligently placed 
 on the table, was surveying the company 
 with a half curious, half amused smile on 
 his lips and in his blue eyes), roused his 
 pride in himself and in his men, for he said 
 what he meant well. 
 
 (" You will not mind my coming in with
 
 172 Tlie Master of Rlverswood, 
 
 you, Bochefort T his uncle had said ; " I 
 should like to see the 'Aborigines."') 
 The master's speech was as follows : — 
 ** I thank you all heartily," he began, in 
 his rich, strong young voice, ** for the way 
 in which you have drunk my health, and 
 
 my mother's, and " No one knew 
 
 what he had been going to say ; he flushed 
 up for a moment, and then resumed rapidly, 
 *' for the way in which you have drunk all 
 our healths. This is the first time," he 
 went on after a minute or two, "that I 
 have taken my place among you as master 
 — the first Christmas we have passed in my 
 life-time without .... him of whom 
 I am sure we all think to-night ... I 
 trust that, by God's help, I may be enabled 
 to live as honoured a life, and to leave be- 
 hind me as unsullied a name as his." There 
 were hearty cheers, which gave him time to 
 steady his voice : ''I don't know whether 
 you will think I am preaching to you ; I 
 hope you won't:" (cHes of " No, no, sir!" and 
 "Not at all, Rochefort — wish you could give 
 them an hour of it," in a low voice from Mr. 
 Eutherford, the clergyman, who was always
 
 The Master of Eiversivood, 173 
 
 invited on these occasions), " but in think- 
 ing of my father I hope you will not forget 
 the event we are all meeting here to cele- 
 brate, and which he celebrated with us so 
 often, — you know what I mean — the birth 
 of the One who is your Master and mine. 
 I don't know if you take in all that I 
 mean by the word * Master ;' I don't mean 
 it to sound harsh or cold. But I believe 
 that every one among us here is a respon- 
 sible man, for whatever power or talent God 
 has given him. I am quite certain that I 
 shall be answerable for whatever power is 
 mine .... I think that all servants owe 
 to their masters very great duties : the 
 duties of fidelity, honesty, and obedience. 
 I feel this very strongly, and I want you 
 all to feel it with me, as we stand together, 
 nearly on the threshold of another year." 
 Some of the men, and some of the women, 
 too, looked down with shamed faces and 
 heightened colour. " And I need not say," 
 continued Kochefort, " that I set no one 
 over you whom I do not desire should be 
 treated with respect and obedience. If any 
 man thus set over you prove himself un-
 
 174. The Master of Riversioood. 
 
 worthy of my trust, it is an affair between 
 him and myself. I will never continue to 
 give authority where I find it abused, but 
 from the first to the last day that I give 
 this authority, it is to be acknowledged and 
 respected. If any man has a complaint to 
 make, let him come to me and make it ; if 
 any man knows of dishonesty or deceit on 
 the part of another, it is his duty to make 
 it known to me ; and now I think that is all 
 I have — in a business sort of way — to say to 
 you." There was a minute's pause. Then 
 the young master, with an entirely changed 
 voice and manner, went on : **I am very 
 glad indeed to see you all here to-night, and 
 I wish you all a very merry Christmas and 
 happy New Year, and I am sure you wish 
 me the same." They responded as heartily 
 — more heartily, perhaps — than if he had 
 been praising them for an hour. " And 
 now, let us drink to the Queen — and give 
 her three cheers ; and may God save the 
 Prince of Wales, and defend us from English 
 Reds and a Republic." Rochefort half 
 laughed as he said the words, but he meant
 
 The Master of River sivood: 175 
 
 them. He was a Koyalist to the back bone, 
 and of an old E-oyalist family. 
 
 The toast was drunk with an enthusiasm 
 which seemed as if it would rend the old 
 raftered roof above their heads. After this 
 the gentlemen took their departure. 
 
 *•' And this is the man my wife has been 
 promising herself will break off his engage- 
 ment — if lies nicely ashed to do so" reflected 
 Lord Belton, as he lounged into the drawing- 
 room ; "you may as well pack up your 
 traps at once, my lady. There has been no 
 game from the first." Half-an-hour after- 
 wards he was not quite so sure of it. 
 
 All the family went into the square hall 
 to see the tree lighted up, and to watch the 
 distribution of the presents. Eager little 
 hands clutched them ; faces burning with 
 pleasure were bent on the newly-acquired 
 treasures ; longing and wondering eyes 
 gazed on the splendours of the magic and 
 illumined sight before them ; — the planners 
 of the treat were more than repaid by its 
 perfect success. There was a great crush 
 in the room, and Lady Belton and her
 
 176 The Master of Riversivood, 
 
 daughters were standing close to the fire- 
 place. All at once, the voice of Mary 
 Rudge was heard screaming " Fire ! fire ! 
 the lady's on fire !" Lord Belton, who 
 had gone to smoke a cigar in the library, 
 heard the cry, and rushed like a madman 
 into the hall. 
 
 " Where ?— who ?— what lady ? — Stand 
 off, you fools !" he said, pushing the terri- 
 fied women to one side. But he was fore- 
 stalled. — When Mary's cry was first raised, 
 Rochefort had turned and seen his cousin 
 Clara's double-skirted muslin dress, and 
 her multitudinous muslin skirts in a blaze, 
 almost to her neck. She screamed, and 
 rushed forward, holding out her arms. The 
 panic was fearful, and there was not a rug, 
 shawl, or even table-cloth at hand to throw 
 over her. 
 
 " Be still, for God's sake, Clara ! and I 
 will save you," said her cousin, and using 
 all his strength he threw her backwards 
 on to the floor. " Off with your coats, 
 men !" he exclaimed, as he held her almost 
 bound in his arms. ** Gray, give me your
 
 The Master of Ewersivoccl. 177 
 
 coat — there .... now — water — a rug — 
 
 anything !" 
 
 Lady Belton had fainted ; — Erminia, as 
 white as a sheet, was kneeling by her 
 sister's side ; — every one was rushing hither 
 and thither ; but in a few moments a rug 
 was brought, and then water. When they 
 came, however, the fire was put out, and a 
 few moments after, Clara was sitting up, 
 hysterical with agitation, and in her father's 
 arms. 
 
 " My darling, are you much hurt — much 
 frightened V he said, scarcely able to con- 
 trol his voice. " Thank God ! — thank God !" 
 
 " Here, bring us some brandy !" said 
 Eochefort. *'Now, take this, Clara — drink 
 it off — there's lots of water in it," he added. 
 He held the glass to her lips with his steady 
 hand till she drained it. 
 
 " I can get up now, papa, and walk." 
 
 " Bring her a shawl, or cloak, Eug(^nie," 
 said Lord Belton, "she is burnt — through 
 everything she had on. Rochefort, my 
 dear, good fellow, we can never thank you 
 enough." He was in tears as he spoke. 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 " Oh, it's nothing," said Eochefort, turn- 
 ing away, so that he missed Clara's look of 
 gratitude, which it was worth any man's 
 while to have seen ; "it was an absurd 
 thing not to have a guard on that fire." 
 
 ** And it's very absurd of ladies to wear 
 these ridiculous masses of muslin,^' said 
 Lord Belton, kissing his daughter as he 
 spoke ; *' they've nearly cost you your life^ 
 my little Clara." 
 
 " They ivould have done, but for my 
 cousin," she answered, turning her eyes 
 towards him again, and this time he met 
 her look. " Are you hurt, Rochefort ? — 
 My God, papa, look !" 
 
 He was very much burnt ; his hands and 
 part of one arm past use ; his face and neck 
 scarred ; and now that the first excitement 
 was over, and Clara's safety ensured, he 
 was both white and faint. 
 
 " Never mind," he said, trying to smile ; 
 " if you'll come with me into the library, 
 mother, I'll have some cotton- wool on. 
 Take care of yourself, Clara — you'll perhaps 
 find yourself more burnt than you think." 
 And then he went off.
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 179 
 
 Clara's burns were slight, and a few days 
 cured them ; but E/Ochefort was in agony 
 for many hours, and in the doctor's hands 
 for a week. He managed to come down 
 for dinner on Christmas Day, and lay on 
 the sofa, with his turkey cut up for him on 
 a table at his side — Lord Belton presiding 
 in his place. Clara, who appeared to be 
 considerably upset by her accident — more 
 so than one would have imagined likely in 
 a young lady of such good nerve — choked 
 over every other mouthful. Mrs. Longley 
 was in low spirits, because Rochefort could 
 not sit opposite to her at table ; altogether 
 it was not a very cheerful dinner. 
 
 Clara said she was tired, and went early 
 to bed ; but when Erminia joined her an 
 hour afterwards, she found her dressed, 
 and sitting by the fire, with the traces of 
 very recent tears on her face. When 
 Eugenie had brushed out their hair, and 
 put away their dresses, she was allowed to 
 go, and then Erminia asked — 
 
 " What is it, Clary ? YouVe never been 
 yourself since yesterdoy. If you feel ill, 
 
 12—2
 
 180 The Master of Riverswood, 
 
 it's not right of you to go on denying it ; 
 you ought to let us do something for you." 
 
 ** I'm not ill," answered Clara, in rather a 
 trembling voice; "I'm all right, thank you." 
 
 " Then what is it ?" persisted Erminia, 
 sitting down on a low stool by the fire and 
 looking up in her sister's face. 
 
 " It's only that I'm sorry we ever came 
 lere. 
 
 " Why, I thought you were enjoying 
 yourself so much ?" 
 
 " Yes, I ivas.'* 
 
 "Are you sorry that Eochefort is so 
 much hurt ?" inquired Erminia, after a 
 little pause ; '' is it that that is making 
 you unhappy ?" 
 
 Clara bit her lip very hard ; so hard 
 that it almost bled, but she could not pre- 
 vent a few tears coming into her eyes. 
 
 " I suppose it's that, Minnie." 
 
 " Do you care for him, Clary ? — I mean 
 very much ?" 
 
 " I suppose I do." 
 
 '* But it's no use, you know," said her 
 sister. " I am quite sure he means to go
 
 The Master of River swoocl. 181 
 
 on with his engagement with that — that 
 Miss Heaton." 
 
 '* I am quite sure he does." 
 
 " Then I wouldn't care about him, Clary 
 — any more than as a cousin, you know." 
 It was very proper advice, of course ; and 
 there was a short silence. 
 
 " Minnie, w4iat am I to do ? Shall I 
 ask mamma to take us home T asked Clara, 
 at last. 
 
 " I am quite sure she won't do that yet. 
 You see this air suits her head so well. She 
 has not had a head-ache since she came, 
 and then there's the hunting for papa." 
 
 Clara took a few turns in the room, and 
 at last brouD^ht out this sentence: " Minnie, 
 1 shall never marry. I will be the good 
 maiden aunt to your children." 
 
 ''Oh, what stuff!" exclaimed Erminia, 
 rising suddenly from her stool. " I never 
 heard such utter nonsense, Clara. I 
 shouldn't a bit wonder if you marry at 
 the end of your second season. Girls 
 always do who say they are going to be 
 old maids." Her sister answered nothinsf.
 
 182 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 ''All the same," reflected Erminia, when 
 she was settled in bed, and had told Clara 
 she was going to sleep, so as to discourage 
 further conversation, "it's very hard on Clary 
 to be brought down here, and then be ex- 
 pected to go home heart-whole, unless Mr. 
 liochefort chooses to lose his heart to her. 
 I think it iniquitous ; and then that stupid 
 fire coming to cap it all ! Of course, he's 
 a hero to her, now that he has saved her 
 life and is burnt in consequence. Well, 
 it's mamma's affair. She has brought Clara 
 into it, and must see her out of it as well 
 as she can." 
 
 Poor little Clara — as girls of that 
 foolish age will do (they learn after- 
 wards that it ruins the looks and is of 
 no earthly good) — stayed awake about half 
 the night. She loved her cousin with all 
 the strength of her honest and unspoiled 
 heart ; she knew intuitively that every- 
 body would be glad if he loved her ; he 
 would never love her ; — what was she to 
 do ? How was she to cure herself of her 
 '* grievous wound,'' without aid, with no
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 183 
 
 experience of what such wounds were, or 
 how they were ever cured ? Trying to 
 solve this unsolvable question, one for which 
 the perfect answer has never yet been 
 found — and in this world never will— she 
 fell at last asleep.
 
 1 84 The Master of River swood. 
 
 CHAPTEK IX. 
 
 A FEW evenings after the events last 
 recorded, when every one was in the draw- 
 ing-room, and Mrs. Longley was tranquilly 
 dispensing tea in the old Sevres cups, 
 Lord Belton suddenly threw up his paper, 
 drew his cup towards him and said, — 
 
 *' Rochefort, I never knew till the other 
 night that you were such a distinguished 
 Tory and Royalist. You ought to have 
 lived in the days of the Cavaliers." 
 
 "If I had, I should have stuck to the 
 king, and followed Prince Eupert to the 
 death," said Rochefort ; '' and that is what 
 we did do — I don't say that we were 
 right." 
 
 *' Not right r 
 
 " I suppose not. We owe our liberties
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 18.3 
 
 to those cursed Eoundheads. We tried 
 the Stuarts all through, and there was no 
 good blood in them, except what poor 
 Charles gave us in his best days." 
 
 " I am always dreadfully sorry for that 
 poor Charles," put in Erminia ; *' and then 
 the Cavaliers were so brave and faithful, 
 and must have looked so beautiful, if they 
 were anything like their pictures." 
 
 " It's their hoots which so particularly 
 affect me," said Lord Belton. " I can't re- 
 sist those boots. They touch the tenderest 
 chords of one's heart. But, Kochefort, you 
 are such a Hadical in many of your notions 
 that I can't understand your Toryism in 
 chief points." 
 
 " Oh, no man is entirely consistent," re- 
 turned his nephew ; *' an entirely consistent 
 man would be the most intolerable bore, the 
 greatest fool living. For myself, I should 
 like to give my vote alternately to each 
 side, to keep the balance even." 
 
 '* I hope, Eochefort, you will do no such 
 thing," said his mother ; " the Longleys have 
 always voted on the right side."
 
 186 The Master of River swood. 
 
 *' Will you undertake, mamma, always 
 to keep me informed as to which is the 
 riglit side ?" 
 
 '* Certainly I will. And I am sure, with 
 your notions about thinking so much of the 
 poor, and getting up so many schools for 
 them, and increasing their wages, and 
 mixing more with them, and all that sort 
 of thing, the only thing you can do to keep 
 your proper * balance,' as you have just been 
 saying, is to vote for men who don't want 
 to go on quite so fast." 
 
 It was one of the wisest speeches Mrs. 
 Longley had ever made. 
 
 " Do you mean to say, E^ochefort," began 
 his uncle leaning back in his chair, with 
 one of his peculiar and rather mocking 
 smiles, "that you advocate (among other 
 things) any living being in the poorer classes 
 getting more wages than he is getting 
 now V 
 
 " I never said I did. It was my mother 
 who said so." 
 
 " Because, my dear fellow, whatever you 
 gave them they would drink, and only have
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 187 
 
 the more superfluous strength to expend in 
 kicking and murdering their wives. The 
 lower class, as a rule, are brutes. That's 
 my conviction.'' 
 
 " Papa, what a horrible opinion you have 
 of everybody !" said Clara, at this juncture. 
 
 " My dear child, that is only because I 
 know the world." 
 
 " The idea is untenable," pursued Koche- 
 fort," that either increased means or increased 
 education would bring about increased crime; 
 because, on the whole, the higher you go in 
 society the less you are confronted with 
 brutal and objectless cruelty, and vice. If 
 there was a little more equality in the world 
 as regards money, we should not only have 
 less misery, but less sin." 
 
 *' Are you a Communist, Rochefort ?" 
 
 " No, my lord." 
 
 " Do you intend to divide your estate 
 into small portions on the next convenient 
 opportunity, and give each of the fellows I 
 saw here the other night a piece T 
 
 ** No, my lord, I intend to keep every foot 
 of it in my own hands."
 
 1 88 The Master of River sioood. 
 
 And then there was silence for a few 
 minutes. 
 
 " There is no use, Rochefort," resumed his 
 uncle in an easy tone of voice, as he got up 
 and stood on the hearthrug to warm his 
 back ; " there is no use in trying to be 
 too good for this world. It is a fault thou- 
 sands of people fall into every day, and it 
 is really a very great one. One ends by 
 becoming thoroughly disappointed with the 
 world as a whole, and the world is dis- 
 appointed in us. Believe me, it does not 
 want half the services of us that we fancy 
 it does — and that we distract and half kill 
 ourselves in trying to render." In some 
 humours, Rochefort would have laughed at 
 this speech ; he was not in one of those 
 humours now. A certain shadow gradually 
 deepened over his face, but he said nothing. 
 His uncle and he had had skirmishes be- 
 fore this. 
 
 ''Don't speak so to him," said Lady 
 Belton in an under tone to her husband, 
 as she passed in front of him. 
 
 " I know you think me nothing better
 
 The Hasten' of Riversivood. 189 
 
 than an infidel, Rochefort," continued his 
 uncle ; " but you will see more clearly all 
 I mean in ten or twenty years time. I 
 used to believe in mankind when I was 
 your age." 
 
 *' And I shall believe in it till I die." 
 ** You will see." 
 
 ** When one has disbelieved in all good- 
 ness, and in the utility of all effort, for 
 twenty or thirty years," pursued E-oche- 
 fort, " hoiu does one feel ? What is the re- 
 trospect lihef 
 
 Lord Belton looked curiously at him for 
 a moment, and then laughed. 
 
 " Well, Rochefort, you have asked me a 
 question I cannot answer at once. But in 
 the meantime, my dear fellow, do let me 
 assure you that I admire and respect, as 
 much as it is possible for any man to do, 
 the spirit of enterprise, benevolence, reform, 
 call it what you like, which I know has 
 possession of you. In fact, I don't know 
 what the world would do without it. But 
 I have lived to find the world so had, that 
 I have come to the conclusion half the
 
 190 The Master of Eiversivood. 
 
 effort spent upon it is useless, and worse 
 than that — wasted, I do not say all. I 
 say half. Of course if you come to halve 
 the amount of effort lazy fellows like my- 
 self would spend upon it, you do not leave 
 us much ; but half of such effort as you, 
 and men like you, would expend, would 
 mount up." 
 
 **And what is to be done with all this 
 vast amount of misapplied effort, my lord ? 
 — the other half of what is wanted T 
 
 " Let it be turned inwards," replied 
 Lord Belton, easily. *' Let it be used upon 
 ourselves, to control the extravagance of 
 our sympathies, our beliefs, our resolves. 
 Believe me, it would do good. We allow 
 our feelings to be excited, to be harrowed ; 
 when it would be better both for ourselves 
 and others (but especially for ourselves), if 
 we remained calm. We commit irreparable 
 errors, because we allow our reason to be 
 overbalanced by our impulses. We rush 
 headlong into theories and schemes which 
 we believe to have the warrant of truth 
 (and which we see crumble away before our
 
 The Master of Riversicood. 191 
 
 eyes), because we have not learnt to ex- 
 amine dispassionately and by the Hght of 
 sound practical sense whatever we engage 
 in or uphold." Kochefort remained silent 
 several minutes, but at last said, 
 
 ** Then you do not think this empire over 
 one's self and one's impulses is compatible 
 with much effort for the good of others ? 
 You would purposely make it incompa- 
 tible r 
 
 " It is not compatible," returned Lord 
 Belton, " with the insane amount of effort 
 some men expend, with the idea of attain- 
 ing that good. I approve of no mad 
 schemes, no violent proselytism, preaching, 
 reforming. Everything must be done in 
 moderation, if it is to do any real good." 
 
 ** Point cle zele — point de zele — et point 
 de zele /" said Rochefort, lauo^hinof at last. 
 
 " I think you must acknowledge, Koche- 
 fort," put in his mother, suddenly and un- 
 consciously changing the whole current of 
 the conversation, by one of her peculiar 
 master strokes, ''that what your uncle says 
 is very correct. Some of these violent
 
 192 The Master of River swood. 
 
 changes are quite shocking. Talking of 
 preaching, for instance, I shall never forget 
 
 when we were at shire Wells a summer 
 
 or two ago, seeing our old friend Henry 
 Torrington, who turned so very religious, 
 standing up on a chair in the midst of a 
 rabble of people, preaching to them like 
 some common Methodist, and several men 
 who looked as if they might be tinkers 
 and shoemakers standing close by him with 
 hymn-books in their hands. We heard 
 them begin to sing directly afterwards, and 
 it was really dreadful.'* 
 
 " Is that the Henry Torrlngtdn whose 
 brother and cousin are in the Lifo Guards ?" 
 inquired Lady Belton. / 
 
 "Yes; and his sister married Lord Strange- 
 ways ; and he is own cousin' to the Duke 
 of Pendlebury. I believe there is a meet- 
 ing-house of some kind at the * Wells,' 
 where he preaches nearly every Sunday, 
 and has prayer-meetings and that kind of 
 thing." 
 
 " What an awful chara'cter," observed 
 Lord Belton, with solemnity. 
 
 /
 
 The Master of River swoocl. 193 
 
 " / think so," returned Mrs. Lon^ley, a 
 little severely ; for she did not miss the 
 satire in her brother-in-law's ready sympa- 
 thy (men who ridicule almost all enthusiasm, 
 or zealous piety themselves, are often the 
 first to satirize the expression of the same 
 ridicule or pretended horror in others) ; *' I 
 think it is a very bad example to put before 
 people, to ignore the clergy and the churches 
 and all the proper ways of worshipping, 
 and set themselves up in stead. Of course 
 if people see him do it, who ought to know 
 better, and who has been well educated and 
 so on, — it — a — well, it upsets all their ideas 
 of right and wrong, of course." 
 
 " I suppose he thought he was doing 
 right," remarked Lady Belton. " I remem- 
 ber he was a fine, tall, rather handsome 
 fellow when we knew him." 
 
 " Yes, he was quite a favourite every- 
 where, and a very good dancer. Now all 
 the family have given him up, or he has 
 given them up. There is no intercourse 
 between them, I believe." 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 194 The Master of River sivood. 
 
 *' Because he is too good for them, per- 
 haps," said l\ochefort, bluntly. 
 
 *' Too good, Eochefort ! Why, he might 
 have been as religious as he liked — going 
 to church, and giving away money, and 
 leading a good life, without estranging him- 
 self from all his best friends and mixing 
 with people of the very lowest ranks." 
 
 Rochefort was heard to mutter something 
 very indistinctly about it being said some- 
 where that the " first shall be last," &c. 
 
 *' What are you saying, Eochefort?" in- 
 quired his mother, looking at him. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, mamma. It mightn't 
 apply, of course. The words just came 
 into my head." 
 
 "Well, now, do you think he was rights 
 Eochefort ? Is that conduct of the sort 
 you admire ? I should like to know, be- 
 cause sometimes I really stand in dread of 
 the next new idea you will bring out." 
 
 Nobody could help laughing. 
 
 " Are you afraid of my going to preach 
 at the Wells, mamma ?" inquired her son. 
 
 '* Well, no, not quite that,'' returned his
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 195 
 
 mother ; '* because I hope you know your 
 duty better to yourself and to society, and 
 because I hope you will never forget you 
 •are a gentleman !" 
 
 " And do you think," exclaimed Roche- 
 fort, flushing up, and with a sudden emphasis 
 that made them all turn and look at him, 
 *' do you think, if I didn't do as he does, 
 that it would be for any of those reasons ? 
 Isn't he at this moment a far nobler and 
 braver man than I am, or am ever likely to 
 be ? I shouldn't preach, because I haven't 
 the courage to do it — because I am not 
 good enough — not Christian enough — not 
 self-denying enough to do it. Who in 
 their heart of hearts behoves that the fel- 
 low is a worse gentleman for being what he 
 is? Not I, for one." 
 
 " Don't say any more, Rochefort," en- 
 treated his mother. " You make me miser- 
 able. We had better talk of something 
 else." 
 
 ** Yes, it is always better to talk of some- 
 thing else when one gets the least bit below 
 the surface," said Kochefort, throwing a 
 
 13—2
 
 196 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 paper knife which he had taken up while 
 he last spoke across the table. 
 
 His mother did not choose to reply. 
 " Did you ever see this Mr. Torrington ?" 
 inquired Lady Belton, who was quietly 
 continuing her foot-stool cover in silk-and- 
 beads, '' that you are such a great upholder 
 of his, Rochefort ?" 
 
 " Upholder of his ! I don't know that I 
 especially uphold him. We might disagree 
 if we came to talk together — I mightn't 
 approve of half the things he does — but of 
 this I am certain, that he is a brave, truly 
 good fellow, and that it is absurd for people 
 who could not, and would not, go through 
 and suffer what he does * to save their 
 souls alive,' to run him, and such as him, 
 down." 
 
 *' Well, but did you ever see him ?" 
 repeated his aunt. 
 
 " Yes," answered Kochefort, " but it's not 
 a very pleasant subject with mamma. It 
 was this way. I went over to the Isle of 
 Man about three summers ago with Glan- 
 ville. We knocked about on the cliffs
 
 The Master of Rivers wood. 197 
 
 (you never saw anything so beautiful as 
 the delicious grass and the flowers there ; 
 and on the shore there were exquisite pools 
 and grottoes, with sea- weeds and shells in 
 them — it's a first rate place), and in the 
 evening we rowed out in the bay, and 
 fished till nine or ten o'clock. Well, we 
 noticed several times that a fellow was 
 standing up at the pier head, on the base 
 of the great stone lamp-post, and trying to 
 collect people round him. We did not take 
 much notice at first, but one day we came 
 back earlier than usual from the water. We 
 had been rowing about all the afternoon, 
 and were tired, and going home to supper. 
 We gave up our boat at the stairs, and 
 walked up on the pier. There was some- 
 thing of a row there — men jeering and 
 laughing — some pretending to sing psalais 
 in a horrid nasal twang — one giving out a 
 low song from a dirty paper he held in his 
 hand, in a pretended sanctimonious fashion, 
 which made all the people round him, roar. 
 On the broad stone ledge of the column 
 stood the same man we had observed before,
 
 198 The Master of Biverswood. 
 
 and I saw then, for the first time, what a 
 thorough gentleman he was. He was nearly- 
 white, though ; and his lips trembled very 
 much. I think he had a little black Bible 
 in his hands. He stood quite firm, but I 
 never saw a man's face work as his did. 
 After we had stood watching a few minutes, 
 all at once — I don't know what possessed 
 me — I sprang up by the side of him, and 
 held out my hand. I shall never forget 
 how he took it and held it. I have never 
 seen the man since, but if I did, I should 
 feel as if we were friends. I stayed by 
 him till the mob was quiet — I think 
 some were quiet just to stare at me, and 
 wonder what I was going to do next — and, 
 when he had got a hearing, I shook hands 
 with him and went off." 
 
 "'Yes, and it got all over the place,'* said 
 Mrs. Longley, " and he was stared at where- 
 ever he went ; and two old maids found out 
 the hotel he and Mr. Glanville were staying 
 at, and left a parcel of tracts for him, and a 
 notice of some services to be held in a poky 
 little room somewhere. It's not that I care
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 199 
 
 about his having jumped up for a minute or 
 two by poor Captain — by poor Torrington. 
 Of course it was a shame to jeer at the man 
 — they might have gone away if they didn't 
 want to Usten — but it's all the things you 
 let yourself in for, if you encourage these 
 sort of people in the least." 
 
 " Did you ever go to that meeting they 
 sent you the notice about ?" inquired Clara, 
 speaking for the first time. 
 
 *' Yes, I did — the next Sunday evening. 
 Ernest wouldn't, but I made myself up so 
 that I thought they wouldn't know me, 
 and I walked out directly the service was 
 over — so you see no harm was done." 
 
 *' I didn't mean that any harm would be 
 done any-way,'' said Clara, in a very low 
 voice. Rochefort turned his eyes, and 
 looked at her with a sort of half-surprised 
 interest in his expression, but said nothing. 
 
 "Well, and what did you hear, see, or 
 suffer V inquired Lord Belton, carelessly. 
 
 " Hear ? — I heard a man pray as I have 
 never heard anyone pray before or since." 
 
 " Some poor, uneducated fellow, I sup-
 
 200 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 pose, who couldn't pronounce his * h's,' " 
 declared his mother. 
 
 *'He wasn't, mamma," returned her son, 
 "he was a gentleman, and the German 
 tutor of Mr. Torrington's own son. I used 
 to see him out with them. He was a very 
 refined-looking fellow, and manly enough." 
 
 " Well," said Lord Belton, pretending to 
 yawn, " I hope they are all well and happy, 
 — this Mr. Torrington — the tutor — the old 
 maids with the tracts, and every one of 
 them. I only know it is fatiguing beyond 
 everything even to make to one's-self a con- 
 ception of this style of happiness, and idea 
 of duty. But in spite of it all, Eochefort," 
 he added, half-laughing, " I envy you your 
 momentary popularity. T wish I had ever 
 achieved reputation on only half such good 
 grounds." 
 
 " Good grounds !" repeated Rochefort, 
 colouring (at this time a very little thing 
 sent the young, warm blood to his cheeks), 
 " I was thoroughly ashamed of myself and 
 of everybody else. Why, it would not have 
 required half the courage in me, to have
 
 The Master of River swood. 201 
 
 gone up and fought it out with each man in 
 that rabble, singly, that it did in poor Tor- 
 rington only to stand up silent before them, 
 with his open Bible in his hand. That was 
 courage, if you like." 
 
 " Courage of the sort that Everard would 
 have repressed,'* observed Lady Belton, 
 quietly, as she snipped off the ends of her 
 wool and silk; "not the right sort, or tend- 
 ing the right way, Rochefort." 
 
 "Mamma," said Clara, "one never knows 
 whether you speak seriously or in fun, when 
 you say those kind of things." 
 
 Lord Belton laughed. 
 
 " It is very difficult to know how to live 
 in this world, isn't it, Clara V said Boche- 
 fort, looking towards his cousin. " Parti- 
 cularly when half the people who talk to 
 you say what they don't really mean." 
 
 In this rather desultory drawing-room 
 conversation, certainly without satisfaction 
 in its beginning, middle, or end ; in which 
 one man had said a good deal that he only 
 half meant, and in which the other had been 
 carried away by a very natural instinct to
 
 202 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 defend a brave and a good man who was 
 under-rated— the generous and warm heart 
 of Httle Clara Belton found '* un peu de 
 tout," with which to nourish her romantic 
 feehng for her engaged cousin, and the 
 " saviour of her Hfe." Of course, as Er- 
 minia had predicted, he was considered the 
 *' saviour of her hfe," and had become a 
 hero to her. Now, he was everything else 
 that was noble.. The faithful and steadfast 
 little heart was bound to him for ever ; and 
 he was as unconscious of it as men generally 
 are of the things that would '* make for 
 their peace ;" that is, of the devotion of the 
 hearts that would serve them best ; and 
 whose least flame is perhaps worth the 
 whole of what they snatch into their arms, 
 thinking they have won their life's happi- 
 ness with the possession !
 
 The Master of Riverswood, 203 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A DAY or two after the conversation just 
 recorded, as Mrs. Rudge was putting the 
 finishinof touches to the crust of a beef-steak 
 pie, indenting the edges with a tea-spoon 
 turned up-side down, and laying a cluster 
 of leaves symmetrically round the cut in the 
 middle, she was startled by a sudden rap 
 at the door, and, hastily rubbing her hands 
 on her apron, and pulling down her sleeves, 
 went to open it. . , 
 
 " Busy, Mary ?" said the master, walking 
 in ; and then, after a few words to Steph, 
 he stood in a pre-occupied sort of way with 
 his back to the fire. 
 
 " The pie'll be done in a moment, sir." 
 "I wanted to speak to you for five minutes, 
 if I could, Mary," said Mr. Longley.
 
 204 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 *' Wish I wasn't such an old logger-bones, 
 sir," said Stephen Eudge, touching the little 
 cap he always wore in -doors, to keep, as he 
 said, the draughts in the ouse from his 'ed, 
 " and I'd soon put myself out of your way." 
 
 " Oh, it doesn't matter," said Eochefort, 
 without thinking of his words in the least. 
 
 *' I've put my pie in the oven now, Mr. 
 Eochefort," said Mary, " and if you don't 
 mind stepping into the little back kitchen, 
 it's quite clean. I did it up and hearth - 
 stoned it yesterday, and it'll be better than 
 the garden, where it's so dreadful wet, from 
 the snow and rain yesterday." 
 
 The *' back kitchen" was a small wash- 
 house ; also a scullery, also a larder. Mary 
 shut the door behind her, and Eochefort 
 leaned against a bare wooden table that was 
 jammed up against the wall, and suffered 
 from some unsteadiness in one of its legs. 
 He did not feel himself to be in a very dig- 
 nified position, but perhaps the fact of his 
 being in Mary's little scullery was not the 
 thing that chiefly contributed to this feel_ 
 ing. He was doing what every proud man
 
 The Master of Rivers wood. 205 
 
 hates to do, and hates himself while he is 
 doing ; taking steps to get information that 
 will be of service to him, in an indirect way. 
 He had pondered over certain words of his 
 foster-mother's, till he had become wretched, 
 and could support life no longer without 
 some solution of them. He had twisted 
 them into every imaginable meaning, he 
 had (as he said to himself) infinitely 
 magnified their importance, he had thought 
 of the tears, the impulsive expressions of 
 regret, the look almost of dread which had 
 followed them. At last, suspense became 
 unendurable ; he would know plainly, and 
 once for all, what anyone had to say, what 
 anyone could say against his darling : no 
 matter what it was, it had better come out 
 now than later, than too late. Driven by 
 these thoughts, he had come to seek his 
 foster-mother, swallowing his pride as he 
 could, and with something like a prayer in 
 his heart that he should hear nothing which 
 should have the right to shake his allegi- 
 ance, or to cast one shaft at his passionate, 
 believing love.
 
 206 • The Master of Riversioood. 
 
 — II ...■■- — ■ ■ — ^ 
 
 " Mary," he said, clearing his throat with 
 some effort, " I want you to tell me exactly, 
 without shading off or disguising anything, 
 what it was that you have heard about Miss 
 Heaton which makes you think she — I — 
 — I might ever be sorry to have married 
 her." 
 
 Mary turned as red as the fire, which was 
 at that moment '' doing" her beef-steak pie 
 to perfection ; but she was not sorry Mr. 
 Longley had asked the question. She was 
 a brave little woman, and was prepared to 
 do her best for the master, and for his future 
 happiness, no matter what she might be 
 called on to say or swear to, or how she 
 herself might suffer in his opinion in con- 
 sequence. 
 
 '* Well, Mr. Rochefort," she began, her 
 cheeks now almost in a blaze. " I don't see 
 as you're called upon to go asking any young 
 lady to have you that wouldn't be thankful, 
 and grateful, only to get a chance ; no matter 
 if it's the noblest and beautifallest in the 
 land. I wouldn't do it if I were you. That's 
 what I meant."
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 207 
 
 " But I don't see in the least what you 
 mean," returned the master, as he stood 
 looking at her. " Of course I know you 
 would like me to have one of the Princesses; 
 but that is a peculiar notion of yours, and 
 not practicable. What else do you mean ?" 
 . ** Do you want to know T inquired Mrs. 
 E/udge, without raising her eyes. 
 
 " Yes, of course I want to know. At 
 least I have come here for that object. I 
 don't know whether it is a good one." 
 
 "Don't go and think that way, Mr. 
 
 Eochefort ; I'd rather have it off my mind. 
 
 . . . You remember that I told you 
 
 how Steph's cousin, Susan Westbury, works 
 
 there. ... I mean at the Beeches ?" 
 
 " Yes," said the master impatiently, — 
 
 " well r 
 
 '' She's worked there for a many years, 
 and the young ladies always make a great 
 deal of her, and go and talk to her some- 
 times as she sits at work — though that's 
 neither here nor there — for I don't mean 
 anything they said to her. But young 
 ladies always do that, you know sir, and if
 
 208 The Maf^ter of Riversivood. 
 
 you only knew what a lot they'll sit and 
 say to the dress- maker that they wouldn't 
 think if you was to pay them for it, of telling 
 their 'mas ; — talk — talk — talk — till they've 
 told her all about their governess, and their 
 beaux, and their little secrets, and I don't 
 know what besides. Susan's told me how 
 they go on, often and often." 
 
 Rochefort could not help laughing. 
 
 " Well, you see, Mamie, I know nothing 
 about all that." 
 
 " Of course^ you don't," returned Mrs. 
 Rudge, looking at him with an almost 
 pitying expression in her face, *' what 
 should you know ? — I'm blest if I think 
 you know anything about their ways !" 
 
 "Look here, Mary, I can't stay talking 
 nonsense ; go on, if you have anything to 
 say," insisted the master. 
 
 " Well, sir. Miss Nora always used to 
 tell Susan — though that's not what I have 
 on my mind — still she always used to tell 
 Susan that her lover should either play or 
 sing beautifully, and should be a great 
 dancer — and should live in London ; — she 
 doesn't like the country."
 
 The Mastei' of Riversivood. 209 
 
 " Did she say that T inquired Rochefort 
 suddenly. 
 
 " She's always saying that she doesn't 
 like the country, Susan says." 
 
 " Oh, there's nothing in that. She may 
 like ifc under different circumstances. You 
 haven't brought me here, have you, to hear 
 that when Miss Heaton was a child, she 
 fancied she should like a lover who lived 
 in London, and who would sing and waltz 
 with her all day ? — I dare say that is the 
 ideal of thousands of girls : my first love 
 was a very stout tall maiden lady of five- 
 and- thirty, with black hair, and masses of 
 rings and bracelets, which used to glitter 
 all evening to my distraction, as she sat 
 playing whist with my father. You don't 
 think 1 want to marry her now ? " 
 
 " But perhaps Miss Heaton fancies the 
 same sort of lover noiOy as she did then," 
 was Mary's rather deliberate answer, to 
 this off-hand tirade. There was a dead 
 silence, during which Mrs. Rudge twirled 
 her apron into tight sausages, and the 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 The Master of lUuerswood. 
 
 master stood and watched her. Presently, 
 he said, in a totally changed tone — 
 
 " What do you mean by that, Mary ?" 
 
 " I mean that Susan hioivs as much," 
 replied Mary trembUng, but resolved not 
 to give up the fight. But it v^as too much 
 for mortal, at least for manly endurance. 
 
 " Damn the woman !" exclaimed Roche- 
 fort, in such sudden passion, that his foster- 
 mother instinctively laid hold of the door 
 behind her, as if to beat a retreat — " and 
 what business has she to know or to hear 
 anything of my affairs or Miss Heaton's ? 
 who's dared to tell her anything ? — and how 
 has she dared to repeat anything? . . . ." 
 He walked up and down in that poor little 
 bit of a kitchen, like a man gone out of 
 his senses ; then suddenly stopped before 
 Mrs. E/udge, and said, 
 
 " Well — go on. Whatever she knows 
 or has said, I am here to hear it, so much 
 the worse for my folly in coming — only take 
 care that it is true ;" and then he waited. 
 
 " Did you not often go there with your 
 friend, that handsome young man as was
 
 The Master of Riversioood, 211 
 
 staying with you in the autumn ?" inquired 
 Mrs. E/udge. She dare not look up, and 
 the master never spoke. 
 
 " Mr. Rochefort .... Susan was one 
 day in the school-room, mending a carpet ; 
 and the young ladies were in their own 
 room, which is next — and she heard them 
 talking about him — she ought to ha* shut 
 the door, between; but she didn't — she 
 waited so long that then she didn't Hke to 
 shut it, lest they should think she'd listened ; 
 so she just finished her work and crept 
 away — and she told me all she heard — 
 every word of it." 
 
 " What did she hear ?" inquired the 
 master, still controlling himself by a ter- 
 rible effort, and with his heart beating as 
 if it would break. But the next moment, 
 he made an impulsive movement away 
 from the table against which he still leant, 
 and broke out in a stifled, passionate voice, 
 " Don't tell me anything. I didn't know 
 what I was saying — I have been a fool — 
 but I am not going to listen to what a 
 woman overhears." 
 
 14-2
 
 212 The Master of Riversioood. 
 
 ** Mr. Rochefort — Mr. Kochefort, you re 
 not angry with me — you're not going to 
 do anything !" exclaimed his foster-mother 
 in terror, — putting herself between him 
 and the door. 
 
 " No — no. I have no one but myself to 
 blame. I came to you — " and with a sort 
 of force, he put her to one side and went 
 through into the kitchen. A few moments 
 he stood as if in a dream on the old patch- 
 work rug before the fire ; then, suddenly 
 saying " Good-bye, Steph — good-bye, 
 Mary," he took up his hat, and walked out 
 of the house. 
 
 He did not go home ; he went to the 
 stables, ordered his horse, and paced the 
 yard up and down till it was ready, think- 
 ing of Ernest, till his head reeled. 
 
 ** I'm afraid it's going to come down 
 'eavy, sir, before long," said the groom, 
 touching his hat, as he brought up the 
 horse ; " them clouds look awful black." 
 
 " Send in for my leggings, then — be 
 quick." 
 
 " And your whip, sir T
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 213 
 
 " I can't hold my whip — I don't know- 
 how I shall manage the reins." 
 
 He was gloveless, and his right hand 
 was still in a sling. His boots were made 
 more for tramping over fields than for 
 putting through light silver stirrups ; his 
 coat was old ; his felt hat had seen good 
 service in rain and hail and sunshine, and 
 the pain of holding the double reins in his 
 burnt hand made him flinch, and bite his 
 lip hard. He was in strange courting trim. 
 
 " I've exercised her well this morning, 
 sir," said the groom ; " can you manage the 
 reins do you think, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I shall be used to the touch, di- 
 rectly. Open the gates," said the master 
 impatiently ; and then he struck off down 
 the drive, on his mad way to his lady- 
 love. 
 
 He did not allow himself to think, as he 
 galloped along, or he would have been 
 wretched. The rain came down and 
 drenched him, but he felt nothing ; he was 
 conscious but of one desire — the desire to 
 see Nora ; to ask her if she loved him ; to
 
 214 llic Master of Rivcrswood. 
 
 know his fate, and get the horrible sus- 
 pense over. The thought crossed his mind 
 once, " Suppose she should not be in ? 
 Suppose she should have gone anywhere ?" 
 But the bare idea was unendurable ; he 
 thrust it from him, and only rode on faster 
 than ever. 
 
 When he arrived at the " Beeches," he 
 heard Nora giving a music-lesson to one of 
 her younger sisters in the schoolroom. Mr. 
 Heaton could not afford both a governess 
 and a carriage, and as a carriage was abso- 
 lutely indispensable, Lizzie and Nora di- 
 vided the teaching of their younger sisters 
 between them. Nora was now playing the 
 treble part of one of Czerny's immortal 
 exercises for beginners, while little Miss 
 Annie stumped away at the same air with 
 both hands, and made innumerable mis" 
 takes. Thank God, she was there at any 
 rate ! 
 
 " If you please. Miss Nora, Mr. Longley 
 is in the drawing-room, and wishes to see 
 you." 
 
 Miss Nora started up ; but she was in
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 215 
 
 an old dress, and (as she considered) an 
 unbecoming one ; and, before she could 
 descend to her lover, she must rush to her 
 room and chancre it. It was true that she 
 was quick about it, and that she did not 
 know Mr. Longley was wet through, or 
 that his heart was throbbinof like a steam- 
 engine with pain and torturing anxiety. 
 If she had, let us do her the credit to 
 suppose she would have come at once. 
 
 When they had been about three minutes 
 together in the drawing-room, Kochefort 
 said, with a good deal of effort, " Will you 
 spare me a few minutes more, Nora, while 
 I ask you something important — very im- 
 portant to both of us ?" 
 
 " Something important ?" she repeated, 
 rather frightened ; " yes, of course, I want 
 to know anything that is important ; and 
 indeed, now that I think of it, what a time 
 you have been in coming to see me, Roche- 
 fort ! I thought you were never coming 
 any more." The pretty way in which she 
 pouted as she said this struck a thrill of 
 joy through her lover's heart.
 
 216 The Master of Rivers wood. 
 
 ** Have you felt it long, Nora ? Have 
 you wanted to see me ?" 
 
 " Of course 1 have ! It's dreadfully dull 
 when you don't come, and I'm thinking all 
 the time that perhaps you've forgotten me. 
 And then these * cousins' that have been 
 staying in the house — grand, fashionable 
 young ladies, I daresay — and perhaps you 
 like one of them better than me now ; 
 although they've been and made you burn 
 yourself !" 
 
 , " Do you think it is possible I could like 
 one of them better than you ?" 
 
 " It might be possible, of course," she 
 answered, twirling his watch-chain as she 
 spoke. "Well, are they very pretty, and 
 very charming, Rochefort ? — and are you 
 going to give me up for one of them, I 
 want to know ?" 
 
 He was fast becoming very happy ; but 
 there was that dreaded question to ask, 
 and to have answered, before he could be 
 satisfied. 
 
 " Nora, I came here to ask whether you 
 had any wish to give me up ?"
 
 The Master of River swood. 217 
 
 " What f she exclaimed, in a tone of 
 half-indignant astonishment, and withdraw- 
 ing her hands suddenly from his. 
 
 " There is a little foolish impression about 
 — I hope it is foolish — that — that you have 
 been a little taken with — with, in fact, my 
 friend, Mr. Ernest Glanville, who was with 
 me so long in the autumn." 
 
 Nora blushed up to her hair. But at the 
 moment that she felt herself blushing, she 
 felt also that she must retrieve her position 
 instantly — without a moment's hesitation — 
 or it might be lost for ever. She had liked 
 Mr. Glanville — liked him very much indeed ; 
 his tastes and temperament accorded better 
 with her own, than did the tastes and 
 temperament of the young gentleman now 
 before her ; at the same time she did not 
 suppose he could many her, and she would 
 have thought twice about giving up such a 
 position as that of the mistress of Rivers- 
 wood, if he could. Nora had many amiable 
 points, but she had been brought up by a 
 worldly-minded and superficial mother, and 
 would have been more than a woman if she
 
 9 IS The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 had not imbibed some of the poison which 
 was always being tendered for her accept- 
 ance in the shape of worldly axioms, advice, 
 and example. 
 
 For the rest, the child was by no means 
 indifferent to her lover. She was proud of 
 him, and very proud of possessing him. 
 She thought him very clever, and, as the 
 phrase goes, " too good for her ;" rather 
 peculiar — a little too changeable in humour 
 — but very good, very kind. She could 
 not be said to love him, but she was flat- 
 tered that he loved her, and would have 
 been very jealous of anyone w^ho had in any 
 way attempted to diminish that love; she 
 hoped she should make him happy, and 
 satisfy him, after they were married ; but 
 she was much more anxious that he should 
 make her happy, and satisfy all the whims 
 and fancies of her own vain little heart. It 
 is generally those women who have least 
 to give in the article of heart, soul, ajid in- 
 telligence who demand from their husbands 
 in return the most absolute and unwavering 
 surrender to themselves of every thought, 
 every affection, every desire or hope.
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 219 
 
 Nora stood with that awkward red blush 
 upon her face before her lover. For him 
 it was a moment of almost unendurable suf- 
 fering; but she made it only a moment. 
 She regained her ground with astonishing 
 quickness and tact. The^position demanded 
 both, and she felt it. 
 
 *^ It is the most utter nonsense, Koche- 
 fort ! — I liked him a little, as I suppose 
 anyone would do, he was so pleasant and 
 kind ; but do you think I loved him ?" (It 
 was quite true that she did not ; for she 
 loved neither of them.) ^^ Of course, I didn't. 
 If he asked me to marry him to-morrow, I 
 wouldn't. I w^ould have no one but you if 
 fifty people asked me. I'm not half good 
 enough for you, that's alL But you re 
 good — I don't think there's anybody so 
 good and faithful and true as you are — and 
 you're sure you don't want one of your 
 cousins instead -of me, are you ?" 
 
 We have clubbed the foregoing sentences 
 together, as a matter of convenience ; but 
 they were uttered at intervals, the intervals 
 being filled up with the kisses of a man
 
 220 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 who was recklessly catching almost his 
 death of cold, and taking every means to 
 include his lady-love in his own danger. 
 
 Not till half an hour afterwards was he 
 on his road home. 
 
 The results of this little expedition were 
 of course deplorable. Mr. Longley was laid 
 up with a dreadful cold and cough, and 
 with such suffering and inflammation in his 
 right arm that he was driven almost deliri- 
 ous, and had to be put to sleep for several 
 nights with strong narcotics. The doctor 
 kept him to his room for ten days, as a 
 punishment for his foolhardiness. 
 
 " Fifty women wer n't worth your going 
 and risking your life in this fashion," he 
 said angrily. " If you can do no better 
 than ride twelve miles in pouring rain, just 
 because the freak takes you to see how a 
 girl's looking, the sooner you're married the 
 better. . . . When is it to be ?" 
 
 It was, of course, known by everyone at 
 Hi vers wood how Rochefort had caught his 
 cold, and where he had been to catch it. 
 There was no concealing it from his mother,
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 221 
 
 who scolded him with a rain of angry and 
 disappointed tears, and then went and told 
 her sister. 
 
 The two had a long talk together, after 
 which Lady Belton was unusually taciturn 
 for the remainder of the day. She said a 
 few words to her husband, which drew from 
 him only a slow whistle, a raising of the 
 eyebrows, and a shrug of the shoulders, 
 and then he went out to the stables. Poor 
 Clara cried her eyes out in her bedroom, 
 because her cousin was suffering from the 
 injury of which she was the luckless origin, 
 and because she should now probably see 
 him no more before they went. She had 
 an intuitive perception that they would go 
 soon now, and she was not wrong. 
 
 About four days after Eochefort's drench- 
 ing, when it became evident that he was a 
 thorough invalid pro tern., and with no 
 chance of getting further than his mother's 
 boudoir for a week, Lady Belton received a 
 letter telling her that her darling " Al- 
 phonse" — her only and four-year-old son — 
 had been seized with a cough, which she 
 was certain, from the description, must be
 
 222 Tlie Master of Riverswoocl. 
 
 hooping-cough, and no time was to be lost 
 in hastening to his side — deeply as she 
 regretted cutting short so delightful a visit, 
 especially just when poor Kochefort was so 
 ill, and his mother in such low spirits about 
 him. 
 
 At the last moment, Clara managed to 
 get up to her aunt unobserved ; to take her 
 hand, and to say, in a voice that struggled 
 to be firm, 
 
 '' And, Aunt Emily, please tell him that 
 I shall never — none of us will ever — forget 
 how brave and kind he was, and how I owe 
 my life to him ; and I — I hope he wil] be 
 very happy. . . . You'll tell him that, 
 won't you V and then, resolutely strangling 
 a very hard rising in the throat, Clara gave 
 her aunt one more kiss, and hurried to the 
 carriage. 
 
 When Mrs. Longley repeated that pretty 
 and sincere little message to her son as he 
 lay coughing and tossing about in his bed, 
 he remarked impatiently, " What a con- 
 founded nuisance it all is !" 
 
 " What is a confounded nuisance, Roche- 
 fort T
 
 The Master of Rlverswood. 22:3 
 
 " That I should be laid up in this way, 
 and not able to say good-bye to them ; — 
 and that my uncle should miss all the 
 hunting." 
 
 '' But I suppose it isn't of the least con- 
 sequence to you, E-ochefort, that they have 
 had to go without your saying good-bye to 
 them r 
 
 " I*m sorry I couldn't say good-bye to 
 Clara, any way." A fearful fit of coughing, 
 which lasted two or three minutes, succeeded 
 this avowal ; after which his mother gave 
 him his medicine, and said he mustn't talk 
 any more. Presently, however, she said 
 herself (the temptation being too strong, 
 and the opportunity too good to be missed), 
 
 *' It would have given me real pleasure, 
 a short time ago, to have heard you express 
 that regret, R-ochefort." 
 
 " What regret ?" 
 
 '* That you have not been able to say 
 good-bye to your cousin Clara." 
 
 " Oh, I see. I couldn't conceive what 
 you meant." 
 
 *' I shall never forgive myself, Rochefort," 
 said his mother at last, ''that I did not ask
 
 224 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 your cousin to come here long ago. If I 
 had done so, there might never have been 
 any of this trouble — and I should have seen 
 you suitably and honourably engaged — as 
 you ought to be." 
 
 " And as I am/' responded her son briefly. 
 *' Mamma (after a pause), how long am I 
 going to be like this ?" 
 
 "Dr. S thinks you will be much 
 
 better in a few days, if you take care of 
 yourself" 
 
 " I'm not going to have inflammation of 
 the lungs, Or anything of that sort, am I V* 
 
 ** I should never forgive you, or rather 
 some one else, as long as I lived, if there 
 was any chance of it," returned his mother 
 with unwonted energy ; " but there is no 
 fear, if you obey orders." 
 
 " When shall I be able to go out again, 
 do you think T 
 
 " Oh, not for a long time," said Mrs. 
 Longley ; with very decided satisfaction in 
 her tone of voice. 
 
 " Mother, I wish you would give me a 
 piece of paper and a pencil." 
 
 *' You are not to use your eyes, Eoche-
 
 The Master of Rivei^swoocl, 225 
 
 fort, and you are talking too much. You 
 ought to sleep after that medicine." 
 
 " You never told me it was to make me 
 sleep before, mamma." 
 
 " Well it is ; I tell you so now. It's to 
 stop the cough, and make you quiet.'* 
 
 " It's within an hour of post time," ex- 
 claimed Kochefort, as he looked at his 
 watch. ** You must give me that paper in 
 ten minutes, mamma, at the furthest." 
 
 While the ten minutes were passing, he 
 lay perfectly still, and his mother hoped he 
 was going off to sleep. At the end of the 
 time, however, " Now the paper please — 
 and a book or something, to write on." 
 
 She sighed, and submitted unwillingly. 
 He scribbled a few lines, leaning upon his 
 left arm ; folded the sheet up, and tossed 
 it to his mother, saying, " Direct it for me ; 
 and then I'll promise to take that gruel for 
 supper." She was obliged to smile, and to 
 take out an envelope and address it to 
 " Miss Nora Heaton, The Beeches, Ley ton," 
 though it was sorely against the grain. 
 And from that hour she gave up hope. 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 1'he winter brightened into spring ; spring 
 warmed into summer ; from the middle of 
 May the weather was perfect ; every morn- 
 ing rose blue and cloudless ; every evening 
 sank to its rest, as if the day fainted of its 
 own sweet fulness. The air was laden with 
 the exquisite perfume of roses and musk 
 and lilies ; breezes murmured amid the 
 thick, dark leaves of chestriut, and ash, and 
 beech trees, and tossed the yellow rain of 
 the laburnum : — country lads walked with 
 bunches of fragrant lilac in their hands, and 
 the lasses and the children, with their aprons 
 full of cowslips. There were exquisite 
 sunsets ; evenings full of lingering, tender, 
 shadowy beauty ; and balmy, moonlit nights.
 
 The Master of Riversivood. 227 
 
 On one of these evenings, Nora Heat on 
 sat at her little writing-desk with a very 
 prettily pinked-out sheet of exceedingly 
 perfumed pink paper before her ; a pen- 
 holder with a very narrow-nibbed new pen 
 in it in her hand, and a look of extreme 
 thought and perplexity on her face. After 
 some time spent in consideration, and in 
 constantly dipping her pen into the ink, as 
 if the ink contained inspiration, she finally 
 (with many pauses, and many readings of 
 each sentence after it was written), com- 
 posed the following missive : — 
 
 " The Beeches, Leyton, July 25th. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Longley, 
 
 " Rochefort has asked me to write to 
 you ; but I am afraid it will not give you 
 any great pleasure to see my hand-writing. 
 However, as he wishes it, I will try to say 
 what I feel, as well as I can. I know quite 
 well that I am not worthy of the happiness 
 and honour — for I assure you that I do feel 
 he has honoured me very much — of being 
 engaged to Mr. Longley ; and I can quite 
 understand that our engagement has been 
 
 15—2
 
 228 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 a source of distress to you. Of course I 
 know that he could have looked much higher 
 for a wife, and I do not think he would have 
 been refused wherever he looked. I feel I 
 am not at all good enough for him, but I 
 will try in every way I can to deserve him." 
 (What she meant by this phrase, Nora her- 
 self had not the least idea, but she thought 
 it sounded the proper thing.) *' I am very 
 sorry that when he is giving me so much, I 
 have not the least fortune to give him, and 
 I suppose never shall have ; but Rochefort 
 will never allow me to speak of that. 
 
 " I do hope that you will be so kind to us 
 both, and so good to me, as not to let any- 
 thing be changed at E>iverswood on my 
 account, when I come there — Rochefort 
 particularly wishes me to say this, and of 
 course I wish it, too — and that if you have 
 no objection to it, dear Mrs. Longley, you 
 will always remain mistress, and have every- 
 thing exactly as you wish, and are used to, 
 and not let me make any difference. I do 
 not feel that- 1 have written half that I wish 
 to say,^' (she had had the greatest possible
 
 The Master of Riversioood. 229 
 
 difficulty in constructing the above sen- 
 tences, and was truly and devoutly thank- 
 ful her task was now at an end,) "and I dare 
 say I have expressed myself awkwardly, 
 but I hope you will believe that it is my 
 very earnest wish to please you, and not to 
 cause any unhappiness between you and 
 dear Ptochefort, if I can possibly help it, and 
 "I remain, dear Mrs^ Longley, 
 *' always very sincerely and 
 " affectionately yours, 
 
 " HONOKA HeATON." 
 
 Well — it was done at last. A great 
 weiofht 'was off' her mind, and Rochefort 
 w^ould be satisfied. Poor child, she had 
 tried to bribe him with kisses, to soften 
 him with tears, but all in vain, to be " let 
 off" writing this terrible letter. Her lover, 
 for once, was resolute. It was, of course, 
 the proper thing to do, and was proved to 
 be so by the fact that about a week after 
 receiving and answering it, Mrs. Long- 
 ley suffered herself to be driven to the 
 Beeches, and actually paid a call of a quar-
 
 230 The Master of Riversivood. 
 
 ter-of-an-hour on Mrs. and Miss Nora 
 Heaton. Nora was beautiful in her blushes, 
 and in her dress of blue and white muslin, 
 and merited by her appearance the remark 
 Mrs. Longley made to her son after dinner. 
 
 " She has a very fine figure for a girl of 
 her age, Kochefort, and of course she is 
 very pretty, there is no doubt about that — 
 you had better get her mother to take her 
 up to London for a week or two about her 
 dresses, and she must have a good riding- 
 habit .... Can her mother be trusted 
 about her dresses, do you think ? It is very 
 important." 
 
 " I don't know, mamma. Can you give 
 her any hints about them." 
 
 " No, thanJc you, Rochefort ; I would ra- 
 the?' be excused ! But I'll tell you what 
 she ought to have, if you like. I was thinking 
 about it nearly all the way coming home. 
 Can you give me a pencil and a piece of 
 paper ?" Hochefort found some paper, and 
 then opened his gold pencil-case, and gave 
 it into his mothers hands. 
 
 Mrs. Longley wrote for some time. " Of
 
 The Master of Riversioood. 231 
 
 course," she said at last, throwing herself 
 back on her sofa, and giving the paper to 
 her son, "I know they won't be able to 
 afford all that ; but you must see that it's 
 done somehow ; it won't do for you to be 
 buying her everything she puts on directly 
 after she is married." 
 
 It will be seen from the above speeches 
 that by this time Mrs. Longley had become 
 hopelessly resigned to the impending ca- ' 
 lamity, and was taking it with as good a 
 grace as she could. *' It was no use doing 
 anything else now," she had written to her 
 sister; "Rochefort was infatuated, and if 
 he was to suffer for his folly, must suffer. 
 She was very sorry, but she had done her 
 best, and now washed her hands of the con- 
 cern — or rather of its consequences." 
 
 She "washed" them, however, by secretly 
 taking a considerable interest in all the 
 preparations that were going forward, and 
 in giving her advice and opinion on every 
 possible occasion. "As the thing ivas to be 
 done, it might as well be done well," she 
 said to herself, and to Alison ; and Alison 
 quite concurred.
 
 232 The Master of Riversicood. 
 
 On the last day of August, in the even- 
 ing, the master walked over half his farm 
 with Gray, and gave him many directions 
 as to what he wished done during the three 
 coming months of autumn, and of absence. 
 When they came near the bailiff's house the 
 two parted, and Mr. Longley struck off 
 down a road leadino" to the domain of one 
 of his poor tenants ; the said tenant having 
 been laid up from the results of an accident 
 for the past four weeks, and being thereby 
 in rather low water, and very low spirits. 
 Rochefort paid his call, and then sauntered 
 slowly home by a different road to the one he 
 had come, through deep-cut, green lanes, with 
 the shade of oak and ash trees dark above 
 his head, and the tall hedge-rows redolent 
 with their night odours of moss, and fern, 
 and meadow-sweet. As he walked along, 
 he fancied he saw smoke rising at a little 
 distance, and after going a few steps further, 
 became aware of a couple of donkeys with 
 their legs tied together which were grazing 
 on the road-side ; then of a small cart with 
 a cover to it ; and then of a bright fire, fed.
 
 The Master of Rlverswood. 233 
 
 in all probability, with stakes and staves 
 from his own hedo^es. Somethino^ was 
 roasting at this fire ; but what, the master 
 did not exactly see ; for as soon as his ap- 
 proach was observed, it was hurriedly re- 
 moved and hidden away in the tent behind. 
 The woman who had been superintending 
 the cooking of the supper a moment before 
 now sat with suddenl^^ assumed listlessness 
 before the fire, her elbows on her knees, her 
 face held in her two hands, and her eyes 
 straightly directed towards the master as 
 he came up to them. A man w^as standing 
 near her, and several children — brown as 
 Indians, and each possessing apparently but 
 one vestment, and that one of very scanty 
 proportions — tumbled about on the grass. 
 A young fellow of eighteen or nineteen lay 
 stretched on his back before one of the tents, 
 and smoked a short clay pipe; and there was a 
 litter of tin pans, skewers, and clothes' pegs 
 about, at which he had evidently been work- 
 ing, A young woman, about his own age 
 completed the company. The elder gipsy 
 woman, who had a striking and rather
 
 234 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 handsome face, looked at Bochefort so 
 steadily and fixedly as he approached, that' 
 though he had intended to pass without 
 taking any notice of her, he stopped a 
 moment, struck by something peculiar in 
 her expression, and said, carelessly, 
 
 " Well, my good woman, have you any- 
 thing to say to me ?'' 
 
 She paused fully two minutes, before an- 
 swering him, and during those two minutes 
 never moved her eyes from his face. 
 
 " I may have," she returned at last, '^ if 
 you have a mind to listen." 
 
 " That means, I suppose, if I have any 
 silver about me to cross your hand with ?" 
 
 The young man with the pipe looked at 
 him and nodded, saying, " Aye, aye, sir." 
 
 " You have plenty of silver about you," 
 said the gipsy woman, '^ and always have 
 had plenty, and always will have. It's not 
 that you'll ever want." 
 
 *' That is easy for you to say. You know 
 
 me." 
 
 " I have never seen your face before." 
 *' Well, you have looked at it enough for
 
 The Master of Riverswood, 235 
 
 once," he returned, laughing. *' You will 
 know it again, I think. However, it is not 
 fair for me to stand and have my fortune 
 told for nothing, so here you are ; and now 
 when is it to be — this year, next year, some 
 time, or never ? And is she fair or dark, tall 
 or short ; tell us all about it ?" 
 
 He put some silver into her hand, and 
 threw himself on the grass at her side, turn- 
 ing his dark, handsome eyes upon her, with 
 an expression half of admiration, half of 
 carelessness. 
 
 "You are a great deal too young, and 
 too good-looking to tell fortunes," he said ; 
 uttering this speech, merely because he had 
 nothing better to say, and at the moment 
 didn't care what he said. 
 
 Her husband laughed, looked sheepish, 
 and walked away to light his pipe. 
 
 *'You are thinking to get better luck 
 given you for your money, by flattery," 
 said the gipsy-woman, '*but I am too old 
 for flattery. Keep your pretty speeches 
 for the one as cares for them.*' She spoke 
 these last words with a rather peculiar
 
 236 The Master, of River swood. 
 
 emphasis ; and looked at the young man 
 with a furtive but very keen glance, as she 
 said them. 
 
 ** I am only wasting my time here," pur- 
 sued Kochefort, carelessly ; '^ you know all 
 about me — and I know that you do ; any- 
 one you met within ten miles could tell you 
 whatever you wished to know. / don't 
 want my fortune told." He raised himself 
 as if to go. 
 
 " You don't w^ant your fortune told, eh ?" 
 repeated the gipsy, *' then what'll you give 
 me to let you off without telling it ?" 
 
 ^He should have gone then : should have 
 walked home heart-whole, unhaunted, and 
 laughing at the whole thing. 
 
 Instead of this, he looked intently at her 
 for a moment — forced a laugh — then sud- 
 denly held out his hand, and said, 
 
 " Tell me what you like — I defy you to 
 know anything that I don't know myself 
 — you cannot harm me." 
 
 The woman struck a match, held it to a 
 candle, and brought the light to bear on 
 the multitudinous lines in the firm, white
 
 The Master of Rlverswood. 237 
 
 hand, which she held within her own. She 
 studied it for some time ; Rochefort, the 
 while, studying her strange face, and trying 
 to read its meaning — as she was trying to 
 read his fate. 
 
 ** There 'are two lines here," she said at 
 last, slowly, " which run side by side for a 
 little while : they meet — then they divide 
 again. At last — yes, I think I see — that at 
 last, they meet again — but only for a time." 
 
 She paused, and Rochefort did not say 
 a word. 
 
 '' Here are other lines," she went on, 
 " which tell of suffering and sorrow — in 
 foreign lands : and here — what do I see 
 here T She raised her eyes, and looked 
 fixedly into her listener's face. Eochefort 
 returned her look for an instant ; then 
 suddenly threw away her hand ; rose, and 
 said abruptly, — 
 
 " There, you need not tell me any more. 
 But vou shouldn't have treated me so 
 badly," he added, attempting a laugh ; "I 
 suppose I ought to have given you gold 
 instead of silver."
 
 238 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 *' You can give me gold now if you like," 
 returned the gipsy woman, with rather a 
 peculiar smile. *' You can give me gold for 
 not telling you more." 
 
 " Thanks ; the gold shall be for the next 
 time, when you are in rather a better 
 humour. I suppose I put you out, by 
 making you put off your supper ? Now, I 
 hope you will enjoy it. Here, children," 
 and he threw them a handful of coppers, 
 after which they ran like a herd of young 
 hungry pigs. The master watched them 
 for a minute, and then, with a slight nod 
 to their handsome, dark, mother, who was 
 looking at him just as before, with her face 
 resting on her hands, went his way — but 
 not home. When he came to the church- 
 yard, which was not ten minutes walk from 
 the hall, he opened a small wicket-gate, 
 struck along a narrow foot- way which 
 divided the grassy, grave-besprinkled en- 
 closure, opened another gate, and walked 
 up a path bordered with rhododendrons 
 and laurestinus, to the rectory door. It 
 was open, and Mrs. Rutherford was just
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 239 
 
 crossing the passage with a great print 
 apron over her dress, a pair of leather 
 gloves on her hands, and laden with a 
 trowel and a watering-pot. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Longley, is that you ? Well, 
 I am a disgraceful figure, but never mind ; 
 the rector 'Jl be very pleased to see you. 
 Mr. E/Utherford — Mr. Rutherford ! — Sarah 
 Jane, bring a lamp into this hall directly. 
 One can't see an inch before one's nose." 
 
 *' Is Mr. Ptutherford in ?" asked Roche- 
 fort, as he entered. 
 
 "Oh, yes, he's in; — or only just gone 
 out — which is the same thing. Here — 
 Elizabeth ! — just run over to Old Jeremy's, 
 and tell your master Mr. Longley is here." 
 
 " Oh, don't worry him," said E-ochefort ; 
 " I dare say he'll be in in a few minutes." 
 
 " Well, come into the dining-room at 
 all events," pursued the rector's worthy 
 spouse, as she pulled off her thick gloves. 
 
 " Sarah Jane ! bring some candles in 
 here, directly. Why, you'll think we live 
 in total darkness, Mr. Rochefort." 
 
 "It's much cooler without lights this
 
 240 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 
 
 weather," returned that young gentleman. 
 *' What's the matter with Old Jeremy ?" 
 
 *' Oh, in trouble, that's all," returned the 
 practical Mrs. Rutherford ; " his married 
 daughter's just dead. Confined only a 
 week ago, and she and the baby both 
 gone." 
 
 " Who was his daughter ?" 
 
 " I don't suppose you know her. They 
 hav'n't lived very long in this parish. She 
 married a poor, silly sort of fellow, who by- 
 the-bye, worked for you in the last hay 
 harvest, but your bailiff turned him oif — 
 he was so slow and sleepy." 
 
 " Did he ? What have the family lived 
 on ?" 
 
 '' Oh, partly on what she got by wash- 
 ing ; partly by what little he did ; partly 
 on charity. I've been sending her things 
 all this week." 
 
 " Has she suffered from her husband 
 being out of employment ? You should 
 have told me — as you say — Gray turned 
 him off our place." 
 
 " Your bailiff isn't over soft with the
 
 The Master of River siooocl. 241 
 
 people, Rochefort ; but I don't blame him 
 for that. Francis says the place has never 
 been farmed as it is now — between you two. 
 However, we were talking of poor Tom 
 Jones's wife. The worst of it is, there are 
 five children left ; and it's my belief the 
 poor thing has been starving and stinting 
 herself for them — and working hard at the 
 same time, and that when her trouble came, 
 she hadn't strength for it. That's the plaip. 
 truth, I imagine. '^ 
 
 Mrs. Rutherford worked off this speech 
 on the spur of the moment ; and as the 
 phrase is, " meant nothing whatever by it.'' 
 
 But Rochefort, in the space of one instant, 
 saw himself in the light of a selfish brute. 
 He thought of nothing but that he had 
 had money tumbling about in his pockets, 
 while this poor mother of five children was 
 " working and stinting herself to death." 
 That was the way he put it to himself 
 There were charities — and well dispensed 
 charities, enough — in the parish, more 
 than in many parishes ; and some of them 
 recently organized between himself and the 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 The Master of River swood. 
 
 rector; but as Mrs. Eutherford delivered 
 herself of that unlucky little speech (it was 
 probably more than half true), Eochefort 
 mentally took every one of those charities 
 up into his strong hands and pitched them 
 into the next ditch because not one of 
 them had so disposed of itself as to save a 
 poor mother s life in time of need. 
 
 '' Why on earth didn t you let me know ?" 
 he asked, as he sat before the good lady on 
 the sofa. *' I might have done something. 
 Especially as you say the man was so in- 
 capable — it was one's duty. Good God! 
 Mrs. Eutherford, is one to sit at home with 
 one man to black one's boots, and another 
 to hand one's plate, and a third to uncork 
 wine one never drinks ; and is one to know 
 nothing of a poor woman who is dying for 
 want of a little help V 
 
 Mrs. Eutherford had never seen him so 
 painfully distressed in her life. 
 
 *' Why, bless you, Eochefort," she said, 
 clearing her throat a little, *' are you going 
 to take in hand all the illnesses of the 
 parish ? You will have enough to do, I can
 
 Tlie Master of Riversivood, 243 
 
 tell you. And, besides, this is quite a rare 
 instance. These women are made of en- 
 tirely different stuff to those in the rank 
 your wife is coming from, for instance. 
 Bless you, they get through these affairs 
 like a house on fire, with no nursing at all ; 
 and only tea and bread and butter to feed 
 themselves and the baby on." She had 
 been hard put to it for something to say 
 to redeem her unlucky hit. 
 
 "But it seems they do7it always get 
 through them," persisted Mr. Longley. 
 
 " Well, there may be individual cases 
 now and then when they don't, of course ; 
 but as a rule they do, and are much stronger 
 than your fine ladies, who have such a lot 
 of waiting upon." 
 
 " And what is to be done about these 
 five poor children ? Who will take care of 
 them r 
 
 " Heaven and their father and the 
 eldest girl, who is twelve years of age. 
 The woman next door will look in on them 
 now and then. Oh, the man will marry 
 again before long." 
 
 16—2
 
 2-1:4 The Master of River swood. 
 
 Rochefort was silent for a few moments ; 
 then he said, — it being the only idea that 
 occurred to him — 
 
 " Can't yoa get a woman from some- 
 where to go and look after them ? You 
 can pay her what is right, you know, and 
 then tell me what it is. For the Lord's 
 sake don't be afraid of asking me for money 
 when you want it. These sort of cases 
 don't come under any especial system." 
 
 " You are very kind," said Mrs. Ruther- 
 ford ; " but, my dear boy, how can I send a 
 woman into that little cottage, with only 
 two rooms, and the father coming home 
 every night V There was a short pause. 
 
 *^I don't see, however, how a child of 
 twelve years old is to take care of five 
 young ones and herself too, do you ?" asked 
 Ttochefort, at length. 
 
 " They don't live as we do, Rochefort." 
 
 '^ But they live somehow, I suppose ?" 
 
 " Somehow, yes. But come, don't go 
 making yourself miserable about what can't 
 'be helped, we'll do what can be done. Per- 
 haps they'll all come up and Uve with old
 
 The Master of Riversxvood. 245 
 
 Jeremy after all — ^and he'll take care of 
 them. Stay and have some supper with 
 us. I've a lovely raspberry tart, and some 
 delicious cream. And there's sweet-breads 
 if you like them. Mr. Kutherfbrd has them 
 oftener than anything else. Or there's 
 some lovely pressed beef !" 
 
 " I can't stay, thanks. You see I've only 
 a few more evenings with my mother. 
 Mrs. Rutherford — will you promise always 
 to let me know in future when there is any 
 especial case of sickness and distress in the 
 village, that I may do what I can ? Why 
 on earth shouldn't my money be of some 
 use f 
 
 *' I'll tell you fast enough, Mr. Longley, 
 when therell be no mischief in giving. As 
 a rule, you know, there is mischief, un- 
 fortunately. What's done once they ex- 
 pect again ; what's done for Ann and Adam 
 must be done for Betsy and Thomas ; 
 otherwise there's envy and jealousy, and I 
 don't know what. You don't know half 
 the bother there is among 'em all, some- 
 times. When I first married, I was no
 
 246 Tlie Master of RiversivoocL 
 
 end tender-hearted, but I'm regularly out- 
 and-out hardened now. It's these public- 
 houses, and this beer-drinking that's at the 
 bottom of nearly everything. If you give 
 the women money and help, ten to one but 
 their husbands only spend a greater share 
 ont of their wages in tippling.'' 
 
 The rector came in at this juncture. 
 
 " I have been getting scolded," com- 
 menced his wife, *' because I don't ask for 
 money often enough." 
 
 " You give away a great deal of money, 
 Eochefort," said Mr. Eutherford, seating 
 himself in his particular leather chair, which 
 stood, winter and summer, by the side of 
 the fireplace, and crossing his legs com- 
 fortably ; " what do you want to do more ?" 
 
 ** Only to reach the real distress of the 
 people, if I could. It seems that, in spite 
 of all one does, there are cases in which 
 one has done nothing." 
 
 *' Of course there are, my dear fellow. 
 There are everywhere ; — only in the country 
 one counts them by twos and threes, in the 
 towns by thousands. You can only cope
 
 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 247 
 
 with the evil to a certain extent ; because 
 unhappily, the more you give, beyond a 
 certain point, the more you encourage idle- 
 ness." 
 
 The young owner of ten thousand a-year, 
 who had never known, and never would 
 know want, as long as he lived — to whom 
 want seemed a terrible thing, and one with 
 which it was his bound en duty to grapple 
 as far as in him lay — sat with his elbow 
 resting on his knee, his head sunk in one 
 hand, while with the other he played in an 
 absent way with Mrs. Rutherford's little 
 pet spaniel, who fawned and pawed upon 
 his knee. Mrs. Eutherford had taken off 
 her apron and bonnet, and got her knitting 
 — for she always knitted when she had 
 nothing else to do — and Mr. Eutherford 
 had quietly lighted his pipe, being almost 
 incapable of sitting stili anywhere, except 
 in the pulpit (and it was sometimes hard 
 work to do it there), without smoking. 
 
 No one spoke for several minutes ; then 
 Mrs. Eutherford said, looking towards the 
 dog—
 
 248 Til e Master of River sivood. 
 
 *' Have you been accustomed to wear 
 tliat ring, Eocliefort ? I haven't noticed it 
 before." 
 
 " My father gave it me when I came of 
 age. No — I have been wearing a mourn- 
 ing ring, till just now." 
 
 " And you oughtn't to wear that one, on 
 a lonely road on a moonlight night," said 
 Mr. Rutherford, laughing ; " some hungry 
 man might take a fancy to it." 
 
 **' I sometimes think," said Ptochefort, 
 after a pause, " that I could be capable of 
 almost anything, if I saw my wife and chil- 
 dren without food. It must be horrible — 
 beyond expression, horrible." And he almost 
 shuddered. 
 
 " God bless me !" exclaimed Mrs. Euther- 
 ford, dropping her knitting, and looking at 
 him over her spectacles ; " I hope you don't 
 mean to say that you could murder a man 
 for the sake of a diamond ring ?" 
 
 Eochefort at first laughed, and did not 
 reply to her question ; but after a time he 
 went on — 
 
 *' How do we know how much of the
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 249 
 
 awful crime and brutality in the world 
 arises first from miserable, biting poverty 
 — actual want of food and home ?" 
 
 " It is often a very remote 'first/ Long- 
 ley," answered the parson, between the 
 puffs of his pipe; ''the most awful rob- 
 beries are not committed by starving men, 
 but by rascals who are fall enough of both 
 meat and drink — especially the latter." 
 
 " Yes, when they commit the robberies, 
 or the murders ; but how about the begin- 
 nings ? — the pocket-picking, shop-lifting, 
 and striking of ea.ch other dow^n for an 
 apple, or a crust of bread, or a halfpenny ? 
 The mischief begins when they are poor, 
 hungry little wretches of four or five years 
 old." 
 
 " God knows you are right,'' said the 
 clergyman. 
 
 Ilochefort, who had been taking a turn 
 or two in the room, stopped before him 
 suddenly, and asked, 
 
 " Well, and what is one to do ? There 
 must be the key to the mending of all this 
 misery somewhere. Where is it ? All our
 
 250 The Master of Riversivood, 
 
 organized charity has not given it us 
 yet." 
 
 *' The key '11 never be found in this v^^orld 
 to the mending of all of it, my boy, nor of 
 half of it. You may be satisfied of that." 
 
 " How pitiably small and poor our hest is, 
 in every way," said Longley, as he walked 
 up and down the dining-room floor. 
 
 " Yes," said the clergyman ; " but there's 
 one comfort, when every other fails (that 
 is if one can look back on a life in which 
 one has tried to do something, there is no 
 comfort otherwise !) which is, that this is 
 God's world, and not ours. We shall not be 
 held responsible for its weight of sin ; only 
 for our used or misused chances of clothing 
 when we could clothe, feeding when we 
 coidd feed, visiting those sick and in trouble 
 when the way was opened to us." 
 
 "Which we have not been doing," thought 
 PbOchefort ; bat he did not speak. 
 
 " And now, look here, Mr. Longley," put 
 in Mrs. E,utherford at this juncture, " I 
 think we've all had serious talk enough for 
 one while, and at this time of night, too.
 
 The Master of River sivood. 251 
 
 Now, your mother doesn't go to bed till 
 nearly eleven ; you can stay and have a bit 
 of supper v^itb us/' and she put down her 
 knitting and took off her spectacles. " I'll 
 go and see about having it in at once.'' 
 
 " I can't, indeed ; thank you. IVe stayed 
 too long as it is," and he rose and held out 
 his hand to her. 
 
 "I'll see you out into the road," said the 
 rector, rising from his chair. " Have supper 
 in, Sarah, I shan't be five minutes." 
 
 As they walked down the gravel path 
 together, Rochefort said, with a sort of 
 effort, 
 
 " Do you know, Hutherford, I have been 
 having my fortune told this evening ?" 
 
 *' Your fortune told — who by ?" 
 
 *' A handsome gipsy woman, with the 
 strangest eyes I ever saw. She prophesied 
 me a lot of sorrow and separations, and I 
 don't know what." 
 
 "Well, and you're not such a , you 
 
 don't mean to say you paid the least atten- 
 tion to what she prophesied?" inquired Mr. 
 Eutherford, looking at him.
 
 2.52 The Master of Riversivood, 
 
 "■ Yes, I did. I thought of what she 
 said, and of nothing else till I came here." 
 
 " What's the matter with you ? You've 
 been living too low, or going without your 
 meals, or not sleeping at night V 
 
 "No, nothing of the sort. But I think 
 it possible that all the opposition I have 
 had about my marriage has affected me 
 thus far, that I have a sort of superstition 
 about it at times." 
 
 " Pooh !" said Mr. Rutherford ; and for a 
 few moments he said no more. 
 
 When they reached the wicket-gate at 
 the boundary of the garden, the rector said, 
 however, after standing a minute or two, 
 
 *' Come back with me, Rochefort ; I want 
 to read you something." 
 
 '' Come back with you T repeated the 
 other, surprised. 
 
 "Yes, as far as my study. I won't keep 
 you three minutes. Do as I ask you, Roche- 
 fort ; you've never crossed me yet since you 
 were born." 
 
 The two walked back together, Mr. 
 Rutherford talking on indifferent topics till
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 2o3 
 
 they reached the house. His study was on 
 the left hand-side of the entrance, and had 
 two doors to it, one covered with red cloth. 
 They entered and found a reading-lamp 
 burning low upon the table. The clergy- 
 man put up the light to its fullest, seated 
 himself in his black horse-hair throne in 
 front of it, pulled a great book before him, 
 put on his spectacles, and after turning over 
 the pages a little, said, 
 
 " Now, my lad, listen to this. You learnt 
 every word of it when you were a boy, and 
 I'll be bound youVe forgotten every word 
 of it since." 
 
 Mr. Eutherford read : — ■ 
 
 " He that dwelleth in the secret place of 
 the most High, shall abide under the shadow 
 of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, 
 He is my refuge and my fortress : my God ; 
 in Him will I trust. 
 
 ''Surely He will deliver theefrom the snare 
 of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. 
 
 ** He shall cover thee with his feathers, 
 and under His wings shalt thou trust : his 
 truth shall be thy shield and buckler.
 
 254 The Master of Riverswood. 
 
 " Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror 
 by night ; nor for the arrow that flieth by 
 day; 
 
 " Nor for the pestilence that walketh in 
 darkness ; nor for the destruction that 
 wasteth at noon-day. 
 
 " A thousand shall fall at thy side, and 
 ten thousand at thy right hand ; but it 
 shall not come nigh thee. * * * 
 
 " Because thou hast made the Lord which 
 is my refuge, even the Most High, thy 
 habitation ; 
 
 " He shall give his angels charge over 
 thee in all thy ways. * * * 
 
 '^ He shall call upon me, and I will 
 answer him: I will be with him in trouble; 
 I will deliver him, and honour him." * * 
 
 Mr. Rutherford rose, took off his spec- 
 tacles, wiped them, and then his eyes, and 
 looked across to where Eochefort was stand- 
 ing against the wall in shadow, and with 
 his face bent towards the ground. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Rutherford. You have 
 been very good to me." 
 
 " Do you remember it ?"
 
 The Master of Rivei^swood, 255 
 
 ** Only a verse or two here and there. 
 What Psalm is it T 
 
 " The ninety-first. Now, be off with 
 you, and God bless you." 
 
 They wrung hands and parted.
 
 25G The Master of Rlversivood. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 *' Ernest, you don't deserve kissing, and I 
 don't think I shall kiss you; for you've 
 never written me a line since you went. 
 What have you been doing with yourself — 
 where have you been ?" 
 
 ** I've not been out of Aberdeenshire — 
 I've been safe enough, Miss Augusta. 
 There, give me a kiss ; it's a relief to have 
 one, after three weeks on the moors with 
 Scotch guides and in pouring rain. You 
 talk about not writing," he added, as he 
 walked across the hall towards his brother's 
 room, with his little sister hanging on his 
 arm, " but I wrote before I went, and I 
 wrote last week. What do you want 
 more {
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 257 
 
 *' You call that writing ! — tlie ridiculous 
 little scraps you sent Sidney? We might 
 as well have heard nothing. However, 
 never mind. Come and see Sid; papa's 
 out at a shooting dinner, and mamma had 
 such a bad headache she has gone to bed; 
 so we shall be all to ourselves." 
 
 Sidney Glanville was lying on his back 
 on a sofa, with a litter of books and papers 
 about him, and his hands loosely clasped 
 over his head. His face was very pale, and 
 in feature rather like his brother's, but in 
 expression totally different. His figure 
 was short and slight. He did not move 
 as his brother entered, but held out his 
 hand and said, 
 
 " Back again, old boy?" 
 
 " Back again," answered Ernest, seating 
 himself near the sofa, leaning his arms on 
 his knees, and looking kindly into his 
 brother's face; " and how are you ? About 
 as usual ?" 
 
 " Just as usual, thank you. But I am 
 in a predicament just at present. Lindsay 
 has sprained his knee, and is ordered to lay 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 Tlte Master of Riverswood. 
 
 up for a fortnight, and Henry has to * nurse 
 me,'" said poor Sidney, attempting a laugh,^ 
 " and doesn't seem to like it. You see^ 
 there's Lindsay to be attended to as welli 
 and nursing isn't his forte. He'll give 
 notice, I know, if Lindsay isn't about again 
 to time." 
 
 " What nonsense I — and as if you need 
 bother yourself if he does ! Is Lindsay's a 
 bad sprain?" 
 
 " I don't know exactly what it is. He 
 made nothing of it at first, but now it's 
 swelled and has had to be blistered." 
 
 " Well, you must let me do whatever I 
 can for you. Don't worry yourself. Lind- 
 say will be all right in a week or two." 
 
 '* Things are alwavs nicer when Ernest's 
 at home," said Augusta, seating herself by 
 his side, and casting her arms over his 
 neck. She was a dark, bright-looking girl 
 of about eighteen, well dressed, and with 
 handsome ornaments shining on her rounded 
 neck and arms — altogether a very pleasant 
 sight for the eyes of both brothers to rest 
 upon. " And have you had good shooting?" 
 she asked.
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 259 
 
 " Pretty good. We bagged forty brace 
 yesterday, and six hares. I've brought 
 Sipme up with me. The rain has been the 
 nuisance, but we had a few fine days 
 enough. 
 
 " You never told ns anything about the 
 wedding," pursued his sister ; '* did it go 
 off well r 
 
 " The wedding ? — oh, ah, I see. Yes, it 
 went off all right ; better than I expected 
 under the circumstances." 
 " Did the bride look pretty ?" 
 " She always looks pretty — couldn't do 
 anything else," returned Ernest. 
 
 "Well, but how was she dressed, and 
 what bridesmaids were there — and how 
 were they dressed ? — tell us all about it," 
 continued Augusta, in one breath. 
 
 " There were six bridesmaids — and they 
 • were dressed in white muslin, with b]ue trim- 
 mings, and blue silk boots, and bouquets — 
 and they looked very well. There — I re- 
 membered that on purpose to tell you," said 
 her brother. " The two little ones, in their 
 short skirts, looked like cherubs." 
 
 17—2
 
 •2 GO Tlte Master of Riversivood, 
 
 '' Well— the bride V 
 
 *' Oh, she had white satin, I believe, and 
 a veil, and orange blossoms — the regulation 
 thing." 
 
 ("White satin isn't 'regulation' yet" in- 
 terrupted his sister, in a low voice.) 
 
 "Well, it ivas white satin in this instance, 
 I'm sure of that." 
 
 " I should like to be married in a cathe- 
 dral," said Augusta, after a moment's silence ; 
 " it must look very grand !" 
 
 " Yes, it looked rather grand ; and there 
 was a lot of organ music, of course. It 
 ^ave me more the feeling of being at an 
 officer's funeral, than at a wedding." 
 
 " Ernest, what a horrible idea !" 
 
 " Who was there ?" asked Mr. Glanville. 
 
 " In the cathedral do you mean, or at 
 the breakfast ? There was the world at the 
 service, of course ; at the breakfast there 
 were several friends of Longiey's, and a 
 few of the Heatons. They managed very 
 well. The men and the flowers came down 
 from Ptiverswood, for the occasion, and I 
 suppose the plate and the china from the
 
 The Master of Riverswood. . 261 
 
 old uncle's at Gowerford. Mrs. Heaton 
 looked rather red and nervous all the time, 
 and made spasmodic remarks that were 
 meant to be easy, but she sat it out well. 
 The old uncle and Arthur's aunt, Lady 
 Hallingford, and a Colonel Saville — he's the 
 county member, and a great friend of Long- 
 ley's — and of course Longley himself — 
 were the only people who looked comfort- 
 able, and talked as if they were at home." 
 
 " Was Lady Hallingford there ?" inquired 
 Augusta. 
 
 " Yes, and I should think Mrs. Heaton 
 will worship her very memory for evermore. 
 She made all the laughing there was, and 
 was friends and at ease with every one. 
 She left her title behind her on the door- 
 step ; and ' did' the old aunt of the bride- 
 groom in the prettiest way imaginable, 
 and in grey silk and black lace that became 
 her perfectly. I forget if you know her, 
 Gussy ?" 
 
 ** Fve only seen her at a distance." 
 
 "Oh, well, you'll know her, and many 
 worse people next spring, if you live. Slie's a
 
 202 TliC Master of Riversivood. 
 
 very little woman, and has very bright, kind, 
 black eyes. Poor Mrs. Heaton would have 
 had an awkward time without her, for the 
 queen-mother behaved very badly, talking 
 to no one but Mrs. Saville, or her sister-in- 
 law : and the Heaton set, except a cousin 
 who had been to Eton, looked flushed and 
 awkward. I can't think how such a pearl 
 as — such a lovely little woman as Mrs. 
 Hochefort, has grown up among them. 
 There is a little sister just like her, a 
 veritable white rose-bud among peonies." 
 
 *^ Was Lord Halhngford nice ?" inquired 
 Augusta ; " and what is he like ? tell me.'' 
 
 " So that you may know whether or not 
 to fall in love with him ? He's rather a 
 scamp, Augusta ; in fact, he's a very bad 
 scamp. Arthur and he had a quarrel once 
 at Hallingford Castle, years ago, and there has 
 been no love lost between them since. He 
 only showed up to make things look square 
 and proper, and to accompany his mother. 
 He's the only cousin, you know." 
 
 " Does he look disagreeable T asked Miss 
 Glanville.
 
 The Master of Riverswood. 263 
 
 " Disagreeable ? oh, not at all. He's 
 short and stout, and has rather a handsome 
 nice face ; good features, you know, and a 
 pleasant voice. Most of your real out-and- 
 out scamps are very refined, good-looking, 
 fellows, with ever such mellow voices, and 
 the most gentlemanly manners on earth — in 
 society." 
 
 " Do you mean really, Ernest ?" inquired 
 his little sister, looking up at him in bewil- 
 derment. 
 
 " Oh, yes, my darling ; and now IVe put 
 you well on your guard against wolves in 
 sheep's clothing, haven't I ? I'd no idea I 
 was going to do anything so praiseworthy. 
 Ah — here's tea, that's right ; or supper — 
 or something ; now, Syd, can I give you 
 anything?" 
 
 " I suppose you've dined ?" said Augusta, 
 " if you hav'n't " 
 
 " I have, thanks. Dined at York on my 
 way up. Will you have something, Sidney?" 
 
 " I'm on the bread-and-milk and * light 
 padding' regimen, just at present," returned 
 Mr. Glanville, with some weariness in his
 
 2 G 4 Til e Master of Rive rsivood, 
 
 tone ; " and I have partridges every other 
 day for dinner, so I couldn't stand them at 
 supper too." 
 
 "Which just reminds me," continued 
 Ernest, " that I'll have some cold beef in- 
 stead of this bird. I'm tired of game. 
 Hav'n't you been sleeping well?" he in- 
 quired, when, after having rung the bell, 
 he turned sideways on his chair, and leaned 
 his elbow on the back ; '*' you want me at 
 home to make you get out more." 
 
 " Nonsense ; you'll want to shoot, and I 
 don't want to keep you tied to me. Parker 
 can drive me." 
 
 " Parker be hanged," returned the 
 younger brother, suddenly ; " I believe it's 
 because you're afraid of Parker's driving, 
 that you don't go out oftener when I'm 
 away. It's my belief the fellow's short- 
 vsighted, and doesn't see the stones, or the 
 ruts. Will you be ready by four o'clock 
 to-morrow ? That won't keep me out of 
 much shooting." 
 
 After Mr. Glanville had assented, and a 
 little further talk relative to " the moors "
 
 Tlie Master of Riverswood. 265 
 
 had been gone through, Augusta, who was 
 leaning her arms on the table, and watching 
 her brother eat, suddenly asked, '* Where 
 have they gone for their wedding tour ? 
 You did'n't tell us." 
 
 *'They — who are they? Why, the girl's 
 mad about weddings ; and can't hear 
 enough. Abroad — the Khine, Italy ; and 
 then Algiers, I believe — or Constantinople, 
 or whatever she cares about. She has never 
 been further than Stafford yet, to visit 
 some aunts.'' After a further pause — 
 
 " I must say," continued Mr. Ernest, 
 cutting some bread for himself, " that life 
 did not look unattractive, presented in the 
 form of a beautiful little girl of one-and- 
 twenty, in a distracting grey silk costume, 
 with a veritable 'perfume of Paradise' 
 about it, and her gloves, and her hair — who 
 came to kiss everybody, before going off 
 into the unknown world, in her lover's 
 brougham." Ernest swallowed his bit of 
 bread, drunk off his wine, and went to stand 
 with his back against the mantle-piece. 
 
 " Was that how she was dressed — in
 
 2G6 The Master of Eiverswood. 
 
 grey silk?" inquired Miss Augusta, with 
 unabated interest. 
 
 Both the brothers burst into almost a 
 roar of laughter. 
 
 "Did I tell you how she was dressed ? I 
 didn't know I did," said Ernest. " I was 
 thinking of something else. Well, Long- 
 ley's wildly in love/' he added, as he 
 struck a light for his cigar ; *' so I dare say 
 they'll be very happy for six months." 
 
 " Only for six months, Ernest ?" repeated 
 Mr. Glanville, half turning his eyes round 
 to where his brother was standing. 
 
 " Well, that's my guess. I may be right, 
 or I may be wrong," returned Ernest care- 
 lessly. '' Can you stand a cigar to-night, 
 Sydney ? You can ? That's right, and 
 now let us hear how you've got up the 
 accompaniment to ' I arise from dreams of 
 thee,' Gussy. Have you been practising it V 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 aiLLIN'O Ai'D SONS, PKINTERi, QUILDFORD, SURSEV.
 
 MARCH, 1876. 
 
 8AWEL TINSLEY'S 
 
 PUBLICATIOISrS. 
 
 _<j)_ 
 
 Hontiott : 
 
 SAMUEL TINSLEY, 
 10, SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND, 
 
 '*^* Totally distitict from any other Jirm of Ptthlishers, 
 
 44
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 The PRINTING and PUBLIC A TION 
 
 of all Classes of BOOKS, Pa7npklets, &€. — 
 Apply to Mr. Samuel Tinsley, Publisher^ 
 lo, Southampton Street, Strand, London, W.C,
 
 SAMUEL TINSLEY'S 
 
 NEW PUBLICATIONS. 
 
 THE POPULAR NEW NOVELS, AT ALL LIBRARIES IN TOWN 
 
 AND COUNTRY. 
 
 A DESPERATE CHARACTER: a Tale of the Gold 
 "^^*- Fever. By W. Thomson-Gregg. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 " A novel which cannot fail to interest."— Z)a//y News. 
 
 A LDEN OF ALDENHOLME. By George Smith. 
 -^^ 3 vols,, 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 A LICE GODOLPHIN and A LITTLE HEIRESS. 
 -^^ By Mary Neville. In 2 vols. 21s. 
 
 A LL ROUND THE WORLD ; or, What's the Object? 
 -^^ By Frank Foster, author of " Number One ; or. The 
 Way of the World," etc., etc. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 A NAME'S WORTH. By Mrs. M. Allen. 2 vols., 
 
 ■^^ 2IS. 
 
 A WIDOW OF WINDSOR. By Annie Gaskell. 
 -^-^ Crown Svo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 ANNALS of the TWENTY-NINTH CENTURY ; 
 or, the Autobiography of the Tenth President of the 
 World-Repubhc. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 ' ' From beginning to end the book is one long catalogue of wonders. . . . 
 Very amusing, and will doubtless create some little sensation." — Scotsman . 
 
 ' ' Here is a work in certain respects one of the most singular in moderi 
 literature, which surpasses all of its class in bold and luxuriant imagination, 
 in vivid descriptive power, in startling — not to say extravagant suggestions 
 — in lofty and delicate moral sympathies. It is difficult to read it with a 
 serious countenance : yet it is impossible not to read it with curious interest, 
 and sometimes with profound admiration. The author's imagination hath 
 run mad, but often there is more in his philosophy than the world may 
 
 dream of We have read his work with almost equal feelings of 
 
 pleasure, wonderment, and amusement, and this, we think, will be the 
 feelings of most of its readers. On the whole, it is a book of remarkable 
 novelty and unquestionable genius." — Nonconformist. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 
 
 A SACRIFICE TO HONOUR. By Mrs. Henry* 
 Lyttelton Rogers. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 AS THE FATES WOULD HAVE IT. By G. 
 
 -^ Beresford Fitzgerald. Crown 8vo., los. 6d. 
 
 A WOMAN TO BE WON. An Anglo-Indian 
 Sketch. By Athene Brama. 2 vols., 21s. 
 " She is a woman, therefore may be wooed ; 
 She is a woman, therefore may be won." 
 
 — Titus Andronicus, Act ii., Sc, i. 
 "A welcome addition to the literature connected with the most pic- 
 turesque of our dependencies.'' — Athencsum. 
 
 " As a tale of adventure " A Woman to be Won '' is entitled to decided 
 commendation." — Graphic. 
 
 ' ' A more familiar sketch of station life in India .... has never been 
 written '' — Noticonformist. 
 
 BARBARA'S WARNING. By the Author of ''Re- 
 commended to Mercy." 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 BETWEEN TWO LOVES. By Robert J. Grif- 
 fiths, LL.D. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 BLUEBELL. By Mrs. G. C. Huddleston. 3 vols., 
 31s. 6d. 
 •• Sparkling, well-written, spirited, and may be read with certainty ol 
 amusement." — Sunday Times. 
 
 BORN TO BE A LADY. By Katherine Hen- 
 derson. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 "Miss Henderson has written a really interesting story. . . . The 'local 
 colouring' is excellent, and the subordinate characters, Jeanie's father 
 especially, capital studies." — AthencBum. 
 
 "DRANDON TOWER. A Story. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 " Familiar matter of to-day." 
 
 BUILDING UPON SAND. By Elizabeth J. 
 LysaghT. Crown 8vo., ids. 6d. 
 " We can safely recommend 'Building upon Sand.' " — Graphic. 
 
 pHASTE AS ICE, PURE AS SNOW. By Mrs. 
 ^-^ M. C. Despard. 3 vols,, 3 IS. 6d. Second Edition. 
 " A novel of something more than ordinary promise. "^ — Graphic. 
 
 CINDERELLA: a New Version of an Old Story. 
 Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 pLAUDE HAMBRO. By John C. Westwood. 3 
 ^ vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 
 
 (^ORALIA; a Plaint of Futurity. By the Author of 
 ^^ "Pyrna." Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 pRUEL CONSTANCY. By Katharine King, 
 ^^ Author of 'The Queen of the Regiment.' 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 "FilSINTERRED. From the Boke of a Monk of 
 -•-^ Carden Abbey. By T. Esmonde. Crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 J^R. MIDDLETON'S DAUGHTER. By the Author 
 
 ^-^ of "A Desperate Character." 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 T^ULCIE. By Lois Ludlow. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 ■^MERGING FROM THE CHRYSALIS. By J. F. 
 -■-^ NiCHOLLS. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 ■pAIR, BUT NOT FALSE. By Evelyn Campbell. 
 -■- 3 vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 "pAIR, BUT NOT WISE. By Mrs. Forrest-Grant. 
 
 -■- 2 vols., 2 IS. 
 
 PAIR IN THE FEARLESS OLD FASHION. 
 -■- By Charles Farmlet. 2 vols., 21s. 
 
 "PIRST AND LAST, ^y F. Vernon-White. 2 vols., 
 
 -*- 2 IS. 
 
 FLORENCE; or, Loyal Quand Meme. By Frances 
 Armstrong. Crown Svo., 5s., cloth. Post free. 
 
 "A very charming love story, eminently pure and lady-like in tone." - 
 Civil Set vice Review. 
 
 F 
 
 OLLATON PRIORY. 2 vols., 21s. 
 
 I:j^RIEDEMANN BACH ; or, The Fortunes of an 
 - IdeaUst. Adapted from the German of A. E. Brachvogel. 
 By the Rev. J. Walker, B.C.L. Dedicated, with permission, 
 to H.R.H. the Princess Christian of Schleswig-Holstein. 
 I vol., crown Svo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 G1 AUNT ABBEY. By Elizabeth J. Lysaght, Author of 
 ^ " Building upon Sand," " Nearer and Dearer," etc. 3 vols., 
 31s. 6d. 
 
 r^ ILMORY. By Phcebe Allen. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 
 
 riOLD DUST. A Story. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 p OLDEN MEMORIES. By Effie Leigh. 2 vols., 
 ^^ 21S. 
 
 p RAYWORTH : a Story of Country Life. By Carey 
 ^^ Hazelwood. 3 vols., 31S. 6d. 
 
 G GRANTHAM SECRETS. By Phcebe M. Feilden. 
 ' 3 vols. 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 GREED'S LABOUR LOST. By the Author of 
 " Recommended to Mercy," etc. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 TTEARTS ARE TRUMPS. By Beatrice Hazelwood. 
 -*-■- 3 vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 HER GOOD NAME. By J. Fortrey Bouverie. 
 3 vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 TTER IDOL. By Maxwell Hood. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 TTILDA AND I. By Mrs. Winchcombe Hartley. 
 ■'-^ 2 vols., 2 is. 
 
 "An interesting, well-written, and natural story." — Public Opinion. 
 
 HILLESDEN ON THE MOORS. By Rosa Mac- 
 kenzie Kettle, Author of "The Mistress of Langdale 
 Hall." 2 vols., 2 IS. 
 
 HIS LITTLE COUSIN. By Emma Maria Pearson, 
 Author of " One Love in a Life." 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 TN BONDS, BUT FETTERLESS: a Tale of Old 
 ■*- Ulster. By Richard Cuninghame. 2 vols., 21s. 
 
 IN SECRET PLACES. By Robert J. Griffiths, 
 LL.D. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 IN SPITE OF FORTUNE. By Maurice Gay. 3 vols., 
 31s. 6d. 
 
 TNTRICATE PATHS. By C. L. J. S. Cr. 8vo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southamr)ton Street, Strand,
 
 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 
 
 TS IT FOR EVER ? By Kate Mainwaring. 3 vols., 
 -■- 31S. 6d. 
 
 TABEZ EBSLEIGH, M.P. By Mrs. Eiloart, author of 
 ^ " The Curate's DiscipHne," '' iMeg," " Kate Randal's Bar- 
 gain," etc. 3 vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 JOHN FENN'S WIFE. By Maria Lewis. 
 " Crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 IT' ATE BYRNE. By S. Howard Taylor. 2 vols. 
 -*-^ 21S. 
 
 XT' ATE RANDAL'S BARGAIN. By Mrs. Eiloart, 
 -'-^ Author of " The Curate's Discipline," " Some of Our 
 Girls," " Meg," &c. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 TZITTY'S RIVAL. By Sydney Mostyn, Author of 
 
 -*-^ 'The Surgeon's Secret,' etc. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 " Essentially dramatic and absorbing We have nothing but 
 
 unqualified praise for 'Kitty's Rival.'" — Public Opinion. 
 
 T ADY LOUISE. By Kathleen Isabelle Clarges. 
 -■-^ 3 vols., 31S. 6d. 
 
 LALAGE. By Augusta Chambers. Crown 8vo, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 T ASCARE : a Tale. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 LEAVES FROM AN OLD PORTFOLIO. By Eliza 
 Mary Barron. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 LLANTHONY COCKLEWIG : an Autobiographical 
 Sketch of His Life and Adventures. By the Rev. Stephen 
 Shepherd Maguth, LL.B,, Cantab, sometime Curate of 
 HorseleydoNvn. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 LORD CASTLETON'S WARD. By Mrs. B. R. 
 Green. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 " Mrs. Green has written a novel which will hold the reader entranced 
 from the first page to the last." — Morning Post. 
 
 ly/fARGARET MORTIMER'S SECOND HUSBAND. 
 ^^ By Mrs. HiLLS. i vol., 7s. 6d. 
 
 MART AND MANSION : a Tale of Struggle and Rest. 
 By Philip Massinger. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, SouthamptoTi Street, Strand.
 
 8 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 
 
 M 
 
 ARRIED FOR MONEY, i vol., los. 6d. 
 
 "Well written, and full of incident those persons, therefore, 
 
 who like to be cairied on quickly from one event to another, will certainly 
 get what they want in ' Married for Money.' "— Western Morning News. 
 
 "Characters are sketched with some degree of power, and there is no 
 little ingenuity in the way in which the final catastrophe is contrived. — 
 Scotsman. 
 
 "Far from ill-written, or uninteresting."— Graphic. 
 
 IVTARY GRAINGER: A Story. By George Leigh. 
 
 -^'-L 2 vols., 2 IS. 
 
 ■|\/rR. VAUGHAN'S HEIR. By Frank Lee Benedict, 
 ■^'-■- Author of " Miss Dorothy's Charge," etc. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 MUSICAL TALES, PHANTASMS, AND 
 SKETCHES. From the German of Elise Polko. 
 Dedicated (with permission) to Sir Julius Benedict. Crown 8vo, 
 7s. 6d. 
 
 IV'EARER AND DEARER. By Elizabeth J. 
 ^^ Lysaght, Author of "Building upon Sand." 3 vols., 
 31s. 6d. 
 
 IVTEGLECTED; a Story of Nursery Education Forty 
 -^^ Years Ago. By Miss Julia Luard. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 cloth. 
 
 "VrO FATHERLAND. By Madame Von Oppen. 
 
 -^^ 2 vols., 2 IS. 
 
 ■^ORTONDALE CASTLE, i vol., 7s. 6d. 
 
 "VrOT TO BE BROKEN. By W. A. Chandler. 
 -^^ Crown 8vo., los. 6d. 
 
 ONE FOR ANOTHER. By Emma C. Wait. 
 Crown Svo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 r^NLY SEA AND SKY. By Elizabeth Hindley. 
 
 ^-^ 2 vols., 2 IS. 
 
 QVER THE FURZE. By Rosa M. Kettle, Author 
 ^^ of the " Mistress of Langdale Hall," etc. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 ENELOPE'S WEB: a Story. By Louis Withred. 
 3 vols., 31S. 6d. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street. Strand.
 
 Samuel Tiiisley's Publications. 9 
 
 PERCY LOCKHART. By F. W. Baxter. 2 vols., 
 21S. 
 
 PUTTYPUT'S PROTEGEE; or, Road, Rail, and 
 River. A Story in Three Books. By Henry George 
 Churchill. Crown 8vo., (uniform with "The Mistress of 
 Langdale Hall"), with 14 illustrations by Wallis Mackay. 
 Post free, 4s. Second edition. 
 
 * ' It is a lengthened and diversified farce, full of screaming fun and 
 comic delineation — a reflection of Dickens, Mrs. Malaprop, and Mr. 
 Boucicault, and dealing with various descriptions of social life. We have 
 read and laughed, pooh-poohed, and read again, ashamed of our interest, 
 but our interest has been too strong for our shame. Readers may do 
 worse than surrender themselves to its melo-dramatic enjoyment. From 
 title-page to colophon, only Dominie Sampson's epithet can describe it — it 
 is 'prodigious. '" — British Quarterly Review. 
 
 T)AVENSDALE. By Robert Thynne, Author of 
 ^-^ "Tom Delany." 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 •'A well-told, natural, and wholesome story." — Statidard. 
 "No one can deny merit to the writer." — Saturday Review. 
 
 R 
 
 EAL AND UNREAL : Tales of Both Kinds. By 
 Harriet Olivia Boddington. Crown 8vo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 "P UPERT REDMOND : A Tale of England, Ireland, 
 •" and America. By Walter Sims Southwell. 3 vols., 
 31s. 6d. 
 
 SAINT SIMON'S NIECE. By Frank Lee Benedict, 
 Author of " Miss Dorothy's Charge." 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 From the Spectator, July 24th : — ' ' A new and powerful novelist has arisen 
 . . . We rejoice to recognise a new novelist of real genius, who knows and 
 depicts powerfully some of the most striking and overmastering passions of 
 the human heart ... It is seldom that we rise from the perusal of a story 
 with the sense of excitement which Mr. Benedict has produced." 
 
 OELF-UNITED. By Mrs. Hickes Bryant. 3 vols., 
 
 *^ 31S. 6d. 
 
 Westminster Review : — " 'Self-United' has many merits of no ordinary 
 kind . . . The style is excellent, the conversation bright and natural, the 
 plot good, and the interest well sustained up to the last moment." 
 
 HINGLEBOROUGH SOCIETY. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 S 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 10 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 
 
 SIR MARMADUKE LORTON. By the Hon. A. S. G. 
 Canning. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 SKYWARD AND EARTHWARD : a Tale. By 
 Arthur Penrice. i vol., crown 8vo, 7s. 6cl. 
 
 ^POILT LIVEvS. ByMRS. Raper. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 SOME OF OUR GIRLS. By Mrs. Eiloart, Author 
 of "The Curate's Discipline," "The Love that Lived," "Meg," 
 etc., etc, 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 " A book that should be read.'' — Athenceum. 
 
 CONS OF DIVES. 2vols., 21S. 
 
 SQUIRE HARRINGTON'S SECRET. By George 
 W. Garrett. 2 vols., 21s. 
 
 QTANLEY MEREDITH: a Tale. By "Saeina." 
 ^ Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 ^TILL UNSURE. By C. Vane, Author of " Sweet Bells 
 ^ Jangled." Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 STRANDED, BUT NOT LOST. By Dorothy 
 BrOiMYARd. 3 vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 QW^EET IDOLATRY. By Miss Anstruther. 
 ^ Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 q^HE ADVENTURES OF MICK CALLIGHIN, M.P., 
 -L a Story of Home Rule ; and THE DE BURGHOS, a 
 Romance. By W. R. Ancketill. In one Volume, with Illus- 
 trations. Crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 ^HE BARONETS CROSS. By Mary Meeke, 
 -*- Author of " Marion's Path through Shadow to Sunshine." 
 2 vols., 2 IS. 
 
 ''PHE BRITISH SUBALTERN. By an Ex- 
 -■- Subaltern, i vol., 7s. 6d. 
 
 '^FHE CLEWBEND. By Moy Ella. Crown Svo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 THE D'EYNCOURTS OF FAIRLEIGH. By 
 Thomas Rowland Skemp. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 11 
 
 nnHE HEIR OF REDDESMONT. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 
 T 
 
 HE INSIDIOUS THIEF: a Tale for Humble 
 Folks. By One of Themselves. Crown 8vo., 5s. Second 
 Edition. 
 
 'THE LOVE THAT LIVED. By Mrs. Eiloart, Author 
 -^ of " The Curate's Discipline," "Just a Woman," " Wom^an's 
 Wrong," &c. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 ' ' Three volumes which most people will prefer not to leave till they have 
 read the last page of the third volume." — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 " One of the most thoroughly wholesome novels we have read for some 
 time." —Scotsman. 
 
 HTHE MAGIC OF LOVE. By Mrs. Forrest-Grant, 
 -*- Author of " Fair, but not Wise." 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 "A very amusing novel." — Scotsman. 
 
 THE MASTER OF RIVERSWOOD. By Mrs. Arthur 
 Lewis. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 npHE MISTRESS OF LANGDALE HALL: a 
 -•- Romance of the West Riding. By RosA Mackenzie 
 Kettle. Complete in one handsome volume, with Frontispiece 
 and Vignette by Percival Skelton. 4s., post free. 
 
 ' ' The story is interesting and very pleasantly wxitten, and for the sake 
 of both author and publisher we cordially wish it the reception it deserves." 
 — Saturday Review. 
 
 THE RING OF PEARLS; or. His at Last. ByjERROLD 
 Quick. 2 vols., 21s. 
 
 THE SECRET OF TWO HOUSES. By Fanny 
 Fisher. 2 vols., 21s. 
 
 n^HE SEDGEBOROUGH WORLD. By A. Fare- 
 
 -L BROTHER. 2 VOls., 21 S. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF ERKSDALE. By Bourton 
 Marshall. 3 vols, 31s. 6d. 
 
 rr HE STAR OF HOPE, and other Tales. By Victoria 
 A Stewart. Crown 8vo, 7s, 6d. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 12 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 
 
 I^HE SURGEON'S SECRET. By Sydney Mostyn, 
 Author of " Kitty's Rival," etc. Crown 8vo., los. 6d. 
 " A most exciting novel — the best on our list. It may be fairly recom- 
 mended as a very extraordinary book." — yohn Bull. 
 
 ^PHE THORNTONS OF THORNBURY. By Mrs. 
 -■- Henry Lowther Chermside. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 THE TRUE STORY OF HUGH NOBLE'S 
 FLIGHT. By the Authoress of "What Her Face Said." 
 los. 6d. 
 
 '^FHE WIDOW UNMASKED; or, the Firebrand in 
 -^ the Family. By Flora F. Wylde. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 THE YOUTH OF THE PERIOD. By J. F. Shaw 
 Kennedy, Esq.; late 79th Highlanders. Cr. 8vo.,7s. 6d. 
 
 '^riMOTHY CRIPPLE; or, "Life's a Feast." By 
 -■- Thomas Auriol Robinson. 2 vols., 21s. 
 
 'yiM'S CHARGE. By Amy Campbell. i vol., crown 
 -*- 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 T'OO FAIR TO GO FREE. By Henry Kay Wil- 
 
 J- LOUGHBY. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 npOO LIGHTLY BROKEN. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 " A very pleasing story very prettily told."- Afi9r;2/«:^/'(9j'/, 
 
 TOM DELANY. By Robert Thynne, Author of 
 " Ravensdale." 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 " A very bright, healthy, simply-told story." — Standard. 
 " There is not a dull page in the book." — Scotsman. 
 
 '^rOWER HALLOWDEANE. 2 vols., 21s. 
 
 '^rOXIE: a Tale. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 '^rWIXT CUP and LIP. By Mary Lovett-Cameron. 
 -^ 3 vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 n^WIXT HAMMER AND ANVIL. By Frank Lee 
 J- Benedict, Author of " St. Simon's Niece," " Miss Doro- 
 thy's Charge," etc. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Soutampton Street. Strand,
 
 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 13 
 
 IWIXT WIFE AND FATHERLAND. 2 vols., 
 21S. 
 
 " It is by someone who has caught her (Baroness Tautphocus') gift of 
 telling a charming story in the boldest manner, and of forcing us to take 
 an interest in her characters, which writers, far better from a literary point 
 of view, can never approach." — Athenceum. 
 
 WO STRIDES OF DESTINY. By S. Brookes 
 
 BUCKLEE. 3 vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 TTNDER PRESSURE. By T. E. Pemberton. 2 
 
 ^ vols., 2 IS. 
 
 W 
 
 AGES: a Story in Three Books. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 AX/PANDERING FIRES. By Mrs. M. C. Despard, 
 
 * * Author of " Chaste as Ice," &c. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 TjT^EBS OF LOVE. (I. A Lawyer's Device. 
 ** II. Sancta SimpHcitas.) By G. E. H. i vol., Crown 
 8vo., IDS. 6d. 
 
 TV/^EIMAR'S TRUST. By Mrs. Edward Christian. 
 ** 3 vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 TVTHAT OLD FATHER THAMES SAID, and how 
 ' * certain Lawyers went to work on each side of the Border. 
 By CouTTS Nelson. 3 vols., 31s. 6d. 
 
 ■\\/^H0 CAN TELL? By Mere Hazard. Crown 
 ** 8vo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 Tiy^ILL SHE BEAR IT? A Tale of the Weald. 
 
 * * 3 vols., 3 IS. 6d. 
 
 "This is a clever story, easily and naturally told, and the reader's 
 interest sustained throughout. ... A pleasant, readable book, such as 
 we can heartily recommend." — Spectator. 
 
 WrOMAN'S AMBITION. By M. L. Lyons. 1 vol., 
 
 * ' 7s. 6d. 
 
 YE OUTSIDE FOOLS ! or, Glimpses INSIDE the Stock 
 Exchange. By ERASMUS PiNTO, Broker. Cr. 8vo., los. 6d. 
 
 YE VAMPYRES ! A Legend of the National Betting 
 Ring, showing what became of it. By the Spectre. In 
 striking Illustrated Cover, price 2s., post free. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 14 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 
 
 R 
 
 OBA D'lTALIA ; or, Italian Lights and Shadows : 
 ' a record of Travel. By Charles \V. Heckethorn. In 2 
 vols., 8vo, price 30s. 
 
 THE EMPEROR AND THE GALILEAN : a Drama 
 in two parts. Translated from the Norwegian of Henrik 
 Ibsen, by Catherine Ray. In i vol., crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 T^TYMONIA. In i vol., crown 8vo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 HOW I SPENT MY TWO YEARS' LEAVE ; or, My 
 Impressions of the Mother Country, the Continent of 
 Europe, the United States of America, and Canada. By an 
 Indian Officer. In one vol. Svo. Handsomely bound. Price 
 
 I2S. 
 
 "PACT AGAINST FICTION. The Habits and 
 ■^ Treatment of Animals Practically Considered. Hydro- 
 phobia and Distemper. With some remarks on Darwin. By 
 the Hon. Grantley F. Berkeley. 2 vols., Svo., 30s. 
 
 MALTA SIXTY YEARS AGO. With a Concise 
 History of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, the 
 Crusades, and Knights Templars. By Col. Claudius Shaw. 
 Handsomely bound in cloth, los. 6d., gilt edges, 12s. 
 
 HARRY'S BIG BOOTS: a Fairy Tale, for ''Smalle 
 Folke." By S. E. Gay. With 8 Full-page Illustrations 
 and a Vignette by the author, drawn on wood by Percival 
 Skelton. Crown 8vo., handsomely bound in cloth, price 5s. 
 
 " Some capital fun will be found in ' Harry's Big Boots.' . . . The illustra- 
 tions are excellent, and so is the story." — Pall Mall Gazette. 
 
 OVING EARS. By the Ven. Archdeacon Weakhead, 
 Rector of Newtown, Kent, i vol., crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 'yHE PHYSIOLOGY OF THE SECTS. Crown 
 -■- 8vo., price 5s. 
 
 A NOTHERWORLD; or. Fragments from the Star 
 -^^ City of Montalluyah. By Hermes. Third Edition, re- 
 vised, with additions. Post 8vo., price 12s. 
 
 M 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand-
 
 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 15 
 
 'HE REGENT : a play in Five Acts and Epilogue. 
 J. M. Chanson. Crown 8vo., 5s. 
 
 'T'HE RITUALISTS PROGRESS ; or, A Sketch of the 
 -*- Reforms and Ministrations of the Rev. Septimus Alban, 
 Member of the E.C.U., Vicar of S. Alicia, Sloperton. By 
 A B WiLDERED Parishioner. Fcp. 8vo. 2s. 6d. cloth. 
 
 "PPITAPHIANA; or, the Curiosities of Churchyard 
 ^-^ Literature: beinga Mistellaneous Collection of Epitaphs, 
 with an INTRODUCTION. By W. Fairley. Crown 8vo., cloth, 
 price 5s. Post free. 
 
 ' ' Entertaining, "—/'a// MaU Gazette. 
 
 "A capital collection." — Court Circular 
 
 "A very readable volume. " — Daily Review. 
 
 "A most interesting book." — 'Leeds Mercmy. 
 
 " Interesting and amusing." Nonconformist. 
 
 " Particularly entertaining." — Public Opinion. 
 
 " A curious and entertaining volume." — Oxford Chronicle. 
 
 " A very interesting collection." — Civil Service Gazette. 
 
 POEMS AND SONNETS. By H. Greenhough 
 Smith, B.A. Fcap, Svo, 3s. 6d. 
 
 GRANADA, AND OTHER POEMS. By M. Sabiston. 
 Fcp. 8vo,, 4s. 
 
 HELEN, and other Poems. By Hubert Gurtis. 
 Fcp. 8vo. , 3s. 6d. 
 
 CUMMER SHADE AND WINTER SUNSHINE: 
 1^ Poems. By Rosa Mackenzie Kettle, Author of "The 
 Mistress of Langdale Hall." New Edition. 2s. 6d., cloth. 
 
 NOTICE.— SECOND EDITION. 
 
 TTALY REVISITED. By A. Gallenga (of The 
 J- Times), Author of " Country Life in Piedmont," &c., &c. 2 vols., 
 8vo., price 30s. 
 
 The Times says — " Mr. Gallenga's new volumes on Italy will be welcome 
 to those who care for an unprejudiced account of the prospects and present 
 condition of the country. Most interesting volumes." 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 16 Samuel Tinsley's Publications. 
 
 TTNTRODDEN SPAIN, and her Black Country. 
 Being Sketches of the Life and Character of the Spaniard of the 
 Interior. By Hugh James Rose, M.A., of Oriel College, Oxford; 
 Chaplain to the English, French, and German Mining Companies of 
 Linaries ; and formerly Acting Chaplain to Her Majesty's Forces at 
 Dover Garrison. In 2 vols., 8vo., price 30s. {Second Edition.) 
 
 The Times says — " These volumes form a very pleasing commentary on 
 a land and a people to ^^■hich Englishmen will always turn with sympathetic 
 interest." ^ 
 
 The Saturday Review says — "We can only recommend our readers to 
 get it and search for themselves. Those who are most intimately acquainted 
 with Spain will best appreciate its varied excellences," 
 
 OVER THE BORDERS OF CHRISTENDOM AND 
 ESLAMIAH ; or, Travels in the Summer of 1875 through 
 Hungary, Slavonia, Bosnia, Servia, Herzegovina, Dalmatia, and 
 Montenegro to the Isforth of Albania. By James Creagh, 
 Author of " A Scamper to Sebastopol." 2 vols., large post 
 Svo, 25s. 
 
 "May be safely recommended." — World. 
 
 " His volumes will be welcome." — AthencEum. 
 
 " Clever, and decidedly readable." — Scotsman. 
 
 QOCIAL ARCHITECTURE; or, Reasons and Means 
 ^ for the Demolition and Reconstruction of the Social 
 Edifice. By An Exile from France. Demy Svo., i6s. 
 
 A MONO THE CARLISTS. By John Furley, Author 
 -^^ of " Struggles and Experiences of a Neutral Volunteer." 
 Crown Svo., 7s. 6d. 
 
 ri ANTON AND THE BOGUE : the Narrative of an 
 ^^ Eventful Six Months in China. By WALTER William 
 MUNDY. Crown Svo, 7s. 6d. 
 
 T)ICKENS'S LONDON : or, London in the Works of 
 -*-^ Charles Dickens. By T. Edgar Pemeerton, Author of 
 " Under Pressure." Crown Svo, 6s. 
 
 Samuel Tinsley, 10, Southampton Street, Strand.
 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUN0I9-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 049094417 
 
 :^-'^Cx\. 
 
 
 sr^^•5!f«^■Jr^' 
 
 
 /^v./ 
 
 NSS.V.VCvV^K^V.VvWXVJS 
 
 
 
 
 
 fr^>55!a